Posted in london, Music

The day I became a willing Victim: The Killers at BST Hyde Park 2017

Disclaimer: major fangirling ahead.

You reach a certain age where its just ridiculous to queue up early and wait 12 hours for a band to come on, boiling and sweltering underneath the unusually blistering London sunshine, no food, minimal water due to fear of peeing and losing your spot…I am delighted to say that I have not reach that age yet. At least, not when it comes to The Killers.

The only birthday present I asked from my sister and pseudo-sister was that they queue up with me at 7am so that we can be first in line when The Killers headline BST Hyde Park. And bless their heart, they were there with me right from the start, and they weren’t even as big a fan as I was. All they asked for in return was a Sausage McMuffin from McDonald’s. We came prepared with fully charged phones (on airplane mode), powerbanks, Kindles, playing cards and anything we can think off to pass the time. I even bought a super cool chair from Amazon that looked like an ordinary picnic mat but actually has like a stand so that its like an improvised beach chair.

I bought the chair for my friend Katie, the coolest mum-to-be I know. Almost 6 months pregnant and she was willing to try and make it through the day and watch The Killers with me. She was sensible about it, she did her research and did everything possible to enjoy while keeping the baby’s safety a priority. She never complained about the discomfort, although I’m sure she must have been worried. I know I was quite anxious. Especially since to my everlasting surprise, we managed to nab the best spot in the world right up front, leaning against the barrier with no hindrance to our view of the stage.

Katie, Cat and Me. 😘
My sister Arlene, my adopted sister Romelyn, me Cat and Katie
Best spot in the house!
Calmly reading her Kindle while waiting for The Killers. #pregnancygoals

I have to say I’m so happy to share this with not only my sisters but also two of my closest friends, Katie and Caterina. Cat has seen them in Milan and from the start, she offered to go somewhere safe with Katie if the crowd gets too much because she said I deserved to be up front enjoying myself. She wouldn’t even allow me to feel guilty about it. Do I have the coolest friends or what? Spoiler: we made it through the entire show through sheer will, determination and by working together. BEST SEATS IN THE HOUSE.

And the wait was worth it.

From the start of the set, The Killers electrified a crowd of 65,000 who had waited the whole day to see them. I’ve been to concerts like these before but I have never felt such engagement from the crowd. Most of them knew every word of the lyrics, and almost everyone could belt out a well-known line. The Killers knew what their fans wanted and they delivered hit after hit after hit. It was a setlist designed to please the fans rather than to promote an album, and it was awesome. 

And Mr. Flowers? Well he was the consummate showman. Strutting out with a pink leather jacket, well, the lyrics says it all: ladies and gentlemen, you’re looking at The Man. But apart from the strut, the swagger, the charisma and that voice, it was also plain as day that he was so damn happy to be there.

Ive got news for you baby, you’re looking at the man.
I don’t mind if you don’t mind, cause I don’t shine if you don’t shine
When every one’s lost, the battle is won with all these things that I’ve done.
He admitted that Read My Mind was his favourite part of the night, got the crowd through the rousing chorus of ‘I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier’ and embodied Mr Brightside during the night’s final song. You know you’ve achieved something when you don’t have to sing the lyrics of your band’s signature song because the crowd is doing it for you.

It was awesome. I have never wished so badly for the night to go on forever but all good things must come to an end. But I have enough memories to last me a lifetime. I am now and forever will be a Victim. Thank you Brandon, thank you Killers, you were worth the wait. 

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Posted in LGBT, Lifestyle, relationships, romance

Love Wins Part 2: The Wedding Ceremony

I was and always will be a sucker for weddings.

There is something about it that fills me with so much hope. In this world where you can barely get a decent date, it seems like a miracle to me that someone could actually find a partner to share their life with. And in a way, Daim and Tom’s marriage is nothing short of a miracle. 

