Popularity of Porn

I am saddened by the fact that as it stands now, my most popular blog post is about PORN. To think I wrote the essay only to prove to myself the suggested idea of blogging about popular topics, and tagging it with popular words. I’ve never missed a day without a “view” on the subject, and these were not limited to the United States but all over the world—from Pakistan, Turkey, Australia, Indonesia, Nigeria, Austria, Spain, Ecuador, and the UK.

As if porn is already an important part of people’s lives these days; that they have to search online on how to go about it, how to do it better. I am not talking big numbers here, but the daily regularity of browsers dropping in to view the blog, is surprising (if not encouraging, if one decides to ride the popularity of the topic).

Truth is, I pity the teens who indulged in the skin business, and not because they are young and innocent, naive or coerced into it—but because they ENJOY doing it! They are proud to bare their physical assets, to be part of pornography, unmindful of later consequences.

One glaring but very influential evidence of this wide-world acceptance of open sexuality online are the Facebook duck-face pics, where the girl/boy/gay/lesbian holds her phone or ipad to take a provocative slutty pose—the more boobs and navel exposed, the hotter; the more pouted lips protruding, the more skanky and popular—advertising herself online for everyone to “like”. Can the porn industry talent scouts be far behind?

Call me a puritan, a moralistic hypocrite, but I still respect a human being, especially, a young girl. And to see these same beautiful girls blessed with good looks since childhood flaunting it online with utter disregard for decency while courting possible harm to their future and selves—basking in peer adulation and enjoying every moment of it—seems a shocking waste of life.

WHY a waste, when they are having fun? Why interfere and preach when they are “adult” enough to know what they are doing? Why be so concerned when it is as natural as drinking, smoking, getting high, and enjoying a series of sexual ecstasies? Common venereal diseases, unwanted pregnancies, drug addiction, alcoholism, prostitution, and possible criminal acts—what the fuck, who cares?

You do; you must.

Simply look at your angelic child now, the one you hold close to your heart, the ones you love and care for with all your life. Now, imagine her/him in a porn video/movie when s/he reaches her/his teen years. Corrupted, violated, abused, subjugated, and most of all, beyond your reach to save or change—with her/him, your baby, the one you cuddled each morning—laughing, sneering, mocking your so-called precautions, spitting in your face…live, in colour, in full stereo, and having fun abused and abusing his/herself online, for everyone to see.

Sigh, I am not a dad and cannot relate to having a child, but I have siblings, and I do not want any harm come to them. Do you?

Finding First Love

For anyone to say or wish that she or he would like to find a “first love” is quite unnecessary, if not inappropriate.

Often expressed with an anxious tone–as if not to have a special someone marks the person as an ugly duckling, a desperate loser among friends–excited kids new to the fleeting game of love blurt it out without a thought.

Seeming always in a hurry to find a cuddly cute one to call their own, they ignore altogether the caution and willingly embrace the stress, apprehension, and peer pressure that accompanied the search. All of which, bring the eye bags, pimples, skin rashes and acne, not to mention the resulting worry of concerned friends and those within the family.

But for young individuals who have already felt and savoured early the joy and intimacy of the emotion, finding, or securing another one, becomes the source of the anxiety–a love problem that leads to romantic daydreaming, frequent masturbation, lost of appetite, and lack of sleep.

Or worst, the redirection of the tension to compulsive eating behaviour, painful self-abuse, experimentation with alcoholic beverages, predilection to drug use, and unsafe sexual adventures, paid or otherwise. All common and natural things that stoked more serious personal and family problems later on.

Yet, only for the guilty to brag later among friends and everyone else, that he or she, finally found love–no matter how elusive and sticky–either the hard way or the messy way, and without guarantees, of course.

For what is first love but a tease of exuberant possession, of selfish and prideful ownership of someone’s heart?

First love answers a person’s strong intoxicating need for personal affection, a tug of sincere and honest sharing aching for truth and respect, and which, each of us at an early age have already nurtured in our private little “crushes”.

