1. Junior College. He was an arts student, swim team, broad-shouldered, tan with a baby face. He was still in his ACS uniform; i was in my Raffles. In between breaks, we went to the sick bay to nap. Two beds. Suddenly he climbed into my bed and we were jousting, wrestling. He was smaller but fitter, took me a while to pin him down. His breath heavy on my neck. We were both sweaty. Our bodies pressed. I could the heat of his body. We paused, looked into each other's eyes.

After that incident, he never spoke me or acknowledge my presence. He is married.

2. Army. Another ACS boy, soccer team. He was miniature. Other soldiers often came to him and touched him all over; he let them. But he always preferred me, he always came to me. We went to watch movies a few times, just he and I. One day, we were alone in the bunk because he asked me to stay behind and help him. Sitting side by side, his knee touched mine. He blushed.

He went to Australia after army. We lost contact.

3. University. Another ACS boy, another athlete, track team. He was in another orientation group but somehow in the crowd, we looked at each other, nodded and we walked towards each other and started talking.

One day, he called me. He said, "hey, show me your hostel room."

He came, and laid on my bed, and he waited.

4. I didn't know he is married until yesterday. Charming and fair. He had been asking me out for a while, but I was busy. He paid for drinks last night ($120) and said, "I'll buy this round so you can treat me next time and I can see you again."

Today, he texted saying he tried to link me up with a business. He had no need to do that at all.

I don't know what he wants but I'm going to assume he's looking for a man-friend until further notice.

What do straight men want? They are enigmatic.

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Pain is often moving; happiness not so. You don't see movies slow-mo-ing happy scenes except as painful flashbacks.

You look back on pain and see how foolish and needless it is but in the moment of suffering, pain is exquisite beauty that exalts one and teaches a lesson happiness cannot. That's why Greeks treasured tragedies over comedies.

Pain is a friend and a foe. You make use of it as it uses you.

Pain etches and changes the grooves in the brain. Pain is permanent.

You don't realize the moment of happiness until it passes and suffering arrives and settles. Happiness is a fleeting drug for a relief of suffering. Suffering is a permanent state of being.

Nobody is ever awarded a Nobel Prize for their happiness; suffering is rewarded.

Pain teaches sympathy and love: happiness, selfishness.

Love is proportional to pain; you only know you love if you suffer.

Pain makes you feel alive. Look at Fight Club.

Listening to other people's pain is tiring and tiresome. One's pain, however, is unique and autistic.

Pain shuts one from the world; happiness is one with the world.

To love someone is to love yourself or an image of yourself; true love is narcissistic, which is why couples are often alike.

To love someone completely different is to love someone you want to be; true love is still narcissistic.

To love someone is to be proud of him; true love is pride.

To love someone is to project your image of that person on him and to maintain an illusion of the other party, overlooking all his slippages that may destroy the illusion. Not to overlook his faults will lead to contempt which in turn leads to loss of love.

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Bali and Tokyo have given me a new perspective on life and so I close a chapter in my life. It wasn't planned but as I looked at him, I said the irrevocable words. I didn't even know what I was saying, I said goodbye to him and cried... again. I have been crying for so long I'm all cried out but still, the tears came. I tried so hard not to but they just kept coming. I told him not to contact me anymore; and I deleted his number off my phone. Took his picture off my wall. Replaced it with Isaac's. It is better for us both. 

Ten years later, who would remember the walks in the rain; the car cuddles; the way I laughed at his text messages while people around me thought I was crazy; the way he smiled inanely in front of his friends as he spoke of me; the reason he got mad at me is because he was mad at himself; the songs we sang in the car; the long routes he took me to see his old schools and old homes; going home at 4am, listening to Stevie Wonder; late night talks with the ringleader of prostitutes or top female impersonator; or surprising Ly with a cake at night; that I would have supported him through it all; that he didn't know what I liked so he got everything from the market; he got fat because he was happy with me - but ten years later, who would remember we were once so happy? Who would remember it is possible to be this happy? That is how I shall remember him.  

That is all. 

I'm so cool it hurts. Forgot to change currency. Flight's at 9am. I started packing at 6, arrived airport at 7.15, changed currency and I'm still waiting for two traveling companions.

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Strolling in a tranquil Zen garden behind a shrine, my dissertation advisor said to me, "once I met an intelligent young man who has big dreams. He can change the world but he's stuck in a limbo now. You have to focus and you must let everything go, including the boys, especially the boys. Don't idealize, see things clearly for what they are. Go, let fly."

Then I breathed so heavily that I woke myself up. In the darkness of a dingy one-star hotel room at the red light district, amidst neon signs, never was a moment as clear as this. I slipped out of the warm bed, leaving behind a beautiful Japanese man, and walked back to my own hotel in a drizzle, hoodie on, at 4am.

