Spray On Insect Repellant.

I first saw his ad on Gumtree in the guy seeking guy section while I was googling around on Tuesday afternoon. After a couple of emails, I got a chance to meet him on Friday. He had the appearance of a typical university student, – scruffy, unpretentious and adorable. He was much older than me, but he was intelligent, good looking, nice, almost everything I would ask for, and most surprisingly, he was actually interested in meeting someone like me. We met up to get to know each other and to make sure, in his words, ‘that we weren’t axe-murderers’. We got talking down at Lapent Reserve and it was the first time I had met someone who was gay and who I could talk to about being gay, and that was a nice experience.

 

We went back into his car and he asked if he could kiss me. I didn’t say no outright but made it clear I felt a little awkward. There were a few reasons I think why I reacted this way which I’ve now come to regret. I think the main one being I didn’t want to seem like a slut, or someone who was fucking desperate. I also felt that after talking to him like I knew him a bit better and hence it was awkward for me to have kissed him. Instead I think he felt a bit rejected and that also I portrayed myself rather immaturely. I don’t know what he really thought and I didn’t ask. 

We went to Maccas after the sun had finally set and talked a bit more. He told me about his interests in music, living with in his area, his family and I guess I must have told him a bit about mine. During the two days we met up, he spoke the most while we were talking, but I felt comfortable this way. Over the course of engaging with each other I remained honest but in hindsight I probably unwisely held back as much as possible. There were long silences between us which made me feel uncomfortable and I’m sure it was the same for him as well. He always had to ask me questions to get me talking and I can sense that not knowing what to say was one of my major flaws. 

When we decided to call it a night I think he wanted to kiss me before I went but I just opted for a more modest hug. He told me he liked me and I said I liked him a lot as well, but always trying not to seem desperate or clingy. We arranged to meet again the next day, and I remember, when I was walking home, regretting not making out with him and promised myself I’d do it the next day if the opportunity arose.

I spent most of Saturday looking forward to 8 in the night. I was excited but nervous like on Friday. I expected the second day would become judgment day, and that it was gonna be the moment when he would tell me if there was something between us, or not. It was either going to continue or it would end that night. 

 

He brought the spray on repellant this time so we wouldn’t be attacked and eaten alive in the summer night. It turned out to be one of the hottest nights on records – temperature wise that is. We didn’t go where we planned because it was too much of a hassle so we went a park close by. We walked down from High Street Rd to Jells Park and back, chatting mostly about what he was working on at work and on the odd occasion I would speak as well. Maybe he felt I didn’t open up to him enough. I’m not sure. While what he was talking about – his research at work - was always fascinating, inside though I was dying to find out what he really thought about me. Though I expected it, the biggest fear for me would be for him to turn me down. Although I told myself rejection was inevitable, that it was too good to be true, there was always a lingering temptation to believe otherwise. It’s always that little glimmer of hope that takes hold of you, and, as always, inflated expectations come with great disappointment.

When we couldn’t find a tap for a drink, I sat down next to the barbeque. It was almost dark, probably about half past nine. He was still standing when he put his arms on me. I pulled myself to get my hands around him. Pressing my head against his body felt good. I felt safe. I wanted to hold on but I was always conscious of not taking it too far. I don’t know why I didn’t; maybe I feared that if indeed I went further, he would reject me. In hindsight I hate myself for not hold him on longer and making out with him, as it would turn out to be my last opportunity to do so.

He stopped because I mutted something about it being awkward. I was such a fucking idiot. I can’t exactly remember why, but we started heading towards his car again. I turned to him and tried explaining that I was afraid of doing anything because

 

“I didn’t even know if you’d like me that much.”

 

What I meant was not that I believed he liked me a lot, but that he liked me at all. He responded something along the lines of

 

“Well as I said I like you, but I don’t think we could be partners or anything…”

He probably didn’t know it then, but what he said felt like a he had dropped a bombshell. I knew it was gonna end there and then, and there was nothing I could do about it. He mentioned it was largely due to our age differences. He’s 29. I’m 18. But he was the first person I really liked that could possibly like me back because he was gay. While at first when I came out to myself about being gay it killed me to find out most people whom you might like in this life will never like you back, it killed me now to find someone who could possibly like me to reject me.

We went and sat on a bench near the car, starting to hug each other again. Out of the blue, he spotted there were people looking at us. He leaped up and ran while I just sat there still trying to figure out what was going on. I spotted a car, and as it slowly approached to where I sat, someone inside yelled out “YOU FUCKIN’ POOFTA!”. At first I didn’t quite understand what happened and just sat there, but after a few moments it dawned on me. The feeling of violation quickly descended on me. I felt numb – mostly from feeling rejected earlier but also now with my first hand experience with homophobia.

“It wouldn’t be your last” he said, still angry at the people in the car.

