Make sure the neighbors are asleep. They cannot be bothered by blocked corridors.

Undress the bed and pillows. Drop the bedsheet and all pillowcases in the hamper.

The apartment is too small so the floor cannot be thoroughly cleaned without clearing it. So lift the bed by holding on to one of its edges, the naked pillows still lying hapless, and drag it out to the corridor. Bring out the small table as well as the electric fan. The bookcase is too heavy with books so leave it be.

The floor has been cleared. It’s time to clean it.

With a broom in hand, the handle spelling out Baguio in red, sweep the floor of dusts and hair fall. That done, half-fill a pail with water and pour Domex and Lysol, enough to make the water foamy. Now a rag is needed and an old t-shirt will do. Since there’s no other direction but down, there’s no other way but to kneel. The floor is linoleum, designed to mimic bluish-gray marble. With the rag now in hand, take three linoleum blocks at a time, making sure that all stains are removed. Don’t even think about how the stains got there in the first place. When the surface has been wiped clean, have another go with the broom.

The neighbors are still asleep. It’ll be a long time before they wake up.

Drag everything outside back in.

Plop the bed, fluff the pillows, and lift the table.

Be ready with freshly-laundered bedsheet and pillowcases. These ones are a gift from Mother, white and blue stripes. Now it’s off-white with age. But they are clean so they will do.

Dress up the bed and the pillows. Give the bed and pillows a few spritz of perfume. In this case, it’s Gap Dream, bought by an officemate who came back from the States bearing gifts. The smell gives the heart a little tug.

The bathroom now beckons.

Make a fresh pail of foamy water with Lysol and Domex. Specifically for the bathroom tiles, a brush with thick bristles is in need. Splash the white-tiled wall with water. Dip the brush in the pail and start scrubbing. Pay particular attention to the lines where tiles meet. They are the hardest to clean. The tiled floor is the color of either diluted orange juice or Dial soap. To scrub the floor is to kneel again. Hair fall clogs the drain. There seems to be lots of hair fall. Don’t think about what causes it. Even with Pantene, hair fall is not reduced. Kris Aquino is lying. So does the Baretto sisters (not Marjorie), Judy Ann and Ruffa. Would switching to a different shampoo prevent hair fall? Just keep scrubbing. Some questions may be unanswered.

It’s at the second tile from the door when it finally hits, an emptiness of both the apartment and the heart. When home is where the heart is and the home is empty, would the heart be empty too? It must be, because loneliness creeps in like crow’s feet, a sign of aging. But so does age, its increment a definite sign of aging. Is it time for Olay? Is Gretchen Baretto really credible?

The apartment is only home when he is around. But he has to leave. He has to study. And Baguio is, sadly, where he studies at.

More than two months became a blur. For other gay men, it’s the threshold of relationships. For us it meant only a brief rendezvous of a very long engagement. So there is no reason to complain. Think about all the others less lucky in love.

Don’t fret. Yes the distance is killing, the apartment is hollow but the bed is ripe with stories and the pillows attest to a primal form of love.

The tiled floor of the bathroom is clean. It’s time to attack the toilet bowl.

Brush, brush, brush. Scrub, scrub, scrub.

The blotches of dried urine now golden on the toilet bowl’s rim are easily removed. All stains are vanished like gay sons disowned by fathers; same amount of hate.

Splash water in all directions until the foam is gone. The bathroom is now clean. So is the small apartment. Now only the body is marred with dirt.

Hit the showers. Let Dial roam freely on the body, make it greet the skin like old friends do, with beso-beso and a welcome embrace. Shampoo the hair with Pantene. Don’t worry about hair fall. The mane is safe for now, not receding like some friends.

Not the hair, the number of friends. They’ve traveled different paths and gained new friends along the way. Do the same too. Who are left? It’s just few of the best ones, which is good.

Wash. Water is a friend. Let it cascade down from the scalp to the calves, making tiny ripples on the skin along the way.

Dry with the pink towel, another gift from Mother.

Now lie in bed. Listen to its stories. Let the pillows talk. Sleep. Dream of him.