Damn What A Ride, and I Ain’t Finished!

"Hey.  This is your daughter…!"

Yea!  I was like doing my own thing at my desk top computer when a "you got mail" notification flashed.  It was from someone with the nick name "Diva."  For a moment, I thought it was spam, then I saw those first five words.

Judge me all you want.  Frankly, I don’t care.  I mean, what could you possibly know about my former life? 

Her brother (Yes, I have a son too), who is 18 months younger, relayed to her that he had seen some of my Youtube videos.  Good!  I had been hoping they would see some of them regardless of what they ended up thinking about me.  At least they could hear it "from the horses own mouth." 

The last contact we had ended off on a sour note.  It shouldn’t have, but it did all because their mother allowed them to read a message from me that was never intended for teenagers to read.  I expected their mother to exercise higher adult discretion, but I guess I should have known better.  If I had been a teenager reading what I wrote, I would have felt hurt too.  But the fact that their mother allowed them to read the material amounted to more evidence that  (1) their mother was playing a control freak game; (2) that their mother was doing her best to keep the kids isolated from me; and (3) that the main point I was making in that message was all the more true.

My daughter and son reacted like normal teenagers which indicated to me that their mother simply didn’t get it.  Refusing to play her game, I told her "under the circumstance, I want nothing to do with any of you…"  Of course, "under the circumstances" flew over her head, and probably theirs too.  But, like I said, they were teenagers.

Yea, I decided to get on with my own life, and I’m glad that I did.  But, I also decided in my own mind that I would leave "the door" to my life open for my children to walk through voluntarily on their own.  I would not force myself on them, nor would I avoid them.  I made no predictions about that, but simply began living my own life openly and honestly for all the world to see.

For many years, I had maintained an open presence on the internet.  I made website bearing my name.  I joined several well known social networks (MySpace, Friendster, etc).  I posted pictures of myself, my friends and loved ones, my travel experiences, etc.  When YouTube came along, I began making videos.  Through it all, I had a silent hope that my children would come upon my web presence and make up their own minds what they would think about me, and whether they would pursue any sort of positive relationship with me. 

Last night, August 31, 2008, my daughter made contact.  She asked me to add her to my MySpace page.  I did.  I’ve sent an invitation to her brother.  She’s beautiful.  He’s handsome.  Wish I knew more about them.

She’s got children of her own.  Three!  Two are twins born recently.  I guess that makes me a grandfather.  She’s remarried, so I guess that makes me a father-n-law too.

They all live in Idaho, and I will move to South Korea within a few weeks.

My first visit to the Philippines was
a mix of “first things” and, so, an awakening to many realities for me. It was my first time using a passport, my
first time flying passed the borders of the USA, my first experience with
Philippine Airlines, my first time to visit San Francisco, my first experience
with immigration officials, my first time using my bank card in a foreign ATM
machine, my first time being a blue-eyed English speaking human being
inside of white skin surrounded by thousands of brown eyed, Tagalog speaking,
human beings inside of various shades of brown skin, my first time in a mall
containing more than three floors, my first time watching an entire movie standing up while
inside a theater whose every seat was full, my first time riding in tricycles
and jeepneys, on and on and on. It,
however, was not the first time I heard groaning and moaning and felt the
weight of a man falling upon my back from exhaustion shortly thereafter. But, up to the year 2004, the year towards
the end of which I completed my forty-seventh lap around Earth’s sun, less than
the number of fingers I’d ever had on any one hand (not counting the thumbs)
could be counted the number of men who had penetrated my ass.

Jerry, from a previous blog, had
called me “an Asian fucker,” not that I ever cared, an accusation at which I laughed,
because, really, even in his case, I was the one getting fucked (not that I
thought of that as a bad thing, actually it felt pretty good, woo hoo!). What did that say about him? Was he getting fucked? Who was he fucking? Get out the score sheets, and let’s
compare! Now, I’ve amassed no bragging
rights about my fucking life. I mean,
shit! Who in hell cares! Sheesh!

