durante decepciones

Orración en decepciones

O Dios, ayúdame a aceptar las cosas tales que son. Ayúdame a no gastar tiemp en remorrdimientos vanos y recuerdos tristes.

Ayúdame a volver a buscar universidades e a intentar otra vez. Ayúdame a no solo fijarme en mis propias cuestiones sino ayudar a los demás y a fortalecerlos para que también se animen con las oportunidades de las que estan frente. Ayúdame a aceptar las cosas que estan por detrás y a seguir adelante, hacia las cosas que están por delante (aunque ir hacia atrás no es nada malo es solo una dirección pero mirar por detrás yendo hacia adelante puede crear problemas).

Digo este por el amor de ti.

Update 21 Sept 2011

‘Oh oh oh I’m in love with Judas, Judas’ goes the song by Lady Gaga that I listen to at work. I would be lying if I said it was how I feel, because I am in love with Jesus and right now it’s 5:05 am. A few minutes back, I had one of my fantasy sessions with my lover right after reading Psalm 63; the Psalm that speaks to true body and spirit desire for Him. In any case, the Gaga song is catchy, but I would disagree with it on the point she sings ‘Jesus is my virtue, but Judas is the demon I cling, I cling too’. Judas was certainly no demon. He was a human being who actually followed Jesus. He was the one who betrayed Him, but was this really so reprehensible? About three weeks ago, we had our Heroes Day weekend (26 Aug) in Namibia and I went up to the north of the country to visit my grandmother, have my cousin take her to the hospital (though my dad should have done but he is unfortunately pretty ‘flaky’ – unreliable – when it comes such things) but he did end up coming through in the end we took my grandma home in his car after we visited the dentist (who studied in Cuba – like many Namibians – and I spoke to a bit in Spanish, though ideally I should have spoken to in Oshiwambo (my dad’s mother tongue)). The north of Namibia is flat with palm trees and white sand, almost like beach sand. On the way to my grandmothers house my dad tried to ride up the side of the road and the car got stuck, on the ridge of this gravel road. We were there for about an hour and half. Thanks to the Lord and our efforts we managed to jack up the car and he could reverse. I enjoyed the sunset then as I could see this giant red, then pink, disk descend on the horizon. In New Jersey I never saw the horizon.

Well on the way home to Windhoek my dad, a singer called Blossom and myself had this discussion about this lady Gaga song. Blossom is an acoustic guitarist singer and my father is her agent of sorts. On the way we stopped on the side of the road to take pictures of her with the grassy landscape and his of the north central region. My dad started photography again by shooting these promotional pictures. Good for him. But our debate centered on the Judas song. Blossom eschewed the lyrics claiming they were evil, offensive to her as a Christian and incited evil actions. I did not agree. Eventually, we had this philosophical discussion on whether Judas was actually evil. My dad presented the case of Judas doing something necessary, even though he betrayed Jesus, it was not by chance, as if it were just by chance that Jesus was condemned to death. Blossom still argued that what he did was wrong and Jesus would have been killed anyway. But would He?

I wonder. Nonetheless, I loved that road trip with my dad. It reminded me of how when we were younger, he would talk about the Bible with us after reading it, questioning the obvious. My dad also loved the Jesus films. ‘Jesus is my hero’ I remember him saying.

Soon after when we got home, my dad returned to his busy life and so did I. I called him the next day to tell him I had gotten the Fulbright grant to do my masters in epidemiology and he was happy. I spent much time over the next few days writing up personal statements and thinking about where I would study in the US again. The following Saturday we were invited to a barbeque by my Venezuelan friend Raquel. I knew about the BBQ (what is a parilla in Venezuela, braai in Namibia) for about two weeks and told my mom. I prepared some guacamole, some Bulgarian yoghurt, dill and cucumber salad (tarator) and took some meat form the Freezer. We went off and picked up a young lady – Suama – who was from a rural town up north east. She told me she was writing her final grade 12 (senior year) exams soon. She wanted to do ‘something with the body’ , like a beautician of sorts. She told me this on the way. ‘Do you all have your seatbelts on’ Raquel asked us and I did, my mom did, Suama did not and she put it on. Not much later we were swerving of the gravel road. Another gravel road, but this one we had never been too before and it led to the Oanab Dam where the braai would take place. Oh how we rolled and then luckily landed back on the ‘car’s feet’. Do I describe in detail what happened next? Suffice it to say, Suama ended up showing she could calmly add disinfectant my mother’s head wound. I advised her later when were in the nearby Rehoboth St Mary’s Hospital to consider medicine. Actually I said that when were also at the accident, right after me and her got out of the car and she nursed my mothers wound.

So is now the time to say it? Praise the Lord. We survived. The stiches have been removed from my mother’s head wound. Suama is fine (she was shaken a bit), Raquel, I hope is recovering well, should call her, she has whiplash. I just have an inflamed tendonitis of the knee, but I am going to physiotherapy and icing so it should get better. Since then I have not been able to do my dance, the one I added too while my dad and blossom were taking photos on the side of the road and I was playing around. I praise the Lord for what I can do though, walking normally. This is my chance to come back stronger than I was before.

Surviving the accident really put some things in perspective. First I experienced what it meant to be hurt. I remember receiving and email update from Mana Christian fellowship and Sumin saying she got hurt in China (was during a concert, she fell in some pit or what) and I felt that. I realize now I could have prayed harder for her recovery – did I realize what exactly this meant? I had to come to terms with my own fragility. I am not only fragile, but as professor Cornel West so articulately put (I listened to a podcast with his 2006 Barry Ulanov lecture!) to be human is to realize I am destined for death and between now and then is my chance to do something. Do I just accept complacency, cowardice and the current circumstances or do I do something in spite of all that? Listening to a podcast by Bishop Gene Robinson, I found out, really the only thing I can offer other people is ‘the story of my own salvation’ especially members of this same Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Intersex community I see myself part off.

The second thin in perspective is just taking it easy. ‘Relax take it easy…’ goes that song by Milka and I definitely agree! I may have problems at work of me not communicating well with my boss and colleagues, delivering after the deadline, up to the point of my boss doubting whether I am ‘the right person for the job’ which caused me a bit of anxiety yesterday, but you know what, it don’t matter because I am alive. I am alive and we worked out a good ‘action plan’ from now on. The type of work I do at this public health organization is like consulting and I am so blessed to be working with my colleague Natasha who has offered to mentor me in this field. ‘Our first year in consulting is our training year, so we do get a bit of stick…’ she was telling me. So how did I end up in such a job? It is very stimulating, but hey, still it is after all just a job and I will be taking care of my health so no more late nights at the office (which I did often before the accident) or anything like that. I am only human after all. And did I mention Natasha is Christian, from Aruba and we get to speak Spanish in the office?