We have all been privileged to participate and experience the excitement of the moment–even though we do not understand or appreciate it yet. Yes, it is exciting to be in love!

And anyone who says he or she has not experienced it, one way or the other, is already dead…had forfeited her or his soul to destiny, and is only waiting to be buried soon, alive.

First love, they say, is the most memorable, unique, and unforgettable, that if one is honest and sincere with what was felt–it is the most precious, most cherished. Even if it does not always works out well in the end, most of the time.

But of course, the real thing–true love–is the one hardest to find later in our lives. Yet for some, it happens quite easy and fast like magic, sparkling in a fairy tale romance.

First love is not to be found, since it presents itself without warning: a sweet smile, an unexpected phone call, an invitation, a visitor, or a twist of timing where one bumps by accident with someone you do not know or expected to know.

My first love happened when I was only five, and I have included the moment in a romance novel I am challenged to write:

The sweetness of the memory would drop on him unexpected, light as rain.

It would be pleasant, vivid…pure. As distinct and clear as it happened during his childhood–even now, already in his advancing years. He is forty four.

Yet the joy never diminished, faltered. Tiny droplets of thoughts sprinkled through the years, melting in his eyes.

In his mind, he would see her again, with an eagerness filled of boyhood anticipation, of wonderment, a joyful disbelief of admiration mixed with the innocence of infatuation. Real things he would remember, would retain and recall often, after all the years.

For occasionally, it would dawn on him like the unexplained sprinkling from the heavens–a delicate moment of outpouring, reminiscing, absorbing–settling softly in his heart; a passion of sensual exuberance he had experience as a boy, silently awakening in his senses. It was a reality so vivid he knew he will not forget.

He saw her like a multicolored vision; a beautiful creation of a dream that materialized before his eyes, ambling in a casual stride as if in slow-motion, the fog of consciousness covering, enveloping everything all around them…He is in love; alone with her in a romantic wonderland.

Wrapped in a rainbow dress, colours glowing brilliant after the rain that highlight the whiteness of fair skin–soft, smooth, and delicate. Her fragile air intensified by the smallness of her waist, swaying gracefully as her skirt swirled in the wind, a style that accented well the promise of budding breasts below the round, sloping shoulders. She was beautiful in his eyes. Indeed, she looked at him, and he was devastated by the pounding of his heart.

Excerpts from “The Heart”, a novel started in 2004, and remained unfinished.

My first true love happened by accident: My cousin, after working in a school assignment, dropped by the house for some snacks and brought with her a girl classmate. And I fell in love with her as soon as I saw her at the door.

I promised myself I will marry her when time and circumstance allow. I had no doubt or felt fear she will not accept me, nor where there qualms about who she is.

I saw her, let them in, and we are already friends–as if I have known her from long ago or times past. The relationship lasted for two years. She went abroad to stay permanently with her family. I was seventeen, and the memory remained still vivid and clear, like our theme song, jolting me from the present to the past whenever I heard it played on the radio.

And since first love always happens in our youth, we are still careless, vibrant and care-free, often overwhelmed by the emotion of being special in the heart and mind of someone. Thus, we also have the tendency to lose it easily.

Yet, it is a lesson learned that will guide and shape our whole being when love comes knocking back at our hearts again. For there will always be a next time, whether we make an effort of it, or exert the least of efforts finding one.

Of course, there are more misses and losses in finding the real thing, since true love is as ephemeral as it is for real.

Thus, I believe it should not be a part of our worries, whether or not we have already experienced it, not unless we are bedridden or extremely ugly or incapacitated or in a comma not to have a chance of having one.

Yet, exquisite true-life love stories proved these claims were untrue, and not a hindrance at all. I may be exaggerating things, but my point is simple…Just let it happen, and grab it when the time comes.

