I haven't heard of Frank Ocean before the news of his coming out last week. All I knew was that he did it through Tumblr. Since he was unknown to me, then, I ignored the links and updates about him even if they seemed to be on all of the blogs I visit frequently, and on my Facebook feed.
A couple of hours ago, since I got nothing better to do, I checked one of the links about him just to finally know what made this guy's coming out so special. I got my answer after one of the links led me to his Tumblr page. And suddenly it felt as if this guy has been a long- time friend who wrote to me. It was a post entitled “Thank You’s.” A note so familiar, that I involuntarily made a short pause after reading it. It’s the kind of thing I usually do after realizing that finally, there’s another human being who felt exactly what I did. A great part of its contents was composed of happy and painful thoughts the younger me used to have. It’s sad and beautiful at the same time. Just what I’ve always thought this life has been, for me, at least.
Here’s the post that made me an instant fan of this guy:
It's been more than six years since I last wrote a poem. The life I found as an adult in the big city, the new people I met, and the internet came into my life and, it's as if I have forgotten the art that has been my companion growing up. It saddened me to realize this, especially knowing how much poetry, as a form of expression has helped me survive the most difficult times of my life as a teenager. Good thing I got to reunite with Athena Garcia and Rey Carlo Sajulan, two of those people whose mere presence, not to mention, poems. reminded me of what it is that I lost and that I have to regain.
Here's a poem I wrote recently as an attempt to resurrect the little god in me by creating a little world, through the power of words and imagination.
Poetry and I
When I think of poetry, I think of a precious gem, Teasing me from a place so high and too far for me to reach. It's an uphill climb, A foggy mountain top Which chokes me as I raise a foot And move towards it. Veins in my eyes get visibly bold, Glowing like neon lights in downtown whorehouses And on otherwise dark alleys with dancing and flying candy wrappers, Flattened cigarette butts, Corners that reek of the smell of old and dried urine. Places, I think, you'd cringe even at the thought of visiting alone. And those veins, they're lights that grow bigger and bigger And then burst. Blood splatters And flow like lava from the angry volcanoes which are my eyes, I'm blinded. I can't see my paper Nor feel the presence of my pen.
It's an uphill climb Every word, seems to give more strength To that hand that pulls me down Tightens it's grip in every attempt to conceive A line that contains both truth and beauty at the same time. I haven't gone that far 'Cause I am being pulled down. My own shadow, my past, pulling me down As if preparing me to drown And die from that quicksand below Where my doubts, my feeling of hatred towards myself Are calling me, asking me Begging me to join them in their misery After I buried them deep on the ground Not too long ago.
Quicksand, tomb of my past. It's filled with thumb- sucking, jackstones, magazines under the bed, used rubbers, Crucifixes hidden in the drawer, dusty, untouched rosaries, dried tears on my pillows Forming dead shadows of that world that exists only in my dreams.
I am being pulled down, blinded and out of breath My hands, shaking My feet, groping the floor for the pen And where it went, after it fell, I don't, anymore, know
So here I am together with the sound of the crickets And spirits that watch me from afar Making sounds that seem to celebrate my failure Snickering at the thought that the art of poetry Remains distant to me. I give up. I can't touch it. It's a mountain I can't climb.
I joined a singing contest for the first time, in third grade, with my Kuya Angelo. It was in 1993, a year when almost every girl was taught to sing a Whitney Houston song. I was a boy, but that didn't stop me from having my mom teach me Whitney Houston's "Run to You." It was not an easy song to sing, I tell you. Wait, I don't have to tell you, at all.
It's just that I was an ambitious little girl --I mean-- boy, so I chose it, 'though just a few hours before the contest began I chose another song, instead. I remember the reason for the change was the "Ooohoooh" part which made me sound as if I was having an early puberty. My problem would have been solved if not fot the medley part of the contest. And in the medley, I had to sing the dreaded "Ooohooh" of Whitney's song. The rest is history. Don't ask me what happened, when I finally sang it.
That was in 19 years ago. The adults at that time were amused at the thought that it seemed all their children wanted to be Whitney Houston. I'm sure many of those children being referred to are feeling a certain loss now. I do. I was one of them.
Whitney Houston's career went downhill in the 2000s. She lost her singing voice and it seemed everything we heard from her were, if not about her drug addiction or her relationship with then- husband Bobby Brown, it was her failed attempts to make a comeback, due to the voice which has obviously deteriorated. Now that she's gone, these are not the things I'll remember when I think of her.
I'll remember that beautiful woman who touched my young heart with the greatness of her voice. And the things I learned from her, especially the way she expressed emotions when conveying the message of a song she's interpreting, will always remain with me.
Here I am again, playing with fire as if my wings were never burnt before; and chasing after dreams that are as fragile as bubbles in the air. Will I ever learn? I don't know. It's just that there's something about the roller coaster of emotions they bring; the moaning, groaning, screaming and the feeling of pain I get once I hit the ground after the fall, that makes me feel more alive; and that makes me clearly see the beauty of these genuinely valuable things I fail to, at least, acknowledge, most of the time.
Sometimes you wake up with the thought that there's nothing to do but turn on the laptop, go online to see what's there. You pull up your email, Facebook, and other online social networking sites you use and you find nothing new.
It's as if the world hasn't moved one bit since the last time you were awake, yet it was more than twelve hours ago.
