Secret

"What could be better than two people falling in love and giving to each other their lives?" mum said. I almost instantly cried (I know, I seem to be or want to cry a lot these days...). "It doesn't really matter who they are, as long as they love each other."

She said she's been "researching" and reading up on things, and she has come to accept "it" more. "It" being homosexuality. Of late, she said she has been watching "Dream of the Red Chamber", a Chinese classic text that vividly describes all sorts of friends and relationships and beautifully captures the human psyche. In it, with its multitude of characters, all sorts of relationships are portrayed. Love between man and woman,  and love between man and man. Mum said she cried many times watching the tv dramatisation of this great classic text (which for a while was banned due to its controversial themes), and she recommended I read it someday.

Toward the end of our daily phone conversation mum said to me: "As long as you are happy, and he provides you with much love and support, then that is the most important." He meant no other than my friend, my ex, which was awkward, because I had told her that we are no longer together before. But I guess the way we hang around one another, the way we contact one another and speak to one another when we are apart makes it hard for the outside world to believe that we are really not together.

So I told her again that we are no longer together. "Shame," she said, "He is such a nice boy and he cares about you so much." I could say nothing else, but deep inside can only wonder again why we are no longer together. I guess I'll never really understand.

But the reason why the topic of homosexuality came up was not about me. It was about someone in my extended family, whom mum somehow found out is gay. He recently went to university, and soon afterward he met this guy and they have been together since. How innocent, how beautiful... I can imagine it (or perhaps I am beautifying it...): eighteen year olds, perhaps their first romance, first love, first experiences of being in love. How beautiful, how wonderful that is...!

The mums on both sides know, are alright with it, at least as ok as they can be. "I realise more and more," mum said, "There are so many [gays] here, and I am more accepting." And she told me how the other day, when mum went to see dad, she told him about me, and asked him for understanding and acceptance.

I am glad, for deep down inside a knot that has been tying me down has been untied even more.

Games?

I found myself lying awake in bed this morning, merely a few hours after going to sleep. Piercing through is the glorious bright light of a chilly autumns day, and the hint of change on the trees outside my bedroom window. I lie next to my friend, hear his faint breathing, find myself wanting to lean close, to hug him. But find myself hesitating too.

Last night was a wonderful evening spent with friends, drinking and socializing. At times, I found my friend looking at me, winking at me playfully from the corner of his eyes... And yet, at times I saw him distracted, looking down and frantically tapping away on his phone, communicating with i can only guess is the guy he wants to be with...

I lie next to him and wonder... All the conversations we have had over the course of the last months, weeks, and we are still in a limbo, in that in-between place of having it all, and having nothing. I told him if he wants to be with the other person, go for it, there is nothing standing in his way now. And he told me outright that there are issues he feels he must resolve with me before he can move on (and indeed, in a couple of months, he is moving away to another city...).

I lie next to him and wonder... What am I doing with him, and what am I doing to myself? I'm giving him warmth, affection, little playful and intimate touches and pokes, I put my arms around him when we sleep next to one another to keep him warm. And he does the same too, wrapping his arms around me and leaning against me in a snug, beautiful fit. What does he still have to resolve with me? What is
there to resolve...?










  The other day, he sang the lyrics of the song  "Quit playing games with my heart"...

I live my life, the way
To keep you coming back to me
Everything I do
Is for you
So what is it that you can't see
Sometimes I wish I could
Turn back time
Impossible as it may seem
But I wish I could
So bad, baby you'd better quit playing games with my heart

It's a horrible indictment to make, and I'd like to believe otherwise.  My friend has on a number of  occasions told me that I'm the "best" person he's come across. He says he can envision life with me, building a family and home with me, being comfortable and happy with me. In fact, he said a wonderful period of time we had was when I moved into my current apartment and were painting and decorating the place together. It was the first time he did that with anyone, and he said he felt he was building a home, a feeling I share too...


 The other day, when he is ready he wants to be with me and will give me one hundred percent, for life. How am I supposed to respond to that when I see him trying again and again to pursue  someone he knows somehow deep down inside may very well just be a short lived romance and momentary infatuation? Am I supposed to wait and wait till he's gone out and experienced something to make him realise what he really needs in life? How long should I be in this limbo and feel so drawn to his winks and smiles, touches and hugs?