I’ve already talked about how happy I am that we have become so enlightened as a society such that two men getting married is now almost as commonplace as a wedding between a man and a woman. And I also think its fantastic that through sheer chance, Daim and Tom’s wedding happened to fall on Pride Weekend in the UK. Everytime I see them as a couple, I always think #lovewins. I’m sure it could not have been easy for them to get to this point, and while their story is not mine to tell, I know that they’ve made a lot of compromises along the way to become the partners that they are now. I have no words to describe how happy I am for them.

There were two things that struck me about this wedding. Two things other than the fact that everything was so gorgeous and meticulously planned. First was how accepting everyone was of the fact that this was an occasion of two men getting married. No one remarked upon it, it wasn’t an issue throughout the day, and we’re talking about two cultures (British and Filipino) who are quite conservative and strict about sexuality. But today, it wasn’t about any political correctness or equality, it was simply that everyone was there because they loved them both and they would love whoever it was that either decided to marry.

The second thing was how much the two cultures were equally represented and celebrated. I’ve always thought there was a great divide between the two cultures that no amount of love could ever span and the most you can hope for in an interracial marriage was that one partner would tolerate the other. But today, not only were those two cultures accepted, they were also celebrated. I could not stop a tear from falling when Tom was given the traditional Filipino blessing by Damier’s mum. Or when the person officiating the ceremony told everyone to stand up to greet the bride and groom because this was a Filipino culture. There was a wedding breakfast which is traditionally British (and confusing to me because this was at 4 in the afternoon) and a hog roast during the ball which is the closest thing to the traditional Filipino lechon that you can get in England. 

Their families all tried to get on and interact. The naturally reticent and shy Filipinos were welcomed by the more sociable British. The children were fast friends and playing together by the end of the weekend.  They both had a mixture of British and Filipino friends. It was absolutely beautiful. And I think this really parallels the relationship between these two men. You could not find two people who are more different, but rather than loving each other despite their differences, they love each other becaue of it. Damier’s certainly never voluntarily set foot in a musueum before Tom. And before Damier, I’m sure Tom had rice with his meals about once a month. 

At the end of the day, its not about all the ways in which they are different, but about how they grow together to merge those differences and achieve the kind of partnership that will last. I know this wedding is visually and aesthetically stunning, but I think it would still have been beautiful even if it were in a barn full of hay and horse manure simply because of the joy and love that filled the occasion. 

I love coming to weddings because they fill me with hope. There are things that will last, that will stand the end of time. There is still room for the kind of love that makes you a better person because of it. The kind of love that breaks barriers of race and gender, this is the kind celebrated here today because as Maya Angelou said:

Love recognises no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to its destination full of hope.

There is so much happiness going around the room today that I have not stopped crying since the wedding started. I am so so happy for these two men. They deserve every happiness and every good thing that’s coming their way. Congratulations Tom and Daim! 

Posted in Books, Reviews

Review: Black Water Lilies – Michel Bussi: MIND BLOWN.

 

Its 1 am and I’ve just stayed up late to finish this fantastic crime/mystery book. As I said, I recently joined the Armchair Murder Book Club at Waterstones‘, which meets every first Wednesday of the month. You can imagine my panic on Tuesday night when I realised that the meeting was the following evening and I haven’t even started the damned book yet. Nonetheless, I decided to make a start so I could at least have something to contribute to the conversation. At the last meeting, some people didn’t finish and it didn’t really make that much of a difference because there wasn’t really a big reveal to spoil. I honestly thought the case would be the same for this book.

WRONG.

This book had one of the best plot twists I’ve ever read in my life. I don’t know if its because I haven’t read a good mystery book lately, but this one just blew. my. mind.

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What?! 

To my everlasting regret, I unfortunately learned of the plot twist during the meeting when I was still 30% into the book, but my mind was still blown. I was speechless for a good 2 minutes, which for me is a long time. I could not wrap my head around it.

The Blurb

Three women lived in a village. One was eighty year old living in a mill overlooking the river. The second was a pretty school teacher trapped in a loveless marriage. The third was a child progeny with the gift of painting. All three were trapped in the picturesque village of Giverny, famous for being the inspiration for Monet’s paintings. All three longed for escape.