The third I realized, (I now realize there are more than three things I learnt from this experience), is the shortness of life! Ok here I want to write about something. What is it? Falling in love. Am I in love? Right after the accident, I called up this boy – Michael – who called me just before it happened, but I did not answer his call. I was quite impressed with his concern though upon hearing about what happened to me. I wanted to go out on another date with him, as we had our first date the week earlier. That same Saturday of the accident, I had a date set with another boy, Riaan. Riaan though did not call me, as usual he just texted. I told him I was in an accident, but for some reason, which was kind off a turn off he asked ‘so are we still on tonight?’ We rescheduled for the following week, but he totally bailed on me, as he actually confirmed our date. So I went out on a second date with this black boy Michael and never heard back from the white boy Riaan. Race I think does matter, because my general attraction for white boys must stem from the years of indoctrination that presented white people as the pinnacles of beauty. Being with Michael on the second date made me realize it matters so little, actually. But I am not with Michael. After the seocnd date, I wrote this poem

How do I write this piece?
On a paper or just in my heart?

Perhaps neither – in this computer – will suffice.

How do I write about you when I am not in love?

I just wanted to be held and hold you in that embrace.

Outside the Church and in the light

What a beautiful night.

Questa non è una ossessione, anzi è solo il fatto che sei affascinante,

E non ce la faccio a rinnegare questi pensieri di te.

Questo fascino.

Un abbraccio erotico ma non satanico

Pieno di eros ma niente lussuria

Direi

So that was my second date, with the first guy I have dated.

Will we date, I don’t know, we’ll wait and see how I feel tomorrow.

He knows I still look at guys as they pass go

So we will have to see

But let it be, what should be.

I did not feel like I wanted him tomorrow. Honestly, not really. I dreamt of meeting a Guataemalan guy at my work who was waiting outside my boss’s office, where a meeting was underway. I did not dream of him. I never actually approached him – he approached me one day at the shopping mall. There is no reason to keep seeing him. Yes, I have resolved, I have taken the decision, that we just be friends. There is still much I can share with him. He is a believer too.

Now I want to move on to speak about people I miss. I miss Craig Schindewolf quite strongly. I dreamt of him sometime ago, some days after the accident. He had longer curly hair. I think I was projecting how I look now onto him. I tried calling him on his cell phone, but each time I get voicemail. Where is he? Is he alright? He wrote too me on that Manna poster with the big group photo ‘thanks for being a true friend’. But why ‘thanks’ and the ‘being’? Was that it? Should our friendship end? Just because of the physical distance, une separation de corps?

Alright its 5:59. Time to do yoga and ice my knee. Time to get ready. A new day. The break of morn.

P.S. I would also like to know about your love lives and I want your advice on what to do next. All of my non-Christian or let me say, non self defining Christian friends such as Chinonto, Mariel, Jacob Denz, Lady Adjepong, would give me feedback and affirmation. But I know that some of Christian friends may not, simply because they can’t affirm something they believe to wrong. I am glad though that Rich Lopez posted a video update of his to song ‘Firework’ by Katie Perry. I love that song and have it even more since then. The lonely guy in the bar who intrepidly goes up and kisses another guy amidst the crowd. Singing that video, Rich, is affirmation enough. Although I could never do that, well not only because I would not have the guts to do it, but more so because I am work in public health and I think about Hepatitis B…yes it can be spread through droplets in the air and in Namibia it seems about 6% or so of the working population is positive for the Hep B surface antigen, which means they are actively infected (correct me if I am wrong Peter, perhaps you can explain the Hepatitis B story in simple way for us all).

Diary of a Gay Blood Donor

20 July 2011

Dear Diary
When I think of donating blood, I feel so good inside. I know some people are afraid of needles, while others are bit squemish when it comes to seeing their own blood flow into pouch that fills up to about a pint of liquid (as much as a dumpy), but I am willing to endure this so that another person may live. I asked my friend Henry to donate with me the next time I go. Like me, Henry is gay and he also believes in donating blood. But today I realized that to be gay and to donate blood carries a certain restriction one has to put oneself, a restrction on the desires of the flesh, if one could so speak:

Me: So we'll donate when u get back. Remember to use a condom and plenty of lube.
Henry: Ha ha lol, ur bad. I'll remember to tht whn I do my thang.

I remember sending him this text message when I found out he was on his way to Johanessburg, I know how easy it would be for him to find a man and have casual sex with him. It was then that I realized that Henry would not be able to donate if he had sex with a casual partner, even if it was protected! On the Namibia Blood Transfusion Service (NAMBTS) donor form there is question that asks:
'Have you had sexual intercourse with a casual partner in the last 12 months?' I therefore had to write Henry another message to warn him of what the consequences of casual sex would be:

Me: But if you have casual sex,you won't be able to donate blood with me ;(
Henry: Relax,Pancho, I'm not a manwhore, I'll donate with you.
 
The disclaimer on the NAMBTS form reads : '...because a condom is not 100% protection against HIV, you should not donate blood if you have had sex with someone who might be infected with HIV'.  My impressions of gay men in Namibia is that they are actively disqualifying themselves from donating blood. They are having sex with short-term or casual partners, and I have approached by more than one of them on more than one ocasion. I chose to stay an eligible blood donor and I hope Henry will too.

When HIV first appeared in the US 30 years ago, contimated bloood transfused to unsuspecting hemophiliac patients,who often lose blood due to uncontrolled bleeding, was the unfortunate consequence of the actions of HIV positive gay blood donors who believed they were saving lives. Since then, our screening techologies for HIV in blood have improved considerably, but are still not 100% sensitive. And as for gay men and other men who have sex with men, they are still statisically most likely to be infected with HIV in the US. Hence the question on the US blood donation form:'If you are male, have you ever had sex with another man since 1978?'  I was not even born then, but I would still answer no. But that may change once I decide to break the (unenforced) sodomy law of Namibia.
Then I would not be able to donate blood in the US.

