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darspeaksout · 4 months

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Fancy breakfast, kidnapped by aliens, and what being in a relationship has taught me

December 16-17, 2023

The past weekend was absolutely wonderful. I stayed at a hotel with my partner in downtown Toronto, at the Hyatt Regency to be specific. We walked around the neighbouring streets, visited the Studio Ghibli pop-up shop but didn't buy anything, and had dinner at the hotel's restaurant. I ordered Caesar salad and butter chicken and he ordered the seafood linguine. Afterwards, we went upstairs and continued drinking the rest of the champagne that we had begun to drink prior to venturing out of the hotel. Villa Sandi prosecco is light, easy, fresh, and sparkling - perfect for staying in.

We showered together, did each other's skincare, and took turns massaging each other with the massage gun with ambient music playing in the background. We watched White Chicks since it was a movie we're both fond of and laughed at all the hysterical scenes.

"I'm so freakin' pissed," we quoted in unison. A classic line always.

While my partner stayed in bed and scrolled on his phone to fall asleep, I took the elevator up a floor to microwave my leftover butter chicken. I went back to the room and ate it while taking in the view of the surrounding condominiums and apartments. Our view wasn't a spectacular one of the city but rather a more realistic one of what most people who live in Toronto would have. Still, it was fun to people-watch.

After digesting, I joined him in bed but I couldn't fall asleep right away. Maybe I still needed to digest the food or perhaps I was filled with contentment at being with my partner for the weekend, so much so that I had trouble calming my mind. He took notice and asked if I was okay because I was being "move-y." I told him I was having difficulty falling asleep so I snuggled up next to him. I laid my head beside his shoulder and, with my hand on his chest, synced my breathing with his and focused on our heartbeats' steady rhythm. After what felt like a few minutes, I moved to my side of the bed and managed to fall asleep.

If I can recall, I heard the sound of ambulance sirens three different times throughout the night. I even remember saying out loud, "Damn, these people don't know when to quit with the emergencies." A___ probably chuckled in response, but I was too sleepy to tell.

The next morning, we brushed our teeth together and went back to bed to kiss and..... do more. We packed our things back in our luggage and the order I had placed for room service breakfast arrived a few minutes after ten thirty AM. Here was the spread: poutine with poached eggs, scrambled tofu, classic breakfast with sausage and toast, fresh fruit, a pot of coffee, and croissants to be taken home. We enjoyed our food while watching a sit-com. By the end of it, we were full.

We put our stuff in my car before checking out of the hotel and walking to a nearby bag shop, since A___ was looking for a new bag. We walked out with him having a better idea of what kind of bag he wanted to buy. He said he'll spend some time considering before making a purchase. We went back to the hotel and drove to the escape room, where his two friends were, S___ and D___. One of them I had already met before, and the other one I was meeting today. If I were to tell you we got along, that would be an understatement. We bonded. Conversations flowed smoothly, spontaneously, and naturally. One of the two friends, the one who I met for the first time that day, had flown in from Newfoundland to visit some old friends before returning home for the holidays. It meant a lot that despite her short stay in Toronto she still made a point to meet me, while most of my friends live in the GTA and haven't made time to meet A___ yet (if any of you are reading this I'm totally kidding lmao).

The theme of the escape room was outer space. The four of us were civilians from Earth who were abducted by aliens for scientific research regarding some disease that seemed to affect all other species except the human race. The aliens kidnapped us to experiment on our bodies to determine why we were immune and everyone else wasn't. We had to unlock the different rooms using puzzle pieces that, if you put them against designated parts on the wall, would light up that area and would unlock the next room. At one point, we had to crawl through a tiny opening in the ground which split off into two paths. The first path led to the next room, and the other path led to a rather terrifying dummy of a dead alien with a severed arm. It was quite the jumpscare.

The last room was the control room of the spaceship and we had to select the correct option which would lead us back to Earth. While the three of my companions retraced their steps and went back to a previous room to confirm a clue, I stayed in the control room with Wayne, one of the employees who had given us a rundown of the game before we played it. He was playing the devil on my shoulder, trying to talk me into leaving my companions behind and going back to Earth on my own. But I didn't even have the key so I couldn't do that, not that I wanted to anyway. Even though it was just a game, I felt like it would be unfair to leave them behind given that we had worked on getting to the end together. Plus I would look really stupid if I chose to abandon them and I selected the wrong answer in the control room, a choice which would send me to the aliens' planet instead of Earth. I waited for my companions to return and we locked in our answer. Good news - we made it back to Earth safe and sound.

