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The greatest explorer on this earth never takes voyages as long as those of the man who descends to the depth of his heart. (Julien Green)

I find my friends' wishlist utter funny because not one of them forgave "everlasting love" in their Christmas wants. Of course, it's quite a challenge for them because they're women and their ovaries have expiration dates. Some of them have already settled in secured relationships but the selected few—who are either in need of strangulation for the kind of blah relationships they are in or in need of plugging a cork on the mouths for the sighing and whining they always belt out—have never let a month without a bawl on Facebook about their star-crossed romances. If not having their boyfriends, my friends are already on the run in finding one. And I, well, I guess the park is too nice to hit a breakneck speed like that.

I've always thought that life is miserable without a partner. My folks have mentioned that life can get a little too sullen when you're aging and finding your space too spacious for yourself and a pooch. But just about that, I think space will work fine for me. Apart from circulating air that's good for the lungs, I needed a lot of "me-time" to think things over. I'm a sober thinker, that's an admission.

Pictures of some of my batchmates already fathers, some classmates cuddling their bundles of joy, sure do the world is creeping up from my back like a chill from Siberia, whispering to my ear that I'm not far from getting old and the twenties is the perfect time to at least go out there and search for your eternal penguin. But that's not just working for me.

And for that, despite the slew of lovelorn hopeless romantics surrouding me or the fairytales that almost all wanted, somehow, I think that even with the wintry chill that everyone uses to prop up an argument to have that someone to cuddle with—people have this knack of using your insecurity against you, eh?—I keep my cool with it.

If you are single, eliminate the thought that something is lacking, and just live each day joyfully. (Jonathan Lockwood Huie)

Time and again, I've been telling my friends to look for themselves first and solve their life issues and personal crises before committing. It's easy to shove up your morals in someone's face like that but at the end of the day, it's their call. Some pooh-poohed that I'm just proud to admit that I also needed someone, but that's the whole point. For the longest time, I thought I needed one. Tried to fit in the boots, but lo and behold, I'm stuck midway. And so, the conclusion arrives, "Well, maybe I am my own lover." I leave to them their whining about loveless lives for there are people who are naturally bound to seek for affection. But I guess, I don't stand on their page.

One brave friend asked me if I'm back on the online gay community scene. Or if I am dating someone. I am not on both counts. I'm settled with myself, I suppose. She asked how am I managing to keep my self-assurance. Simple: like a broken record, I keep telling myself that I don't need one. It is foolish, and yet, it is effective. I'm on a playback, "Future boyfriend, if you're there, you are my future and one fine day we'll meet. If not, take it from me. I'll be just as fine as a windy day." It's not that I am turning cold on other's affection. I'm just good in giving myself my own security and validation. (Still, I won't backout from the inch of possibility that perhaps there could be that one that will turn me inside out and move me to believe that I needed him in my life. But to change me, he sure will be too spunky and awesome and, a personal attraction of mine, one that wears glasses.)

What with HIV too will make of me. I'm not banking on this infection for an entire lifetime of solitary for I know, most, if not all, PLHIVs would want to have a solid partner in another PLHIV to make "things" easier. No matter how legit or grand that setup is, bottom line is, I'm happy with myself.

My philosophical loyalty to existentialism, is—I guess—paying off, apart from my liberal arts degree and the books I read (I have the voracious desire in reading dark works capped off with the emphatic yearning for individuality.) Sometimes, I hated why I think or feel or act this way. Why am I not like others who would just give in to loving? Why do questions always crisscross in my head? Why do I always chew my experience to the most minuscule morsel? Why do I always have to wrap things around my head?

Perhaps, I am my own man. No man is an island, true, but my island is my greatest friend.

He who knows others is clever, but he who knows himself is enlightened. (Lao Tzu)