And if you find sincerity, a serious truthfulness attached to the expression of an honest heart offered in the love, then hold on to it. Be extra careful not to break or shatter the bond of friendship, and allow it to mature and become a true love relationship.

For being in love, and finding one, is a wonderful privilege not to be taken for granted or ignored, and that which all of us must handle with extreme care and caution…Remember, he or she is special!

Let the universe flow, and as my Chinese friend in college once said: “Each one of us has someone waiting for us, only for us, even at the end of time, if not in this lifetime.”

(Dedicated with all my heart to my young blogging frheend with the beautiful, soulful eyes, whose heart starts and grows aflutter, now that she is seventeen. May you tell me about him…soon.)

Note: Pic was downloaded from random Google images.

Why, I love you…

I don’t think I should be writing about this…I am not a psychologist or a guidance counselor. Nor am I a fortune teller or a shaman who can consult the future and give inspirational advice.

But the urge to continue and expound on the topic is strong enough that I have to take the risks. Because all I am is an ordinary human being who has experienced one way or the other the frivolities of love in several intoxicating instances, and not always with a happy ending.

Yet each one left me breathless, richer, and with a contented heart, ready and willing once again to relive the experience, one more time.

For some of us, we encounter the majesty and mystery of love at our earliest point of self-awareness. A conscious, physical awakening of ourselves where we become critical whether we are attractive or not. If we so possesses what we believe are the standards of beauty or manliness that we felt are prerequisites to love; and with all these exclusive realizations not necessarily meant to happen only at the age of puberty.

I remember I was only five years old when I had my first crush, which remained vivid and clear for me to include the colorful episode in a romance novel which I am trying to complete.

At some point, the most intense, the most memorable—they say, the most unforgettable and craziest, yet almost always the most naïve—is the first love that comes knocking at our hearts before or during our earliest teens. And I agree.

Let’s listen for a while in a one-way conversation. Let’s try to guess what might have been said by the other party on the line, and who knows, you might have reacted in the same way too, when you were young and deep in love…

“Yeah, babe, I care… You know that… Of course… I do, babe…

“What?! Why do I— But why? Do I have to—

“You don’t believe me, is that it? I said I–care–for–you…

“Do I really have to say it so you’ll believe me?

“I don’t understand… Do we have a prob—

“C’mon! What do you mean there’s a diff— Oh, boy…

“Look, babe— I don’t know! Really, I don’t!!

“Okay…What I want to tell you right now, right this minute, is I really, really want you. I mean—I care for you! I want you; I want you to be with me always…I need you, babe…I want to be with you all my life, I want to spend my life with you…I want to kiss you, embrace you, care for you, make love to you…I want to see you like right now, babe…I want to talk to you, hear your voice, your laughter, listen to your voice…Look at you when you giggle, when you pout…

“Yes, you pout… You do, babe… Alright, when you smile…Every little thing, okay? And that’s really, really, really because—

“Yep… I care. I care that much… And you know that, babe…

“Uh, almost two… Right…one year, eight months… And two weeks, yeah…

“Umm, 02? Huh? Oh, December… sixteenth… Yep, before my birth–

“We, ah… Yellow… With a low cut neckline—Jeez, you’re sooh sexy!

“Yeaah!! I was so turned-on! I felt horn—

“Oops! Is she there? With you? What’s she doing there?

“Sorry… I thought you’re alone…

“So…How’s school?

“No…no! I’m not bored… It’s just—

“Wow, I’m not changing the subject… C’mon, I’ve not seen you since finding Nemo—

“Gotcha!! Ha-ha! Got my baby to smile—yeah! Oh, yeaah!!

“I know… I know… I miss you, babe… Just thought you might want to talk—

“Right… Yeah, if you don’t wanna talk about it…okay…

(Silence…a sigh.)

“Hey…you tired? Am I keeping you up? You want me to—

“Okay… Sorry…

“Can’t you go to your room? Why do you have to keep her company, anyway? She’s watching TV…

“That bad, huh? Well…I went out with Bri…we played some, yeah… He’s got this new Xbox, real cool… Yep, expensive… No, I have my PC… No, babe…I don’t want an Xbox… No!