 

My first experiences with being rejected by someone who I liked and who could actually like me back and the threatening homophobia wouldn’t and shouldn’t have been surprising at all if I weren’t diluting myself so much. Together they left me feeling, violated, rejected and a little hurt inside. But I’m also hoping I’d learn from but both and hopefully they have humbled me.  

I quickly realized I’ve been immersing myself  in too many left leaning blogs and reading to much of The Age that it’s clouted my judgment of the level of homophobia out there in the real world. I’ve seen homophobia being mocked, parodied, and discredited that it’s just become a joke to me. I’d been desensitised that I couldn’t believe the word ‘poofter’ was used in a genuinely threatening fashion. Ironically I was saying to him, only moments earlier, how I thought that I felt things had improved. Now, although writing this blog still deeply in a state of paranoia, I realise how wrong I am.

After thinking how lucky we didn’t get hurt, we went to Maccas to get a drink. We wanted to find a quiet place to talk but what we just experienced in the dark had numbed both of us. Inside though, I was still grappling with how I was to end it with him and while I didn’t want to, I figured there was no other way. A part of me died when  he said he “couldn’t see it being permanent” and I guess he had made up his mind, and that he was only trying to find right words to end it without seeming to hurt me. He reiterated that the age gap was the biggest concern for him. Unlike the fact I’m not out to my parents, that it was too much of a hassle transport wise, or among other things, I felt powerless to do anything about it. I couldn’t shrink the eleven years that ultimately separated him and me. And while I don’t blame him for rejecting me for that reason, it would be dishonest if I said i wasn’t feeling a little hurt inside. But if it’s too good to be true then it probably is. 

He said he still wants us to be friends and said we could see each other as such. I do want to see him again, even just as friends. I really enjoyed talking to him. Well, it’s more like me just listening to him and me interjecting every once a while with questions that ultimately reveal my ignorance. But I’m afraid everytime I see him now I will think of what I should have done instead, what could have been, what could happen, and that would seem to him and to myself that I’m incapable of moving on. Ultimately that’s what I feel I need to do. That’s not to say I haven’t got any regrets. I wish I made out with him. And I wish I held him for much, much, much longer. As I write this blog I’m pressing my nose and mouth against my right shoulder hoping to breathe a bit more of that scent of the spray on insect repellant, still left on my shirt, a nice reminder of the short time I spent with him.

 

I really liked him. But what can I do? There’s a first time for everything and it’s time for me to build a bridge and get over it, and move on. Inside, I’m unsure if want to move on and I’m unsure how long it’s gonna take, but it’s probably time to get back on Gaydar with the myriad of depressing profiles that proclaim “No Fats, No Fems, No Asians“. 

 

At least there’s MacWorld to look forward to.

Orientation Day & Formal

ORIENTATION DAY

The teachers job on orientation day is to preach to the converted. The history teacher thinks history is important because of how it relates to the present, while the International Studies teacher goes on about an ever changing world.

The head of Senior School begins the day’s bullshitting in his forty five minute meaningless rant on how the school is dedicated to creating bright students who will ‘leave their mark‘ on the world. Ugh. The ‘You’re in control!’ message is so not empowering anymore. We’ve already had the motivational speaker who tried to turn every student to believe the only way to be ’successful’ in life is to accumulate as much wealth as possible. People need to be reminded our school isn’t for Young Liberals brainwashing. We aren’t even private!

All my preferences hangs in the balance until my interview on Monday. I’ve done well this year in everything except Methods (and Physics, but I’ve dropped that) and I want to change nearly all my subjects. The only two I’m keeping from this year is English and Methods which just happen to be my best and worst subjects respectively. I should pray that I get a smooth interview Monday, but being the militant atheist that I am, I sacrifice that nice warm positive feeling that comes with being the brainwashing.

FORMAL

The Year 11 formal was Wednesday night. You don’t need to go to one to discover stupid ignorant teenagers in hired suits and dresses are still stupid ignorant teenagers.

First came the myspazz photos. Seriously, I can’t take another round of Let’s-see-who-has-the-most-friends-to-take-photos-with. As an undiagnosed sufferer of BDD, I can’t smile properly without looking ugly. I tried desperately to control the number of photos I was bound to appear in and at last count it was over a dozen. I’m sure most have been uploaded to the interwebs without my permission. Whatever happened to good old fashion privacy and personal space?

The food severed starting with some pasta dish for entrée was feral. I lost count of the kilo-joules I had to burn after my sixth glass of Home Brand cola.

Of the four hours which seemed like an entirety, three were spent on dancing. It was fucking scary at first not knowing how people will react to your arms and feet attempting uncontrolled and uncoordinated movements. I sought solace in the fact everyone was jumping up and down retardedly with me. Should have taken drugs to hide my embarrassment, come to think of it; after all that’s what they’re for. Hopefully people who witnessed my abhorrent behavior will have forgotten. What happened at the formal stays at the formal.

