A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and I took a positive step. I moved into his apartment. We switched rooms with his apartment mate and adjusted the rent accordingly. My parents helped me move my little sister’s old bed and my black IKEA dresser into the room. Otherwise, I brought my clothes, a few books, DVDs and stools. There wasn’t much else to bring since my boyfriend and his apartment mate had already set up shop.
We’re getting into a (domestic) routine. I usually wake up earlier for work. We split grocery bills and take turns cooking/washing. We keep steady track of what we owe each other. We switch between sleeping in my bed and his bed, even though mine has the newer mattress. We even wear headphones so we can listen to our respective music without bothering the other. Disneyland, nights out with friends and shopping dates are much more of an option than it was living in the Valley.
In a way, I feel more focused living with him. I took the GRE last week and was able to focus well during my studies here. I’m not on iChat constantly talking to him while sending stupid Tumblr gifs. If we’re playing games, we help each other out. In a way, we’re living the way we thought we would after college, though not the way we pictured it to be. Nevertheless, I really love sleeping in his arms and waking up next to him. Some mornings, it’s really hard to leave the bed.
In college, I worked in a library and to pass the time, I sometimes read random books on the shelves. One of those books was Forbidden Colors by Yukio Mishima, a ultra-nationalist Japanese author who obsessed with masculine bodies, led a private militia and eventually committed seppuku. If you search for images of him, you’ll likely get his decapitated head. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll get this:
Anyhow, Forbidden Colors was about this crotchety old man who uses this handsome, vain, empty-headed young man to seduce and emotionally torture his ex-wife. The young man turns out to be bisexual and frequents the 1950s Tokyo gay scene for admirers, worshippers and clients. The above quote is from one of his lovers, an middle aged man, hosts a swinging party for his gay friends and watches the young man carouse with other guests.
For me, out of context, I thought of the quote as a metaphor for how the gay community is sometimes. A lot of gay men seek ideals that can’t be reached, whether it means being insanely ripped (as Yukio Mishima wanted to be), sassy, monogamously loved and/or highly connected. Yet at the same time, these goals are so lofty that they set these men up for disappointment especially when their feelings are not reciprocated. I feel that the quote keeps me grounded. After all, I might not have everything but I have enough.
Sometimes, I have to remember how important it is to be touched. Not necessarily in a sexual way, but in a personal way. A hug, a handshake, a pat on the back, a caress. It affirms affection among friendships and relationships in a way that words can’t express.
I remember learning in psychology about baby monkeys raised without a mother’s touch. The monkeys became disturbed and unstable as a result, even when reintegrated with others. I hate to think of what happens to guys who only know touch within a sexual setting without love or friendship.
I enjoy a good cuddle with my boyfriend now and then. I’m not so comfortable doing that with friends yet, although I like to greet others with a hug or a handshake. You can tell a lot about a person from the roughness of their palms, the position of their arms or firmness of their grip. Just don’t assume more when there isn’t anything.
It’s not very often that I come across someone incredibly (physically) attractive. When it does happen during some passing glance or minor interaction, it’s terribly disorienting and embarrassing. Just today at work, this college student came by the lab to drop off samples for a study and his good looks, earnest demeanor and jokes about being like a Fedex courier caught me off guard in my ugly lab coat. I found myself avoiding eye contact, laughing nervously and blushing until he left.
I think it’s hard to deny moments like that because the reactions are quite instinctual. I tell myself that good looks can only take attraction so far; after the spell is broken by some flaw learned over time, it’s hard to regain that awe (unless the good looks are compounded by personality, similar interests and an air of mystery). Plus, I never see these guys ever again nor do I ever make an effort to.
- I don’t think Darren Criss is all that cute. His eyebrows are bushy and he looks like he’d fit with the other hobbits in Lord of the Rings. He gets points for being half-Filipino though.
- If you’re curious as to what my first serious gay crush looked like, google image “Blake Harper.” He kinda looked like that but less bulky. He was a hurdler who was into web design, science fiction and computer programming.
- When I learned what being gay meant as a kid, I distinctly remember thinking, “I hope I never become one.”
- Somewhat related to above, I find unshaven faces attractive.
- I don’t understand the massive appeal of Korean boy-bands. They look manufactured and overly coiffed to me, even with their washboard abs. I guess it’s a preference.
Today, while at work, I thought of the phrase, “Men are from Mars, women are from Venus.” Yet in reflection of my life as of late, I came to an extra addendum - “Gay men are from Uranus.”
Patriarchy exists in my mind; there’s no way around the fact that men and women are brought up and act different in today’s society. Men are brought up to withhold their feelings and withstand circumstances on their own. Women are brought up to talk about their feelings and work together on their problems. A stereotypical view and varying on a case-by-case basis but one that I’ve noticed for most of my life.
Being gay however complicates that for me. Fundamentally, most gay men are gendered male, no matter how effeminate they act. They are capable of doing all the things that men are notorious for: being unfaithful, violent, emotionally distant and prone to anger, to name a few. Yet, I feel like the nature of gay relationships and being seen as (or pressured to act) more effeminate presents gay men with feelings and difficulties that men and women are accustomed to respectively.
As such, gay men attempt to work with these issues in ways they are not prepared for during their patriarchal upbringing. They might try using patriarchal (and unpatriarchal) ways of coping and get mixed results. They could try talking to their friends about relationship problems (and start a lot of gossip) or try to withhold their feelings until they go away (or blow up in their face). It’s a whole set of politics that I’m just beginning to grasp in my own life.
I personally don’t know the best way of dealing with my “gay” feelings. A good cry is nice sometimes but it doesn’t solve the problem. Trying to withstand things is equally hard. All I know is that while unusual, they’re real problems and I have to face them head on in the way that best fits me.
I was talking with my boyfriend about our gay weekends and about his culture shock at a “gay ski trip”. For us, the flamboyance of most gays, while stereotypical and expected at times, can still surprise.
It got me thinking how I act around gays, or rather, how I should act. The most natural answer would be to just be myself. But when I’m around people where bitchiness is the rule, attention to fashion or fitness is high, and friendliness borders on flirting, it’s hard for me to use my subdued, natural personality to make friends.
In addition, I know that my personality is plastic (as in easy to shape or form) and I’m still coming to terms with my own “flamboyant” tendencies like my embarrassingly extensive knowledge of Lady Gaga hit lyrics. So in a sense, I can’t really be myself because I don’t have a full understanding of what my self is.
When making friends, I like the bitchy comments and witty trades back and forth but there are times when the flamboyant comments become less about humor and more as a barrier, one that I find difficult to cross. I find it hard for me to relate to centers of attention because I feel that I have to entertain them or give them a reason to like me.