It was the summer of 2004, and I did
my best to prepare for a safe and pleasant trip, but from the moment the plane
left San Francisco to the moment it returned I kept my mind engaged and alert
to whatever happened in between. My
passport, as I learned, made it possible for me to enjoy twenty-one days, not
one more, in this part of the world where I had hopes of experiencing Philippine
culture, transportation, food, and beer with about a half-dozen individuals
with whom I had enjoyed many Yahoo chats over the course of a year. Not all of them were gay. Not all of them were men. Some of them knew one another. Some did not. Tom was not one of them, but some of them were friends of Tom (from
previous blogs). All of them had invited
me to “come over.” So, I thought, “Why
not?”

Through an ATM gift card, I sent
funds over to take care of a month’s rent on an apartment plus enough to rent a
car and driver to fetch me from the airport. While there, though, I learned that my own ATM card worked just fine in
many ATM machines, so I was able to take care of all my other needs
too. One of them was the purchase of a
used cell phone I used while there and gave away just before my departure. Over all, the apartment along with my food
and transportation needs required less than one thousand dollars.

Each and every one of the friends I went to
see went to great lengths to look after me, to make sure I was safe and sound, and
guided me in their world full of food I had never eaten, a language I had
barely heard, and sights I had never seen. I ate rice, lechon, pancit, banana que, sisig, buko, squid, pig’s blood
cooked, and even balut.  I drank lots of
bottled water, plenty of Nescafe and a few cans of San Miguel brew.  I danced at a club, walked along Manila Bay,
rode a bus alone, rode a jeepney by myself, and I even attended a funeral. Muntinlupa, Paranaque, Makati, Quezon City, Malate,
Bulacan, and Subic Bay were a lot to cram in to twenty-one days. I won’t lie by saying I never said or did some
things that contributed to broken hearts while I was there. Nor will I say that I never enjoyed intimate
contact with any of the men I knew while I was there. Mutual hugs, kisses, and body contact from
men and women who were not strangers felt good. If you must know, I penetrated no one, and no more than two men then and there penetrated me. Now you know that might add up to two more, at the most, than before.

Beyond information as personally
private as all the numbers and codes to my accounts with banks and other legal
businesses, I hold on to few secrets now days, and I am determined that I will
not add to that collection be it made up of one, two, or three at the most. In due time, I will let go of such secrets
for they will unlocked the correct chamber that houses the perfect fit, the
perfect nugget of truth, for all correct thinking about matters of which I’ve
already made known. Those who care to
know the truth shall clearly see that my love, and my love alone, was the one
and only reason for why I, painfully, held on and that, my love, and my love
alone, will be why I’ll let it go. Once
I have set it free, I predict that I’ll have to say not one word more.

“Ron never was my boyfriend. I had no intentions of staying or returning
to Atlanta. He was only a passing fling… The
stupidest person…” Tom said to others I knew. “Fuck off old man,” mixed with a litany of sarcasm and ridicule, was
among the last bits of direct communication he sent to me after he had made it
to Seattle and then to California apparently not suffering too much and perhaps
better off than he had ever been. He had
become quite popular in the “Asian for Whites” chat room. He, I’ve been told, was a hot item on
cam. His profile pictures (a few made in
my house) left little room for doubts. So, it wasn’t difficult making contact with him. He claimed that I used him to help me move
and called me “chicken” and “an Asian fucker” when I didn’t play along with his
instant message demanding for an “accounting” of tasks he did at the house for
me. I tried to apologize for my
contributions to the situation and offered to help make amends, but I didn’t
accept blame for any part of it that was, indeed, beyond my control. I would have been glad to have helped him
monetarily, but in no way was I going to pretend that I solicited his help and
that he had been a hired hand. He said I
robbed him of his dignity and that I dumped him “like a potato.” I asked him how. Then I reminded him that it was he who got
silent on me for weeks before coming to Atlanta and that, after arriving in
Atlanta, he could have worked matters out with his supervisor and stayed with
his training, and that he could have easily stopped communicating with and
seeing me. Then, as usual when he got
angry, he (apparently) added me to his ignore list. That was during 2004-2005.