Three women lived in a village. “The first one was mean, the second a liar, the third and egotist”. For thirteen days, the gates of Giverny were open for a possible escape but only one would make it out. The third woman was the most intelligent, the second one was the most cunning, the first woman was the most determined. 

This is a riddle solved against the background of the brutal murder of a prominent businessman who had a passion for Monet and an even greater passion for women.

Things are not what they seem.

The Review

I am not going to give away any plot twists. Suffice it to say that during our book club meeting, one of the other readers pointed out that in the hands of a less brave author, this book would have been written very differently. It takes courage and talent to have written it the way it was written; the plot was tight and there were no glaring holes that would make you say “but what about the time when…?” when the big reveal was finally unveiled.

The story generated a lot of discussion during the book club, even from me and I didn’t even finish the damn thing. I was kicking myself for the entire hour and a half for not finishing this book. Ultimately though, I can’t really say that my reading experience was less satisfactory because of the fact that I’ve already been spoiled. I read it with the understanding and  perspective of someone who already knew what was coming so I could look at certain plot lines and see exactly how the author cleverly placed red herrings deliberately designed to mislead us, but actually the clues to the real story were there all along.

This book is ultimately about the chances you take and the tragedy of a life that is not fully lived. I can’t really say much without unintentionally spoiling it for everyone. However, as tragic as the circumstances may seem, I find upon finishing it that there was no other way for the story to have ended and that things happened exactly as they were meant to. All the victims were victims of their own actions or inaction; one of my fellow book club members pointed out that it was hard for her to sympathise with any of the characters, and I agree. The characters will annoy you to the point of wanting to give up on the book, but DO NOT GIVE UP ON THE BOOK  because the payoff is worth it.

The writing was very fluid. I tend to be biased against books that have been translated from a different language, especially French, because sometimes the translation is too stiff and something inevitably gets lost in translation. However, this was so well done that I forgot that this book wasn’t originally written in English. The prose was seamless and easy to follow. Michel Bussi was very descriptive (almost too descriptive) that it really created a nice atmosphere for the story to unfold. I now want to visit the town of Giverny and see Monet’s pond for myself.

Armchair Murder Book Club

Kudos to the book club moderators at Waterstones’ for the awesome choice of books. I can’t wait for the next one. Readers in London, if you’re interested in joining like-minded individuals geeking out over books, check out the Waterstones website for events at the store nearest you. Usually, the book clubs are at the flagship store in Piccadilly, my happy place, 5 floors of bookworm heaven. There’s free wine involved if you want to check it out. Our next book is The Collin Case by Ferdinand Von Schirack.

Good night and good morning bookworms!

Posted in Books, Reviews

Book Review: The Mysterious Affair at Styles 

If you’ve followed my blog since I’ve resurrected it, you’ll know that every review I make will inevitably be linked to some kind of anecdote from my childhood. Far be it for me to disappoint readers at this stage.

My love of detective novels sprang from the days when I used to rummage through my older cousins’ collection of Nancy Drew novels. I loved how she would collect clues, make deductions and ultimately unmask the culprit and it would turn out to be someone that I wasn’t expecting. I always tried to play the game of whodunit but Nancy was always one step ahead of me. I loved those books. Every time I got good marks in school, it was a toss-up whether I would ask for a new Nancy Drew novel or the latest Sweet Valley installation. Sometimes I was able to sweet-talk my mum into buying me both.

From The Mystery of The 99 Steps to the books where she collaborated with The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew was a constant companion during my teenage years.

And that was a good thing because I think she influenced me to take pride in my intelligence, never mind the fact that she was also a leggy strawberry blonde. Anyway, I grew up loving whodunit and crime/mystery books. I bought all 45 installations of JD Robb’s In Death books for more than just the Eve and Roarke storyline, I genuinely love a good mystery. I am still waiting with bated breath for the next installation of the Cormoran Strike novels.