However, I'm not in the US right now, I'm in Namibia. Here we can still donate provided we meet the criteria for low risk HIV infection, just like anyone else. This reason for this may be that the HIV epidemic amongst MSM in Namibia is thought to be just part of the larger generalized HIV epidemic amongst Namibians .This is not the case in Johannesburg (where Henry was going!). A study in Johanesburg found found men who have sex with men to have significantly higher HIV prevalence rates than that of the general population, a situation similar to that in the US and Western Europe. So while you can get married in those places, you can't donate blood as a gay man (though efforts are underway to repeal this, at least in the UK). In Namibia, we can donate blood and lets keep it that way. I pray that Not Another Man's Blood Test Seropositive (NAMBTS) for HIV. And as for marriage, it will come eventually.

--
Pancho Mulongeni
Communications Officer
Namibia HIV Clincians' Society
writinghealth@gmail.com
+264 814456286

--
Pancho Mulongeni
Communications Officer
Namibia HIV Clincians' Society
writinghealth@gmail.com
+264 814456286

July 16th

I at home and in my room, just beyond the corridor I can hear my aunt’s (my mother’s friends speaking). The discussion is now about a different clans and the maternal and paternal systems. ‘We all belong to different clans’ ‘A group of your family has a name’ says Maria to Aunty Marta’s daughter, who is a teenager , born in the new Namibia and may not know about this. ‘Clan is your blood line’ says auntie Peggy, ‘You are a cow,’

Ofamilie ya tate gwoye (your father’s family), also says Aunty Maria. ‘Tell me I’m your mother’ says Aunty Marta to her daughter , ‘Aunty Maria already explained it to me’ came the reply from the irritable teenager

‘Why do they call you Makena?’

‘I don’t know!’ comes the moaning reply.

So here I am in Namibia, with my family, in my house, with my mother and brother. Sure I cannot do everything that I would like to do now, but still I should enjoy these moments.

I wanted to perhaps spend hours and hours writing more about my life, my failed attempts at getting a boyfriend (ok or getting a date), my advocacy (today I went round our neighborhood telling people about a biodiversity talk aimed at raising awareness about green open spaces in city coming Thursday – I got their emails and I will send out reminders).

There is only so much I can do in that department.

And then, I would love to continue my LGBT ideas – my picnic idea – the letter reading event and all.

Not to mention writing to the Namibian alumni of the United World Colleges and telling them about the Botanical gardens event and so many other events.

Then there is the mundane stuff: revising my budget, doing my laundry, fitting in the lock in my door which does not close (perhaps I should start with that!)

And today is Saturday evening the first day of the week, this week my father’s birthday week (somehow) I count the week according to the Jewish way, sunset to sunset. That’s why Friday one hour before sunset up to Saturday one hour after Sunset I try and relax from the about 9 hours a day I work during the working week

Its really crazy! And then I want to write to so many of my friends: Mariel, Emilie, Mohammed, Karlis, Ellen-Marie, Roderick, Marco, Danny, Michael Kowen, Josh Weinstein, Daniel (Molbio major in my class, black, studies medicine UNC chapel hill).

I feel this heaviness. This utter heaviness of being overwhelmed. Should I even go to the Christian youth group?

Devrais-je écrire à Rickie?

Oh mon Dieu, aide moi, parce que je ne reussirai pas autrement.

Fui andando por mi barrio sensibilizando la gente sobre el encuentro de la biodiversidad,

¡ Hay mi curso de español que empiece este semana!

Tengo que hacer planes concretos. Hay que hacerlos y prioritizar.

Y por lo tanto, no hago matemáticas todos los días, ¿estoy poniéndome menos flexible en mi mente ¿¿o qué efectos supone no hacer estos ejercicios todos los días?

Ok let’s do a priority list:

1. Replace the door handle in your room.
2. Poster: Town-Thumb tacks, Biodiversity meeting-WB
3. Go to Yoga (Sunday)
4. Door your laundry (and math while you wait)
5. Write the reminder for the Botanical Talk
6. Pray Pray Pray.
7. Go to the Office: Proofread Bophelo! Report
8. Email: Biodiversity invite to Dorado people.
9. Go to the HIV Society Meeting
10. Go to mass
11. Go home, rest.

Monday

Poster: MET Levinson Arcade, MET.

Plan work items: WHO paper, CoW issues/questions, ART study: tie up Uganda, NGO study: set interview times.

LUNCH DADDY BIRTHDAY

Spanish, Anuncio PolyTech

Dance

Tuesday

Lunch Claire of the FNCC

Wednesday

Spanish

Send reminder about BIODIVERSITY TALK

Thursday

Biodiversity Talk

Friday

Diaries of a gay blood donor

So this is what you could call a hobby. Its Saturday, and I am using this day as one to reflect upon. More importantly, I use to as a chance to let my creative juices flow unbridled in my writing. I may even be inspired to choreograph from this, but let me write about it.

Diary of a gay blood donor

Monday 13 June 2011

Today was the day I gave my presentation on the level of HIV infection in the Namibian workforce. I remember though, before I gave the results of Wellness Program – through which this data was collected – the CEO of the Namibian Business Coalition on HIV/AIDS gave the introductory remarks. Listening to him as I say just to the left of the podium (dais) from which he was speaking, I remember ‘this year marks 30 years since the discovery of HIV in San Francisco…we should remember how far we have come…25 million people have died of AIDS and 30 million are infected, and as you know, Sub-Saharan Africa is where most of them live’. He was addressing the business community in the context of diminishing funding for HIV interventions in Namibia, where HIV is truly a generalized epidemic, affecting both men and women, straight and queer people alike. ‘Are you telling me my son is a queer?’ was the line of the father as he stood in front of the cadaver of his son, alongside a doctor – the lead character in the film ‘And the Band Played On’. That is the only scene I remember from that film which chronicles the way HIV devastated the community of men who have sex with men in 1981. The epidemic spread beyond that community in the 30 years since then, as we know, but in the US gay men still are statistically more likely to be HIV positive. So that’s why in US, I could never donate blood. But I donate here in Namibia. The Namibia Blood Transfusion Service has the acronym NAMBTS. For me it means may Not Another Man’s Blood Test Seropositive for HIV. Lest they also bar us from donating here.

