And again over a cup of Cofee...

We spend a lifetime putting up walls. With every tremor, every earthquake, they grow taller, more impenetrable. Experience teaches us to be careful. Careful of people, of Trojan horses.

With time we come to depend on these walls, rely on their protection. Until one day a boy walks by, touches the stone, the walls come tumbling down.


Manila (Circa 2006)

"So what makes you happy?" He asked over coffee.
My eyes wide open. I look at him, confused, as though he'd just spoken in a foreign language. No one's ever asked me that before.
"The smell of a new book," I tell him.
He smiles, sips his coffee.

I look at him, amazed at his last words, surprised by the fact that as inquisitive as I am, it's never occurred to me to ask anyone that simple question.

I can't take my eyes off him. There's something about this Guy, something I've never seen before. I want to ask him so many things but I don't. The walls, they won't let me. Instead I stare, get lost in my thoughts.

"What?" He says.
My mind's eye dissolves back into the present, to the boy in front of me, his almond hue eyes.
"Huh?"
"Where did you go just now?"
"Nowhere," I say.
"Liar."

I met Ryce a week earlier at trip to Shangrila. Was there at the invitation of my friend Dan to see a movie of all things, a screening of Lake House.
"Everyone is crazy about this movie " he said. "You'll like it."
"Is it a gay thing?" I asked.
"Nope. It's an romance flick"

Dan and I arrived at the Shangrila 8:00 P.M. The place was already packed with people lining up to buy tickets. There was something exciting about the whole thing and strangely beautiful.

We found a spot, tried our best to be in our most comfy position, waited for the movie to start. That's when I noticed him. He was standing in line for the bathroom not more that a few feet away. Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair, and those eyes, as almond hue as spring.

"I'll be right back," I told Dan as I made my way over carefully, quickly, an animal after its prey. Was hoping to strike up a conversation, find out who this guy was. But by the time I got in line three people had managed to squeeze in before me.

I stood there, looking at him over the heads of unsuspecting strangers, waiting for the right moment, the right words. Ten, 15, 20 minutes, eternity. Then, just as I was about to say something, Dan showed up. Tipsy, flamboyant, loud.

"Whatcha doin' Wenz?"
"Waiting for the bathroom."
"Don't take too long, the movie's about to start." he said then curtsied off.

The almond-eyed boy in front of me gives me a look. I know what he's thinking.
"Who was that?" He finally asked. Ice, broken.
"That's my friend," I said. "My very platonic drunken friend."

He smiles. Dimples. My weakness.

Then, his turn comes up for one of the porta potties. But instead of moving forward, he stops, looks at me.
"Do you need to go?" He asks.
"Huh?"
"To the bathroom."
"Yes," I lie.
"Because I don't. I'll wait for you here."

Bold. Fearless. His cards, in plain view. He's been waiting for me this whole time.

"I'm Ryce by the way."

* * *

"What took you so long?" Came the question from the other end of line.
"What?"
"To call."
Wasn't ready for that question, that kind of forwardness.
"I said I'd call in the morning. It's 11:30," I say.
"Manila Boy, pussies."
"Didn't want to seem too eager," I finally tell him. It's as much as I'm willing to admit.
He laughs.

I invited him to go to a drink at my friend's house that night. Ryce showed up on time, wearing a lime almond t-shirt, chewing gum.
"Impressive," I tell him.
"What?"
"Your gum. It matches your shirt," I tease him, "brings out the color in your eyes."
He pulls it out, looks at it. I can tell he's embarrassed by the coincidence.
"Oh yeah, that," he says. "I like to color-coordinate. Why? Too much?"
He's funny. I like that.

My friends like him too, I can tell. They're flirting with him, shamelessly, even those with boyfriends. One goes as far as giving him a quick rub of the shoulders. I like that's he's the center of attention. I like that at the end of the night, I'm the one who gets to take him home.

I step back, watch him interact with the crowd. He's surrounded by a group of men who are clinging to his every word. Now and then he looks up at me, smiles, his eyes saying, "Don’t fret, I'm all yours."

At one point he grabs me, takes me aside. "I like you," he says, then pauses, "something about you."

As the evening wraps up, we say goodbye to my friends, head over to his apartment. We lay down on his bed, fully clothed. The tension has been building up for two days, but he's in no rush. He takes his time with me, exploring every inch, as if not to offend any particular part of my body. There's tenderness in his touch, in his eyes. Not something you'd expect from a six-foot-two guy.

"You're beautiful," he says, his hand on my chest. It doesn't sound forced or corny. I want to reciprocate but I don't. It's those gates, my fears, the walls.

We have sex. Incredible, passionate, mind-blowing. The kind that ends with two people staring at the ceiling in a haze, catching their breaths. Damp sheets, sweaty faces, the green in his eyes, a hundred times greener. This is my favorite moment, right before you fall asleep. Right before everything goes quiet.

In the morning we get dressed, head to Figaro. As I sit there sipping my coffee, a question, "So what makes you happy?"

Incredibly simple, simply incredible.

I want to let him in, but I can't. Wall's too high. Instead I wonder if he'd still be that honest, that open if we shared the same zip code.

That night I went back Makati. To my life, my job, my world. I notice I'm smiling more. But even though I like this guy and the effect he's had on my mood, I know how it goes. guy goes on vacation, guy meets boy, guy sleeps with guy, guy goes home.guy gets e-mails every once in a while. guy moves on.

There are 3,000 reasons not to get emotional. And so I don't.

Ryce follows the script at first.
"I miss you," he messages, three exclamation marks, one smiley face.
"You do?"
"Wish you were here," he continues.
"Likewise."
"Thinking of you," texts the boy.

Then, just as I think it's about to fade, move into its rightful place in the past, a question. This one does more than just confuse me, it takes my breath away.
"Is there a reason why you're being so reserved?" he asks. "I don't want to lose interest if there's interest to be had."

And just like that, they fall. The walls, they come crumbling, fast, furiously. I realize that although this guy may not be the one, he comes close. And that alone gives me hope.