100 Tears Away

I’m amazed by my friend. Six-year relationship down the drain, and he’s not a blubbering mess. Instead, he drags lame-old me to go clubbing with him. He’s dancing, he’s drinking, he’s having a good time. That’s when it hit me. I’ve spent more of my life getting over relationships than actually being in relationship. If it weren’t for it not being physically possible, I would think I had more breakups than relationships in my lifetime. The important thing though, is that things are back together. Cool and collected, so I clubbed.

I was surprised to actually get hit on at the club while absolutely scrubbed out though. Note to guys, “can I buy you a drink?” is an infinitely better pickup than, “do you want to dance?” – especially when the guy isn’t even on the dance floor but standing by the bar.

Another note to guys, if the guy very politely turns you down, stay classy and don’t be a total jackass. Smiling doesn’t hurt… unless you have bad teeth.

Carpe Diem

My friend, who has been in a relationship with his partner for nearly 6 years, broke up this past Monday. I was even going to invite this friend home to dinner with the family and be like, “see? Mom and dad, gay people can have long-term, happy functioning relationships.” So much for that idea… More importantly though, my heart reaches out for my friend. 6 years down the drain. Living together and share two pets. Imagine that. I just bought the book It’s Called a Breakup Because it’s Broken, but I think I might lend it to him before reading it for myself.

I am feeling angry tonight. How do people who say they love you lie to you? Cheat on you? Betray you? Give me one good, decent, gay man, so I can prove my parents wrong that I did not come out to live a life of ridicule, drugs, and other gay stereotypes. Parents win again.

I’m Not Worthy

Coming out was slightly disappointing, although in reality, it should have been exhilerating, liberating, and satisfying. I never cry, but today, I was teary eyed as my parents hugged me and told me they loved me, and always will, and that whatever makes me happy will make them happy also. They saw my pain, and told me that I shouldn’t worry, and that I shouldn’t be sad, and that I will always be their son. I am the only son in my ultra-conservative Chinese family, and with the three words “I am gay,” I’ve dashed away all the dreams, aspirations and plans they’ve made for my future, and now all they can tell me is they still love me. In reality, they should have lashed out at me and told me what a failure I’ve been. Moreso than ever, I don’t feel deserving or worthy to have parents like the ones I do. They put up with all my shit, they put up with me, and at the end of it all, they love me. After hearing multiple stories of coming out disasters involving yelling, screaming, crying and suicide threats, I’m happy to say my experience was better… however, it pains me so much to know my parents are such great people who are everything that I could have ever asked for and wanted, while I am simply just someone who’s brought them pain and disappointment.

I don’t say this nearly enough, and in fact, I don’t think I ever do say it, but, Mom and Dad, I love you.

Funeral and Foreshadowing

So coming out has been postponed to tomorrow. Today, instead, was the funeral. Seeing my uncle lie sleeping in his casket was unnerving. It felt as if any moment he’d spring back to life and go JUST JOKING. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Tearful eulogies and goodbyes were said as I shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the pew. Monks circled the hall chanting their strange sutra and it seemed time stood still. For once, it seemed as if the blinking red light on my Blackberry no longer demanded I instantly respond to an email. Everything seemed secondary, even me coming out to my parents. Life is short, I thought to myself, some things need to be done sooner than later, but 24 years – I can afford to wait another day.

How do you imagine your own funeral? For my funeral, I would like people to just chill. No tears. I’d like Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive blasting as some pseudo-eulogy, and a nice dinner at a nice restaurant after. I don’t need everybody standing around my casket waiting for it to be lowered. If death should teach anybody anything, it’s time is of the essence. Why waste it for a 2-hour ceremony watching my lifeless body drop into the ground? Some people are living till the day they die, and others are dying since the day they were born. I’d like to be the former.

Coming Out to Chinese Parents

Apparently my blog was found through a search on Google for “gay breakup advice.” If you for some strange reason bookmarked this blog, and you just experienced a bad break up – read He’s Just Not That Into You. If you’re about to do a breakup, I say honestly is the best policy. Kind of like how I would have appreciated honesty when my last boyfriend slept with my ex, while he was still sleeping with me. See? Honesty would have been nice.

However, this blog isn’t about breakups or dates. This blog is about coming out. I’ve (tentatively) decided to come out to my very Chinese parents. I am expecting plenty of tears, yelling, and some suicide threats. Is there ever a good time to tell your parents you’re gay? Probably not. But some distant uncle unfortunately chose to die around the time I decided to, so tomorrow my parents will be getting both a funeral and a gay son. I have an absolutely “straight” demeanor, so this might be a difficult concept for my parents, but I am hoping they will come around… things like this should come out sooner than later. I just hope the shock does not put a dent in my parents health. Granted that I haven’t been kicked out of the house, I’ll update my (mis)adventure of coming out after I succeed in doing so.

Wish me luck!

It’s Called a Breakup Because it’s Broken

I mentioned one book last blog, but the other book that’s meant to save me is It’s Called a Breakup Because it’s Broken. Today, I was at another Chapter’s location searching for aforementioned book, and of course, Murphy’s law wins again and the system fails. It says they have 1 copy of the book, but it’s nowhere to be found. I suck up my man-pride machismo, go up to the counter and ask the lady for the book. I make a point that the book isn’t for me. She shrugs, smiles, and fails to find me the book. “It’s for a friend,” I say, “she’s heart broken.” I was pretty sure she bought it, until she recommended that I try reading He’s Just Not That Into You instead. “Fine, I lied, and I’ve read that one already, anything else you can recommend?”

So, maybe I’m not the classiest man alive, but my good friend Greg (the co-author of He’s Just Not That Into You), assures me that as long as I believe it and I’m open to it, I will meet someone good who deserves me as much as I deserve him. I’m buying it because frankly there isn’t much more to buy. Part of me is telling me “you poor thing, you’re never going to find love, don’t bother marrying for love and marry for money instead!” – but in reality, what the rest of me is saying, “that’s good advice, but it would probably be better marrying for both love AND money.” With that, I will be holding out for the latter until I turn 30. When 30 hits, I’m going to find the first hobo on the streets, hand him a $20, tell him there’s more of that where the $20 came from and ask if he’ll marry me.

I am classy like that.