13 Julio 2011

Para mí, hay muchas cosas buenas de vivir en Namibia, aunque la unión entre dos hombres no se reconoce por el estado. Sí que puedo caminar por la calle en plena luz y fijarme en los chicos que me pasen (¿y éste se dará también la vuelta al pasarme para mirarme mi?) Otra cosa bonita es no tener miedo de expresar su propio atracción siempre y cuando te encuentres en un sitio público tal como una tienda. Hace dos días conocí a un chico que trabaja como dependiente en una tienda portuguesa dónde íbamos a menudo antes de mudarnos al barrio en el que ya vivimos. Al inicio le pregunté por su aspecto cansado y él no hesitó decirme estar cansado dado que estuvo trabajando desde las ocho de mañana y entonces eran sobre las cinco de la tarde. Me pareció muy interesado en charlar conmigo, quizás porque le hacía falta el contacto con otro ser humano o simplemente porque era agradable con todos los clientes. De todos modos, me dí una vuelta en la tienda para comprar mi pan integral (hacen un pan muy rico y negro allá – adoro el pan negro y en cambio me gustan chicos blancos como él). Al volver, dí el salto de preguntarle si quería almorzar conmigo y pasó así:

‘Espero que tengas por lo menos tiempo para descansar’ le dije

‘Sí tengo una horita de almuerzo cada día’ me contestó y no de inmediato se lo pregunté a no ser que me pusiera nervioso o tardara mucho tiempo en decirlo

‘Entonces ¿te apetecería almorzar con migo algún día?

Me dio una sonrisa y me fijé en su cara dulce y sus dientes irregulares, unos más grandes que otros, me parecía que no se esperaba a que le preguntara está pregunta que acabó de salirme a mí, que expresé sin equivocarme – fue claro que me entendió. No recuerdo bien lo que pasó pero recuerdo que me quité la bufanda mientras estuve esperando su respuesta como si quisiera mostrar mi sinceridad, sin alguna apariencia falsa.

De repente se puso una cara más bien seria y me dije ‘Sí Sí’

“Vale, y si dijera mañana, ¿qué dirías tu?” le hice la pregunta tras pasar el primer paso en este juego de ligar con él.

‘Mañana no me viene bien’ me contesté

¿Miércoles? sugerí

“Tampoco”

¿Jueves?

‘Sí jueves está bien’

No pusimos de acuerdo y le dije que como hay un café afuera – a unos metros de la tienda – podríamos irnos allá.

Bueno pero ya es miércoles y no tengo ni son número de móvil ni una confirmación verbal pues no nos vimos desde entonces.

¿Se lo olvidó ya o sigue pensando en mí tanto como yo en él? No se.

Pero, sea cual sea la conclusión de está historia, hay muchos sitios bonitos en Windhoek. Mi consolación es la multitud de hombres que voy a conocer en los días por venir.

December 1 2011

Good Morning

Today is world AIDS day

• Rights and freedoms lacking, but we have one right that gay people in the US, in SA and in most developed queer men (sisters are OK) can’t : donate blood.
• To be able … and keep on being able
• There are many things give up, but many ways of being queer.

July 2nd

So many thing have happened since that eclipse. The week after I went to an event organized by the LGBTI network. I met Etienne. Oh did we have a real life conversation? It was magical and what a connection.

Today I was with my neighbor Lorentia, at her house. I sat outside in her yard, with my back to her fence, in the dappled dying winter sunlight, I wrote this poem for Etienne. I had sent him a message last Sunday, after we met, through facebook, but there was not reply. Do I assume he is not into me or is it just that he needs time or that he is just cautious. Yikes! Along came a spider, right now, on my curtain. I do love arachinids, but not this kind, they are wide and flat with stripped legs. I could have caught it and fed it to the brown widow (Lactrodectus geometricus) that is handing just beside my wardrobe, over here. She is there, suspended waiting for prey.

Next week the national museum will be open including the arachnology department, where I spent many a good afternoon with Erin Griffin and the arachnids I came to love. I think I will meet interesting people there, just like I met these two Americans today the monthly walk at the botanical gardens – one an anthro student and his professor who is a department chair of a big well known US university.

Do you remember the line from Trick, the movie, I need to get it!

Miss Coco Peru: ‘So he comes in my eye and the next thing I know he’s out the door. Do you know what its like to have cum in your eye Gabriel, it buns! So I call the number he gave me the next and you know what it turns out to be the number of the Brooklyn Botanical Garden’.

I never went there, I guess I still can.

9^th July 2011. (9 de Julio 2011)

Nunca me ha contestado ese hombre, pero ya no me importa. Hay que decir que unas personas te contestan a su modo, es decir, no contestan, te ignoran a ti y luego lo entiendes que no quieren ligar contigo. Quizás eso fue lo que pasó con Etienne. Pero eso no importa más ni Philip – un germano namibio al que invité a almorzar conmigo hace casi un mes al conocerlo en el estudio de camel art y a los pocos minutos conocí a su novio –Memo que es mexicano. Aunque no me lo dijeron directamente, que eran una pareja, eso se hizo bastante obvio y no había que decirlo sino aceptarlo y entenderlo.

Bueno, ya estoy muy harto de todo eso, de está búsqueda interminable (me parece) de una pareja, de un novio entre los escasos hombres potenciales que se encuentran en esta ciudad. ¡Basta ya! Dios, ayúdame por favor, que tu paz me llene el corazón y que no me aleje de tu camino. Amen.

June 7 2011

Dear Blog,

There is so much one could write about so where do I start? Well, why don't I just begin by thanking the Lord. Thank you Jesus. That's a start. Now you may ask 'for what?' but is this as important. Well of course it is otherwise you would not be reading this blog post.

Thank you Lord for my brother and that tomorrow is his 19^th Birthday. Thank you Lord for Him in my life. I asked my parents for a brother about 19 years ago (I think) and they agreed. Our relationship is kind of frigid and cold at times, since I am twenty something and starting with my life as a gay man and he does not take kindly to the fact I am openly gay (or that I would be seen outside the house in tights or ladies shoes), but still I love his sarcastic approach to it 'How can you be Christian and gay...unfortunately you are going to hell,' He said that one day at the dinner table, I was moving past the fridge and he was still sitting down and the way he said it, especially the 'unfortunately' just made me crack up.

Then there is the way he sometimes swallows his words. Yesterday I gave him a pencil 'The New Otjihereo dictionary ' ( a new one from Otjiherero to English done by a Namibia Herero lady that lives in Rochester, NY) . That was what was written on the pencil – I got it from the launch. It was neon yellow (I guess I could have given him the neon pink one, I am sure he would still have taken it, I mean it's a pencil). He mumbled 'thank you'. The way he mumbles just melts my heart. When he does that I am ready to cook for him, even bring his food to his room (which I NEVER do) just because of how adorable he is. He has grown, much taller than me and I dare say more handsome.