Dear JK Rowling, I know you’re probably busy with the Harry Potter prequels and being a scriptwriter and such but I need you to write the next Cormoran Strike novel please.

I was looking up things to do last month because I was really really bored and I wanted to participate in something that I can be passionate about. So I thought I’d join one of the book clubs that meet regularly at Waterstone’s Piccadilly. There’s an Armchair Murders Book Club that meets once a month and it was after one of those meetings that it came out that I, bookworm extraordinaire, have never read an Agatha Christie novel.

Seeing as I live in Britain and was attending a book club whose members were primarily British, you can imagine the looks of incredulity and aghast that I received after I let that little fact slip out. Agatha Christie is a British national treasure; I think she might have been made a Dame or something. She’s so famous that even though I’ve never read any of her works, I do know of her. So the manager at Waterstones decided we’d remedy this little affliction of mine then and there and proceeded to place Agatha Christie’s first published work in my hands with the strictest instruction to buy it. Like immediately. I was pretty sure I would be refused entrance to my favourite bookstore if I didn’t comply, so buy it I did.

So I’ve only just finished the book last night and boy, was it an experience. Have you ever watched an episode of Sherlock? Yeah, the feeling is the same. Halfway through the book I gave up on trying to pretend I had a brain and decided I would just let Hercule Poirot solve the mystery for me and enumerate the ways in which I have been too obtuse to see the clues to the murderer’s identity. I would enjoy the book far better that way.tumblr_nr92xgTYYd1uzk74go1_500

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The book is set in a country house in Essex. Emily Inglethorp has been poisoned in her own house and all evidence seemingly points to her new husband, 20 years her junior. Hercule Poirot has been brought in by his friend Hastings to help solve the mystery. Did the husband do it? Could it be either one of her stepsons? Or perhaps, the butler? I’m kidding.

The book took me on a wild ride of seemingly innocous instances that turned out to be significant and events that were made a big deal of but turned out to be inconsequential. There was a point when I had no idea what was going on, all I knew was that I was thoroughly entertained. Hercule, like many men who are too intelligent, is also a little bit crazy I think. He reminds me a little bit of Sherlock as portrayed in the tv series. giphyPoirot would go off on tangents that would turn out to yield frutiful information, he would notice everything, he’d already anticipated how each person would react and had forestalled it with a countermove of his own. Seriously, if I didn’t know better, I would think the current incarnation of Sherlock was influenced by the Dame rather than Sir Arthur.

There were no high-tech gadgets involved; Poirot used good old-fashioned observation and powers of deduction. Ok, so some of the plot twists were a little too contrived and convenient. But they weren’t far-fetched. In fact, I suspected one of the plot twists halfway through the book but there were a lot of red herrings that led me astray.

All in all, I found it a really great book, a real page turner, unputdownable. I really liked her prose, it was easy to read and the writing was elegant. I particularly liked how she used her experience of being a pharmacist (not to sure if it was a pharmacist or a nurse) during the war in the use of poison as a murder weapon. I was also really intrigued by the insight into the approaches to medicine during that time period, it makes me appreciate just how far we’ve come.

I’m surely going to read the other Hercule Poirot and maybe the Miss Marple books as well if this book is any indication of the rest of the series. Thank you Waterstones for the recommendation!

Posted in Food, Lifestyle, london

Saving Berwick Street Market, and the simple pleasure of eating street food

Yesterday, I was having one of those rare occurences in my life: a weekday off, and my sister and I decided to go out and get our nails done in preparation for the big wedding this weekend. I rarely venture around my street on weekdays so while I knew that Berwick Street is a popular place for people around the area to have lunch, I didn’t quite realise its impact on the people who work in and around Soho until I saw a sign thanking people for petitioning to save the Berwick Street Market.

I’m sure I got the flyer in the mail, but it must have been one of those weeks where I was working 70 hours a week and anything that had nothing to do with the nhs or orthopaedics were pushed to the back of my mind to be attended to later. So this market has apparently been independently run for about 300 years but the Westminster City Council is aiming to privatise it (ugh, story of our lives) so someone started a petition at change.org. 

