(Word of caution: I don't know what makes a male a virgin. Technically, I haven't tried everything so I guess that makes me a virgin. Don't ask me what I meant about 'technically'. That's not the point of this post.)

I'm 40.

By the time someone chanced upon this blog, I'd be 45. With my lifestyle staying up late, smoking, fatty food, grouchy friends) I'd be lucky to be alive at 70. Who wants to be alive at 70 anyway especially with my sort of orientation? I'd rather be dead than face the mirror looking at my calloused skin, raisin-like face, receding hair, bloated and unproportioned body. More importantly, how can I face myself when, after my so-called long years of existence, I have achieved so little (if you can call what I have as achievements)?

Ergo, I believe I unknowingly, without premeditation and so unnoticeably, passed my midlife. I believe it's 32.
Where was I when I was 32?

Oh I was there somewhere daydreaming about putting up a business and settling in the Philippines for good.

There I was droopy-eyed over someone that I'd been yearning to go to bed with for years now.

There I was playing with my friends not a bit enjoying the way I'm losing over some silly card games and mahjong.

There I was giving advices to broken hearted individuals while nursing my wounds over love lost, lost chances, unrequited kindness, playful fates, thieving moments, etc. There I was hurting inside and hurting my friends.

There I was carving my own niche while others are burrowing deep and digging their wells.

There I was enjoying the juice not realizing that it's not worth the squeeze (hey, I'm talking figuratively).

Plainly, there I was broken, battered, half-standing. But not dead yet. At 40, what do I consider as my achievements? Nothing. Zilch. Naught. Zero. I'm still at square one and haven't moved a bit. Sore but true, no matter how I eagerly await that first step, I keep withholding myself from taking it. So what'swrong?

At 40, I have become the following:

Grouchier. I now see my friends as enemies. I easily get envious, angry, maltreated, sensitive.

More callous. I have been, for a long time, wary about people. I have not loved and hurt for quite some time.

I feel sorrier than ever. About a lot of things. About a misspelled word in an office correspondence, about flirting, about refusing a phone call, about saying no, about expressing my anger, about eating chicken's dark meat or a fatty beef.

Thriftier. I feel glad whenever a day pass that I don't spend a single halala.

More prioritizing of my family and relatives.

Imagining things more often -- even in prayers, even in my sleep. My brain has not ceased churning memories, plans, ideas, (devious) dreams, ill wills, etc. It's tiring and self-deprecating and more often that not, it's unhealthy.

Less talking, er, less in rumor mongering I should say.

Bolder. I do what I want, refuse what I do not like, shun people that I hate, etc. Hey, this is my life!

Lazier. Daydreaming has now become my middle name.

A 40-something male virgin is dangerous to health (and sanity).