Tomorrow, I think I will have some fun though – I am going to 'cake him'. My mother bought a cream, massproduced, cake for about U$3.15. I could hardly call it cheap given the number of people who live less than a dollar a day here, but honestly, its so mass produced, not that tasty and just about the right size for someone to smack it into your face. At Mana Christian Fellowship, I know how the students ,friends, fellow Christians used to that for each other. Somehow, I missed this rite of passage. I never was caked by them, though I do not resent that at all, because I still felt love there and still do from my friends and other members of the Mana fellowship (whom I adore, in fact, I love them all, how could I group into friends and 'others'?) .

So it is really cold, but I am sure my brother will still take his morning shower. My plan is the following: Wake up before him (at about 5:00 am) do yoga. Wait for him to open his door (my door is just next to his) and as he takes the step towards my mother's room I shout 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' and let him have it. Were it not for his birthday, I may consider this action wasteful and decadent, but honestly, this cake is of such poor nutritional value that it almost seems meant to be used for this very purpose. Oh am I gonna get it! My brother could beat me up if he wanted to, but will he?

He will take a shower anyway and then go to school. He is in his last year of high school now and next year he hopes to study law. I basically made him fill the application form for University in South Africa alone. Why? I wanted to instil in him the agency necessary to apply to University and I don't think holding his hand while he fills in the form would be helpful. I did offer to answer any questions he had,provided he had tried to fill in the form first by himself. This caused a lot of strife in my home, because my mother wanted me to just do whatever he wanted. But I held out. I know I may not be a parent, but honestly I am over just doing things for him. I really want him to be prepared for the world. And it seems to be working – just yesterday he told my mom 'No go back and click 'my computer' and try again, you did not do that, you need to do that, go back and do it!' after she asked him to help fix her internet connection (broadband). I think he realizes it's important to exhaust all of one's own capacities before going for help. If there was one thing I learnt at Princeton that must have been it.

Thank you Lord for my wonderful mom and my dad and my friends dear Lord (too many to mention by name here) and my sister and my cousins.

Then one more thing before I end this letter. At last, thank you Lord for answering my prayers! Thank you Lord for this boy Riaan I met (actually remet) last Tuesday. It was a cold Tuesday evening and I was heading home from the office (did I mention saying thank you for my awesome job that gives me a lot of work including the submission of abstracts, high level analysis of data and generally stimulation that I have not felt since Princeton?). He was in front of a bankomat, and I saw it was him. I passed on by. I had seen him there before, walking past that bank that has ATMS on the ground floor. I don't know if he noticed me. I knew he was gay, or at least into men, because I had met at the LGBTI party earlier this year. Then he was with his boyfriend Anthony. Flash forward. I wait for him to finish withdrawing his money and come back to his car, the only one parked on the side of this lonely road at this hour and cold temperature. He comes and I go 'Hey...'

 

I have to exercise great discipline not to relate to you our conversation, for it is private.  Of course, I remember every detail, nearly every word uttered between me and him as he stood at the side of his car. And now I do recall his smile, he inquisitive look. Did he decide then? Yes he did because he volunteered his number and I took it, although only under the pretence that I would remind him of the picnic I was hosting the next day. Even though he said he was not dating Anthony anymore, I still thought of him as taken. You never know with couples, they break up and then get back together. So there was no need in thinking of him that way. Now, however I do. I think of him 'that way'. His advances have been welcomed.  Though we have not seen each other since, we have communicated via 'text'. We've both been under the weather and I pray we will recover. We both want to see each other, I do believe.

 

Thank you Lord! How long have I waited? I now know my friends were right (about love)!

I do not know if I am love with him, let me first know him.

I do not know if he is the one, let first know if we will walk together hand in hand, under the sun.

I do not know what course this will go; would I be his second mate and he my first?

All I know is that I am happy for just the chance to date.

The rest I leave up to you and fate,

'O fate show thy force!'

 

May 7th 2011

Saturday May 7th.

Two weeks since Holy Saturday and so much as happened again. I sit and wait for the light cascading on wall to move higher and higher giving way to the shadow. Espero a que la luz cayéndose en la pared del jardín vaya por arriba dejando paso a la sombra que anuncia el anochecer.

So I will read my friend Rickie Siegle’s blog instead! I will comment on her blog!

Holy Saturday 2011

In as much as I know that I cannot possibly chronicle my life in a blog, I would like to take some time to write about it. Some time, not more than that and not less. Any more would mean I would loose out on life happening to me and any less would leave unsatisfied with what I write at the end of the day. Life has become so full, my cup is really overflowing. The different impulses for me writing come from nearly every single event that happens in my life, my life outside y room here in our house. I premedidate what I will write about and often the urge to write becomes really so strong it numbs that I just don’t know what to say. Well let me write about what happened inside this room of mine, for starters.

The room is on the lowest part of the house. I have the garden facing my window, or the back side of the garden, that part only we can see. There is a lemon tree infront of my window and next to a mango. We are really blessed with these fruits. Of course, those of you who come from fertile areas of the world, Tsheko – Zamibia, would perhaps think of the mango as banal. Here it is not that common in a garden.

My room walls are plastered with photos – rectangular snapshots – here and there. From my time in Italy to up to the day we went to that boy’s house in upstate New York (he graduated class of 09 – Denis yes that’s his name!) I actually don’t care for pictures at all. But I have always put them up since I went to the United World College of the Adriatic as a way of reminding me of the past and the people in it. Some of the photos are also from Bulgaria, with my grandparents, photos from my brothers christening into the Orthodox Church and others. That’s my decoration photos.

I also have some table cloths – one on my desk that faces the window – and two drapped down from shelf. Bulgarian red patterns, I love them. There is one that sis brown with purple embroided flowers that I gave to my mother for the birthday in 2009. She rejected it, not because she hated, but because I gave my father a plate as his Christmas present, a plate for him to use in his new apartment or wherever he stays (still don’t know, all I know are rumors, in deed I hear more about my father from my mother other people than I know about him). That is a whole story on it’s own.