And yet he has conflicted feelings which he cannot explain, which he is unable to overcome. Of course i am a (if not the) source of his confusion and of him having conflicted feeling toward two people, and I have very little say in what he should do or who he should be with. But even though we have broken up, we still spend many nights a week together, sleeping next to one another, enjoying the comfort and warmth we provide one another. For me, I can receive that comfort and warmth only from him... but he has options, and I am but one of the options...

Am I for the time being, before him and the other person officially get together, just a source of comfort and warmth that is readily available? Perhaps I am the very reason holding him back and preventing him from going into something deeper by being around. Perhaps I'm feeling  the way I've made him feel during all that time when I was with him physically, but never really said outright I would be committed to him as the one and only...

I said to my friend the other day I hope he can really find what he wants, who he wants, and gain more clarity so he can move on, literally and metaphorically. Who does not want that, and who does not wish that to someone who is your best friend and whom you care about so very much? For his own sake first and foremost, and also for the sake of the people who have become entangled in this relationship triangle, he needs clarity, closure so he can start a new chapter in life, without lingering feelings, without wondering what if and why not...

Someone will get hurt in the short run, but with time, wounds will heal, and the past will be forgotten. If he feels so strongly for the other person, do something about it, I said, Don't linger and torture himself and others... If it is me who has to be resolved, then so be it. I will retire and distance myself and remove myself slowly and slowly from his life, and move on...

And going away in a few days for almost two weeks is a start to doing just that. I feel, and in a way, I admit, I fear, that when I come back there change will have blown in in my absence with the wind. Change, like the changing of the colours on the trees outside... Positive or negative, change is usually for the best.

At least I hope so...

“…quietly breaking down”

On the field of lower campus, there is a statue of James McGill. With one hand holding onto his hat as the other clutches a walking stick, he seems to be braving much resistance as he struggles forward. The other day, a dozen metres in the direction he is headed, hundreds of protesters gathered in support of a strike that has crippled much of the university. 

Since the first day of September, exactly at the height of very hectic and busy time that characterises every new term, the core of the university’s administration has been on strike. Potentially, the strike could last for months if no compromise can be reached. Various picket lines have formed just outside the campus premises (law prohibits them from entering McGill premises), with staff rattling tambourines, striking metal bins, braving the rain and heat, and walking around in circles to defend their right to equitable pay. 

The industrial action was called by McGill University Non-Academic Certified Association (MUNACA), the body that represents some 1700 McGill support staff. It was triggered by a breakdown in negotiations about the terms and conditions of employment, which have drastically been changed over a number of years. Salary increases have not met up with inflation or wage increases at other universities in the province, and a number of benefits have been unilaterally cut. “It’s the economy”, the university says.

“McGill is quietly breaking down”, as one of the speakers described it addressing the crowd. Security staff stood, stern faced and silent, and eyed the gathering crowd with folded arms. In the lukewarm sun, hundreds stood assembled and cheered as different speakers representing different communities of the university came out to speak in support of the strike. Disappointed, yet resilient, sidelined, yet not deterred, the crowd chanted slogans in unions and sang modified versions of popular songs to further their cause. In a further demonstration of solidarity, the student unions which represent undergraduates and postgraduates, as well as a number of professors and organisations, have voiced their staunch support for the strike. 

It comes down to how much so many have dedicated their lives to this university, to ensuring the continued life and thriving of this community, and yet get very little recognition in return. And now they must make do with even less. The clapping of passersby and the honking horns of supportive drivers galvanised the protesters even more, and fueled the mutual feelings of unity and solidarity. A sea of placards with clever and succinct sentences described the workers’ discontent. 

“McGill works because we do!”

“Support our support staff!”

 “McGill students in solidarity!”

Among the crowd, I recognised a number of familiar faces. The librarian who works late into the night, and who must also work the whole day on Saturdays and Sundays… the secretaries who does everything and anything that is asked of them… Men and women I have seen around campus, maybe even nodded and smiled at as we crossed paths at times, but now, with their matching T-shirts, I have come to recognise play a vital role in keeping this university we cherish running. I greeted a number of people I work with, and they greatly appreciated the solidarity many students have demonstrated in marching with them. The echo of a clap, the heart-warming effects of uttering a few words of encouragement, the recognition of the look in a stranger’s eyes that say “I’m with you”… Little gestures and words go a long, long way in bringing people together in the struggle against a seemingly unresponsive and stubborn bureaucracy.

