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April 25, 2007

Is it disturbing that now I find straight people – particularly straight men – extremely irrelevant to my life? Whatever happened to my staunch avowal that I would never become one of those gay men who look insularly into their own community. Looking at all those photographs from blogs of my old schoolmates – in clubs, in restaurants, at the beach: I feel strangely disconnected from their normality. No one ever points to them and shouts ‘faggot’, no one ever questions their (sensible) t-shirts and ties, or their sexy halter tops and miniskirts. It’s all so – damn – normal.

I’ve always craved, in part, for that. Now in my interaction with friends from so long ago, it’s hard to share with them gay things: we move in totally different spheres. They have Zouk, I have St James on Sunday. They have Quiksilver, I have Instant Karma. They have Byford, I have Calvin Klein. It’s just like there’s this insuperable wall between us, a wall of fashion magazines, airy pop music and branded clothes.

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March 27, 2007

So things with the G have ended acrimoniously. I was incredibly pissed off for a while, but then after that I just got over it. Very Katharine McPhee. It’s funny how I have a habit of moving on – at the point of rejection I feel like a complete failure, then barely a day later I feel normal again. As I grow older I fear that I will grow up to be like Edna St. Vincent Millay:

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet know its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

That feeling of utter dejection – remembering lost loves, even the briefest encounters, illuminating them with my imagination (the lives we could have shared, the loves we could have assured) – leaves me breathless and for a moment it feels as if I’m going to die: that air steward who lives in Edinburgh, what’s his name? who wanted to fuck, but I couldn’t because I was afraid of pain then. That filmmaker, the first one who fucked me (what was his name? Daniel? Dan? Danny?), what’s happened to him? And the countless Jewish guys I’ve dated – once, twice, three time’s an alarming record – whatever happened to them? So many questions, so many alternate existences, only one life I have. Sometimes I wish I could retrack my steps, like deliberately not saving when you’re playing Pokemon so you can go back to that crucial moment before killing the Mewtwo. (I mix my metaphors liberally.)

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March 21, 2007

So. Things have become complicated over here, and I’m so glad that I rejoined the parent company for an internship. In the past two days I’ve been so exhausted I barely have any time to think, let alone fret about the circumstances of my love life. Oh, I fall in love too easily. I fall in love too fast.

I blame Z for doing this to me. Had his lusty roving eye not fallen upon the G’s AC-ruggerness and tophood, I would not have met them at Taboo and G would not have known me when he bumped into me the following day at St James. Now I wake up and think fondly of him. But, you know, as with all things with me (the O, random other guys, chicken pox) this will pass soon. Grrrr. Brrrr.

This should not be happening. I’m tough as nails. I haven’t allowed myself to feel any affection for anyone in a long time – almost four months now. Hence the numerous encounters. It’s much easier (and more fun) to drown your loneliness in sexual predation. Not to mention, of course, extremely validating. The past three months have shown me that I’m not that ugly after all, that I can land myself good-looking guys with a modicum of intelligence, not just those mingers in toilets with hair in all the wrong places. Which is a step forward.

SO. The G hasn’t called yet, and I’m starting to feel a bit anxious. Damn these tops of all shapes and sizes, they’ll use you and they’ll lose you. But don’t you ever for a second get to thinking, you’re irreplaceable.

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March 9, 2007

Three months ago it would have been so easy to pack up and disappear. Now – now – things are so different. Somehow, the heart that I misplaced – through calcifying, fossilising, deadening it so that I wouldn’t feel the edge of loss, the suffering, the ever-present pain of losing friends, time, myself – the heart that I misplaced I found again. Somewhere, at the point where Crystal found her new boyfriend and Jane found her new boyfriend and Salman found a life beyond the police force and suddenly I was all alone, I stopped feeling. It was easy to lose myself in the numbing rhythm. What else was there in my life? Nothing. I woke up, feeling nothing. I collapsed out of bed, feeling nothing. I took a bus, feeling nothing. I did my work, feeling nothing. I stood in line, feeling nothing. I came home, feeling nothing. I fell asleep, feeling nothing, dreaming nothing. (The nights upon nights without dreams were the worst.)

But now life is so fresh and so new and so various. I’ve met and fallen in love with the best people. (I didn’t think I’d find any more friends who could be loyal and true to me – difficult, obstinate, taciturn me – but I did. And now my perfect world – so static, so true – has fallen apart, and new, fresh, feeling has rushed in, and I’ve never felt so much more exhilaratingly alive. Alive. And now when September comes I will have to pack everything into a bag and bid everyone goodbye. And now – now – how will this be possible? How will this be easy? What could I even do?

This is getting very emo and boring.

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February 12, 2007

I can be a shockingly vindictive person. In school, I feuded with a girl for almost two years. She’d had the audacity to call me a “faggot”. I responded by calling her “thunderthighs”, screaming at her from halfway in the canteen, hurling abuse at her in various languages as she passed me in the corridors. I fed rumours about her. She apologised in an email, but by then I couldn’t have cared less about the original source of discontent. I was borne up by a wave of exhilaration, the exhilaration you get when you know you’re making someone’s life miserable. And I loved it.

Three years after that, I feel bad. Growing up can do these things to you. Hm.

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January 23, 2007

pict1004.JPG Lunch at Thai Express today with Amogh was a riot. Some friends you don’t see in months and yet you still talk to them like no time has passed – Amogh’s one of them. As I grow older I realise that some people will always be part of your lives. I think Amogh’s one of them. He’s been with me through thick (him in sec 3) and thin (me in J1). He was there when slowly but surely outed myself to everyone. And he’s never really given a shit about what others think of me – he’s just always been there. In a very unhealthy “i’m straight and very bad with emotions” way.

Today he revealed something that has been weighing heavily on his mind – that he wouldn’t be able to find a hot eligible Brahmin girl. Ok all you Brahminahs out there – you want him, you got him. Tell me and I’ll get back to you. Heh. My advice was to marry a Chinese, so he’d have hot Chindian children. But he would have none of it, for fear of parental retribution. Alas, the woes of the caste system! And I thought being gay and Chinese was bad.

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French Fried

January 21, 2007

So. 8 years of French and I can barely stumble out a coherent sentence now. How embarassing. La mort? Le mort? Only I could have made such a stupid faux pas. FAUX FUCKING PAS.

Word of the day? Olivier. Olive wood. Or an olive tree. Adorable.

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