I feel sometimes there is a whole backlog of issues I want to write about. As if experiences are saved in my mind, conversations recorded, movements remembered by my body all waiting for me to unleash them on this blog. Then I think to myself, did I blog about this can I go back and find it? I remember then that I do not remember what I blogged about, mostly. I remember that using a blog need not be an obligation. It is like a diary and I since I was 15, I always kept writing about things. This need not be a bad thing.

But last night I had just had dinner. The good Friday dinner at my house. The priest earlier at Church told us “ don’t go out tonight…don’t eat to much, just a little bit, and don’t drink to much, because you should suffer with Jesus tonight. Unless your doctor told you for medical reasons you have to eat this and this, then you can, but you can also choose to suffer with Jesus, if you want. But I always advise that you listen to your doctor, because if you don’t there will be consequences and then later Jesus will ask you ‘ so why did you not listen to your doctor?’

I love the Catholic homily’s always so pragmatic. So he did not prescribe us to fast as much as too just bear in mind the suffering of the Lord. Nonetheless, three of my mothers friends were over at our house and we had a dinner with them. Lamb with Spinach (a Bulgarian style of cooking) and an egg herb salad I made, with bread (whole weat: mine, white: for my mom). There was just enough food for all of us! Somehow there was. I had a torn slice of bread with penut butter as my desert, but that was it. So we did not plan to eat ‘litte’( such a subjective term, I am sure by the standards of many people here and most people in US, we would have eaten really little, but then for others perhaps this was indeed a feast). It just happened that way. I loved that we could eat together though on a Friday, the Sabbath, even though we had less than one would expect at a typical Sabbath dinner (but then again, I am assuming all Jews can afford to hold huge Sabbath dinners and perhaps this assumption needs questioning, seriously). I loved it. The friends of my mom have known me since I was a child. We would go to there houses. They are all Oshiwambo speaking women and they indulge me as I try to speak my father’s language. Two of them never married while the third is a divorcee and then there is my mom who is effectively divorced, but still legally married. And there was me. We had a family dynamic and that was us. Usually Friday nights it would be just me and my mother. My brother loves going out with friends and he took a trip to coast with his friends this weekend.

After diner as I washed the dishes I laughed and laughed as Aunty Martha (aunty is term used to show respect and it transcends biological notions of ‘aunty’) told me about the cumbersome process of recruitment in the public service. Had I not found the splendid job I have now, I would have gone for the interview to work in a lab for the ministry of fisheries. “…Even after the interview…” she said, “…there is still a long process of the application to be sent to the public service commission and for it to be approved…it usually takes four months.” The length of the entire process is more like 8 months – from the time of handing in your application to hiring, “…by which time many candidates have already found another job…”

Alright I will stop this blog post here.

I wanted to write about how I lost my modem (the size of memory stick) in my room and could not connect to the internet and how it spurred me to just clean up my room and vacuum certain areas…but I think you got the picture.

I can’t be sitting here and writing while I have stuff to do. I have math to learn (and use!) for my job as a research assistant – I am on the brink of a project that I have been dreaming of since senior year and I have to make sure I can do it (do the analysis of the statistics).

I’ll tell you about this project if you ask me.

I have to make a salad now. Guests coming over.

Closing prayer:

Oh Lord on this Holy Saturday, please help us all to grow closer to you.

O Dio aiutaci questo sabato ad avviccinarsi, sempre di più, a te.

The reluctant Buddha soldier

Seeing myslef, my true self from the outside, seated, crossleged like some Buddha. I took part in a positive thinking course about three weeks ago. Exactly. I was there to find out about this organization called ‘Burma Khumaris’ lifelong university. And I did. They gave the course. Or should I say he gave the course, the one Dutch man that runs the house just across from Louis Botha store. I was seated there and really I listened to the tape he put on for us as we closed our eyes. My cousin was there, two of them actually you. They sat on chairs while I was on the ground on a cushion.

The breathing I experienced was unbelievably profound. I realized my potential is so infinite and it starts with me and the thoughts I bring into this existence.

It was as if I hovered above myself and saw me from afar.

I especially want to recall that experience now. I can now hear the voice of that man on the tape, a calm, soothing voice as if he came straight from an aristocratic residence in the 17^th century.

I am a person. I have a great deal of potential. I am free to do what I want.

So then I am free to approach my role within the new organization, LGBTI as I see fit. The founder, or one of them, of the organization wants me to do a hell lot more. He came up to me , or I actually came up to him at the end of the party last night to say good bye. It was particularly successful party for our community and I was set to leave, with my friend Chinonto who came from his party just to drive me home. Then this man, whom I had first just known as a face on a social network who I then came to know as an impassioned individual began talking to me about how I need to take the lead:

“From what you wrote on your blog, it seems you want nothing to do with LGBTI. You must take the lead – look at this, we had to create the forms ourselves and do it all ourselves.” I could only listen though I felt how unsettling this conversation had become. “Don’t shy away from your duties, take the lead…” he kept on saying, like papa bear talking to baby bear or a teacher to a student or a boss to his new employee. But he is not any of these to me, so why this tone? Now when I think on it, it seems rather insidious like someone trying to lure me into his cult. A cult! “Just imagine, the gays have dragged me into their, OUR, cult!”

But I know it is not so. I am just reacting to how I felt. He wants more from me that I am willing to give and that was all I could actually say to him then in there, amongst all those people and the loud music and I leaned to him so I could be heard “I am willing, but I don’t how much I can give.”

“Well than ask for help, we are all volunteers.” So he did say. I realize now I was subjected to an unnerving charismatic talk. It was unnerving because I did not make my self heard. I wanted to say that I when I agreed to join as a ‘research co-ordinator’ I was elated at the prospect of ‘research’ – as generic as it sounds – without realizing what I was getting myself into. The whole organization needs support. I am willing to help get there on its feet, but beyond that I would like to exercise my autonomy. I want to chose what projects constitute as research for me. I know there are a slew of operational things that will need to run once a whole ‘monitoring and evaluation’ department starts. I do not want to that. Not me.

There are a lot of challenges one faces when joining any new movement. Especially when it is a new movement and especially when it seeks to achieve a social aim. I wonder what experience the revolutionaries faced when they enlisted. What am I revolutionary? But I have thought of the members of the movement as ‘rainbow warriors’ so I believe it is not such a far fetched metaphor. All I want though is to learn more about research in epidemiology and anthropology. I can put myself to the challenges of adopting statistics capture software to questionnaires created by the organization or following a same-sex couple’s journey through the adoption process. Yet I realize that to have an organization that is operational a lot more hard work, even monotonous, work is needed. Moreover, I sense they (the trustees of the organization) want a lot more from me. They want what I am willing to contribute.

