I have had so many sex
partners in my life that I barely remember many of them. Only a few stand out in the recesses of my
hormones and memory, and one in particular has a poignant love story behind his
young years.
Soy earned his moniker
because he is said to have a volatile mood.
He has toyo, a Tagalog word that means crazy. Toyo is also the Tagalog word for soy
sauce, so I call him Soy for the purpose of writing this piece (others call him
Toyo).
Soy is dark and has a slim,
sexy (well-defined) body. He has big and
wide areolas which are big turn-ons for me.
He has an excellent set of teeth, and his face is handsome enough to
attract gay men (and heterosexual women) on the prowl.
Soy lives like a nomad. He goes to different places to work. Whenever we find him in town, it likely means
he has left his job.
A few years back, Soy worked
as a diver for scrap metal. The job
didn’t last long because he almost died
from ship fuel oil and other underwater contaminants. He had to be hospitalized and undergo
dialysis.
Soy belongs to a poor family
who could not afford his hospitalization.
He was brought to the nearest (a private) hospital for emergency care by
his family when he collapsed. Transferring
him to a public hospital still meant the family had to cough out enough dough
to pay for the emergency care, and the family had nada.
Soy was in a serious
relationship at the time. The girl had a
rich grandmother who wanted Soy out of her granddaughter’s life. The old woman took the opportunity to split
Soy and the girl by paying for Soy’s private hospital bills on the condition that the
young lovebirds parted ways. Soy’s family
decided for him (he was in intensive care at the time, so he could not really
decide for himself). Soy honored the
agreement.
A timeless tale of prejudice
against the plebs, ain’t it?
I last saw Soy towards the
end of 2017. Yes, we had a lovely nookie
at the time.
“Soy guapo” is Spanish for “I
am handsome.” Here, “soy” refers not to
me but to Soy who certainly is handsome enough, and appealing enough that I
write this piece for him, without him asking for it.
Soy’s story reminds me why telenovelas earn well: They hit a raw nerve and at times, if not oftentimes, are based on real life.
I don’t think I was ever in love with Soy. But, he has earned a place in my heart because his life is the life, the plight, of many Filipinos who take what they can, while they can, when they can. Poverty sings deeper than the blues.
Soy reminds me acutely that
we are worlds apart, and yet beyond education and social status, we connect at
a fundamental level: We live and love and hurt and love again.
