Happy Holiday

These past few days, my emotions have been on the low-end side. The weather of my soul has sort of been cloudy since I got back from Spain. It went from a joyful, fulfilled life to a dull existence. My week is now consists of going to the gym in the morning then work, coming home, hoping I will get to chat with Javi for that mere moment, then making myself some dinner and going to bed. On the weekend, I have been staying home, working out, writing down a few of my thoughts, watching a few shows, reading all these new books that Javi bought for me, then preparing for the upcoming work week so that I can repeat the exact pattern all over again. My life so far has been transitioning into an autopilot mode. I busy myself with tasks, but they all have no meaning to it. It didn't hit me at first in terms of what I have been feeling lately, but today, a particular holiday has made me realized what I have been feeling these past two weeks, homesickness. One may say, but I am home. I am back here in New York, so how would that even make sense. It is true. I grew up here; my whole life has been here in New York. Although my friends, my job, are all here, my love, and the future I want to have is not. It has made me start questioning where do I belong? 

Last week I was out with my two best friends who I have known for over two decades, Lily and Judy. We have been friends since middle school, each of us is from very different family backgrounds, but our sense of wit, morals, and the level of pettiness are very much alike, if not, identical. Growing up in a single-parent household, those two were like my siblings. They were the reason why I had a bit of childhood. Regardless of the inexhaustible shade bomb that they throw at each other, sometimes we would purposely insult each other as target practice, we can still see through each other's mask and catch those unspoken words between the lines. Twenty years later, both of them are now married; Judy even has a kid. Lily and I are both the godparents to Judy's little offspring, who looks just like her mother. Besides my late parents, they were the closest people I've known as family. Now, as we were sitting across from each other at some new coffee shop in Flushing, we realized that we are going into our separate way. After we finished our coffee, Lily had her father to pick us up and drive each of us home. As we were walking toward her father's car with blinking headlight, it flashed me a mental image of us being twelve again. We were always going out to the latest coffee shop, doing absolutely nothing but occupying space until late evening just so her father can pick us up. For the longest time, New York has become my home because of them. I went from being the kid who always hid away in some corner to avoid the monster at home, to the person who grew to develop his sharp tongue, slaying every person with my words who dared to hurt anyone I care. My canvas started out black, but they managed to bleach it clean and added colors to it that I didn't know they even exist. Part of me is hesitant about letting go here; however, as we were each getting off that car and stepping onto the pavement, we understand that this is the end of an era. 

After my parents passed away, I had stopped celebrating any holidays or birthdays. Because it often reminds me of what I am lacking, a family. Of course, I had my new friends here in the city, but none can understand me the way my family does. Therefore, instead of explaining how I feel to people who can't possibly relate, I chose to remain silent. Over time, that silence has become a reflex, an automatic response to hide away my vulnerability. In doing so, people misjudge my silence as a strength and have forgotten about my existence. I remember I once had a candid conversation with a gay friend of mine. I explained to him why I always care more about them than they do for me. That is because of survival. While in many ways, all my gay friends came to this city independently, gathered together, and formed a community, but they all have a family back home where they always belong. I, however, have indeed been left alone here. So I have two options, either choose to be alone and lonely, or I can care for people in the hope of them to show me that slight grace of caring. Many of my gay friends have once called me their brother, but none have I ever believed in their words. Or perhaps I should ask myself the question, have I ever considered them as my family? How can anyone find people as their siblings if they can't comprehend them? If I dig even deeper into my own psyche, it would explain a lot to why I always try so hard into making the guys fall for me before I develop feelings for them. Because deep down, I really do hate being alone. So instead, I cling around the people who I can't connect with while feeling desolated. It's almost like playing musical chairs. As the game goes on, the pool of selection where you can place your ass is becoming limited. Once you set on that chair, is it really a comfy one? Probably not, but at least it's a chair with a vibrating dildo attached to it. When I broke up with Andy, all my gay friends were anticipating a catastrophic reaction out of me, as a matter of fact, a friend of mine even cried for me after I told him the news. Unfortunately, those tears of loss had never surfaced; some of my friends then wondered if I'm inhuman. If you apply the musical chairs approach to this situation, one would ask, why would anyone shed tears for a defective sex toy? 

