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.