“I’m not shouting! C’mon!!

“Okay… Cool… What are you drinking?

“Ain’t that a bit sweet? No!! I’m not trying to say you’ll— I mean, hey!

“I’m not complaining, baby… Oh, jeez— I’m not implying!! Aw, for chrissake—

(Phone slammed hard…dial tone.)

(Thirty seconds flat, a ring tone.)

“Yeah… Hi… Hellooo?

“I did not exactly— No, no… Okay, I said it’s a bit sweet, that’s all… But I didn’t mean it’s bad for you, or you’re gonna gain— Yeah, I know… Sure… No, you’re not…

“Yep, tried it once… Very sweet, really… You threw it away? Well…

“Hey, there’s a concert in school…We have these new bands—

“What? Your Mom doesn’t like hip hop? Baby, it’s you I’m talking here—

“Okay, sorry… I forgot… Yeah, we don’t like hip hop… Okay, yeah…

“Uh, emo, senti… Mellow, a bit of jazz… Alicia, yes…

“Oh, it’s…almost…almost two… Ah, one…forty-three… What?

“I’m in bed, baby… Lying down… Yeah, what else…

“No—no!! I mean, I just wanna talk to you while lying in bed…

“Okay, so I’m horny… Oh, yeah! All the time!! That’s all I think of, yeah! I like having sex all the time!! Yeah, right…

“With you, babe… With you, of course! Yep, no one else… Always, baby…

“Okay, you’re sleepy… Yeah, talk to you tomorrow… A little late, I guess…

“I got some papers to write… Right on, my favorite Eco—

“No, it’s okay… I just have to—

“Yeah, alright… Same time… Yeah, I promise… I’ll call, baby…

“I miss you, too… Yep… As always… Take care, okay?

“Yeah… Bye, love… Good night…

(Forty five seconds, a ring tone.)

“Yeah? Oh, hi babe! What?! I didn’t say what?

“Baby, c’mon— I did not forget–you know that! You know I love you…

And the cycle continues in the struggle to say I love you, everyday, every time there is a chance for two people having a relationship, or just beginning to fall in love, to express themselves and say how much they love and care for each other.

Or did they, really? What secrets hide behind those words that it becomes difficult for some to say yet so easy for others to blurt out, repeat, and utter away without any occasion or special time? Is that really love?

Others hang on to its magic like a precious, magnificent incantation they all needed to hear, always repeated and spoken, whispered in their ears. Or even signed with the lips, less they vanish into thin air, lost in the romantic vanities of their fantasy and dreams.

Why did it become so important for these three words to be uttered—becoming a matter of life and death sometimes, especially, for young, desperate lovers drowned in the need and desire to hear it.

When in fact, not saying it, but instead expressed and done wholeheartedly meant more—a true and sincere honest manifestation of love? What makes it more romantic when spoken, the words tumbling out from our lips almost in rote, mechanical rhythm each time we talk, listen, or see our object of love and desire?

Doesn’t I love you say more when expressed, acted out, or performed—like opening an umbrella to shade her from a slight drizzle, or wiping an errant drop of ice cream on her hand with a tissue or hanky you bought especially for moments like this?

What makes love true? How do you know it’s real?

I think each of us who experienced love and went through the initial, gangling awkward steps already learned how to cope, to become patient and understanding, as we mature. Our choices, our demands, our feelings for our partners becoming rational, unselfish; as against the earlier episodes of being impulsive, explosive, and too sensitive (as I tried to illustrate in the conversation above).

Yet, these raw feelings and attitudes were affected and influenced by several things while growing up, which become formative tools that shaped and molded our individual concepts of love and relationship. One way or the other, it can make us selfish, possessive, envious, indulgent, dominating, or jealous, turning us into gibbering morons without pride or self-respect as we follow our lover’s every step, every whim, every unspoken wish and command.

