Frankly, I’m getting sick and tired of closet queens who can’t get enough of gay sex but suffer from insecurities that result in behaviour that I frankly find to be contemptuous of homosexuals.

Their behaviour is not ironic, it is rude and an insult.

I need to rant.

(This is an unintended extension of this earlier rant.)

NOTE: This post contains material that some readers might consider crude and offensive. You have been forewarned.

Posted on November 19th, 2004 by jl
Filed under: Life's Gay | 14 Comments »

Here’s a little story.

You are walking by a deep well when you discover that someone had fallen into it. Do you:

• (a) pay no heed and walk on by;
• (b) be voyeuristic, listen to how s/he fell into the well and then quietly go on your own way;
• (c) hurl insults, tell him/her how stupid s/he is and spit on him/her;
• (d) throw down a rope and help him/her to get out?

What do you do?

p/s this is not a trick question.

Posted on November 18th, 2004 by jl
Filed under: lost blah blah | 11 Comments »

How are you?

I don’t know how to answer that question these days.

I never know if the person asking is doing so out of politeness and common courtesy. Or if they truly want to know. Those who know better, know better than to ask that question unless they really, really want to know. But mostly, I participate in this great social game in which I pretend that all is well and act my part.

I don’t suppose there are many people out there who would want to hear sad, depressing, weary stories - most people have enough problems of their own, as it is, without copping an earful of another individual’s burdens.

Others are so full of their own highs, or youthful exuberance, that they choose to ignore the laws of gravity. They forget compassion. And being human. Being down and out is tantamount to being an utter failure, a loser, a social outcast… Standing up there, high on their pulpits, where the air is thin, they forget that there is a high probability that the random process of life will catch up with them one day. They might not find it so easy to breathe when it does.

And then there are those who are so well schooled in the homogenous process of globalisation that they forget the concept of difference. They expect everyone to act and behave in a particular manner, having no patience for another way. In fact, they cannot believe that alternatives are not only possible but also acceptable, and probably desirable. They forget that it is the principle of difference that makes us human. It is the priciple of difference that builds and makes societies. It is to be valued and cherished, not disdained.

Hold on
Feeling like I’m headed for a breakdown
And I don’t know why
But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be…me
- Matchbox 20, “Unwell”

Sanity, at the moment, is a fine balance between keeping thoughts out of my mind and fighting them when they intrude. On more days than not, I fear I am losing the battle. I can’t seem to forget. And I see ghosts.

It’s difficult waking up and getting out of bed. I just want to turn over and go back to sleep. Sleep at least suspends reality and accelerates the process of time - time, I am told, is the healer. When I have be awake, I run around like a mad hatter, constantly on the run, keeping myself busy, with nary a moment to stop or more importantly to think. I distract myself endlessly, but mostly I’m buried in my notebook, in a virtual world.

So how am I?

Well… how would you be if you woke up one day and found that your lover didn’t love you enough to try anymore? How would you be if the core around which you built your life suddenly crumbled and disappears? How would you be if you discovered that the premise of your life for the last three years was most probably false? How would you be if you realised that all the sacrifices that you (and he) had made in the past are now for nought? How would you be if you were evicted, not just physically, but also emotionally? How would you be if you were forced to live in a strange environment that you didn’t choose and that you don’t like? How would you be if you found your life temporarily suspended, with no room for manoever, for months? How would you be if you had to deal with everything - the emotional pain, the psychological trauma, the heartache, the irrational reality, the practical obstacles and difficulties - simultaneously, almost single-handedly?

How would you be if you woke up one day and suddenly found that life as you knew it had ceased to be?

I don’t understand.

I am full of anger
and resentment.
I am full of pain.
I hurt.

I wish it would stop.
I wish it would end.
I wish I could move on.

Today
I want to die.
I may not find peace
but at least in death
my heart
and my emotions
will be still.