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My best friend--someone I've never met in the real world--are in high school. A tragic accident leaves him body-less, only a talking head. There is an unspoken melancholy about him after the accident but few could discern his change of seemingly cheerful disposition. We don't talk about it; I don't comfort him and he doesn't have outburst. I don't say I'm sorry or at least you're still alive or let's move on from here because words are useless at times like these. I just quietly carry him to and from classes like a lantern.

For our prom night, he performs as a severed head on a silver platter as a comic figure in a musical.

It is unlucky to say "good luck" to performers and the right thing to say is "break a leg." but the irony isn't lost on me. So I say, "Go get 'em out there."

He says plainly, "there is nothing else I can do." a rational being without living out a full life, having emotions but unable to act on it, desires without sensuality. Tacitly understood, we don't discuss it.

He delivers his lines on stage. Everybody laughs but later they feel bad for him.

We don't meet much after high school because we move in different realms. But every year, without fail, we return for the school reunion.

But back to prom night. I spot 14K sitting at the next table. I wave to him and he waves back, jumping slightly on his chair. He points to his camera and points to me and him. I nod and smile. No amorousity, no animosity, just plain good will between old friends.

A person bends forward slightly and I see who sits besides him. His girlfriend is wearing a bright yellow gown. I wave to her and smile and she waves back and smiles.

After the food is served, and people are starting to move around to socialize, 14K skips to my table. He is a miniature at 16, like a chiwawa.

He says goodnaturedly, "Sorry for everything. Thank you for letting go. I don't think I will be back."

I smile and say, "I let you go because I love you and don't want to cause you pain. That's all. it's ok, I'm alright, I didn't suffer a bit. You were happy for a while won't you?"

"yes."

"then that's enough for me. Enough of such talk. It's ok. Come, let's take a photo."

I turn the camera around and take a portrait of us and say, "wow. How the years run. This is already the 17th photo." the photo shows us at 70 years old, old, papery, grey.

I jerked out of my dream and gasped like a swimmer surfacing after holding his breath forever. I didn't feel sad because we were old--there is nothing depressing about age--and I cried because... What else can I do?

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2.34am in Tokyo, just back from gay bar, my soles ache like the slow torture of braces, but vowing to make maximum use of my data plan which costs $15 a day, I am writing on my bed. (the data plan is worth the money by the way... Google maps, emails and grindr.)

A big fan of Japanese artists, Mishima, Murakami, Kurosawa, Izu, I wonder why it took me so long to visit. And all their stories are true. Tokyo is magical.

The vibe at Shinjuku is amazing, not even New York City can match it. Alive abd throbbing as of the place is a real living being.

The view from Tokyo Govt Offices is a (free) tourist trip but you see all the hobos camping outside the grand building that costs one billion usd to build. Such a juxtaposition is pure art.

Kabukicho, the red light district, is full of Yakuza and touts, dangerous, living on the edge.

Ghibli museum, showcasing Hayao Miyazaki's work such as Princess Monoyoki, Totoro, Grave of Fireflies, is pure magic. It made me believe that Japan is the last magical place on earth. Mist from the spring rain enshrouded the museum.

Repoggani and Tokyo Tower are tourist traps but the nearby temple, Zojo-ji, is spectacular. There is a serenity about the temple, very Zen, so magical. As quiet as still water, not a ripple. The door is one of the three doors you must cross to reach nirvana.

Had an amazing encounter with a Japanese couple. They brought us bar-hopping, drowned us with drinks, and eventually brought us to this private bar. Members only. And open to Japanese only. But my traveling mate rejected the advances of one of the couple (a woman) and so we broke up with the fun Japanese couple. truth be told, my traveling mate was shaken up by the encounter. He rejected her saying things like "but you have a husband" and "we are friends and friends don't do such things." and she retorted by saying "why? Don't you like me? What's wrong with me?" Psycho. She's twice his age by the way.

Still, my traveling mate is such a boy. He could have let her down easily. He did signal me for help and since I was enjoying myself and I thought he needed life experiences, I stayed out of his business.

Met two men. Hot as hell.

Can't open my eyes. Seeing the sumo tomorrow. More details when I'm
Back.

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Increasingly I find myself referencing Brokeback. In a scene when Ennis and Jack first separate after a summer on Brokeback Mountain, Jack drives away in his truck. Thinking they will never meet again, Ennis keeps it in until Jack can no longer see him in his rearview mirror. Ennis walks, turns a corner, bowls over and vomits. He doesn't cry, he vomits violently. It sits at the pit of his stomach, the feeling that is at once full and empty, hungry. The deepest despair allows no hope.

Or maybe it's the bad laska I had in the afternoon. Who keeps track of emotions these days? They pass so quickly.

Tokyo in 8 hours and I haven't packed.

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