So that later on, after we overcome the insanity of these almost humiliating episodes, we throw salt at the back of our hand, swig the glass and swallow our hurt, laughing off our broken pride, wondering unbelieving to our inner self why we ever allowed to happen what our faithful friends would later call our stupid, drunken love affair.

Still, most of us crept back, succumbed once more without throwing caution learned from our past mistakes, immersing and enjoying the promises, blind and uncaring as we dream of happiness—our personal victory, our most private triumph, as we seek true love once more to taste the beauty and ardor of romance.

I believe that one of the most dominant influences that shaped and affected our views of love and relationships are romance stories and novels, supported and empowered in all its glittering splendor and ecstasy by TV serials and the movies. Especially aimed for women readers, romance stories and novels became one unconscious basis of sort, a visual and dreamlike point of reference for successful standards of love and relationships, where the romantic fulfillment is enjoyed through fantasy and less of reality; where the knight-in-shining-armor-rescues-the-damsel-in-distress cliché themes dominate and lead the stories into veritable, happy, fairy tale endings.

Most publishers agree on one thing about romance novels: For the books to be successful, i.e., commercially popular and profitable, it must always have a happy ending—the lovers reunited after a long, arduous separation; the lovers getting married at last, after suffering family persecutions; the lovers met again (accidentally!) after untold circumstances and great distance parted their lives; and the lovers seeing the sad realities of their miserable existence to happily reconcile, again, etc., etc.

For the young romantics among us entertained by these ideas as we grow up, we held on tight to the concepts, unable to separate much of fiction from reality because of inexperience, preparing ourselves instead for the actual, active, individual relationships we hope to encounter in our love life later on with roses in our eyes.

Yet, romance classics like Romeo and Juliet, Wuthering Heights, or The Scarlet Letter have incorporated plot twists into the romance, so that endings are more believable, if not tragic and almost real.

Thus, quite unacceptable and “unreal” to the die-hard fans. Still, most outstanding novels not even under the label of Romance contain their own unique love stories in the purest sense of the word, remaining subtle and unbidden beneath the subtext instead of being hyped, highlighted, or shouted out loud in the title. It becomes more true-to-life and horrifyingly real: The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo revealed the painful unrequited love of Quasimodo, the hunchback, to the gypsy dancer, Esmeralda; Dracula by Bram Stoker, pounds the fear and dilemma of Jonathan Harker to save his wife, Mina, from the untold terror threatening London; and the modern, science fiction novel Perdido Street Station by China Mieville, led the scientist Isaac to dare the unbelievable and the challenges of a Boschnian-steampunk city, so he can only be reunited with his alien sweetheart, Lin.

Good or bad are these examples, contrive or superfluous as they may seem, the love angle in these stories never rely solely in the magic of I love you. Yet, fiercely expounded in the uniqueness of the desire, the overwhelming feeling, the rapturous and agonizing need to hope, to be united at last with the ones they loved and cared for, no matter what awaits them in return.

Maybe for some of us, to hear I love you is to conjure a healthy, lovely picture of our present relationship, our noble hopes for it in the years to come. And to demand it said, to hear it spoken sweetly by our lover becomes a kind of assurance, a guarantee, that indeed, we are made for one another, till death do us part, amen. Unfortunately, I don’t think—yet what I think is not important—it works that way: love is felt, and not heard or uttered.

It becomes more meaningful when you see the twinkle in your lover’s eyes when he or she sees you coming unannounced. When her lips quiver in surprise or delight as you planted a stolen kiss she or he never suspects. Or a warm hug, a sincere embrace of appreciation or greeting when you say Hi!; your unconscious holding of hands in the most unromantic of places—the office cafeteria, the long line of customers in the bank, or just waiting in the traffic for a cab.