But then, somehow, my way of thinking has transformed before registering into my inhuman brain. For the first time in forever, that torpid heart of mine started to beat again. It was like being submerged into the Christmas Carol. I woke up to the light and feeling that rapture holiday spirit. Instead of grinching other people's happiness, I decided to embrace the cliche. I slow dancing with Javi in the living room, placing presents under our Christmas tree, gagging on the 12 grapes as the New Year bell rang, and taking this happiness into my heart, although I would much prefer to gag on something else other than grapes with seeds. At least the one I had on my mind has a lot less sugar and calories in it. Still, even with all that love, I waver if I can really consider him as my family. That New Year night, it was perhaps the most romantic celebration I have ever experience. Nonetheless, due to my doubtful mind, a slight impediment snowballed into a disappointment. That night, I let my brain took the wheel, spinning into the pit of doubts, wondering the what if while pretending nothing bothers me. The next day after I woke up, I tried to shake off that jitter and pretended everything is normal. Javi just walked up and hugged me into his arms; he somehow read every unspoken word of mine by just looking at me. I was astonished. At that moment, my brain was not capable of formulating a single word. As if a glitch to a computer program that the software has never encountered before. He didn't even ask or wait for me explaining to him my version of half-truth — this man who I have known for a short year managed to make the impossible possible. If only he could feel my heartbeat, he would have known it paused for a good minute, or maybe he did know. I did not know what to say to conceal my embarrassment for allowing myself to go into my usual autopilot mode, except just hugged him back really tight and telling myself not ever to let go. Because I have finally found a place where I feel belong to. He is my home. He makes all the holidays festivo again. 

After Lily, Judy, and I aged into our adulthood, that canvas of mine has stopped evolving. Sure, there have been a few spin-offs mini sketches produced over these last few years, but the central art piece was just collecting dust since no proper artists were painting it. Except now, it's like Goya has come back to life and started pouring all sorts of new color onto my bristol board pad. Even as I am writing now, my dusty eyes are getting watery. Because for the first time in forever, I am learning to break my silence, showing my vulnerability, and acknowledging this happy story of mine does not have a time stamp on it. Even during those years that I had spent with my late parents, each happiness is attached to a stopwatch. Notifying me that there is a time limit as to how long I can enjoy it. Because of my mom's cancer, each celebration is like a going-away party. Behind each laughter, there is tear. Then my dad passed away, the one man who I had ever shown my vulnerability to because he was the only person who was capable of protecting me. On top of that, the only two siblings that I have had moved on to their married life. Consequently, I learned to discard a big part of me that made me human and became a greenish creature. Because by admitting what I desire is acknowledging what I can no longer have. And that is simply too much to bear. Now, I have this angel reaching his hands out to me, being everything that I have lost and long for having. Words cannot describe this overpowering mixed emotion I have. On the one hand, I feel ecstatic; on the other, I feel nervous. Nervous about losing him. I am worried that my string of good luck may eventually run out, then I am back to living in my series of unfortunate events. Javi has become this body pillow that I can lean on. As I was falling times after times on those ski slopes, I learned to let go of my fear because I have him behind looking over me. I trusted that he would come to my aid if I am in danger. For the first time, I rely on someone else other than my dad for protection. And when he hugged me that New Year morning and read me like a book, that smile of mine came from a genuine place. And when we celebrated Christmas together, I actually look forward to the one next year, and the year after, and many more. That happiness did not attach to a stopwatch. He somehow made everything possible again for me. Saying I am grateful is an understatement. I see myself growing older with him. I want to wake up every morning next to him, welcoming the sunray into our bed, feeling the warmth of his touch, and telling myself I am home. 

So yes, despite being back here in New York, the place where I grew up, I do feel very homesick because my home is no longer here anymore. Knowing how good it feels to celebrate a holiday with joy, I don't want to be on my own on any holiday or birthday anymore. I want to celebrate birthdays, his and mine. I don't want to have to ship his birthday present to him. I want to hand the gift to him in person. I want to stop being embarrassed to tell him how I truly feel and just scream out to him, verbally, "Yes, I need you. And yes, I am afraid of losing you because of how much I love you." I want to love his family as they are my own. My life all the sudden has meaning again is because of him. He is the Goya of my canvas and the key to my heart. 

