“I’m stopping in for a night, and I was hoping maybe you’d let me stay at your place. We could catch up.”

***

Four days later and there you were, leaning against my door and waiting for me to arrive home from work. I apologized for being late and you made no big deal of it. You pulled me in close for a hug, and wrapped me between your arms. It lasted for a second or two and then you let go, pulled back, and ruffled my hair like you always used to. 

We made dinner and you told me about your travels. Berlin, Moscow, Hong Kong, Tibet, Fiji, Japan, Australia, Vancouver, and now you’re here. You recounted adventure after adventure, the friends you met, the late nights, the bits and pieces you left out so as to not make me jealous. So considerate, no?

We went through two bottles of wine that night and I indulged in only two glasses. 

At 11PM, an amber glow filled my living room. You went to plug in the Christmas lights; stepped back, stared at my tree, and then turned to smile at me. You sat back down and asked me if I was seeing anyone, how the dating was going, and if I still spoke to any of our friends from high school. 

I kept mum about the details. They weren’t reserved for you anymore. 

I went to bed that night hating myself for letting you stay. Inviting you back into my life, even if it was only for a brief moment, to remind me of what you forgot and what I couldn’t. You came back to reassure yourself that we were still friends. You wanted to make sure that you hadn’t made a mistake by kissing me, running your fingers through my hair and holding me, spending three nights together when Toby left and I was still here. You wanted me to let you know that you weren’t a bad person, and that hopefully I was cool enough to let it all go. 

You wanted reassurance and I wanted to forget, but neither of us got what we wanted.

No one but him can describe how I’ve felt. He just expressed everything that I’ve never been able to communicate effectively.

Here’s a snippet:

So as a kid, I would look in the mirror at my features, my smooth skin, my black eyes, and it was easy to feel ugly. It was easy to agree.

And when I came out, there was no parade celebrating my diverseness. Instead, I entered a subculture that strove even harder to fit in. When a group of individuals grows up with a perpetual reinforcement that we are subhuman, that our emotions are inferior, that our love is dirty, how can you blame us for this? The Adonis factor is not narcissism. It’s self-defense.

I worked so hard to hear that I was attractive. I had something to prove, that I was no longer that sad, effeminate boy doggy-paddling at the shallow end of the pool. So I hit the gym and sculpted my body from obesity to lean muscle. So I built a persona of hypersexual confidence and took an obscene pleasure in breaking hearts. So I went through long periods of promiscuity and drug use when I used my sexuality as validation: “If you fuck me, I exist.”

And I was miserable.

Click HERE to read the rest of the article.

***

So to you fellow gay men of color, believe what he says at the very end.

Why?

Because it’s so fucking unbelievably true.

and I just woke up with this pit of anxiety in my stomach.

There is so much fear and self doubt right now inside of me and I have no idea where it is coming from.  All through high school I had dreams that I wanted to pursue. I threw all my energy into my studies and extracurricular’s; and I did well. I worked my ass off for what I wanted and I always got it. And then I got rejected from every university that I applied to for theatre, film and photography.

I don’t think I ever really recovered from all of those rejections. I feel like as if deep down there’s still this silent fear that subconsciously keeps me from really trying for anything… being the bold guy I used to be who took charge of his life. I have been trying so hard to recapture that drive and motivation, Rachel-Berry-esque even but I have no idea where it went after high school.

I feel like I’d do well in teachers college, but one of my former educators, who is now also my friend told me in grade 12 to never become a High School teacher because I would be settling if I did.

Is this what everyone feels? Like as if we might be bound for greatness, but just with no idea if we’ll ever get there? All of us with dreams that we never really achieve, and then just realize that it’s better to just… get your shit together and do the 9 to 5.

There goes another lemming.

“Some think the post-mo generation is ungrateful for guys like Wittman and insensitive to the struggles that allowed us the freedoms we enjoy today. Not so. The goal is to live with those freedoms as they were intended, not to live plagued with the pressures to be here and be queer. The fact is, we have everything our predecessors always wanted, so why has the community never seemed more at odds with itself?”

Click text for article.

Why do I feel like a large chunk of my self was just shattered?

Okay, it’s official, I’m offended.