Wayne gave us a thirty percent discount because we were able to complete the three objectives of the mission: collect a sample of alien DNA, return to Earth, and figure out why the aliens had abducted us. Since I'd be driving later, I ordered Vietnamese iced coffee (which wasn't on the menu) and everyone else had something alcoholic. We made a toast to A___ meeting a major financial goal of his. We talked about movies, namely Titanic and The Notebook. We talked about places we'd traveled - Philippines, Singapore, Vietnam, Europe, the U.S, and so forth. We left shortly after to go to a board game cafe, but first stopped by a Korean grocery store for some custard dessert whose name I forget. It was A___'s treat to us. Since it was raining, we stood eating outside the store, the roof overhead protecting us from the rain.

At the board game cafe, we ordered water and nothing else. We played a card game I hadn't played before, followed by Scrabble. The card game made us lively, Scrabble turned us serious. What's ironic is A___ always says he's bad with words and I'm good with words, but when we tallied up the total he ended up scoring the highest and I scored the lowest. I told him he's better with words than he thinks he is. By the time we left, the sky had darkened.

A walk down the street led us to a Thai restaurant. The walls were exposed red brick, wooden tables and chairs stood at the front and the bar was nestled at the back. The vibe was homey, with lighthearted feel-good songs in some foreign language, probably Thai as well, playing on the sound system. We had a bite of one another's dishes, which I think was a solid sign of trust and bonding. We talked about family and relationship disagreements, but the atmosphere remained lively and positive. Vulnerability was shown and it was a safe space for honesty. I treated my love to dinner, in addition to the dinner from the night before and the breakfast earlier in the morning. It was my way of saying "congratulations" and "thank you" to him for taking a huge step for himself and for our relationship, a step that will remain private.

We left the restaurant and headed back to my car so A___could retrieve his luggage and we could part ways. He got his luggage and his Starbucks drink which surprisingly still had some of the ice left intact after over seven hours sitting there. I hugged his friends (who after today were my friends too) goodbye. I kissed my love on the lips. He told me to drive home safely. I told him I will, and to have fun with his friends at their sleepover that night.

I drove on the highway going home. At this point, I've driven to, from, and within Toronto many times that the traffic no longer intimidated me. I checked my rearview mirror before I made a lane switch and saw two circles glinting supported by a deformed figure. It had antennas coming out of its head. I closed and opened my eyes and checked again - no one was there. The only thing glinting was the lights of the car behind me, far away. I was tired. The rest of the drive home was normal but it got me thinking about something so hard to determine and make sense of - reality.

What makes something real? Is it real if you can touch it, experience it through your senses, or have a way to confirm that it's interacting with you too? Does it have to be tangible? I don't think so. Emotions aren't tangible but they're real to us when we feel them, and they manifest in the physical through bodily expression. Is it enough, then, to think or feel something into existence? If I thought or felt an alien was in my backseat, would that have been enough to answer yes? I don't think so because there is still such a thing as objective reality despite how subjective our perceptions and experiences may be to us. Objectively, there was no alien there. That possibility would be very low. But that slight moment when I did question my own reality was enough to conjure up panic, curiosity, shock, and fear - even though the thing itself was only perceived and didn't actually take place. The point I'm trying to make here is that things don't have to be real in order for us to be moved by and react to them. Our beliefs, whether accurate or misinformed, are enough to propel us to react, take action, interact with strangers, accept challenges, date someone, pursue a goal, move out, quit a job, travel somewhere, and so on.

So I tell myself this. In my relationship, right now everything is good. Some parts could use work which is normal for any couple, but overall it is healthy and reciprocal. But no matter how difficult it ever becomes, the external stuff doesn't matter as much as how I internally relate to it. Whatever is going on matters less than the beliefs I have towards what is happening. Meaning in order to stay happy, I need to believe in solutions, compromise, trust, loyalty, respect, and forgiveness. It is this belief where all of my actions will stem from and be guided by. I think that the alien in my car, whether real or not, wanted to have me realize this.