“The trustees don’t trust you, they have a lot of faith in you, but don’t trust you. You have to prove yourself.” Prove yourself. I heard that so many times when I spoke to this same person who (co)-founded the movement. I dare not mention his name, lest someone identify who he is.

Prove myself. I am not here to prove myself to anyone. Honestly. That was what I wanted to say. This man, though, has such a charismatic way, that his smile quelled any efforts to resist. Estuve ante su discurso, callado y por esto de acuerdo con todo lo que decía. I was dumb befote him and tacitly showing my consent to all that he had to say. And of course, he closed of the conversation with a grab to my shoulder, a gentle pat so that he could say “I like you” as I walked away.

I had just experience charismatic leadership first hand, I am sure my father experienced years ago with SWAPO, the movement that defined his youth (and perhaps even now).

What I do now? I just keep myself low key. I will be what the anthropologists call ‘a participant observer,’ and wait to see what will happen. Upon their request, I will make my position clear though, about my research objectives.

I am at peace though, knowing this is all part of my experience. If I am to ever to anthropology, I need to be prepared to work with people and enter into their worlds and negotiate when their agendas don’t correspond with my own. Is this what it means to observe and know human beings? Go in deep enough for you to have a good look, but still not so deep that you can’t come out to tell everyone you have been there

Somwhere over the Rainbow - you'll find a job

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a…..lulaby”

When I woke up today, after my usual wondering around, I turned on the radio-phone and I heard the voice of Judy Garland singing this song from the Wizard of Oz.

I loved it and with it I moved stretching out my arms into the heavens, peering through the glass of my window at the tree outside, collecting together the my blankets of the floor (where I sleep).

Thank you Lord for this beautiful day! Thank you for Judy and the songs she sang

“…somewhere over the raindbow...”

“When I wish upon a falling star…..” she sings quickly, with a bouncy melody to slow down and stretch out the words “…that’s where you’ll find me!”

Judy, I am glad I am writing about it! The last time I heard this song was in my head a few months ago when I was walking back home from the city center and there was a rainbow, c’era un arcobaleno magnifico che sorgeva da una parte, alzava verso l’alto dei cielli per lo spazio sovrastante e poi scendeva per incontrare la terra dall’altra parte. Che bellezza!

I now heard it again

This post is about thanksgiving.

Thank you dear Lord for that song.

Thank you for my birthday dear Lord that I could live another year! Thank you that you put the people in the right place and I was there at the right time.

I went to a meeting I dressed for it, because I felt it would look bad for the HIV Clinicians’ Society if I just showed up in shorts and a T-shirt, and I took the minutes. We met with Pharmaccess and by the end of the meeting, the lady from this NGO asked me to call her about chatting. As I walked out of the door I turned once more to say goodbye. And then she said “Yes, please call me, not only because of the health facility census [my last job] but because we are short of staff”

“Can I send you my CV”

“Yeah do that.”

This was about a week ago Wednesday.

Yesterday was my birthday and my new colleagues at Pharmaccess treated me to a cake! They also gave me a birthday card. And that lady I met last week, she is my boss.

I am a research assistant/intern and the best part is I am doing what I was doing at home – studying statistics and aiming to analyze data collected in Namibia – but I will be paid for it. What a blessing!

So what’s the moral of the story? Always dress well for a meeting.

Lemon Fell yesterday

The drop of the lemon – Thud! It came just as I put down the phone after my father spoke to me. “That’s a good answer” he said (I translate from the Bulgarian, our secret language so he could ask without much fear of being heard za6to si gay?) The lemon green with one side yellowing came down just as in me the desire for tears was swelling. The fall came so abruptly like Newton’s apple. I looked outside my window and decided to go and collect that lemon just next to another one I had seen earlier. So I went round the house, and I walked towards the tree, round the back, I could feel how picking up those right lemons would be like therapy. Inside me, the ebb and flow of my emotions meant I was dealing with this. What was it? Relief? Satisfaction? We had finally spoken about it.

My mother had called him earlier “Your mother is annoying with these messages, saying I am the reason for your orientation, but you must tell her, tell her this is the way I am, but leave daddy alone. She thinks I hate gays. I do not have a problem you are my son. I cannot ask you, ‘ why are you gay?’ why are you not a man? I cannot punish you like that. Why are you gay?”

“Are you asking for real?”

“Yes”

“I don’t know”

“That’s a good answer”.

So there were the too lemons, nearly ripe yellow and I could tell that more were coming. This was just the very beginning, the start of it all. I know my relationship with my father will continue to ripen and mature, after all he considers me to be all grown up now.

“You’re a big person now, we can’t be seeing each other all the time.”

“But when was the last time we saw each other? Last month?” I pleaded.

“OK, we’ll see” he said, as always

Avenue of Desire! (based on what happened last weekend!)

The Avenue of Desire

I took a walk on a Sunday day, down a street in down-town,

and there across the shop that dresses men,

I met, I accosted, I said

“ I like your style, would you teach me?”

“Red Shirt, brown pants and sandals to match your hair” I said

And that led to more talk about shopping and your bag:

“I got it from the guy by telecom”

“How much?”

“A hundred dollars”

“That’s decent (for a black bag with a reggae flag)”

All I wanted to to do was wave my PFLAG, and utter

“You’re gorgeous, yes you are!”

Maybe that’s why I saw you approaching from afar,

But there was nothing in your tred

There was no flutter

It was like that of a man,

But that’s not say you don’t have a rainbow fan

(at home, in the closet or wherever it may be)

See!

I followed you after we parted

My heart, because of your guileless nature, was darted

And I, as it bled, said

“I’d like to see you again”

Some hackneyed phrase I’d read or heard

But was it just from a song?

Was it absurd?

A man for another man to long?

You are beareded and black haired,

When God made you, nothing did He forfeit

In drawing your portrait,

“Nothing’s gonna work (but it did!)”

You said, somewhat overwhelmed,

“All of these strange people talking to me, but I just want to be one my own

After I read you and called you “Ruan!” (not you another-one)

Maybe it’s because you are gorgeous

I should have said

And pled that we meet again

Instead,

I laughed as I walked away, ahead of you,

What does it matter if you not are gay?

