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When I was a teenager, I took a trip with my mom, my aunt, and my cousin Reggie to Japan and ended up in a shrine or huge convention center.
Gosh, I used to dress like a goth in neck-to-ankle black. Well, I still do sometimes.
My cousin Reggie was cute and used to think he looked like a young Robert Downey Jr.
Don’t ask what we were doing there, but after the festivities, we were waiting for our ride to take us back to our accommodation, and right across from where we were, I spotted him—a beautiful boy in a long black coat, with pale skin, round eyes, and long bangs.
This was the ’80s by the way.
I was mesmerized. There was no Google or social media at that time so it was nearly impossible to find out who he was, but Reggie and I found out his name was Paul, the son of doctors from Chicago.

When we got back to Manila, Reggie would send me polvoron or “Paulvoron” cause it rhymed with his name. I don’t want to reveal his name. That would be too embarrassing. For sure he looks older now, probably married, with kids. Let’s not bother him. And yes I have Googled his name + Chicago to no avail.
But his memory still haunts me. The memory of this beautiful boy in black with light brown hair and long bangs.
When I die maybe I’ll ask God about him, God being the greatest Google source of all.
Reggie eventually became an indie actor. You may know him by his screen name, Lance Raymundo.
Only Reggie understands, and I’ll always have fond memories of our time in Japan.

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