What we believe, we create. And what we create as a result of our beliefs will continue to exist, and by its existence, be reinforced. So I choose to believe in my relationship, in the better version of myself now that I'm in it, and in the person I'm with, that we may share more weekends like this, for now and for the future that awaits us.

#relationship #aliens #escape room #toronto

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darspeaksout · 7 months

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I've been throwing lately, and it's fun

#knife throwing

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darspeaksout · 8 months

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The Longest Dream

On a random Saturday morning, I woke up on the highest floor of an apartment building. My partner was laying next to me. Taking me in his arms, I felt the warmth of his body pressed against mine. The bedroom window which led to the balcony presented us with a view of the city that spread into the distance. Roads leading to condominiums, office spaces, skyscrapers, and the CN Tower far away.

We remained in each other's embrace, exchanging kisses and warm words as the sunlight poured abundantly into the room. To be happily in love with a man in the comfort of our own privacy, to receive this love without any shame or guilt, is something I thought would never be possible for me.

THE PAST

It was over a decade ago when I was a student, crying in a hotel room that I was sharing with some other guys in my grade. Word had gotten out about my sexual orientation and for three long years, I had watched my core group of friends dwindle, one person at a time. Which is why when I joined the out-of-province trip to Quebec, I found myself feeling alone in the hotel room despite sharing it with three guys, and wandering the streets of Old Montreal by myself while the rest of them went off exploring together. Every local shop, sidewalk, statue, and church we visited, I was alone. Physically, my classmates were there. Emotionally, nobody was.

I understood my lonesome expedition to this culturally different province to be my punishment for not being heterosexual, and for letting that fact get out. In my little kid brain, this trip to Quebec taught me that the price of being honest about myself was loneliness and exclusion. I learned that if I wanted people to stay, I needed to be more discreet. I needed to downplay any feminine attributes, or better, eliminate them entirely. I needed to make friends with guys to prove I was still one of them, but not get too close as to arouse suspicion that there was a possibility for romantic attraction. I needed to change myself in order to feel like a successfully integrated boy-becoming-man. I wanted respect, which I would later discover would come at the cost of my authentic self. And so began my future of pretending to be someone I wasn't.

I never talked about that Quebec trip until now. I felt like I had no right to feel upset especially considering that at that age, it was a privilege and a luxury because not every student could afford to go. I spent most nights weeping than I did laughing. I was counting down the remaining days because I wanted it to end. Even though in our hotel room there were two king-sized beds, the three guys I was rooming with all slept on the other one because they wanted to avoid me. I never told my parents this.

There's a guilt that comes with privilege, it's the guilt of feeling like your pain isn't valid because someone always has it worse. Yes, I was bullied. But it was all words and no one ever put their hands on me. Yes, I felt alone. But I was alone while traveling, compared to some students who felt alone and were stuck where they were. This is what I told myself. I should just deal with it.

Suffice it to say that as a kid, I didn't allow myself the space to be upset, to grieve loss, to feel anything. And because I didn't allow myself to feel pain, I couldn't feel joy either. The joy would always be accompanied with guilt. Self-hatred and guilt, or happiness and guilt. Always guilty and never fully living. Even on the days when it wasn't so bad, deep down I felt I didn't deserve to have these moments of peace.

So when it was time to graduate from elementary school and I took home all the academic awards, I couldn't feel proud of myself. What right did I have to feel good when I'd lost most of my friends upon their discovering that I was not straight? Because I was gay, it caused my best friend to distance himself from me. Because I was gay, my friend who was dating my best friend started to become suspicious that I would develop feelings for him. It was my fault they left, I told myself. There was something wrong with me that they couldn't stand to be around. I was the problem.

At graduation, I remember the first award I won was religion. The teacher who stood next to me on stage whispered not to return to my seat just yet. I was confused but then it made sense when they announced my name for the next award. And for the next one. And for the next four. The award goes to Darwin and to Darwin and to Darwin and to Darwin. The room filled with cheers and applause. And each time they called my name, it was humiliating.

I remember putting my head down. People might have thought I was doing it out of humility, but I was actually doing it out of shame because deep down I knew the price I paid for this success was the loss of myself and the loss of acceptance from my peers. When the ceremony concluded, I didn't receive a single "congratulations" from anyone in my graduating class. What hurt most was the people who I considered myself to be closest with didn't congratulate me either. Even though we'd fallen out by then, part of me was hoping they would find it in themselves to be happy for me. I think if I'd had at least one person in my corner, it wouldn't have been as painful.