It was twelve long hours ago when you decided to shut down the the burning laptop because it's temperature seemed to reach your head. You felt the urge to spend more time in front of the damn rectangle screen that changes what it shows in just one click. But you know it can eventually make your eyeballs fall out of their sockets and explode, allowing constellations of blood to form in a universe composed of your lap, the keyboard, the dusty walls, and your computer screen.
You imagine these things happening and then you realize, twenty minutes has passed since your imagination started to make a fool out of you, giving you the false impression that you'll end up with a fucking brilliant idea, so brilliant it could turn the hell you're in into heaven.
But like what you've always known 'though never really admitted, you are not wise. And so you spend twenty empty minutes which you can't take back but still comfort yourself by thinking otherwise. There you are, drunk and incapacitated by your own illusions, wasting important seconds like annoying drops from a leaky faucet, little things which could have helped make a big difference in your life and in the world which has imperfections you want to change but won't because you're too lazy to entertain the possibility that you can.
So there go those pieces of life, flowing merrily down the drain. You let them go without lifting a finger. Your eyes staring at them as if the scene never registered in your brain, and as if you don't have eyes at all. You sit there and watch them slip away with arms across your chest; with every part of you cold and indifferent.
Earlier today, while at our office's pantry, I and my officemates, who I usually discuss random stuff with, got to talk a bit about this campaign by United Colors of Benetton called "Unhate."
There are three LGBT blogs I read: Boxturtlebulletin, Joemygod, and Queerty. All of these had posts about this controversial ad from Benetton but I have to admit, I ignored them, and dismissed them as just posts about another campaign by a clothing company that, of course wants to sell. Queerty even had a series of posts regarding it but it was not until earlier today that, I got to have some idea on what some people around me thought about the said ad. So, when I got home I watched clips about the campaign on YouTube. Here's one of them:
Oh it had commercial purposes alright and Benneton definitely got the publicity it was expecting but since there were reactions from different types of people, I feel the need to share mine. And the result is me spending time on my lappy and ignoring some online flirts just to be able to post this, before my head starts to ache.
A handshake would have sufficed, I guess many would say. Why do they need to kiss? Personally, I think it's the fact that kissing somebody, especially in a passionate way, isn't easy. You can easily shake the hands of your enemies even if you still bear grudges against them. A passionate kiss on the lips requires much more effort, I'm sure we all can agree to that.
The ad above features a montage of doctored photos showing the US President Barack Obama kissing Chinese President Hu Jintao, French President Nicolas Sarkozy kissing German Chancellor Angela Merkel, Pope Benedict XVI kissing senior Egyptian imam, Ahmed el Tayyeb, and other political figures.
While the White House, expressed disapproval on "the use of the president's name and likeness for commercial purposes," (source) the Vatican did not react favorably to the image of the Pope kissing the imam and called it "an absolutely unacceptable use of the image of the Holy Father, manipulated and exploited in a publicity campaign with commercial ends." This resulted to the removal of the said picture from the campaign.(source)
At first, I thought, the act of kissing another man is too much for the pope since, we all know the Roman Catholics' stand on homosexuality. It would be considered by them as a form of disrespect, which is understandable. Then again, the same church has disrespected homosexuals for ages. Considering that fact, I am inclined to ask: Is a doctored picture of the pope kissing the the Egyptian imam, Ahmed el Tayyeb, too much, if only to show that there is a possibility of us all being united, regardless of race, gender, nationality, social status, religion, or sexual orientation? Is protecting an "image" more important than allowing a message of love that knows no boundaries, to go through?
Apparently, the answer to those two questions I asked was "Yes," which did not surprise me, at all.
Here's the film version of the ad. I hope this makes sense to people. If only we could see the message that is being conveyed, and allow our own prejudices to be drowned by it, the world might become at least a little bit better than it is, now.
If my roommate, Dandie, decides to get rid of the TV, I would not even attempt to stop him. There's nothing good to watch on it, anyway and the good ones can be found somewhere on the internet. Also, since we don't have cable, we're stuck with these local stations which, with shows that, with the exception of a very few, make me roll my eyes, the frequency of which makes me a good candidate for exorcism. Obviously, I could not stand watching or hearing some of them, while I'm on my computer, without cringing.
And then this happened earlier:
I was watching some clips on YouTube, when my housemate, Kim came in and watched this local show called Face to Face on TV. It featured a trans- man (tomboy,) who cheated on his female partner with a man. For some reason, there was priest present. The sight disturbed me. Even if I wasn't paying that much attention.
So when it was the priest's time to speak, I had to pause what I was watching on my lappy to listen to what he's got to say, with my eyebrows crossed. And I heard those words again. Too bad, I didn't find the remote. I had to get out of my bed just to turn the TV off.
How could a show allow that priest to speak in that situation. Did they even ask what their guests believed in? Did they even take time to ask if they prayed to God? And if they did, did the creators of the show even consider what their prayers were?
And that priest, did he really have to be there? I was wondering, how could they allow someone who is expected to say a revised a version of "God created only Adam and Eve. Period" be in the same room with a trans man and a lesbian? Didn't they know that this has been said to them in different ways and versions a thousand times? Weren't they just trying to be morally correct by insinuating that being gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered is a choice?
I'm not trying to start some sort of fight here but for a show that exists in this age, where access to information needed for awareness regarding different issues, especially, sensitive ones, like the ones that are LGBT related, is just one click away, this show is pulling us backward.
What that priest said on that show, was disrespectful, and if only he and the creators of the show were considerate enough to realize... No, I'd be a fool to even think of that.
