Resurfacing

I swam back up from the cold, dark depths of the Sims to take a breath. Which is not to say I'm not going to swim back down again. However, it's nice to feel the sun on your face once in a while.

Last Friday my cousins and I went to the beach. Yes, for you devout Catholics, we had fun and frolic on Good Friday and Black Saturday. For those of you who don't know me, I'm ... how best to put this ... I'm a lapsed Catholic. I used to call myself a non-practicing Catholic but that implied that I believe myself to be Catholic, I just don't practice the rituals that goes hand-in-hand in being one. On the other hand, being a lapsed Catholic implies that I let it go, which is closer to the truth. When I fill in forms I write "none" under Religion.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in God. I even believe there was a young Jew who walked the Earth about two thousand years ago who preached and taught and founded a sect that quickly became one of the dominating forces on this planet. What I don't believe in, right now -- we all know how fickle the human mind can be, is that Catholics and Christians have the right of it. I think the Catholic Church and it's brother and sister cults and sects, with their "my-God-is-better-than-your-god" "we-have-the-right-interpretation-of-the-Holy-Writ" "God-talks-to-ME" view on life doesn't sit well with me. The main thing really is that I'm gay. I don't want to be part of an institution that doesn't want me in it.

I was baptised, communioned, and confirmed in the faith. Creating a public denounciation is not my style -- I don't like to burn my bridges, and while I don't see myself returning to the Church, I do want to be able to talk to my grandmother without having her scream "blasphemer!" at me and call down the Wrath of Heaven on my head (she can do it too, my Abuelita is the Pope of Bacolod and God listens to her ... or else) -- so I just let it lapse. Safer for the state of my soul, too, this way my grandmother won't consign it to the 7th Pit of Hell.

So we went to Lakawon (and since my Abu didn't bat an eyelash it's allowed, trust me on this). Lakawon is an island I've been visiting sporadically since I came back here nine years ago. It was a great place but lately its good points barely overcome its bad points. It's beautiful, it has white sand and the water is very clean BUT it charges outrageously for basic services and the people who bring their jetskis and waverunners blast their crotch-rockets right where the swimmers are. Assholes.

Why did I bring up Lakawon... oh yeah "sun on your face." Right. I burn. I'm a pasty, doughy ... rewrite! I'm a delicate, frail person whose porcelain-like skin turns bright pink if the sun directly hits it for more than a minute. I used to look like a British Twit because everytime I go to the beach I have my umbrella. Please close your eyes and imagine a clear blue sky, brushed with white, feathery clouds; sparkling cool, clear, blue-green water just inviting you to take the plunge; white sand reflecting the light and the heat from the golden summer sun. In the distance, there stands a man, waist deep in the sea, on a sand bar... holding open an umbrella. John Steed I'm not.

So I would slather on the Coppertone 45 like there was no tomorrow. I went to Boracay once for four days with a friend. She's like me, we both burn and we both use sunblock like butter on pancakes. Between us we finished two bottles of Coppertone 45, in four days. We left Boracay whiter than when we arrived.

Okay, enough sun. Diving back down again to the dark comfort of the Sims. Simsea, heh.