A new understanding of love

My love for Javi has evolved to a new level that I have never experienced before. As I was explaining to my friend about my upcoming plan in moving to Spain, I realized I really have decided to move and to be with a man that I met over one night a year ago! So I reflected on what makes Javi different than all the other guys I have ever dated or encountered. What makes him so special that I consider him as my one and only soulmate? That is because, for the first time in my life, I actually see a future with another person. I feel alive and content whenever I am with him. His presence only provides me a shield of comforting feeling that I have never felt before. His love has inspired me to unpack my past, so I can become an even better person for him and for us. And the sex... my goodness, that mind-blowing sex! Making love with him makes porn seems like a PG cartoon. It was like back when you were a virgin, picturing how amazing your first time would be like, and when it finally happened, it was exactly how you pictured it. That is what I feel every time when he touches me, kisses, holds me...etc.

Clearly, I am no virgin, and yes, I have been in relationships before. In fact, the longest relationship I have been in was over 5 years, we lived together for 4. His name is Andy. Andy was a really nice guy. He was very sweet to my parents, especially my mom. He actually considered my mom as his own. That is because, throughout our relationship, his parents did not accept his sexuality. In fact, every time when his mom called him on the phone, Andy would've told me to hide in the other room. As if the scent of my gayness would travel through the phone line all the way to Romania.  Therefore, my mom tried to overcompensate what he's lacking by giving him more affection. Andy and I were very different. I am more in touch with human emotion, vs. he prefers to communicate with the computer. However, over time, we did change a lot. We both grew to understand each other. That is also because we have gone through a lot of ups and downs together. He was there for both of my parents' death. Andy was there by my side every step of the way. From doctor visits to arranging the funeral. Many had thought that he and I would eventually end up together. But not once, have I ever considered him as my soulmate, and I knew he feels the exact same thing. There was love, but it wasn't romantic love. It was more like two best friends had become brothers that type of love. The only reason why we were together for so long was because of my parents. And it would have hurt them for them to see us broken up. I still remember after we buried our mother, we went home, sat in the living room, and didn't speak. No TV, no small talk, no nothing. Looking into the empty space in silence. It was then we finally realized we had stopped being a couple a long time ago. All the chaos that has been going on, it clouded our eyes. It prevented us from seeing the truth, which is we don't belong together. Long story short, sometime after, we decided to break up in the middle of the New York street, and then we have never spoken to each other ever again.

After my relationship with Andy, I didn't really date anyone, nor did I want to. I found meeting guys were more like job interviews. You have to put up a front to make a good impression for a stranger that you most likely don't even want to see again. Plus, because of my past, my long, complicated, tragic past. For the longest, I've always believed no one can possibly understand or even remotely relate to what I have gone through. So in many ways, I've always felt alone, even in relationships, just like with Andy. Until I met my next ex, Tae. I met Tae in Vegas. He was my masseur, who I ended up having a meaningless encounter. But I was intrigued by his profession, so we kept exchanging messages. He told me about his past and how he ended up doing what he does professionally.

I felt related to what he went through in life. We bounded based on our shared, painful memories. Eventually, that bound has evolved into a relationship. Even from the beginning, deep down, I knew this relationship was like a minefield. But part of me felt like I had to save him. And so, I did exactly that. I moved him from Vegas to New York, helped him find a job, enrolled him into college, paid off his debt. Tae was grateful to everything I had done for him, but his thanks were very physical. What people didn't know was that during that 9 months relationship, I was a victim of domestic violence. Tae has anger management problems and semi borderline. He does not know how to process emotions, plus he is a bodybuilder who injects steroids regularly. Put the two things together, it creates a dangerous monster. Every little thing can easily set him off. At first, it started with just verbal abuse. He would call me names or said something very disrespectful. But then he would quickly apologize and tell me how much he loved me. After we moved in, that verbal abuse has evolved to physical, with him throwing objects at me. It started with just a pillow. One time I came home from dance practice, as soon as I walked in the door, he threw the couch pillow straight to my head. He was angry that I was out so late and left him at home all by himself. Then a month later, he was slamming the cabinets, pushing me to the couch, using his body weight to pin me down and accidentally knocking over the coffee mug to the ground. He started crying very hard because he felt sorry for his uncontrollable action. He began to get psychotherapy treatment afterward then realized he shouldn't be in a relationship with anyone. But because he didn't have anywhere to live, we remained as roommates. One night, he saw I had installed a dating app on my phone, he went into his beast mode again. He slapped the phone off my hand, and when I tried to confront him, he slammed my body to the wall and choked my neck with his arm. I kept trying to shake him off, but it was no use. He slammed my head to the wall a few times as he was choking me. Finally, he stopped, and he blamed me for making him do this to me. That night, I went back to my room, locked my door, and prayed for morning to come. The next day, I saw a massive bruise on my neck. It was then I realized I was no savior, I was a victim of a horrific relationship. Fast forward to the end of this relationship, Tae ended up moving out of my apartment and moved back to the West Coast.