 In an email circulated among McGill students and staff recently, the university underlined the “substantial deficit this year as well as a significant accumulated debt” McGill is facing, and notes that the situation is further “aggravated by the recent additional turmoil in economic markets”. Cuts have to be made, no doubt. But why does it have to come out of the pensions and benefits of the university’s support staff, when the principal earns much more than the Prime Minister of Canada, and over two million is spent on the renovation of one floor alone? Budgetary constraints may require the university to “make choices, some sacrifices”, but why does the university’s administrative support staff, the very people who makes everything function, have to bear the brunt of these sacrifices? 

Long queues are forming at circulation desks and administrative offices due to reduced staff, as are the grumblings. Paperwork is piling up, salaries are being unpaid, libraries have reduced opening hours. Even the internet connection, which normally works so smoothly, seem to have its moments of breaking down.  These are just some of the small tasks and chores we take for granted, but when left undone, greatly impacts the ability of students and the academic staff to go about their daily business of teaching, research and learning. Complaints are mounting, and the impression of McGill as a renowned institution of learning and teaching has no doubt become tainted by its inability to placate demands and meet the needs of its vital support staff. 

I feel the strike, and every day when I walk on campus, I see and hear it too. The deafening din of bells rings, metallic banging, and horns being blown may be distracting, and may even be annoying. But the sight of colourful banners, buttons and children marching alongside the men and women who keep this place running remind us of how dependent we all are on them, and how they depend on our support so they can continue to support our time at McGill under better conditions and with better pay.

So torn

I don't know why often after a few minutes or so on the phone, mum seems to be eager to hang up the phone. I call to ask her how she's doing, whether she slept well, whether she feels any pain... Always the answer is "Fine, I'm fine, don't worry..."

Do I remind her too much of her illness?
Do I ask too much?
Do my daily calls make her feel unpleasant and pressured to face her own fragile health, something she would rather forget?

Do my calls remind her of the child she has, but who is so far, far away? 
I never wish to do any of this to her when I call. I only call to cheer her up, to encourage her to get out of the house more... I wish to tell her, perhaps not in so many words, that I care, that I care deeply about her and her wellbeing.

Just now, I sat on the floor and as she recounted her day yesterday. I cried. She said she went to  this restaurant she would go to every time a day or two after her chemo treatment to replenish on much needed nutrients... Every time it's always the same dishes: dumplings, chicken soup, and sometimes a fried pork rib. I can picture those dishes, steaming before my eyes. I can smell those dishes, so fragrant, so delicious. Every time time I go with mum, I would look at the food with such intensity and pray and hope and wish that the food will give her much needed strength and nutrition for her to quickly recover...

I cried.

Deep down inside, I miss her very much. I would so much want to be able to take care of her, to help her, to ease her pain and fears (should she have any...). But I know I cannot keep on going back to be with her. I know I cannot continue to put my plans and life on hold and must do something for myself, for my sake. So torn... so very torn, and yet I cannot say it.
 
I dare not tell her the emotional downs and relationship troubles I am going through... I dare not tell her about the many days and nights when I cry thinking about her, worrying about her... I wish I could, I wish I could tell her about my life, every detail of it, but I am selective and have to hold back events, places, words spoken, pain felt.

I have to hold back, just as I hold back the sound of my sobs when I am talking to her sometimes.

So torn

definition

I opened a letter this morning, and on inside was an insurance policy which is supposed to protect my credit card payments should something, anything, happen to me.

And there in the most lawyerly and very dry, unfeeling way, cancer was defined. I read the description, again and again. For a moment, I was empty of feeling. But at one point, my mind drifted to a dream I had during the night. I don't remember the details, but reading the definition of cancer triggered a flashback...

"...malignant tumour characterised by unctonrolled growth of malignant cells". I can see it when I close my eyes. I can see it growing, growing, spreading and taking over. I could see the back of mum's, swollen and sore, terribly sore. And she was crying, she was in pain...

A definition in my insurance policy, and the nightmare I did not want to remember was remembered...

Mid Autumn Festival

As promised, I cooked up a feast today for my ancestors. Originally, the tradition is to make offers on the fifteenth day of the ghost month, but this year, it happened to be one day before my immigration interview (15 Aug) and I was stressed and felt unprepared (and was besieged by emotional troubles...). I made some simple fruit offerings, and told my ancestors I'd "make it up to them" later.

And today is the Mid Autumn Festival, a traditional day of family reunion and get-together. Though I was drained of energy from the night earlier, on my way home, I stopped by Chinatown and picked up some groceries...

