Astron's Notebook

Part 1
Part 2

Hello, Friends!


Heart Failure, ye shall be called Speedo
Henry, Alex, Kai

Death by Gorgeousness. Boys with beautiful bodies luxuriously sunbathing like lizards on a rock. Except these golden bodies weren't really on a rock, but on the terrace of a 90-foot Sunseeker yacht. It was enough to give me fat-boy complex all over again if I weren't, in fact, too busy appreciating the buffet before me to recall childhood psychoses!

The 29th of July was the third and final leg of my marathon birthday week (birthweek?). Forty boys on a boat bound for South Bay on a glorious Sunday. You could sense the easy vibe, the comfort and enjoyment that's guaranteed in the company of good friends.

The boys were frisky, to be sure.


Legs weren't the only things that caught a-tangle


A basket of apples can only hope to look better
Billy, myself, Eric

"James, give me back my socks," my good friend, Michael, admonished loudly. My crotch was the running gag of the day. Quite a few shots like this were taken, it turned out. The boys noisily speculated if what was inside was real or padded. I would say, "It's the bathers that makes the package look big. Nothing special, so don't get excited,"-- which they would then take as an invitation to feel me up and check if, indeed, it was all me.

Boys will be boys.

***

A number of amusing anecdotes from the trip:

1. I was peeing in the toilet when I overheard two bankers arguing the comparative merits of working on debt and equities. Welcome to Hong Kong.

2. David, a Frenchman, was wearing a pair of blue bathers boldly printed with a yellow SPANK on the posterior. "Do you have one that says LICK?" I inquired.

3. Victor setting up a "sticky area" on the terrace for, well, the "sticky rice" guys (Asian guys who like only Asian guys, to the uninitiated). Victor playfully needled Ivan about having a gweilo for boyfriend. "You haven't tried a sister before. You might like it!" Victor suggested, which elicited a chorus of cheers from other Asian boys. "I like white guys!" Ivan replied with conviction.

***

At around 4PM, Michael gathered everyone to the terrace. Myself and Tommy, the other birthday boy, were surrounded by beautiful men lustily singing "Happy Birthday" as Michael revealed a round slab of chocolate cake.

A bottle of champagne was popped. Tommy and myself were bathed with Veuve Clicquot. My good friend, Tony, playfully lapped up the dribble on my tummy, but soon decided it wasn't worth it-- he tasted sweat and sunscreen there, too.


Let them eat cake!
Me serving little slices of chocolate cake from a table napkin.

The figure-conscious boys momentarily eschewed their dietary restrictions to sample the irresistible confection. It was baked by Remy, Michael and Jewell's helper, who has taken a shine to me. Thank you for not scrimping on the cocoa, Remy!

***



Visions of Love
Clockwise from top: Billy & Euguene, Ivan & Greg, Jewell & Michael

Like a sunflower turns its head to catch the brightest of rays, so do human beings bloom brightest when frolicking underneath sunshine. We let loose the most carefree laughter. We perform the silliest antics. We sigh the deepest, most contented of sighs.

And when the sky is blue and cloudless like this, our thoughts similiarly clarify to focus on but the most visceral elements of the moment. The briny scent of seawater carried by a benevolent breeze. The gentle rocking of the boat. The familiar warmth of a loved one, skin against skin. Waxing romantic might be rendered a cliche if not for the sincerity of the gesture and its silent acceptance-- a wordless squeeze, a meaningful look, a fleeting kiss that's no less electric than the first time.

"You are like a bee," a friend observed. Maybe so. It takes just the warm summer to gather this big a group of friends out on a trip like this. I wanted to make sure I touched base with as many friends as I could, specially ones I have not seen for a long time.

Or, since I'm feeling a compulsion to peel the superficial, I will admit that socializing is my coping mechanism for being single.

"I'm really an introvert, you know," I confided quietly. My friend was about to utter words of disbelief when, gobsmacked by the honesty of my own admission, I winked as though to show I was kidding.

He laughed.

All the Pozzos and Luckys* of the world may come and go to distract me with their circus act. And I might be momentarily entertained. Distracted, if you will. Truth is, I am done waiting for Godot. I just want the Vladimir to my Estragon. Only then can this busy bee stop and assume a true act of repose in life's tragicomedy-- sitting under a tree.

***

At sunset, Michael gathered everyone to the terrace for a group pictorial. The skipper did the honours so that everyone can be in the photograph.


The Asian Boys
Can you spot me? Rightmost, wearing baggy white shorts

"Where does Eric belong??" someone hollered, just as Michael called to gather the gweilos for the next shot. Eric is a dusky Latino. "He gets his own photo!!" a voice piped in reply, to our collective laughter.


