The Chase

Y’know, when it comes to writing, I really love melancholic themes. There’s just something about the arsenal of words at our disposal when it comes to telling a sad story. Do you describe sadness as the absence of joy, or joy as the absence of sadness? Not exactly the same thing, but one cannot be without the other.

Suddenly I think of my ex boyfriend, how we went through the entire process too quickly. Kinda the typical burned too bright too fast, in the end we burnt out. All these unsent messages, untyped texts, unwritten letters turned to ash. I could actually go on and on about how depressed I was, but I don’t really remember the feeling anymore. Maybe burning out quickly also allows for easier healing. The damage isn’t as deep as I thought it was. We don’t talk anymore, even though I sometimes want to just say hello and ask how he’s doing. I know better than to get myself involved in more drama (then again I made the mistake of lending him my earphones and I kinda want them back but hmm) NO BRYAN STOP IT HE’S DEAD TO YOU. But then I remember the days leading up to our officiation, the sort of mutual attraction and romantic and sexual tension between us. The chase.

Suddenly I think of the few guys I dated after I broke up with him. I was interested in a particular asshole that ended up wasting my time. Saying all sorts of things, and displaying his wants and wishes (none of them unreasonable so I went with them; I am quite the generous and self-sacrificial person). I just didn’t like how he burnt out so quickly. Going from being the one suggesting we date exclusively, and exactly a week later decided that we were going too fast and starting ghosting me. What a trainwreck HAHA. That one week kinda left somewhat of an impact on me, to be a better person to myself (and to not waste my time on self-absorbed assholes)

Suddenly I think of the times I used to pursue my college classmate, for almost the entirety of my diploma days. Two and a half years pining over this person that I now realise wasn’t worth the effort, but the effort was worth doing. There is something about the pursuing, the chase, that exhilarates me into doing things I’d normally be too shy or afraid of doing. I like how I was so frank and eager about all things him. The guy was an asshole, we argued quite a lot but we also got along really well most of the time. So much that I was confused by my own feelings.

And the list of things I spontaneously think of one after another goes on, but none of them really matter anymore. Not in the present, not in the future.

I think this one is different. I like different. I like this one.

but, 
I love it
when I discover the spark,
that makes me want to
go on the chase

again.

 

Onz Mou?

The people who recently met me probably wouldn’t know that I used to be the kid who shied away at the prospect of social interaction (yeah I was more of a pussy back then than I am now). I was the passive kid in group activities, just following instructions and resenting every moment. I was the bitch that didn’t give constructive input even though I had some ideas. I was the lame person that didn’t want to do anything.

Note: Try not to be that person

And now I’m that asshole that makes noise on my own and never shuts up. Sometimes I feel that I’m rather annoying myself, but at the end, the satisfaction of contribution negates all of that. (Plus it’s better for myself in a sense that I gain a little confidence boost every time). There’s so much to learn around us, you just have to close the book and go explore. Take charge of your life. Participate.

It all comes down to two words:

Onz mou?
(youth slang for ‘are we doing this or nah’)

 

My Coming Out Story

It really does take a tragedy to leave a lasting impression on one. Something so devastating with undesirable consequences will ensure that you remember your lesson.

Recently, my phone got stolen. My beautiful ‘mirror image of perfection’ Galaxy S7 Edge is no longer in my personal possession. It was stolen by a guy I was hooking up with. So imagine the conversation I had to have when I had to tell my parents what happened.

Losing my phone is one thing. And mind you it was a new phone and was everything to me. The circumstances how I lost the phone were an even bigger deal. In short, an impromptu coming out as being gay to my parents in the least ideal scenario. It’s already bad enough they had to hear their son say he’s gay, but adding salt to the wound is the fact that he sleeps around, on top of being stupid enough to trust people and lose a three thousand ringgit phone in 10 minutes.

As a direct result of my actions, there were some harsh things said and a lot of crying. And by a lot, I mean A LOT (yes with capitals). I swear I never cried so much in my life. But when your dad says to your brother “I don’t want to lose another son”, it kinda kills you a little, even if he apologised and says he didn’t mean it. It was hard for them. It was hard for me. Asking if I even tried to be “normal” (a.k.a heterosexual) is an unnecessary question. Do people think all gay men are complacent with their sexuality from the beginning? Do you think we don’t question ourselves? Or struggle with ourselves? Hiding from discrimination and the frown on people’s faces, like the one on yours right now? Do you think it’s enjoyable to have to keep everything to yourself? Unlike “normal” kids, I couldn’t talk about how I was feeling or when I was heartbroken or depressed or any shit like that. So no, your privilege does not earn you the right to ask me that question.

Eventually they did come around and tried to console me because I was rather hysterical with my crying. I looked disgusting. I felt disgusting. I felt disgusted at myself. One takeaway from the day’s incident was that my brother is an amazing person, who sticks up for me. I love him so much, even if we don’t really get along all the time. Y’all boys will never come close.

My parents (mom especially) were so disapproving of my lifestyle. Heck, which parent would be proud to have a promiscuous child? I can understand their thought process. I don’t really like myself for that either. No more.

It’s still a little awkward for me, especially when they don’t say anything about it anymore. The tension in the air is palpable, but I think everything will be okay. Everything will be okay.

Like I always say, “I’ll always be okay.”

Maybe not now, but one day.