I am not socially conscious and I don’t always fully understand the implications of privatisation. But I do understand tradition, and how important it is to have continuity, the pleasure one takes in carrying on a routine. 

When I was in high school, there were two or three street vendors who would sell fish ball, squid roll and fish tempura outside the school grounds. They’d have these mobile frying pan thingies where they would fry these delicious treats after which they’d be skewered in barbecue sticks and we would be able to dip them in the selection of sauces provided (sweet, chilly and this vinegar mix that to this day I can’t quite recreate). 

It probably wasn’t the most hygienic thing in the world, but in the Philippines, we weren’t much fussed about those things. I think as a result, we as a people developed strong stomachs and, short of actualt typhoid, can tolerate pretty much a range of food-borne bacteria. We were all perfectly capable of asking our parents to buy these things in the supermarket to have at home, but it just wasn’t the same as queuing up with all the other skids after school just to have fried fish ball. It became part of the after-school socialisation routine. 

It was even more special for me because I was raised quite strictly as a child and I never stayed late after school on account of the need for me to study AND tutor my younger siblings. But on the rare occasion where the driver would pick us up late, i was right there queuing with all the other kids, excited at the prospect of eating a simple street food. 

I think my love of street food and street markets stemmed from those days. When I travel, I have never been able to resist the lure of the street market. When I first arrived in London, I went to all the markets: Borough, Brick Lane, Camden. London is full of them, especially in the summer, and they’ve become a tourist attraction as well as places to eat. But Berwick Street is special. Its local and its home. I feel kind of bad that I didn’t do much to preserve something that’s been here since before I was born, but I promise I will try to patronise the local businesses here as often as budget allows. 

The food really is tasty and quite affordable too. Usually of Meditarranean and Lebanese origin, they offer a selection of gyros, falafels, lots of lamb, wraps, halloumi, etc. There’s also a fresh fruit and vegetable stall if you don’t feel like trekking through nearby Chinatown to find produce. Seriously, I love that I live so close to this. Hopefully, it will be around for a long long time. 

Posted in Books, relationships, Reviews, Women's literature

Book Review: The Robber Bride and the world’s fascination with infidelity

An abundance of mistresses…

What is this fascination we have with infidelity? We gossip about it over morning coffee, talk about this person’s marital woes over a glass of wine after work and discuss the nuances of a failing relationship over supper. For those of us who’ve never experienced being cheated on, we think we have the right to criticise or pass judgment. Those who are seemingly secure in the strength of their own relationships even condescend to give advice about how to keep your partner happy. Others have the audacity to say ‘leave him’ as if its as simple as returning an unwanted Christmas present.

Shortly before I left the Philippines to come to the UK, infidelity seemed to be the most popular subject in my country’s entertainment industry. Movies with titles like ‘The Mistress‘, ‘The Other Woman’, ‘No Other Woman’ and television series like ‘The Legal Wife’ were all the rage back then. The public lapped it up; it was the topic of many a Facebook posts and internet memes, lines were quoted and the inevitable confrontation – and ensuing hair pulling and inconsolable crying – drew a million viewers, myself among them. I remember a couple of year ago, a movie called ‘Etiquette for Mistresses’ came out and the hue and cry along the 7,107 island of the Philippines could be heard all the way to Europe. Critics claimed that it glorified cheating; its a movie that suggests to idealistic little girls that being a mistress is glamorous and fun, something to be considered as a lifestyle choice, like choosing to be a vegetarian.

 

SERIOUSLY. SERIOUSLY?!

Intelligent women degrading themselves into this role. And for what? The illusion of love. Love is not love if you can’t shout it out from the rooftops. What is the point of love if you can’t be there for another person because you’ve even relegated to some sordid background role where you can only care for the person in secret? I can hardly claim to be an expert on relationships. And I always think it doesn’t do to air your lofty views because you never really know how you’re going to respond to temptation until it actually comes your way, and you don’t want to be known as a hypocrite after. But I’d like to think that if I were ever in a situation where I was seriously tempted, I would find the self-respect to say no. Because I respect myself and my fellow woman far too much to ever be a mistress.