Roast duck (dad's favorite), grilled chicken (chicken being a symbol and homonym of the world "family" or "home"), and three different types of green vegetables, including chives (symbol of longevity). For my grandma, I specially bought a can of cucumber pickled in soy sauce, which she  loved to eat, especially as she often ate congee (soupy rice) due to her lack of teeth.  I made rice and turnip soup ( symbol of prosperity and good luck), and offered a variety of sweets and drinks I had in the food cabinet. And of course, no Mid Autumn Festival could be without mooncakes and pomelos, so those I also laid out on the table as part of the offerings.

As I was cooking, a package that mum had mailed to me earlier last week also arrived. I opened it, and  was immediately  touched by the little packets of dried food she had sent me, and by the delicacies she wanted me to give to my friends and colleagues. "Thank them for taking care of you," she had told me previously.  A number of what mum sent me also made it onto a separate  table of offerings.

I knelt before the table, closed my eyes and whispered in my heart... "Grandma, grandpa... dad, and all the ancestors..." I motioned to the few simple dishes I had cooked, as I promised I would. I 'invited' them to come and enjoy the food, and asked them to continue to look after and bless our family...  to watch over and take care of mum, who is all by her self and earlier this morning told me of how "quiet" this festival has been for her. I did not ask anything for myself. I shed a tear instead.

I asked the ancestors to watch over brother, his wife and the new born child. I even connected online so that I could 'show' the ancestors what the new family member, the first of the next generation, looks like. Seeing my nephew's little face, his frown and eyes somehow reminded me of dad, of dad's face, and triggered another avalanche of emotions...

I lit an incense coil, and retreated quietly to the side as my ancestors 'ate'. I thought of the people who had come before me, of dad and the memories we shared... I was not sad, but still numb from the outpouring of grief and painful memories the night before. Preparing the feast, chopping vegetables and cooking made me recover and heal somewhat, as did the classical music in the background.

As silly, as superstitious as the entire ceremony is, the cooking and offerings  made me connect once more with myself and the people who matter(ed) in my life.  And they are still in my heart, on my mind, even so many years have gone by, even if I am so far, far away from where I originally came from...

Fragile peace

I felt so drained, so empty inside in the morning after such an intense release energy and emotions and tears the night earlier. Everything, everything there is to know about me and my life I have let out...

I was afraid to go home, but I knew I had to, even though I dreaded, dreaded being alone.

After letting the pent up emotions go, you become numb... So numb. Numb. Just numb. For a few moments, it is as if there are no emotions, no feelings, nothing but emptiness. Is that a sort of peace? No, it is a fragile peace, a disturbing sort of peace. Fragile because it can easily shatter and break. I could easily shatter and break down. The past, mum's health, the loneliness I feel... all of it consuming me, swallowing me, haunting me. Can I stand up again? Can I mould despair into strength? Can I transform sadness and pain into inspiration?

  I know I am still breathing, I am still alive, but the world becomes a blur, the past becomes a fading shadow. And the present? I'm in the present walking around, talking like a lost soul searching for a home, a safe haven. But it seems I will be searching a long, long time....

 I can feel the rawness, feel how very sensitive and fragile I have become.

No more hiding, no more concealing dark, dark secrets of the past. I am exposed and very very vulnerable...

The past

I broke down, again. I didn't mean to, but the memories were too difficult and painful...

I didn't want to make it about my past, that unmentionable past. The main issue was that I had, consciously or unconsciously, lie about my sexual experiences. I had led my best friend / ex to believe I am an 'angel'. He felt manipulated and hurt, said he had held me with such high esteem, but now has difficulty trusting me. All he ever wanted, he said, was a boyfriend who he could trust, and who was true. But I can't even be that... I've not been that.

I broke down in tears because it is all related. 'Full' sex and the past, what happened to me long ago, yet haunts me still. Twice I was close, but it did not work out because I was too scared, too tense, and unwilling. And to my friend I said  that nobody had ever done that with me. Because someone did try, even though it failed. And the time this one guy tried with me and it didn't work out, he told me in my face something that hurt me for a long, long time. His words still echo in my head to this day, and made me often doubt myself and sexual maturity...

I sobbed for i don't know how many minutes... Just cried and cried, and the sobbing was so intense I felt my ribs and stomach ache so badly. I was blinded by the tears, consumed with ugly, ugly memories and images, and saturated with pain, with guilt, with shame, with the question "Why? Why did it happen? Why me?"

But there is no answer, it just happened. And my phobias, my bouts of guilt, victim mentality, my fear of of full-on sex, my deep deep sense of alienation, loneliness and insecurity all flow from those experiences. The tears just flowed and flowed and I could not stop shaking, shaking, shaking...