Some people want it all
But I don’t want nothing at all
If it ain’t you baby
If I ain’t got you baby
Some people want diamond rings
Some just want everything
But everything means nothing
If I ain’t got you
- Alicia Keys, “If I Ain’t Got You”

Posted on November 16th, 2004 by jl
Filed under: Notable: Personal | 5 Comments »

You spend eight years learning everything about someone…

• where he was born
• where he went to school
• what he likes to drink (mango lassi, fruit juices)
• what he likes to eat (noodles, japanese)
• what he doesn’t like to eat (rice)
• his favourite snack (Pringles)
• how he takes his coffee (with lots of milk)
• his favourite TV programme (Power Puff Girls, documentaries)
• the type of films he likes to watch (action)
• music he listens to (oldies and new age)
• what he likes to wear
• his dreams (to travel)
• his fears (flying)
• his strengths
• and weaknesses
• his quirks and peculiarities
• his behavioural tick
• his walk
• his smile
• his laugh
• his scent
• his breathing
• how he sleeps
• his birthmarks
• his scars
• his erogenous zones
• the shape of his toes
• the person he no longer loves (me)

…and then you’re supposed to forget everything?

Because remembering will kill you.

But why can’t I forget?
Why am I committing emotional and psychological suicide?

Posted on November 8th, 2004 by jl
Filed under: Notable: Personal | 7 Comments »

Seven years ago today, my paternal grandfather passed away. We were very close, almost inseparable. When I was a child, he would take me everywhere he went - the market, into town, to visit his friends, out for meals. As I grew older, he would be the one I turn to for a hug or for extra money for treats. Until I was 15, we always shared a room. I was his favourite grandchild, and he, for a very long time, the only member of my family with whom I had any “real” connection. He didn’t speak any English and I had a poor command of Cantonese, but somehow we “connected” and we communicated.

I was at university in London when I received the news of his death. I had only just arrived six weeks prior to that. I remember the day I left Kuala Lumpur. I made an extra special trip, through a very bad tropical storm for which Malaysia is famous, just to see him for a short while. I wanted to say goodbye and to tell him that I was really finally going to university. He had always believed in my intellectual capability and had always thought I could do more with the talents that I was given. I don’t know if he ever truly understood what I was going to do. I didn’t know how to explain in Cantonese what Economics was or what it was that I was about to study. I didn’t even bother attempting to explain how highly regarded the London School of Economics was and that in all my awe, I still couldn’t believe that I was going to be a part of that community. But he would have been proud. We didn’t really talk that afternoon. I remember hugging him and then sitting with him in silence. I remember crying. I never saw him again.

I was woken from sleep just before the alarm was scheduled to go off. There was a loud knock on my door and a voice booming that I had a telephone call. I dragged myself out of bed, stumbled into the corridor and picked up the phone to hear the voice of a close girlfriend who (then) lived on the West side of central London. She had been appointed to the role of messenger. I remember shock. I remember sliding down the wall and crouching on the floor. I remember crying silently in disbelief. I don’t remember what I had said, if anything. I had lost the one person in my immediate family who had the greatest impact in my life. I had no words.

He had apparently died in his sleep. He was cremated. I didn’t have the opportunity to return for his funeral. Andrew went in my place.

My father asked me if there was anything I wanted from the little that my grandfather left behind. I wanted only this small block of dark wood, measuring no more than 5″ x 3″ x 2.5″, that my grandfather used as a “pillow” when he took naps in the daytime. For as long as I could remember, he had always laid his head on this block of wood.

The only other physical reminder I have of my grandfather was a large round jade locket of twin fishes that he bought when he went to China on a holiday. I wore it for several years before giving it to Andrew, for protection, just before I left for London in 1997. The locket broke at some point in 1998. The two halves - linked to the two men I loved most until this point in my life - now lie in a box as physical reminders of what once was.

Posted on November 6th, 2004 by jl
Filed under: Notable: Personal | 5 Comments »