It’s
now the year 2008, so it’s been
5 years since I first moved into my house, Jerry left Atlanta, and Tom
began
giving me this silent treatment. Since
then, I’ve bought a new refrigerator with an ice maker, a new lawn
mower, some
new furniture, a garage full of heavy duty “Gold Gym” brand work out
equipment,
a new car, a couple new desktop computers, a few laptops, and I’ve been
to the
Philippines at least eight times, so, in a sense, the missing $600, as
useful
as it could have been, hasn’t affected much. Jerry, who is at least 35
years old, sweet Christian that he claims to
be and still posting that he’s 26 and 27 (Why not? God has nothing to
do with
this, right?), has had face to face opportunities to give it all back
to me or
to tell me what he did with the money. But
old habits can die hard and word can travel fast, so through the years
of
silence I may have learned much more than I would have otherwise.
Through all his song and dance about how Ron
had hurt him, as so many have related to me (whether they knew it or
not), not
once, not even once has the matter of the $600+ surfaced in the
stories. Did they even know about it? Did they know where it came from
and what it
was for? Did they know what he did with
the money? I didn’t bring it up either,
because I was intrigued and thought it all too comical as so much
blatant pretense
and dishonesty kept unfolding right in front of my eyes.

Given all the drama at the time in my
own life, knowing so little about immigration matters, not knowing what exactly
was going on everyday half a world away, and being so new to the world of
online chat, I bit off more than I could chew.  Letting down my guard I surrendered to charm
and refuges that brought tender sighs of relief during a hectic schedule full
of frustrations. Paying no attention to
my better judgments, I added my own indulgences and romanced in a world of
bliss that I swore I could see but, indeed, could have seen did not exist. I have no one other than myself to blame for
that.

So! What happened next? I’ll get to
that.

A few years later, after I had
visited the Philippines a few times, I became more and more acutely aware of
the “cheating” games being played so blatantly by so many that I knew, some of
whom were married, and so many I didn’t know. Not all Filipinos played this game. But, once I was told by one, “Everyone does it!” “What so-and-so doesn’t
know can’t hurt him/her,” was a slogan I read and heard over and over again. Carrying more than one cell phone in order to
leave no tracks had become an art. Friends-covering-for-other-friends was executed with style. Even the one who began to curse my name a few
years before masterfully played the games. His participation was no accident. While he swore to the man he loved
who lived on another continent that he wasn’t fucking around, his lured bottom conquests,
cute men they were and oblivious to the marital romance, out numbered the
fingers on at least one of his hands. More
than one source confirmed it all so.

“You lying son of a bitch!” Jerry
typed into the instant message window. What
could I say in response?

After Tom had arrived in Chicago, to
the internet he went. In deliberate
pursuit, he found Jerry, where else but as usual and not a stranger, in the “Asian
For Whites” chat room. English speaking
men in Canada, Europe, and throughout the USA were there too. His verbal gun fully loaded, aimed, and while
holding his tongue steady against the trigger, it was the moment for which
Jerry had hoped would come. 

I was more concerned now about the
$600 I had sent to him to help cover my air fare. Again and again, I asked him about it. Again and again, he never replied.  How has he justified keeping the money and not replying?  Who knows?

On Saturday, Mom and Dad arrived on
time just as they said they would, and they brought a few extra hands to help
us out. By early afternoon we were able
to move all but a couple car loads of what remained of my belongings in the
apartment to the new house some forty miles away. Afterwards, we enjoyed a meal time together
at a local all-you-can-eat restaurant. Boy! Were we all hungry! Soon
after that, the family left to return to their home about a hundred miles
north.

So far, I had succeeded in
getting electrical power and water services connect and turned on. Internet service would require another few
weeks. Natural gas service personnel
would be coming to the house the next day, and they needed someone there to let
them in to do their job. Tom offered to
stay at the house all night. He was an
angel and the first person to get to spend a night in the new house. Before I left, we simply sat on the sofa
while a CD of Michael Junior played and the lights were all turned off. A couple more car loads would finish the job
of moving. I had to work at the school
the next morning, so had to return to the apartment that night. I hated leaving Tom there by himself, alone,
no phone, no TV, no internet, and no hot water until the gas service had been
connected and turned on. But, at least
he had a bed to sleep on. At the
apartment, I slept on the floor.