The Gweilos
Plus Eric, standing second from left


29 July 2007, Class Photo @ South Bay
Count 'em, forty beautiful men

***

The amber glow of full moonshine dappled the ripples as we sailed back to Central. I felt like she was shining specially for Hong Kong that night. Resting in between the glittering silhouettes of Two IFC and The Center, she looked so big, so near-- like a ripe, golden fruit suspended in the mauve night sky.

The trip back was quiet.

***

The past year has been a tumultuous rollercoaster ride. Amazing highs as tall as Hong Kong's skyscrapers, coupled with rock-bottom lows. Thank goodness I can still anchor myself to the constancy of family, to nature's unfailingly ascendant beauty, and to the love of good friends.

Thanks to Ben and Trish for seeing me through my sudden health debacle. Thanks to Noel and Roy for being the big brothers I never had. Thanks to Joseph and Evan for hosting the biggest birthday splash of my life. Thanks to Tony, who took care of raggedy me. Thanks to Michael, Jewell and Eugene for organizing the junk trip. Thanks to Remy, who baked the cake. And thanks to all of you who wished me well.

Birthdays are celebrated because of friends like you.



With Affection,
Astron



Post-It

No, I can't swim.



*Characters from the seminal Absurdist masterpiece, Waiting For Godot, by Samuel Beckett.
-Thanks to Michael and Jewell for the beautiful photos

Hello, Friends!


This afternoon, while on my stand-by period at work, I watched the last few episodes of America's Next Top Model Cycle 7 in the Green Room.

And then I took a nap. And then I had high tea, which I enjoyed with my close friend, Trish, while waiting for our stand-by time to be over.

I love my job!

***

On another stand-by period, I went to the Disneyland Hotel poolside with my little sister, Anthony, and m'belle, Melody.

We were only supposed to get some sun (i. e. quiet, mind-your-own-business, set-the-timer-for-quarter-hour-flips sunbathing), but the two younger ones (I'm ancient, see) ended up ordering some cool, fruity drinks while flipping through gossip rags. I had water and peanuts.

But being the camwhores we were, we couldn't resist just lying down by the poolside yakking. All three cameras came out of our bags and pretty soon, we had enlisted the help of a cheerful Cast Member to help us take photos.


Anthony, Melody, James

The sun was still very bright at 4PM; all our cams had trouble capturing a serviceable image. Or, being performers, we were just too vain-- we couldn't be content with pics that were just ok. LOL.

The sky was blue till about 7PM. We got to enjoy plenty of sun after it had expended most of its punishing midday heat.

Say no to skin cancer!

***

Disneyland Hotel is built to resemble an antebellum mansion in the American South. It's gorgeous. And being by the poolside emphasizes the fact that your are, indeed, in a resort. It doesn't even feel like Hong Kong any more.

Pretty soon, my two irrepressible companions had dragged me to go up on the water slide. It was embarrassing. There we were, three grown-ups, lined up with tots in front of us and behind us, waiting to slide.

Anthony went first. He went into the water en pointe. He was showing off his enviable arch.

Melody had the wisdom to slide down on her back, thus protecting her girly bits.

I slid down on my bum. The dips and bumps of the slide threw me around every which way, burning my posterior. (I was reminded of the regrettable fact that I do not have much of one.)

We went down the slide over and over and over again...

***

My little sister, Anthony, is a ballet-trained, former cheerleader from Mapua before he was plucked to join the happiest workforce on earth. Melody, on the other hand, already has the US National Tour of 4nd Street under her belt. Both these kids just turned of legal drinking age. I am jurassic, by entertainment terms.

It's feels great to be working with beautiful, talented, energetic youngsters in such a relaxed environment. Honestly, I can't think of any place better for me to be working in at the moment.

Of course I miss the administrative rigours and creative demands of my old job with the New Voice Company. But being here now is allowing me to enjoy so many things that I missed out on while hitting with the grown-ups back in Manila and Singapore.

I reckon I spend more time at work than I do on my bed; I don't need much sleep, any way. I count myself lucky that I enjoy my job so much. I never just walk on my way to work. There's a hop, skip and a jump. And, on occasion, jazz hands!

Cheers! Wishing everyone a fun, productive week ahead!


With Affection,
Astron

Hello, Friends!


As we glumly contemplate the condensation that has been pelting Hong Kong endlessly for a few days now, let me share with you some photos from a recent excursion.

Repulse Bay is the tourist beach du jour (Pizza Hut and 7-11 are even on it, hurrah!) and South Bay is gay boy heaven, of course. Since I was in the mood for a fuss-free beach experience, I stayed away from either.