It was from this experience that I associated my success with people's resentment. You would think this would've discouraged me from further excelling in my education. Quite the opposite - since people wanted nothing to do with me anyway because of my sexual orientation, whether or not I was academically gifted had no effect on their decision to avoid me. I poured my energy into my schoolwork going into high school and all throughout university, which did serve me well. But I felt alone for most of it.

At the school trip, I was an outcast and I had no awards. At graduation, I had awards but was still an outcast. I received the same treatment when I had nothing and when I had something to be proud of. And yet I couldn't be proud of myself. I learned that as long as I'm gay, no one will find it in themselves to be happy for me. If this was my reality then I didn't want to wake up to it. In hindsight, that period of my life was so lonely I wanted nothing more than to sleep forever. To be stuck dreaming good things and stop living in the real world sounded blissful. I was a child then so I wasn't familiar with the word "suicidal," but it's what I felt.

THE PRESENT

Fast forward eleven years later, and life couldn't be any more different. My university diploma hangs gloriously on the wall of my living room, next to my brother's. I wake up to the sound of my parents chatting in the dining room. They ask me what my plans are for the weekend; I tell them I'm driving a couple hours away to visit my partner. They tell me to stay safe and to text me when I get there.

And when I do, we have the whole apartment to ourselves. This time, no one is avoiding sharing the same bed with me. The morning after, we sleep in and drive to the city for brunch. Hands intertwined over the aroma of eggs and coffee, I tell him this: "I never thought this would be possible for me." He tells me he feels the same.

Every local shop, statue, square, and park, we're together. And when I look at my life, I realize I laugh more than I cry these days. I count my loved ones instead of my lost ones. While it's true that having him in my life makes it more fulfilling, it doesn't mean I was an incomplete person prior to the relationship. I'd made the decision to like myself and to enjoy my own company even when I was single. I'd go downtown by myself, visit museums, eat at restaurants, and go on late night drives to various places. The difference between wandering alone as a kid in Quebec and wandering alone as a single adult, is that as a kid I was alone and hated who I was. But as a single adult, I was alone and learned to accept and to appreciate myself. Which means that now that I'm in a relationship, I accept, appreciate, and love myself, and I have someone to accept, appreciate, and love in return. A relationship adds to a person's existence; it does not complete it.

And because I've reached this milestone of self-acceptance, I can revisit that day in my childhood when I won those awards and truly claim that I deserved it, because I did.

I have graduated. Not only from the subject material taught to me in school, but from the experiences I endured as a student there. I've graduated from homophobia, self-hatred, loneliness, exclusion, and bullying. Adults will tell you that school is a place of learning, and if that's the case, I'll tell you that life outside of school is a place of unlearning. Unlearning trauma and unhealthy, destructive ways of thinking. Unlearning the defense mechanisms we had to adopt as children in order to deal with the teachers who didn't enforce respect and the kids who felt entitled to take advantage of their leniency. Unlearning the idea that in order to consider myself as a worthy human being, I needed to be accepted by everyone. If I even have to ask for acceptance, then I'm asking the wrong people.

It's ironic that the place where I experienced such pain is only a five-minute walk away from my childhood home. Whenever I'd drive past, I'd steal a glance searching for the little kid version of myself playing during recess, running around freely, ignorant to the fact that his social world would crumble in a few years. I felt an anticipating doom for that child. Life as he knew it would be no longer. Now whenever I drive by, I don't bother glancing because there's nothing more to look at. I've taken what I needed from that time of my life that was elementary school, acknowledged that it's contributed greatly to how I've developed, retained what was useful and discarded what wasn't, and in doing so, have moved on. There's no need to look back.

That school is like a time capsule of my former world and of the person I used to be. In terms of physical proximity, it's near. But in terms of time, it's as distant as a foreign country. And since I've changed internally by unlearning self-destructive mindsets and habits, my external world has changed too. Although I've lived in the same place for most of my life, it doesn't feel the same because I've changed for the better.

