shaun

“If I could choose again, I would still want to be born as a guy. Why? You may ask. Because it is what allowed me to meet him. In an all boys school. I never regretted loving him.”

This person from the internet is so stupidly in love… But he writes about my heart.

It’s so tiring to be me.

And I could only say it here.

“Someone out there is going through the same thing as well.”

I just read this online on facebook. It’s written by a Singaporean male.

My heart is literally torn apart while reading this. I feel so painful for him. Ok my eyes are actually tearing. I feel so empathetic I wanna say sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry to him idk why omg… OUCH.

Sometimes I still wonder why people would think that gay/bi people choose to be that way. Who would choose to hurt themselves knowing it’s gonna hurt?!?!!? Who would choose to hurt themselves knowing they are not accepted, even by their families?! Who would choose to hurt themselves knowing they would be shun, bullied even, talked bad about by their peers and the rest of the world?!

It’s not a choice. And behind all the “pride” shit. If I could choose, I would choose to be straight. Happier. Accepted. Just…..happier….

Ok just read this…

“This took me two days to write, so I sincerely apologise for the length of this letter. I am fifty-seven this year and I have never said this out loud to anyone what I have always felt in my heart. I thank the young men and women who make this possible. Being able to read the stories of so many weighed heavily on my mind and told me that I should write in. I do not know if this will be published but sending this in is a relief.

I grew up without a mother. She had passed away shortly after I was born and I was placed in the care of my grandmother while my father went to work in the shipyards. When I was old enough to attend school, I was sent to one where I remember walking for twenty minutes every day after classes to my father’s worksite. I would be told to sit at a table in the canteen where an older man I was to address as “Uncle Xu”, would see that I would get a glass of hot drink and food. I would do my homework until my father finished his shift and bring me home.

I studied hard to make my father proud. The only time he would sit and talk to me came each evening before dinner as he looked through my schoolwork. Doing well in a test would earn me a smile of approval and pride, something I cherished and worked to maintain. After dinner, I would sit at his feet reading my schoolbooks while he smoked and listened to the radio.

As I grew up, I did well in school and kept mostly to myself. I was shy and while many boys at my age were making friends with girls and going out, I would go for long cycling rides through the peaceful countryside. My books were my companions. Besides my teachers and older family members, no one else found me remarkable.

I was able to attend high school and there I met C. He had caught my attention during the first day in class as he came in with a large group of friends. He was good looking and his laughter from the other side of the room would catch your attention. I felt strange that I found looking at him to be such a pleasure and so I tried not to draw attention to myself. When news spread quickly that I was among the smartest of our cohort however, he came up to me seeking help. I did not have any friends and I was swept up by the attention of this popular boy. I agreed and we made plans to meet at my place.

And so it became a routine. I would sit silently in class and be diligent in my work, occasionally looking up when I heard his voice among his friends. Sometimes he would look over and catch my eye, smile and give a nod of greeting. That nod meant “see you after school” and we did. His presence in my home became a regular occurrence and he was invited to stay for dinner on many occasions. I was quietly happy that my life had this charming young man who easily engaged my family members and even my father in conversations about the developments of the day. With my help, his school work improved and he rewarded me with a deep personal friendship. He was fascinated by anything westernized and often sought to draw me out of my shell with the music and books he was into.

One evening he surprised me with a pair of movie tickets, a new Western that was showing in town. I had heard my classmates discussing this excitedly but it never occurred to me that I would go. My reluctance must have been foolish as he continually teased me about not saying yes. Eventually he brought it up during a dinner with my family in a nonchalant manner. Caught by surprise, I merely nodded and focused intently on my meal, feeling my face flush from the surprised looks from everyone at the table. His grin of mischievous triumph made my heart skip a beat.

I looked forward to the day and when it came, I was nervous and tried to think of an excuse not to go. I had only visited the cinema with my family, an annual treat like how some would take for a holiday. The social situation was new and I did not know what was expected of me. C arrived on a motorcycle he had borrowed from his older brother and seated cautiously behind him, I was even more conscious of how close to his person I was.

The movie was entertaining but what remains etched in my memory is sitting beside him, hearing him laugh and cheer as the film went on. Being the sole recipient of his excited chatter after the movie was a highlight of the evening itself and I found myself smiling and agreeing to whatever he was saying. We had a light supper at a food street nearby and as we rode home after, he started humming the tune from the movie loudly and cheerfully.

When we reached my place, I was feeling the effects of such an unusual night. I thanked him awkwardly for the tickets when he reached out and took my hand with both of his. I stood there frozen, not knowing what to do. For the first time, I saw him struggle for words as well. Nothing I had studied or read taught me how to frame and express my feelings for that moment. I could only stand there with my hand clasped in his, feeling the pulse of his heart against the fast beating of mine.

I will never know what would have happened next as my father stepped outside the house to see if I had come home. His sudden presence caused us to break apart instinctively, an act that could not have painted the situation with more guilt. C’s stammered greeting of false cheer was met with a stony silence and after a moment, my father strode back into the house and the door slammed with a thunderous bang.

I shook my head furiously at C’s apologies and quickly entered the house. Standing a moment at the door listening to C start up the motorcycle and ride away, I walked into the dining room to see my father seated. I stood there consciously, not knowing what to say as I was unsure of what had happened myself. After a long period of heavy silence, my father spoke.

“I never want to see that again.”

Those words were also accompanied with a look I had never received from my father. Disappointment and disapproval. The feeling of sudden tears behind my eyes overwhelmed me and I gave a single emphatic nod. I half walked half ran to my room and sat on my bed. I did not dare to let my tears flow as someone might walk in but that night, something in me died and I mourned its loss.

When school resumed, I was even more withdrawn than usual. C had come round to my house a few times but I did not answer the door. I was frightened of the strong urges I had felt when he held my hand, and even more afraid of seeing that look from my father again. Being in the same classroom with him was painful but as no one really knew of our close friendship outside of school, avoiding and not talking to him was not taken amiss by anyone except for him. If our eyes met and he seemed about to say something, I would walk away hating my cowardice and yet longing to hear what he had to say.

But there are only so many times one takes rejection and soon C stopped trying. The weeks of silence stretched into months and soon we graduated. That day, standing in the crowd of happy students and family, I sought the sight of him one last time. I found him and took a long last look. After a while, he seemed to sense it and turned to stare right back at me. I still could not find the right words to say to him and I watched as his face brightened with hope. Finally I heard my father calling out to me. As I turned to leave, I saw sadness settle on his features. That was the last time I ever saw him.

As this is already three pages long, I shall seek to end here. The rest of my life has gone by with unremarkable normalcy, except that I never married as my father expected. I continued to study hard, did national service, attended a local university and found a job practicing accountancy.

Over the years, I came to realize that the feelings I struggled with were that of my gay identity. I channeled my life into work and providing a better living for my family as they aged, my form repayment for the care they had given me in place of an absent mother. There were rare clandestine encounters with men over the years – quick hurried affairs that reeked of guilt and shame to me. Filial piety is a poor companion and as my father passed away recently, I find myself alone. It is too late but after so long, I now know the words I should have said to him.

I love you. You were always in my heart, my memories and I regret that I did not have the courage to find you. I sincerely hope that you are happy wherever you are, whomever you are with. Maybe you remember, maybe you do not but there was a time long ago when your laughter brought quiet joy to a lonely boy and showed him happiness outside of his own world.

Thank you.

Hate it when you fall for boys and they tell you how they saw a pretty girl on the bus.

Okay I get it.