Zenia: The Robber Bride AKA The Anti-Mistress

The Robber Bride is the last of the trio of Margaret Atwood books that I’m reading and reviewing. Out of the lot, I found this the hardest to read, digest and make sense of.41y7iBx7i2L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_

Ros, Charis and Tony all had one thing in common: at one point in their lives they’ve been brought to the lowest of lows because of Zenia, this fascinating creature whose primary talent was to draw men into her company; to tempt and seduce them until they succumb to her charms. She wants what she can’t have. actually no, that’s not accurate. There is nothing that she can’t have. It would be more apt to say that she wants what she doesn’t have and when she inevitably gets it, she despises it. So she seduces these men, sucks their souls dry and then leaves them when she tires of them. And they’re left in a daze, wondering what happened, a broken shell, a pale shadow of the men they used to be.

When I read a book, I feel so much sympathy for the main characters that sometimes their pain becomes my pain. I knew going in that this book would be about cheating, so I was already in tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the inevitable infidelity committed by these women’s husbands/partners. And when it does, I do feel so sorry for them.But I have to admit I also feel enraged. Enraged that they would tolerate it; that they would condemn the deed and the other woman but forgive their husbands. I think Zenia is right. Towards the end of the book, she tells Ros that she should put more responsibility on her husband’s shoulders because at the end of the day, its not about what Ros or Zenia did or didn’t do: her husband did exactly what HE wanted to do. Its so easy to blame the other woman, but actually as cliche as it is, it DOES take two to tango.

I think Tony really captured the essence of what Ms. Atwood wants us to feel when we read this book, especially for us women (I reckon men would be a bit frightened of this one). As much as you want to hate Zenia (and you do, she’s a conniving little viper), you also want to cheer her on for having the balls to take on the men of this world and beat them at their own game. She calls no man her master, she gets what she wants from them and they can’t hurt her. To a wife, someone who is always burdened by the weight of expectations that come with that role, that must seem exhilarating.

It also seems incredibly lonely.

Lately, I’ve been wrestling with the feeling that I’m missing out on something by continuing to pursue my independence and not seriously thinking about settling down with someone. It might be nice to come home to someone and to have a partner in all my endeavours. But do I really know what that means or am I still looking through rose-coloured glasses? Am I really ready for that level of commitment to another person? I’d like to think so. But I’m afraid that I’m probably a little like Zenia myself, going after what I want (though I’ve yet to be a home wrecker lol) and to hell with the people who judge my choices.

Goodbye Ms. Atwood

Its been a real eye-opener, reading all these books about women and feminism. I think Margaret Atwood really is one of the premier author of women’s literature, and there’s a lot we can learn from her books. They tend to be long and sometimes overly descriptive; I’m sure I could have done without all the descriptions of foliage, scenery or the really wonky spiritual metaphors that just went over my head. She also has this habit of digressing and writing a whole paragraph about something that I thought did not contribute to the story at all. But then, maybe the whole paragraph was a metaphor for something the character was going through and I’m too shallow to see it. I don’t know.

But when you get to the heart of the story, when she starts weaving the tales of these women, its transcendental. This isn’t light summer reading; she’s one of those authors whose books  you read, put down and digest, maybe read something fluffy in between chapters, and then read again. You won’t finish it in one sitting and neither should you, because you will need time to understand the implications. But give it a chance, do not DNF her books. Forgive the metaphors. Its worth it.

 

 

Posted in Fundraising, Medical, Nursing

Raising Money For Prostate Cancer Research: A Personal Story

A few months ago, I found out that one of the most important person (if not the most important) in my life had elevated prostate specific antigen (PSA) levels. Being a nurse, my mind immediately leapt to the worst possible conclusion. For those of you who are non-medical, this antigen is usually elevated in people with an enlarged prostate. And the reason for such an enlargement may be benign or it may be indicative of prostate cancer.