Occasionally, I'll have flashbacks of the bullying that took place on the school's playground. It'll be at random times when I'm making coffee, going to the grocery store, or commuting to work. I'll think back to that tearful night in Quebec as I slept by myself on that large bed and how I wandered alone on the cobblestoned streets during the day. But because it happened a long time ago and because I've changed drastically since, it feels like it happened to a different person entirely. And when I remember that it happened to my younger self, I feel that it was only a bad dream which, while I was in it felt eternal, in reality didn't last long. The longest dream of my life came to an end. I eventually woke up and saw that real life wasn't so bad.

REAL LIFE

"Good morning," my partner says softly. Sunlight enters the window. My eyes adjust to the contours of his face. He asks how I slept.

"I slept well and even dreamed a little," I say.

"Really?"

"Yeah." I run my fingers through his hair, savoring the moment, remembering life wasn't always like this. It took a lot of time, work, and patience. As he's in front of me, I feel joy and nothing else. No guilt, no shame. This is bliss - being in the presence of love, and being in the absence of everything that is not. The things I thought were impossible became possible for me.

"I hope it was a good dream," he says, giving me a kiss.

"It was alright." In his eyes, I see the reflection of the person I grew to love. It's only because I grew to love him that I can love my partner. "But you know what? I'd rather be awake."

THE END

#romance #love #selfacceptance

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darspeaksout · 8 months

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The Confrontation

Hey Darwin. It's me, Jason from elementary school. I'm not sure if you remember me. I read your poem in the magazine. Congrats on getting published. You're probably wondering why I'm reaching out after so many years. I guess reading your work made me proud to call you my friend even though it's been a while since we last spoke. That, and I also feel regret for not having done anything to help when you were being bullied. I was the new kid and you were the one who took me around school and showed me where our classroom was. I remember struggling in French and you turned your desk so that it would face mine and you helped me with grammar exercises. Now that I think about it, you were one of the nicest people I met at that school and I wish I could've stood up for you because you didn't deserve how people were treating you. Anyway, sorry for rambling and for possibly disturbing you. Take care, and if it's not too much to ask maybe we can meet up sometime to catch up?

My first reaction when I read this message in my DM's was immediate skepticism. 2021 was about to end and Jason had probably made a new year's resolution that he'd make amends with people from his past. Instead of being grateful for his apology, he made me feel like a charity case.

I read it a few times over and decided to be cordial:

Hi, Jason. Yeah I remember you. It happened a long time ago and I'm a stronger person now because of it. Thanks for reading my poem.

I didn't reply to his invitation for a meet up, which now that I think about it I should've given him an explicit no. It would've saved the man from being rejected. Straight men in particular have difficulty processing the reality that not everybody wants them.

Do you want to get lunch anytime soon? How about this weekend? I still live in the area. What about you?

Persistent. I'll give him that. But over the years I've learned that being straightforward saves time and energy. Which is why I replied with, No, it's okay. I forgive you. And we don't have to meet up.

His typing bubble appeared but before he could send his message, I closed the DM and restricted his account. Removing him as a follower was too harsh. He wasn't being hostile so that wouldn't have been deserved. I just wanted to establish a boundary so restricting him was the reasonable choice. I closed the DM and went on about my day. I headed back to the office, had dinner downtown with a friend who I'd met at a previous job, commuted home and watched the snowflakes land on the window and melt upon contact. I showered, did my skincare, ate dinner, said goodnight to my boyfriend, and went to sleep. And from that day on I wouldn't hear from Jason until five months later.

FIVE MONTHS LATER

A couple minutes' walk away from my office was the coffee shop where I would stumble upon Jason again, this time in person. I had placed my order to the barista, swiped my credit card, and stood by the waiting counter for my iced espresso with oat milk. Instead of scrolling on my phone, I took in my surroundings: the elegant wood panels across the ceiling, the antique chairs and circular mahogany tables that graced the seating area by the window, outside which presented a sunny view of bankers and businesspeople on their way to work. We were in the middle of spring.

My therapist advised me that grounding myself in the present moment would improve my mental well-being. I started doing sessions two months ago as I was now in a position in life where I could afford to go to therapy - it was covered by my workplace. Focused on the present, I wasn't concerned with the worries of the past or the anxieties of the future. I simply was, I simply am.