Why was I crying? Crying because I hurt and disappointed my friend... crying because deep down inside, there is something fundamentally wrong  with me that  causes me to lie, hide, conceal details and behave so strangely when it comes down to sex... I cried because I realised that the past will forever cast a shadow over whatever relationship I enter into with anyone... 


I have always had a difficult relationship with sex and intimacy. I long for it, yet dread it at the same time. Sometimes I find myself blocking out sexual experiences and encounters... I don't know if I do it consciously. I don't think so, but I simply do not know. Which may explain (but in no way justifies) why I do not fully reveal the details my sexual experiences, even to the one person I trust most of all. 

But I do remember as a child, when 'it' was happening to me, I would close my eyes and drift away... It was my escape, escape from pinned down, from being forced, from being subjugated and victimised. I would dream, fantasise of being somewhere else, doing something else. It was my way of coping, shield invisible shield, even though my body had been compromised. My body may have been 'taken', but my mind, my thoughts are free and can attempt at escape...

And at times today, even engaged in intimate love making, my mind drifts and wanders. It is as if I'm not there, even though I am engaged in the act. It happens less today, but there are sometimes lapses of memory and concentration I cannot account for. Sex is not just sex for me,  not just something pleasurable and fulfilling, something that compliments a healthy relationship with someone I love and care about. For me, sex also draws out at times memories that are painful to bear, too difficult to forget...

I sat on the sofa and continued to sob and shake. It was not out of wanting sympathy or compassion or an easy way out of how deeply I had hurt and disappointed my friend earlier that I cried. I could not control my tears, no less my stop shaking and my and the painful sobs that shook my body and lips...

When was the last time I spoke so frankly, so openly about what I went through? When was the last time I poured out how it affected me so pervasively, so toxically like a plague I cannot control, cannot stamp out? I thought I could let it go, but no, it comes back again and again. Again and again when I least expect it, in my relationships with other people, in my relationship with sex, and in my ability to trust and be intimate... Once abused, forever scarred and forever scared.

He hugged me, he cried for me, he encouraged me. But I felt so undeserving of all this attention, of his time, of all this comforting and care I was again receiving from him, from the very person I had hurt and disappointed a few hours earlier. Who am I to deserve all that after all the hurt and pain I've caused him, not just today, but over the past three years we've known each other?

 And told me again how strong I am, how strong I have been to have gone through it all, and yet come out the beautiful person I am. Beautiful, he said, as beautiful  as he first met me, as beautiful as he got to  know me more and more. Despite the lies, and the ways he felt I had manipulated and deceived him, he was still there, still wasting his time and energy trying to make me feel whole and feel like I deserve love and care, for whatever reason...

I wiped my tears eventually, collected myself and my belongings, and prepared to leave. I felt I could not stay around much longer. I felt like burrying myself under the blanket and sleeping so I could forget, so I could have that temporary peace of mind when my mind is 'off' and when I do not think and do not remember...

"More than ever, I want to lie next to you", he said. For my sake, for his sake, for our sake, whatever that meant... I was torn... I had not, and cannot, forget that hurt and numbed facial expression earlier in the day when he found out about my sexual past. And yet he still wants to lie next to me? I was conflicted and confused. The negative and traumatic memories do paralysed me and I could not think, could not make up my mind... what do I want? What is best for me? I looked at my friend, standing by the door, his innocent eyes red and damp from tears he had shed.

And I stayed, for better or worse, and once again found comfort, acceptance, and warmth, all those elements I have so looked for and longed for, in his arms.

Weaker

She sounded weaker, noticeably weaker when she picked up the phone. It had been a rough, rough night. She said it wasn't because she was lying awake thinking, but that every time the first night after chemo she cannot sleep well.

She sounded tired, but we still talked for almost quarter of an hour. "I'll take care of myself," she said, "You just do you thesis, and see what you need to do after that..."

I asked her if brother knew about her continuing treatment. He does, and when he heard it, there appeared to he much regret... about how things ended when mum left Europe. What is the use of regret now? What is the use of being sorry and causing so much upset, perhaps even contributing to her relapse...? Maybe those days she spent with me, when she could not sleep and when she was upset about my sexuality also contributed to her having to return  for treatment...

"Rest," I told her, "Take good care of yourself please..." but I felt so bitter, so angry at myself inside. What am I doing here...? Really, what am I doing here?

I have such a severe headache, and the mixture of anxiety and fatigue is dragging me lower and lower down...