The next day after work, I loaded the
car at the apartment and headed for the house. I could take a hot shower in the morning and we could cook our food on
the stove. So, I would stay the night,
my very first night, at the house and load the car one final time the next day
after teaching all day at school.

Tom had helped me move a
refrigerator, a second hand one I had bought for fifty dollars, into the
kitchen. Not only that, while I was at
school teaching, he began unpacking all my belongings and setting up
house. One day, he mowed the lawn. Each morning he cooked breakfast for me. Several times, he tried his luck at making
home made cookies. Although he could not
be legally hired at the restaurant, he went with me and stayed all Friday and
Saturday nights helping in whatever way he could. Yea! A
few times we showered together. A couple
times, we enjoyed a bubble bath together. More than once, he asked if he could go inside of me. More than once, I nodded. More than once, he was gentle and sweet. He lived with me all during the month of
September. Inside my mind, I wished that
he could stay, but knew that his visa would expire, and besides, he’d be moving
on soon. His flight arrangements had
been set for early October. So, while at
work, I pressed on with my plans for visiting Jerry in the Philippines for
Christmas.

I cried the day that I had to take
Tom to the airport. I was glad to have
met him and had enjoyed his time with me, yet I hated what the situation had
become. I felt guilty for some of it,
but not all of it. Nagging questions
kept gnawing on my mind. Why had he
remained silent on me for all those weeks before coming to the USA? Why had he insisted on quitting his job
training? It was good paid hi-tech job
training! He knew it was temporary, and
that he and the rest of the team were bound to return to the Philippines to
implement their training in their jobs. What
was so bad about that? Why did he not
want to go back? Why couldn’t he learn
to get along with his supervisor? Why
did he quit? What exactly was going on
in his head? Yes, it could be said that
had I told him about Jerry, he wouldn’t have bothered to meet up with me the
first time. But, I could just as well
say, he could have stopped seeing me after I told him. Besides, before telling him, all we did was
go out for appetizers on one evening and pizza on another. Enjoying a kiss while in a parked car,
holding each other at night, and sleeping together was as far as we carried our
intimacy. It wasn’t until after he quit
his job that we began to enjoy more.

I had not mentioned to Jerry anything
about Tom living with me. In fact, I
didn’t talk about Tom at all. My new
house was in a new subdivision of the community, so there were delays with
phone and internet service. So, chats
between Jerry and I had to occur during the day when it would be night time in
the Philippines. After a couple weeks, seemingly
out of nowhere, Jerry popped the question, “Ron, what’s going on with Tom?” I
didn’t quite tell a lie, but I didn’t tell the whole truth either. “Tom had grown more and more disgruntled
about his work situation and had plans to fly to Chicago soon. I would take him to the airport. There was nothing that Jerry needed to worry
about.” But, what did I know?

The next day, while at my teaching job, he emailed me, and
it seemed he was getting more furious with each message. I agreed to visit with him that evening. Later, as we sat near the swimming pool, he told me
that we were being watched and that his supervisor had become suspicious, and
they were talking about sending him back home to the Philippines. I told him that I didn’t see any reason for why
he couldn’t help his supervisor put suspicions to rest and why he couldn’t
stick it out for the few months of his training.  I also
told him I didn’t see why we couldn’t still be friends. By Friday, he was determined to part company
with his training and he asked me to meet him at the apartment complex on
Sunday “while everyone else was at church,” to pick him and his belongings up. I agreed to come.

All that same week, during the day while I was working at
the school where I taught, Jerry and I were chatting using Yahoo Messenger. We continued to mix our charm and our
Christmas plans into the chats and do the math about how much money I had sent
and how much more would be needed. “Ron,
how is Tom doing?” 