I grabbed my drink from the counter and was about to take a sip when I noticed a familiar looking man sitting on one of the chairs by the window. He was dressed casually in gray shorts, a Lakers tee, and those Jordans that were trendy a decade ago. Seeing Jason, it's like I was transported to the past when all the guys in my grade dressed like that and behaved the same. And by the same, I mean homophobic. Either an active bully or a passive bystander. Before I could go about my way, he looked up from his phone and saw me. He waved and motioned for me to join him. Did he know I was here the whole time and was just waiting to grab my attention?

I hesitated but curiosity got the better of me. I had stopped replying to his messages five months ago so I took this as fate's way of bringing us together. I wonder how that conversation would've played out if I'd allowed it to continue, and today I was about to find the answer to that. I sat in front of him, noticing he didn't look that different from how I remembered.

"I never thought I'd run into you here," he said.

"My office is just around the corner. I'm on lunch right now."

His ears perked up at the mention that I worked in the financial district. Technically it's not in the financial district, it's one street over and my job has nothing to do with finance. But Jason didn't have to know that. I decided to let the man be in awe of me and my career.

"What do you do now?" he asked.

"Government," I replied drily, then took a sip of my beverage. "What about you?"

"Do you still speak French?" he asked. I don't know if he was intentionally avoiding my question or if he was just more interested in getting to know about my life than talking about his own. The irony. When we were younger, it felt like Jason and his friends overlooked me, and here I am today being interviewed. I took delight in the reversal of fortune.

"I do," I said. "In fact, it's because I'm bilingual that I got my job. And what about you?"

"I work at P______ at the mall, recently got promoted to a supervisor position." He shrugged as he said this, like he wasn't sure if it was worth mentioning. He told me he went to college for a year before dropping out due to the expensive tuition, worked part-time jobs to save up money then re-entered school only to drop out again, this time because he was sure it wasn't what he wanted. "I don't think school's for me, you know."

"Yeah. You never seemed like the academic type," I said. There was a lull in the conversation. Jason looked downward, his eyes drifting to the side. I wondered what was bothering him. I wondered if he took it personally that I didn't want to get lunch with him the first time he had asked.

As if reading my mind, he said, "I'm surprised you actually sat down with me. Last time we talked, it seemed like you didn't want to meet up. Darwin, I owe you an apology. I -"

"Wait," I said, setting down my drink. "You already apologized. There's no need to say it in person."

"But I want to. You see, what I didn't say in my message was that the reason I even thought to hit you up in the first place was because I actually joined the church group you used to be a part of."

This surprised me. Jason in a church group? I didn't remember him ever being particularly religious. Sometimes I'd see his family attending church but they weren't consistent. "You did?" I said, finding it hard to believe.

"Well, I never truly joined. I never served in it. Cedric invited me to an event sometime after you'd already left the group."

Cedric was our mutual friend from high school who joined youth group the same time I did. He was friends with Jason prior to. Cedric and I were cool with each other, but hadn't caught up much since I'd left. He told me he was happy for me for having moved on. I remembered that fondly.

"Long story short," Jason continued, "I got to meet some of your old friends and through them I got a better understanding of what you've been through and why you left."

"What I've been through," I repeated. "What do you mean exactly?" I was curious to know how these old friends relayed my story to Jason. Religious people will be passive-aggressive when someone drifts away from the faith. They'll say they'll pray for them when in reality they'll harbor resentment towards the person for leaving. I've resented people too, the only difference is that I'm more honest about it compared to a lot of religious people I used to know.

"They told me you didn't like how controlling everything was. That you felt like you couldn't be yourself. You had to hide important parts of who you were just to belong," Jason said.

I nodded in agreement. "So why apologize to me? You weren't there when I was in the church. What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Yeah, I wasn't actively against you. But I still contributed to it." He took a moment to think. "I'm saying sorry because now I understand that homophobia has been present in your life long after elementary school. You dealt with it in high school, and your church group was supposed to be a safe place for you to get a break from it all. But it still persisted there. I'm sorry because I think I made the problem worse by not sticking up for you when were kids. I think if I had, I would've been able to help you see that you have friends who will stand up for you, that you're someone worth standing up for. You're worth having as a friend and I regret not telling you sooner." He sighed. "Darwin, I'm just sorry that I did nothing."