Shek O Beach was a remarkable alternative.

Tended by villagers of a quiet fishing community and surrounded by magnificent rock formations, Shek O is, at once, quaint and magnificent. Instead of the trappings of cyberkinetic lifestyle found in other beaches (incessant public service announcements, gigantic automated sandsweepers, fastfood chains, for crying out loud!), Shek O has dark, sleepy shops that look the least bit interested in doing business. Lounging seems to be the order of the day. 



How can you complain when you are gazed upon a man with such a heartstoppingly impish smile? 



The beach itself is short, but what it lacks in length, it makes up for in other features, like these rocky outcrops embraced by green fingers of grass and moss, and decorated by jewels of the showiest barnacles. Tread with care. Blue waters as far as the eye can see. A quiet, serene waterscape that's respite from the manic crossings at Victoria Harbour.

Enjoyed a late, leisurely lunch of hearty Thai food and San Miguel Beer at a homey joint. Thankfully, no faux-Thai decor. Just honest-to-goodness monoblock chairs and tables, just good food and cold drinks. No gimmicks. 



Even the sun is lazy here. It emitted just a warm, honeyed glow throughout the afternoon.

A gentle lull of a day away from the stress of a bustling metropolis, from the aggression of extreme weather conditions, and from the pressure of social networking. 


This is Shek O. 


And his name name is Chris. 




With Affection,
Astron

Hello, Friends! 



My good friend and "big brother," gorgeous German gent *avalo (on Fridae), has just been promoted to Senior Urban Architect of his firm. Only 33 years old, he is now in charge of most of his firm's projects in mainland China and India.  

Hong Kong is indeed a town of winners. People work hard. Fortunately, they party even harder. Many times, "To forget," I've been told, "that you are in Hong Kong."

This is a great city to live in, to be sure. Hundreds of miles of picturesque nature trails, a wetlands park, one of the largest bird sanctuaries in Asia, beautiful beaches, two world-class theme parks... Everything can be had in this city, since Hong Kong also happens to be one of the world's financial capitals, alongside New York and London.

People are equipped with tools to ensure success; failure is simply not an option. Everybody works. The two boys who installed my cable and internet couldn't have been barely out of Form 5. The checkout lady at Park N Shop looks like she must be at least 70. And in the backroom of my neighbourhood Bank of China, senior citizens carefully guard currency fluctuations, the stratospheric ascent of the price of gold, the Hang Seng Index.

There's so much exertion to existence. People are constantly in motion, like frenzied molecules about to reach boiling point.

Sometimes, one needs to get off, to be elsewhere, to forget.

To forget.



If you know where to look, Happy Hour begins at 2PM. Deals range from 2-4-1, free vodka-based drinks, half-price on standard cocktails, etc. By the time midnight comes around, you are brave enough to dance, so you go to your favourite club. Or two. West Coast hip hop, perhaps. 80's revival. Or, horrors, 90s pop remixes. (Are we really that old already?) You are (still) young, moneyed, beautiful, full of vitality, bursting with a stream of charming conversation. You are living the Hong Kong illusion. 

Can you party hard enough?   


Time itself becomes immaterial as the hours go by. The clubs get darker, the air smokier. People become progressively more sweaty in their designer duds, which then proceed to come off.  

Are you hungry? Maybe. Tired? Maybe. Sleepy? Not. Thirsty? Yes! 

Everything is a tangle of hands as a bottle of water gets passed. A little sip here, a sudden grab on a hot piece of ass there, and then comes the time to take a trip to the restroom.


The toilets are crowded and nasty, of course. So what else do you do but mug and make fun of your ghetto state?

It's a steady spin as you indulge in the heady Bacchanalia and Hedonism of a dodgy after-hours club. It would be in some high rise, with not even any signage that reveals it to be the hole it is. 

By this time, your consciousness has been sucessfully transported to Egypt, maybe. Or Vietnam.


Or better yet, to the Land of the Dead.

Who cares? Anywhere but here.

When, at 10AM, you finally manage to extricate yourself from the heaving mass of humanity paying homage to hardhitting House, it's broad daylight.

You grab a Java and pick up your Blackberry. Time to send one- or two-word replies, once again, to demanding clients, nocturnal bosses or your neurotic stalker-- because it secretly makes you feel important to be haunted.

Only a couple of hours to get ready for brunch with your successful friends. Bombay Dreams, perhaps, for the bubbly. Maybe Cafe Deco at The Peak, for the view. Or perhaps Dragon-I for all the pretty, perfumed people. 

Welcome back. You've not forgotten, after all.


With Affection,
Astron