I told him that Tom had become disenchanted with his
job/training and that I had been visiting with him for as much consolation as I
could provide as a friend. Jerry told me
he didn’t like the idea and that he didn’t want to end up being treated “as a
second fiddle.” I told him there was no
need for him to worry about that, and that I was taking care of everything (my
moving, my two jobs, my utility, phone, and internet arrangements) as best as I
could. “I don’t want him at your house….
All hell will break loose…!” He
reiterated. It seemed to me that he
enjoyed that control freak position and was ever so anxious for such an
occasion to occur. Well, an extra $600 had
landed in his lap, so what was there for him (or anyone else) to lose? As I later learned, he had been fucking
around with other guys all along (after all, what Ron doesn’t know can’t hurt
him.). I guess one could say that I, in
effect as it all turned out, dumped him too and (reluctantly) accepted my loss
as part of the cost of involving myself in such a hellish drama.

“Ron, they are still here!” Tom said. I had worked all Saturday night, had gone
home to shower, and was at his apartment complex as we had agreed. I drove my car to an inconspicuous place and
thought “What now? I’m tired and ‘all hell is about to break lose’ because I’m
trying to help a friend.” During the next several hours Tom sneaked his way
twice to the car with a packed bag in hand. As we drove away, I thought “all hell is about to break lose.” I felt worn out. I needed sleep, so I drove to my apartment.

I didn’t know the date of his flight to Chicago, so I didn’t
know for how long Tom would be staying with me. My parent would come to the apartment that coming Saturday to help move
my belongings to the house. From Monday
until then, I would go to my teaching job while Tom stayed at the apartment
where there was no TV, no phone service, no internet connection, and not much furnishing. I have to hand it to him though! He occupied the time by doing as much packing
(with what was left) as could be done. He cleaned out the cabinets, the bathrooms, and the closets. He even checked all the expiration dates on
just about every consumable product in the apartment and gathered together what
was expired. Also, he took time to begin
a needle point project. I hated leaving
him in the apartment alone, but I made sure he had plenty of food to eat. 

We slept beside each other every night. That felt good. I hated his situation. I hated the direction
this turn of events was taking.  Working two jobs and getting all the moving
done was wearing me out. When I lay on
the bed for the night, I sighed relief and simply didn’t focus anymore at all on
all I need to do.  He touched me and I
touched him. He held me, and I held
him. It felt good. I didn’t want to fight the good feeling. While lying on my back, he whispered, “May I
go inside of you?” I nodded yes. Gently,
he pursued. 

Throughout these blog postings I have repeated stuff in case
you, the reader, are reading the postings day by day rather than all at
once. Why am I posting all this? Well, mainly I simply want to try to get it
all off my chest, and I’ll keep posting and posting until I am satisfied that I
have let it all go. I’ll admit, there’s
a wish that the other characters will read these and do their own postings for the
entire world to see. Yea! I like everything being out in the open!

A few days after first meeting Tom,  I signed a mortgage agreement and got the keys
to my new house. Jerry and I continued
to chat all that we could. He knew I had
taken on a part time job and that I was about to, finally, move into my new
house. He knew that I would have to
disconnect my internet at the apartment and wait for service at the new
house. School was about to start, so I
could chat with him during my break times from the classroom where I taught. As it turned out, school started before I
could get all the moving done, and my parents offered to help on a weekend
afterwards. I had a deadline with my landlord. Things were hectic, but, with the help of Tom
and another friend, I did manage to get a truck load moved before school
started.

After working all Friday night, I drove directly to Tom’s
apartment to pick him up. He told me he
still had to get permission and asked me to wait in the living room. From there, we had to drive all the way back,
nearly 40 miles, to the town where my new house was, where I had a large truck
reserved.  Finally, we headed to my
apartment, and we met up with another friend of mine who had agreed to help us
out. We spent all morning and early
afternoon loading up the truck, driving to the new house, unloading the truck,
and returning it to the truck rental location where I left my car earlier that
day. After all that, we went to my
apartment, showered, headed for a pizza parlor, and began shopping for a SIM
card that would work on his phone.  After purchasing two that ended up not
working, we had to begin calling it a night. My other friend had to leave, and I had not slept in over 24 hours. We slept next to each other and enjoyed
moments of passion throughout the night without doing intercourse. The next day (Sunday), after sleeping late,
we returned to his apartment where I dropped him off.