At this point, you can probably understand how I have become very cynical about the idea of romance. Almost every man that I have encountered is either a robot or a monster. On top of that, you also have all these mediocre white men who only desire you because you are just another Asian with a nice piece of ass. They see you as nothing but a toy for them to own. They see themselves as the superior race and act as the savior of all minorities. But then, the society we live in also reinforce that mentality. We see minorities fight one another just so they can be with an average white man or woman. If you observe closely at any club, you will see many gay minorities often play a particular role just so they can be more attractive to the white race. Some may say this is all just an assumption; I call it an observation. So yes, I do have a few admirers here in New York, but none are partner material for my taste. Whenever I was being asked out on a date, I usually use my kids as an excuse. So just, I don't have to give a follow-up answer. I believed romantic love was nothing but a myth or a lottery. The chances that you can actually find a guy who fits into everything you look for is down to zero. That is until I met him, the one I consider my soulmate, Javi.

If you have to ask what is my biggest fear, I would say it is being abandoned. I still remember back when I was in high school, I was going through manic depression. That is because I did not understand why my biological father has three sons, but he chose me to leave behind. I was always trying to figure out what is wrong with me. For the longest, I wanted to confront him and force him to give me an explanation. But then thanks to counseling and my late dad, I learned to let go of him. But that abandonment feeling has already scarred me, it is like a parasite buried deep under our consciousness. Making us think and act in ways that will eventually lead us to doom. So whenever I was involved with anyone romantically, I often plan for a breakup. Because the only way to not feel abandon is to desert the people you may have feelings for first. However, with Javi, I learned to rebuild my entire foundation and beliefs on love and relationship. Let's face it, not even he and I had foreseen we can last up to now. We are talking about two strangers from two different cities and two different worlds, who met up for one night, 7 hours at most. To say feeling skeptical is an understatement. But then the way how he and I act are all based on these unexplainable emotions. From the night we met, to him visiting New York, us traveling to Florida, and to now, us living together. The first time I realized I have developed deep feelings for him was when I had to say goodbye to him at the JFK airport after we had spent a whole week here in New York. I felt like my heart was shattered into millions of pieces. Because I thought that was the end of our fairy tale.

There were times I told myself perhaps I should just give up on Javi and prevent myself from any more heartache, but then part of me can never let go. So I pray, I go to the St. Patrick Cathedral Church literally every day during my lunch hour. Asking the higher power for a sign. A sign that says he is the one. Every morning when I wake up and see his texts, it brings me sunshine, each time when I see him smile, it brings me joy, and every conversation I have with him, it gives me comfort. Without realizing, I have somehow removed all my guards. Because I have learned to trust him and believe when he says he really cares for me. He helps me to get in touch with my past, but he also takes my hand and guides me to move forward. When we went to Disney World together, I explained to him why I never like an amusement park because I never have a family to go with. He took my hand and assured me that I will never have to feel alone again. It was that moment, I had realized this is the man I have been searching for my entire life. He is my winning lottery ticket to happiness. And he is the man that I destined to be with. I have to go through my past, beaten to the rock bottom, and lost all hopes of living just so I can genuinely understand love in the most profound way. I know he is the guy that I have to love with everything I have. I want to be the best man, boyfriend, husband, partner for him, treasure him every day as if it is our last.