Of FHM Moments, a Breakfast at Tiffany's Balcony Scene and a Date with the Guitar Man Who Says It's Never Too Late

OF FHM MOMENTS

The other day, my high school classmate got married at San Agustin Church in Intramuros. He had two best men, no hair, an earring and a lovely bride. Tope and I felt like gate crashers... we probably were. It was the groom's mom who invited us because when her daughter sent her a couple of doses of Glutathione injections from abroad, we were the ones who administered them for three to four sessions free of charge. It was a beautiful wedding and a mini reunion. It was also a crash make-over for Tope and I. Majority of what we wore belonged to everybody else because we weren't quite prepared to be attending a wedding all of a sudden.

His shoes.

My heels.

His slacks.

My slip.

All bits and parcels or everybody else's wardrobe.

We were a couple of walking charity cases.

But anyway, sometime before the ceremonies began, we were walking around Intramuros, seeing the nearby sights and talking about, get this, FHM. (hehehe!)

There's a section in that magazine where they feature photographs where "intruders" come up out of nowhere making a perfectly good picture not so perfect after all. He was asking me if I've ever had that kind of FHM moment and I said no. At least as far as I could remember.

And then today, while going through the wedding pictures, guess what I found... TAHDAAAH!

His very own FHM moment, captured and immortalized.

Hahah!

Our godchild, Drei is having the same FHM moment with him, but I don't think he's old enough to realize what his Ninong just got him into. :)

the Guitar Man Who Says It's Never Too Late

We were exhausted after the wedding.

We were unfortunate to have taken a taxi cab with a broken AC, so by the time we got back to his family's apartment, we were grumpy and miserable. I took a nap and woke up about an hour later to the sound of guitar strings being strummed right next to my face. He was trying to play "Wonderful", but found he needs to practice a bit more with that song. So he played "Leaving on a Jetplane" instead.

Ladies, I have no record breaking bragging rights about this man's looks. There is nothing Brad Pitt about him, but there's just something Ooo-La-La about a guy with a guitar. And he was smiling at me, obviously proud of himself for learning to play. (Thankyou Am-am! You are a genius.)

He taught me the simpler cords and deemed me a fast learner, because I was gracefully strumming the song by sunset. He has no idea how many times my brother has tried time and again to teach me those very same cords only to give up and judge me hopelessly tone-deaf and impossibly "un-dextrous" and "un-deft."

"...There's so many times I've played around.

So many times I've let you down

I tell you now they don't mean a thing..."

(-leaving on a jet plane http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LrP99ORucqQ )

Ahh... ! But THIS teacher was strumming with my heartstrings and I do believe he knows it. :)

a Breakfast at Tiffany's Balcony Scene

I woke again at around 3 in the morning.

I had a strange dream.

Something about medical charts with too many red circles in them. hehe!

But then again, it is the nature of dreams to be strange and perhaps, the nature of dreamers to be a lot stranger.

I stepped out into the balcony for some fresh air and found that I was not alone. Who else would be there but my eternal leading man.

He sat next to me and we spent the next thirty minutes just sitting there enjoying the whole picture we were in.

The street below illuminated by the yellow fluorescent lights pretending to be the irreplaceable moonlight whose cloud-mist-and-smog curtains just would not part.

The sun, slowly stretching it's arms out of the horizon.

Tricycles blasting their horns every now and then.

A group of trannys' suddenly bursting laughter from the alcohol and disco binge of the earlier hours. Their stilettos making rhythmic sounds against the pavement as they try to maintain their poise and grace while practically wobbling their ways home. It was a sight to remember, we both agreed. He was laughing silently and tried to imitate the way one of the (ehem) ladies was tossing his hair.

And in the distance, someone was playing Moon River on a stereo. Soft but clearly audible. Almost tangible. Like a dream you just had halfway between REM sleep and waking up.

We didn't need to say anything.

It was a Breakfast at Tiffany's moment.

Nothing else in the world mattered.

I know I romanticize these things I share with him quite a lot. My way of preserving memories. In the end, it might turn out differently. But this is how I want to remember it.

In truth, it's more complicated than this.

It always is.

But we try to move on.

We are moving on.

Some people try to hinder it.

They just refuse to believe.

They have their own opinions.

And they chose to project their blindness as our fault.

But it doesn't matter...

Not to me.

As long as whoever is playing that Moon River keeps doing so every-time I find myself awake and not alone at 3 in the morning...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BOByH_iOn88