A light pat on the shoulder, a glance that follows you around, a tap on the arm, a wink, a giggle, or a flick of a finger to remove loose strands of hair on her face meant more for me, than a repeated I love you. It is more of the casual, unromantic actions; the sweet, surprise reactions; those reciprocating and unintentional body language between the two of you that you alone can interpret as I love you that makes a relationship endures and becomes more meaningful and real.

Reserved it then, if ever you want to say it without reason, or only as an unspoken obligation; if ever you feel the urge to let your partner know because you only felt insecure, jealous, or threatened of something in your relationship.

Reserved it for a particular moment, a rare occasion or instance, or any unguarded intimacy that cannot be repeated or will be experienced again, even if, you are already living together or happily married for sometime, and watch the wonders of love spark and flare in your hearts.

VIVIAN, and THE REST OF US

Why should a person struggle to fight loneliness, even if, there is a family or circle friends willing to participate, to get involve and be a part of that struggle? The answer is quite obvious: loneliness is a personal battle, and it exists only in the minds and hearts of each of us. Come and think about it, after all, the pain or the hurting were brought to our lives because we allowed it to happen.

A broken heart? At least we knew from the start–that is, if we have been truly honest with ourselves–that the relationship will not work out or turn for the better no matter how hard we try.

Lost of self-esteem? Again, we all know the answers to that because we are the ones involved here and no one else. Failed ambition? We cannot change the course of our lives in a day, unless fairy godmother Luck waves her magic wand. We need to make the changes come about. We need to make that first step no matter what it takes. We, we, and only we can let it all happen to us–if only, we try.

“Happiness is a warm gun” as the Beatles’ song goes, and maybe, it was really meant for Loneliness in a twisted kind of way. (No, sweetheart, taking your life because you are lonely is not the answer nor the end of it. Worst, it was not even meant for you to happen at all in the first place, not unless, something so irreconcilable did happen–say, a car accident, a rape, or lost of limb or one of the senses. Still, stories of overcoming these painful and permanent personal situations are not unheard of.)

I know what you are thinking…I am already preaching. No. I only try to look at the brighter side when the gloom and the doom cloud my senses while my emotions came rushing up to my throat strangling me, choking me to say “I give up!”

No…There is always a next moment, an hour or a day to see things better and clearer, to find solutions to what we once considered absolute and definite. There is a rainbow, after all, hidden in every storm.

My brother used to say whenever I told him I want to write a novel (while begging him to take at least a tiny peek on the first chapter) that he’ll wait for the book, when it’s already in the stores. That used to hurt me, but it also prodded me to take more aggressive steps to learn how to write my first novel. (At this time, that is not yet a reality but I am not giving up–oh no, I’m not!!) In a way, I believe writers are also lonely people, i.e., reclusive and not that sociable, especially while in the midst of that all-too important flow of story. I am an artist, and I have experienced losing my temper if anyone or anybody would knock on the door only to say why don’t I go out and have some social fun, while I’m actually deep in a religious communication with an on-going work.

I have forgone doing some art related projects because of these uncalled for distractions, only to come again and visit the works after a year or two. I take things sincerely, seriously like a relationship, and it wounds me and defeats my purpose whenever I am distracted and taken away from that “moment” of creative bliss. Yet, I don’t give up. I will come back to it to find my lost precious moments.

We are only humans, and we have our ups and downs; we can fail, fall and be dragged to the ground unconscious. Or we can be hoisted up high in our own pedestals, lifted in the clouds to touch it with our open hearts. It’s a cycle of life, they say, and we must be strong and fortified to either fight it or be swallowed whole by it.

Fame is a dangerous thing if one is not ready for it. And so is Failure, if we are weak to rally against it. Yet both carry with them a tinge of loneliness, unavoidable and necessary, to check us in our moments of glorious ecstasy, or delirious agony.

So we hoped, we hoped that we will overcome the barriers that prevent us from reaching our goal on the either side of being alone. But be careful now…Embrace only what your heart can carry, and let go of everything that felt unnecessary.