This Morrissey song title hits a nerve with me because I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with the month of November. The first time I ever fell in love, which led to my greatest heartbreak, was in November. The last time I fell in love, which led to my one true romance, was also in November. I also have a strange relationship with people born on the 11th month (although “novem” in Latin means “nine” because originally it was the ninth month in the Roman calendar). Some of my dearest friends — my co-kabarkada-mate Sumi, my brotha from anotha mutha cuzin Joe, my childhood friend Andre, my chubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff, the multi-monikered Jun/Koji/Miguel/Rodrigo/Sleazebag — were all November-born. And some of the people I’ve had the most, how do I put it politely, “turbulently traumatic” relationships with, were also children of the Scorpio moon (all of whom shall remain understandably nameless). So November gives me a bit of the heebie-jeebies. I find it creepy that it is the month of Thanksgiving, but it also is the month of the Dead (unless you’re thankful that they’re dead, then it makes sense). So starting a blog on this Jekyll-and-Hyde month is a big gamble for a pathologically superstitious person like me. I mean, if this blog were a baby, I don’t know if I’ll have a cherub-like golden child, or end up with a grotesque abomination, with hydra-like multiple heads, each one more hideous and repulsive than the next, all waiting to chew on the bones of their father. Cheesy Greek analogy aside, I must admit I’m having loads of fun doing this, in a twisted, exhibitionist way. I must say that blogging is no different from radio broadcasting. It doesn’t feel like you have an audience since you don’t see them, and you blabber away, defenses down, only to realize you revealed more than you’re comfortable with. Only with blogging, you get to edit. It’s like doing a soliloquy on stage, naked, with the light in your eyes, and you don’t know who’s out there, watching. A lot of it is conceit, really, thinking anyone would be interested to hear your ramblings, but hey, I say why not? So, on that note, allow me to bookend this post by cribbing from a Journey song this time. I’ll let the song speak for me, as songs often do — “So now I come to you, with open arms. Nothing to hide. Believe what I say”. Take that, Mariah!