I considered his apology, now in the flesh. It's easy to delete a message from your phone, but it's harder to turn away a human being in front of you who is sincerely admitting where they went wrong. Part of me felt justified in my pain. In a way, I wanted to hold on to it because it was that pain of having experienced homophobia that had influenced significant parts of my personality, my outspokenness, my quick wit, my identity overall. Letting go of that pain and choosing to dissociate from it would mean having to let go of the very thing that has contributed immeasurably to the person I've become. But maybe I didn't need to erase the pain, I just needed to change the way I related to it. After all, it's still a part of me. It always will be.

I let my guard down. "Thanks for that, Jason. I forgive you. As I said in the message, it's all in the past."

He smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that because I was actually curious to see if you wanted to come back. The church needs you right now."

He was going in circles. Didn't we just agree to move on from the church? "What?" was all I could say, stupefied.

Jason explained to me what had happened in the past two years since I left. "Cedric got promoted to a higher position, which means your group is now being run by the new people."

I didn't like that he referred to it as being "my" group.

"Before he was promoted," continued Jason, "there wasn't adequate training given to the new presidents so now they're kind of scrambling. The annual camp is in two months and they haven't even met up to plan because they don't know what to do. The leaders before never gave them proper instructions. Liza went to Vancouver for med school, Paulus got a new job to pay off his loans, and Gerald wants to help but his dad's in the hospital so he's busy taking care of him while his mom's away in the Philippines."

"Stop," I said. "You said you never joined the group so how do you know all this?"

"Sorry, I should've specified. I didn't join at the time that Cedric first invited me. But honestly, now I'm considering it given how desperate the situation is. Even if the presidents start planning now for the camp, I doubt they'll have many people signing up. And they all told me it wasn't like this when you were part of it."

"So whose idea was it to reach out to me? Yours? You could've asked anyone else, someone who's actually still involved."

"It wasn't just my idea," Jason said. "Pretty much everyone agrees you should come back. And yes, everyone. Even the people who used to judge you."

I wasn't surprised. Everyone suddenly misses you once they're in need of something.

"I know you're busy with your life and you look like you're doing really well. But please Darwin, it's bad. Most of the people from your generation have left. If this continues, I don't know if there will be a church group to speak of by the end of this year. It's already dwindling in numbers."

Part of me felt sad to hear of the current state of the place I once loved, but a larger part of me acknowledged that that part of my life had ended years ago. I have since moved on, but Jason hadn't.

"You said it yourself," I replied. "I am doing well. Actually, this is the best my life has been ever since leaving. I have my career, friends who accept me, I came out to my family after leaving the church and they accepted me too. You apologized for not having been there for me and now it's my turn to do the same. I'm sorry, Jason. I can't help you and I can't help them. Church is like the closet for me and I'm not putting myself back there ever again, and I don't care who's asking."

His expression hardened - a mix of frustration, understanding, defeat, and relief. Frustration because I didn't give him the answer he wanted, understanding because he knew where I was coming from, defeat because he's running out of options for the youth group. And relief. Relief because, as his childhood friend, he's seeing that I've indeed moved on. I've transcended the self-hatred that used to bind me.

He put his head down. "I don't know what to do."

You can always leave, I wanted to tell him but I didn't have the heart to. I saw my younger self in Jason, the version of myself who was eager and who always tried his best not knowing what it would amount to. Leaving was what made sense for me but it wouldn't necessarily apply to Jason. I decided to take the opposite approach and asked, "Do you want to stay?"

"Only if I know I can make a difference."

"You never really know until after the fact," I said, speaking from experience. "I didn't know leaving was the right choice for me until some time had passed and I saw that I was able to be fully myself without judgment. I'm not going to tell you what you should do because what worked for me may not work for you. But also keep in mind that it's normal for any group to experience high and low periods. Right now, it's a low period. It'll pick up again, don't feel too discouraged."

He seemed to be okay with this, even cracking a bit of a smile. My alarm rang, telling me my break was over. I finished the rest of my coffee. "I have to go now. It was nice seeing you."

"Take care, Darwin." We bumped fists and I left the coffee shop. Immediately my phone began to ring. Cedric's name appeared.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Are you fucking kidding me? What's this bullshit about you not coming back?"

I turned to glance at Jason through the window. Setting his phone down, he shot me a disappointed look. He had informed Cedric. The man, and his apology, were fake from the start.

Cedric continued to yell. "Are you there? Talk to me!"

"You and Jason planned this," I said calmly. "You sent him here to try and convince me. I told you I cut ties with the church a long time ago."

