Another long, insightful conversation with him at Penguin Bar, Malate. As a matter of fact, we seemed to have created a world of our own again, where everone and everything around us seemed to have receded in the background (my apologies to Jenny, who celebrated her birthday, and the rest of the lit barkada). It makes me so happy to see him open himself to me, like watching a lion unfurl its glorious mass after an afternoon slumber. Talked about the nuances in initiation and response, gestures and passivity, love and fondness. He admitted things that were quite surprising to me as they were relieving. Like the real subtexts behind his responses to certain people if only for them not to get hurt, the inability to reject in the name of courtesy. Then he asked me about my honest take on such things. I answered, even with the risk of momentarily breaking him with stories of genuine generosity, the things I’ve done in the light of my I-want-to-make-love-to-the-world philosophy. And I fall in love over and over again with the fragility of his strength.
He accuses me of being too understanding. That such an attitude makes me susceptible to others’ abuse, men and women alike.
Perhaps I am. But it is what keeps me from thinking ill of others.
Besides, without my understanding, I would have left long before we could have reached this state of pleasant transparency.
I am happy now. He makes me so happy.