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So after mentally preparing for the oral task all year, I finally presented to the english class on Monday, ‘The Review Of This Year’s Headlines‘. I wrote it in about in a couple of days and found out I couldn’t put nearly as much of what I wanted to say on it. Instead of making profound and hard hitting opinions it was watered down to crap you hear on Rove’s news section. I did, however, feature important news stories unlike Rove, like the Cronulla Riots, people attack Muslims and Muslims attacking other people, and the debate over Australian Values – but what got the morons in my class laughing were the (lame) jokes about sex, tossing, and boobs when I was dissing Cosmopolitan, Hooters, and Miss Universe for being anti-feminist. I’m not sure if people understood that I was trying to point out that they were degrading to women.

Things that pissed me off this week.

(#1) Bitches who drink coffee at school. You carrying your Gloria Jeans around in the mornings sipping it while you chat to you friends, thinking you’re all cosmopolitian and shit. Fuck you. You are still fucked up adolescents with little intelligence and behave like fucking unsophisticated animals. Stop watching the OC and House get some fucking sleeep, cunts.

(#2) People who read the horoscopes. Specifically the chicks who steal my paper off me to read the almanac in Legal. (Why does a paper like The Age whose audience is supposedly more intelligent than the Hun still publish this crap daily?) The fact that you do Methods and General Maths and believe your sex live can be influenced the alignment of Jupiter with Venus, and not by how hot you are, defies belief. You should be shot.

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I’m not sure why, but I was more emotionally affected by last week’s Australian Story than I was attending grandpa’s funeral. I saw the repeat of last week’s episode ‘Since Adam was a Boy’ on Saturday and afterwoods was in quiet a depressed mood for all of the day. It’s a good story however, and unlike the countless gay movies I’ve seen, it doesn’t end in tragedy. The real gay cowboy is real eye candy too. I so want to get to know conservative country people now.

The funeral on Sunday was close to one big cockup. I was the only one who didn’t come dressed in black, so I stood out like a sore thumb from the start. My mum then got too emotional to think rationally, embarrassed me in front of people who I haven’t seen in years by requesting that I say something about grandad, when she knows perfectly well I barely know enough Chinese to say something meaningful. There were so many prayers and hymns sung by the Buddhist nuns that it drowned all of our sorrows. Everyone who was quite teary before looked like they could crack a joke or two afterwards. By the time we got to cemetery to burry the guy, it was raining buckets and the singing continued. If it’s anything I’ve learnt from attending the first funeral ever, it’s never to attend an Asian funeral again. People can’t begin to grieve in their own way or say goodbye properly, because everyone is too busy practising weird traditions which don’t help people move on emotionally with their loss.

Death, Debating, & Deb

DEATH

It’s been two weeks since grandpa’s death.

We didn’t have much in common, I was just another one his 12 grandchildren, but I was one of the very few people who were there during his time in hospital in Australia. It seems only a little while ago I was helping him around, feeding him, taking him to see the doctors. He went back to China and came back in March this year only living for another two weeks. But it’s those memories that I will probably hold on longer than anything else, and it hurts.

His funeral next week is the first I have to attend in my 16 years alive.

DEBATING

First debate ever. And such a lame topic. “Universities should have quotas for government schools”.

From what I can remember, I’ve never participated in extra circular activities that the smarter, more intellectual kids attend, so I was excited as well as being nervous as hell being the first affirmative speaker. There were plenty of rootable guys, mostly from private schools. Them in their blazers. Sigh. My thing for rich, smart, hot boys just grew so much bigger. It’s too bad the rootable working class think debating is for nerds.

I’ve always thought straight boys who attend special classes or do anything out of their way just to meet chicks was just a myth told to inflate their masculine egos. Not anyone more. I am so not going to debating to enhance my public speaking skills. There are too many good distractions.

There was this one guy who I was admiring throughout our whole debate and he did glanced back and forth, distracting me from having any profound rebuttals to write. The fact that he goes to an all boy’s school made him my homo-metre go absolutely crazy. He was the last speaker for the negative so he was spruiking all this crap and introducing new ideas. It’s a shame his intellectual ability didn’t match his fag awing ability.

I am so looking forward to the next debate in May. Another private, rich, all boys’ school. I’m such a fag.

DEBUTANTE BALL

I have an excuse this time round, unlike the countless social events the school holds just to make people like myself who are anti-social and attend never anything feel like such a loser. It was a strictly hetero only event. Boys and Girls dancing okay? Not two fags, not two dykes, but a nice pre-packaged, mass-produced, sweet straight couples that onlooking suburban parents can be proud of.

As much as I would’ve liked to have said fuck you to the establishment and surprise the fuck out of everyone, I didn’t have a nice hot lad go with. That’s what kills me more than anything else, because the very fact that the Deb Ball wasn’t one of those boring politically correct events, made it super hot if a couple of queens to surprise the homophobes out of everyone.