Each of us had a full work week to complete. I had to work my second job all night on
Friday a few hours after working the first one during the day. I was not yet living in the new house, for I
had more belongings to move and arrangements to make about phone and utilities connections
at both places. All week, while at my
teaching job, I chatted with both Tom and Jerry.

On Monday, Tom sent me emails expressing much disenchantment
with his job. Gosh! It was his first day on the job. What was the deal? From what he said, it turned out that it
wasn’t the job itself so much as it was the treatment he said he was getting
from his Filipino supervisor at the apartment complex. He said the supervisor had jumped on his case
about being away from the apartment that weekend. He said he had been forced (with others) to
attend a prayer meeting and that no one would take him to stores to find a SIM
card for his phone and personal supplies that he needed. He said he wanted to “run away.” He asked me if I could get him a job at the
restaurant where I worked and could he stay at my house. At the moment, I’d forgotten all about
standard documents that, by law, had to be completed before anyone could be,
legally, hired in the USA, so I agreed to ask my boss about it that coming
weekend. Then, I decided that I had to
break the news to him about Jerry. I
told him that he was welcome to stay in my house as long as he wished, but that
I had, during the three weeks of silence, found another guy who I was planning
to go see during my Christmas holiday. “You have just broken my heart!” he replied. He continued, “I am so upset, I can’t talk
any more right now.” By the middle of
the week, I agreed to visit with him at the apartment complex where we sat out
in the parking lot and talked. While
talking he called a relative who lived in Chicago (he had some time left on his
current SIM card). He spoke his own
language, but I gathered that he asked for assistance on arranging for a flight
to Chicago. Then, He gave the phone to
me, and his relative told me that he would reimburse me for expenses I paid on
Tom’s behalf. After returning his phone I
told him that I still loved him, but the three weeks of silence had left me
hanging leading to the change in circumstances. I reminded him that he had my email address and phone number and that he
knew my schedule for the remainder of the week.

Later, several months later, he told me that if before he
had left the Philippines I had informed him about Jerry he would not have
bothered to meet up with me. Was that
true? We’ll never know. I do know that I felt I had not done anything
out of the ordinary and that this turn of events was nothing I could have
predicted. I didn’t (and still don’t)
know everything that was in his mind. Was he truly in love with me? Was
he using me as “a passing fling?” (As he clearly stated on a later date) Was I merely a stepping stone in between
point “A” and point “C?” I don’t know,
and why, knowing what I know now, shouldn’t I consider that alternative? At the time of the “crisis,” I viewed myself
as a friend trying to help a friend. I
didn’t beg him to let me help him. He
asked me for help. Why didn’t he simply
stay with the job and simply stick it out for a few months?

I’m not at all proud of how I handled this. In fact, I’ve been very disgusted with my
failure to live up to my very own behavioral standards. Why on earth was I even engaging in this sort
of drama! Anyone could guess well enough
based upon all the circumstances. I can
speak only for myself. My perspective is
only my perspective. Other characters in
the story have theirs. I wish that all
of our “laundry,” clean and dirty, would be hung out for the entire world to
see. I mean that.

Tom told me that within days he would be bound for my metro
city and would be training there for several months before moving on (to where,
he never said). Where the hell had he
been for the last three weeks? For all I
knew, he had changed his mind! Now, he’s
on his way to the metro city near where I lived!

Honestly, I wanted to meet this person with whom I had
chatted several weeks before. But, I
didn’t know how to tell Jerry about it. What did I do? I told Jerry all
about my chats with Tom, except for the “would you want to marry me” part. I didn’t think it would matter, after all
(for all I knew, as I had been told) Tom would be leaving after a few months, so why bring it
up? Jerry told me that “all hell would
break loose” if I cheated on him. I
scolded him for being so quick to jump on my case, after all, it was I who
volunteered to tell him about Tom. That
alone (I later learned through several sources) was much more consideration for
Jerry than Jerry was exercising for me, for he was flirting and fucking around
as much as ever (After all, what Ron didn’t know couldn’t hurt him).