It’s just that it was so fun!

To walk and admire

And kindle that fire

Does it burn for you as much as for me

in my open furnace,

burning with bliss?

(Is dit rooi? Ja dit is!)

Ruan, do you yearn to meet me again?

Strolling down-town on the avenue of desire?

Sandals Extreme

The straps of the sandals slit open and the beads fell off

To hit the ground,

Click click, tick tick

Do you hear the sound?

On the ground I sit, crouched and my fingers roll bead after bead

As I pray “Ave Marie…”

Now its all over

…madre di Dio…

I had my turn to cry

I still remember

And I sigh

The sandals you slit (brother)

Why did you have to kill them?

Yet no-one died in my house that day,

Lord was this a becoming end for a man?

Mr Kato died,

A death as sudden as the drop of beads on the floor

He was hammered

Those sandals were not build for me,

“These are women’s plakkies”

I knew that when I bought them, silly,

But I took them not so they could die

And it would be my turn to cry

Thank Lord for mother Mary,

With life (and Lord) I am still enamoured,

The Rosary

The prayers

Set us free!

But some of the pain still lingers

And there is (or is they not?) a way for it to recede,

Can blood return to the wound from whence it came?

Can we just go on, all the same?

I’ll never wear a pair of those again,

Till become like those singers

Who sing where thou shall not step

Tick tick, click click

Do you hear the sound?

Un blog incompiuto – se desideri leggerne di più, lascia un commento qui giù. (In complete blog, if you would like to read more, leave a comment

The difficulty in putting something to posterity. I find myself at odds with the desire to write, because I too strive to do other things. Studying mathematics, learning to programme with R…, reading novels (I am reading En l'absence des hommes, La ciudad de la Bestia) and an enthnography Agor Medicine. But still I need to write.

 

I want to first of all say these will be very terse entries from now.

It is morning now, Monday morning, at home. My mother will soon be off to work and today there will be no need to make her a sandwich, as she will go off to a workshop on child labor where she will be fed.

 

Last Friday:

I collected applications for the United World College scholarships here in Namibia.

Cooked a bean and split pea soup for dinner – Shabbat dinner. I now fondly look forward to dinner every Friday because though I usually cook something that is far from Kosher (I am Catholic, after all) it still reminds me of the tranquility of the Shabat I spent at the CJL at Princeton with my friends.

 

Monday: Today I dreamt of a copy of the Flamingo before me, lying on the ground, and the magazine had a section about HIV in it. The Flamingo, in case you did not know, is the magazine of Air Namibia and I do freelance writing for them (for which they pay me well). My dream I think speaks to my desire to synthesize my writings about Namibian people with that of my interest in HIV. I did do that, in the last article I wrote about the Red Cross, but I long to do it again. My dream though also featured another man, with delicate skin. He was my lover and we kissed with the magazine in the background.

 

Samedi: Nous sommes allés, moi et ma mère, au parc national du parlement de la république de la Namibie. Comme on faisait toujours, on y jouait du badmington, un loisir qu'on pratiquait depuis mon enfance ici en Namibie. Alors qu'on jouait, il y avait un touriste, un homme, lequel s'approchait de nous, en descendant les escaliers qui menaient au parc ou menait au parlement en les montant. Il s'est attardé un peu au bout des escaliers à nous regarder. J'ai ressenti son regard sur moi et je lui ai donné aussi quelque coup d'œil, il était jeune, assez haut et blanc, vraisemblement…

 

Monday : I just got this message : Good morning Pancho. I was given your number by Mukariko [ I helped her prepare for GRE last year this time] I will be writing a GRE exam early march and she thinks you can help me pass the exam exceptionally. I am gunning for a scholarship so I really need to do very well. Can u help me? It would mean intense work and preparation.

 

Sure I can help her, provided she pays me a pretty penny for my efforts – after all if go to Spain this July (to do an intense course of castellano) I'll need the cash..

 

Si, certo che ti posso aiutare carinissima, anche se non ti conosco – se me paghi bene, ti posso aiutare con i tuoi problemi matemattici. Ne profiteremo tutti i due...

Una oración por Egipto

Dios ayuda el pueblo egipcio a lograr una solución a esta crisis. Protege a los miles de manifestantes que se congregan en las calles y huyen a los policías (y protege ellos también).

Amen

LGBT PICNIC MID JANUARY

Writing now is like a drop of rain on barren ground. For some days I have not indulged in my blog. I work on reading and learning the R computer language in the week and any writing, well I always some to think of it as of little import. But in fact it is quite invigorating, empowering and meditative. What matters little is what I cover in these posts: Whether or not I capture the essence of moments effervescent is trivial. Let I just write.

 

It is Sunday today and I am just coming back from the park, from a picnic. There was much pleasure and all of it begins with the fact of me being gay. Put aside those thoughts of debauchery in the bushes, but think of me and two other friends on a blank spread on the grass. We told each other stories – our own and some invented – and lay the in the bliss of the afternoon in the shade of the palm. My palm caressed Detlef's head, passing my fingers through the smooth grey hairs he has left and his palm, in turn, caressed my leg below the knee. An exchange of affection, which I know by writing now, was nothing more than affection. I also earlier hugged Chris De Villers and Wimpy who greeted me with delight "Hi Wimpy, nice to finally meet you, give me a hug!". We spoke in Afrikaans, when the Afrikaans boys Chris, Wimpy, Jan and François came, but also in French.  We spoke of our lives, the inauspicious prospect of Namibian gay porn, eating Steers on a Sunday ("What so you don't gain weight on a Sunday? Chris asked Jannie), I sang Dancing Queen and danced to the last chorus to escape my destruction of the song, and later I read a Psalm. " O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you, my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, a dry and weary land,…,On my bed I remember you, I think of you through the watches of the night,…your right hand upholds me" Detlef remarked it starts off like a story in Namibia, the dryness and bareness, but then ends up like something pornographic. Why? I asked, it need not be, just because of the hand. Eugene balanced my view on porn with his, saying you need not watch it alone. Perhaps it was the loneliness that was what caused the sin, or rather created the idea of the sin. But still I would not watch bodies comodofied and digitized. I rather feel the Spirit of God moving in me and bringing me to orgasm. Remember, there was no orgasm at this picnic, ok, it was the first picnic for support of LGBTI people that we had.

 

I am off to Catholic Church now. Hoped you liked this entry. Short and Sweet.