I still remember that sinking feeling in my stomach when I found out. I felt like the edges of the world had suddenly gone grey. I could not wrap my head around the idea that this person, who always seemed infallible to me, could be afflicted with the dreaded C word. Yep, 4 years of studying nursing and nearly 10 years of experience and I can’t even bring myself to say the word out loud in relation to someone I love.

The worst thing is being so far away and not being able to be personally involved in caring for him. I wanted to go to every medical check-up (to make sure he actually goes, as he is stubbornly resistant to the idea), to oversee each medication dose and to just know for sure, one way or another, so that we can deal with it. Rationally, I know that it could well be harmless; I mean elevated PSA levels are normal as a man advances in age. But I have always been something of a hypochondriac. Whenever I have a stomachache, I immediately think I’m having appendicitis. My mind just goes there. So I am now living with a certain level of anxiety until someone can tell me for sure that it is not cancer.

Look, I know that things happen. Things change. Nothing lasts forever, everyone has to go some time. But I am not ashamed to say that I’m not ready to live without this person yet okay? We don’t see each other all the time, but knowing he’s there for me to come home to, it keeps me going. Its the reason why I’m able to explore the world, go on adventures, reach for my dreams, because I know that anytime I want I have that to come home to.

This is why when my friend Dengei asked me to help him raise money for his Berlin marathon, I immediately thought of sharing my story. Its deeply personal, and I’m getting emotional writing it. But I also know that I’m able to reach more people if I write from the heart. So, here it is. My friend Dengei is running in Berlin to raise money for Prostate Cancer Research. And knowing that there are people out there who are making strides in looking for a cure, its what keeps me going. The thought that maybe, by raising enough money for research, I could be potentially helping someone I love dearly…its everything.

I wish I could run for it myself, but I’ll probably expire before I get to the finish line. But I’ll hopefully be there to cheer him on when he gets to the finish line. Thank you for doing this denj. I don’t tell you enough how proud I am of the things you do, but I know you know that I am.

If you guys want to help, follow this link. Every little bit helps. Together, we can beat this.

 

 

Posted in friendship, LGBT, relationships

Love Wins: A Love Letter to Damier

Dear Damier,

Here  we are, one week before you finally marry the love of your life. 5 years ago when we first met, you seemed so sure that you would never get to this stage. You never thought you’d find the person that you’d plan a future with, that you’d share the rest of your life with. I’m so happy that this is one of those times when I can prove you wrong, because you have found HIM.

I remember when same-sex marriage was approved in the States last year; I immediately thought of you, although its been legal in the UK for a while. I always say that I can’t imagine a world where you don’t get to be your fabulous self. I can’t imagine a world where someone gets to decide who you can or can’t have feelings for. I can’t imagine that someone would think you’re somehow less of a man just because you happen to be in love with another man. They don’t know your courage, your generosity, everything that you’ve sacrificed, how hard you’ve worked to provide for your family. You are more than a man than most of the men I know. You just also happen to be good at shopping and putting on make-up for me. :p

You’ve always been my number one fan, and you know I’ve always been yours. Without you, I wouldn’t be the confident and empowered person that I am. You’ve always encouraged me to avoid setting limits for myself when it comes to my physical attributes, because that’s always been one of my biggest insecurities. But you’ve taught me to break through those barriers. In return, I am telling you now that I will fight to the death to make sure no one ever sets barriers for you. You can do anything daim, and we’ll be there to cheer you on all the way. I cannot wait for you to reach this milestone in your life, I just know that you are going to make the best husband. Tom is a lucky guy and he knows it. 🙂

I’m not going to get too sappy; I’ll save that for the wedding. I just didn’t want to end the night and not say how happy I am for you, and how much I think you deserve every happiness that comes your way. Happy Hen-Tag buang! I hope you enjoyed your Butler in The Buff. I’ll see you at the wedding. Xx