I felt no need to tell Tom about Jerry, for Tom would be
leaving my metro city after his training. Where from there? I never
knew. Would I see him again? I never knew that either. So, in my mind, I decided it shouldn’t be a
problem for me to meet up with Tom after he arrived, and that I should be able
to carry on with the plans that Jerry and I had been making for Christmas. 

Tom sent me the address to the apartment
complex where he and his fellow employees would be training. I conducted a map search and a test drive to
the location, and learned it was about only 30 miles from the apartment where I
would live only a couple more weeks.

I don’t remember how long it was after he arrived before he
called me, but I do remember driving to his apartment immediately
thereafter. Wow! I was actually going to meet someone from
half way around the world. I was
actually going to meet with a person who helped me make so much charming conversation! In less than 30 minutes, I was knocking on his door. It was a pleasant meeting. We both had smiles on our faces. To me, it felt like a relief, a breath of
fresh air, an unbelievable moment coming true. I asked him if he would like to go to a nearby restaurant to enjoy a
snack. He said he had to, first, get
permission. After he did, we rode to a
well known Mexican restaurant a short distance away. He didn’t
know much about Mexican appetizers, so I made it an educational venture too,
and our waiter played along. Before we
went inside, though,  before getting out
of the car, we enjoyed a very pleasant kiss. Yea, very pleasant!
After enjoying the appetizers, I drove him around the metro city and to
my apartment where he could see that I was preparing to move. Once inside, we embraced and held each other
for a moment. During our conversation, I
agreed to drive him around on the following weekend to help him purchase a
pre-paid SIM card for his cell phone.  I offered to drive him to other stores too.  He
agreed to help me load and take a haul truck of my belongings to my new
house. We agreed that he could spend
that weekend at my place. Fully clothed,
we held each other while lying on my bed. My world was new to him, and his was new to me.  I drove him back to his apartment. Altogether, we had been away for about four
hours.

Then, I met “Jerry.”

The “Asian for Whites” room was always well attended. It gained the reputation as “The Manila Room,”
as my “adopted brother” (he was born in Thailand but, through his mother’s
marriage to an American, was adopted, and was living in California) commented a
time or two. I knew very little about
the Philippines, and everyone with whom I chatted from there seemed so willing
to educate me somewhat. I learned that
the country was made up of over 7000 islands basically divided into three major
geographical regions. Basically, as it
was said to me, it was a third world country, but had its share of rich people
too. I chatted with Filipinos from all
over. Some had never been to any of the
other islands. Most were chatting using
computers in internet cafes. It became
apparent that living in one area of the Philippines could be (as is true in the
USA) as different as night is from day from living in another area. But, this crash course only scratched
surfaces.  I’m sure chatting Filipinos
were having similar educational experiences about the USA.

So, I met “Jerry,” and our chats began the same way every
time.

Hi!

Hi!

How are you?

Fine! You?

Fine.

I checked his profile time and time again. He said he was 26. He said he had an aunt in Michigan and would
soon go visit her. He said he didn’t
smoke and that he was Christian. So much
of all that turned out to be false, but what a delusion I gathered from it!

We made our chats charming and entertained all sorts of
possibilities of how we could end up being together. I even consulted with a few lawyers, to no
avail, about “adopting” him. I pondered
a goal of three years to leave the USA and make my home in his country. For God sakes! I was about to sign a mortgage agreement on a
newly construct house!  Why was I even
engaging in this sort of drama?

I began studying visa and immigration matters and began
learning out how difficult this could turn out to be. For several weeks we chatted for hours nearly
everyday. Eventually, I asked him would
he want to marry me. He said, yes, and
we began talking about me flying to his country for a Christmas visit. We agreed that each of us would pay half the
airfare. He enlisted his mother’s help
to help us find a good deal. I began
sending him my share.  It all seemed
simple and sensible enough. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, after three weeks of silence, a message from, Tom popped
up on my desktop.

Hi!

Hi!

How are you?

Fine! You?

Fine!