"You couldn't even do this one favor for me?" Cedric blurted out. "I was your friend. I joined church with you. You know what, Darwin? I feel sorry for you now because you have zero direction in life. You turned away from us for a fucking salaried position and your nightlife and your university friends. I guess that city life has finally gotten to your head, hasn't it? Well guess what, we don't need you either! You should be flattered I even considered asking for your help. Just know I tried all of the higher-ups first but none of them wanted to have anything to do with a dying chapter so you were my last resort."

What's gotten into him? This was not the Cedric I knew. Didn't he tell me he was happy I was able to move on - or was that a lie? "Is that really how you think of me, someone at the bottom of your priority list?" I said.

"Oh, cut the shit!" he yelled. "We're at the bottom of each other's priority list. I don't remember the last time you reached out ever since you left for university. You left me alone when I needed you to stay, leaving me with a bunch of general members and no real executive team to manage them. Face it, you've always been selfish, putting yourself first before us!"

"Cedric, even if I'd stayed it wouldn't have made a difference. I'm just one person, and one person who was tired of being held back by people who didn't accept me. Besides, you never reached out either. How was I supposed to know you were struggling?"

He scoffed. "Struggling? What, you think I'm having a hard time without you? You're not that special. Get over yourself. The only reason I was ever friends with you was because I saw you had nobody at school. So when I found out you were going to the same youth camp I took it upon myself to talk to you. When your Lola died and your parents were in the Philippines, I kept you company. I stayed by your side even when Kristina and Jeremy made you fucking president of the high school club and that position was supposed to be mine! I was there for you even after finding out you were gay." He spat out the last word, like an insult. "You're misguided, thinking you're above us just because you left!"

I was done being cordial. The man was about to have it. "Cedric. Take your homophobia, your higher-up friends, and your desperation, and go fuck yourself."

He was too stunned to retort.

I continued, letting everything out. "I'm misguided? You're the misguided one here. You're the one calling me on a random Friday afternoon to complain about how I'm no longer religious. Don't you have better things to do? If you took that same energy and put it into your love life, you'd have a girlfriend by now. And for the record, yes - I am enjoying my career, my nightlife, barhopping and hanging out with my university friends and my boyfriend." I put emphasis on the last word.

"They're not judgmental pricks like you and Jason. I've put you guys first time and time again, the mere fact I've hidden my true self just to be accepted by you guys and the rest of the church proves that. You're just bitter because you haven't done anything meaningful with your life beyond youth group. News flash, Cedric: that's not my fault, that's not God's fault. It's yours. You're the one to blame for your own misery because you decided to stay the same. You spend more time at church than you do finding a job. If I was broke like you, I'd be mad too."

"Don't bring that up!" he shouted, voice cracking.

"And unlike you, I'm no longer religious which means there's no doctrine holding me back. I can freely speak my mind, which is why I can tell you to go to Hell. Yes, you heard that right. You, on the other hand, have a reputation to uphold so I would think twice about insulting me any further before I record this conversation and expose you for being the hypocrite you are."

"Is that a threat?"

I stood my ground. "Yes, it is. You should know I've changed. You can't walk all over me anymore. Not you, not Jason, not anybody left from that crumbling church. After this phone call, I'm blocking you everywhere. Harass me again and I will call the police. Get lost."

"Don't-"

I hung up. My heart was racing. Jason was still sitting in the coffee shop. He looked at me, confused as to what had just happened. Holding his gaze, I gave him the finger, watched his face go red with embarrassment, and walked away. I felt awesome.

After work, I went out with my boyfriend to enjoy the downtown nightlife. We found ourselves at a rooftop terrace bar enjoying our surroundings of the endless lights and skyscrapers, laughing over the drama that had occurred earlier in the day. We raised our glasses and made a toast to moving on.

I never heard from Jason and Cedric again.

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darspeaksout · 9 months

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Sleep Paralysis: Nightmare On The Plane

July 19, 2023. 3:41 AM.

I had this nightmare on the flight bound for Toronto from Taiwan.

I dreamed that I was in an open office space with people I understood to belong to the same student organization as myself. In front of me were rows of tables and touchscreen monitors, then a kitchenette with black and white cupboards. The office was in the middle of a large room, the rest of which I couldn’t see as it was shrouded in darkness.

The leader noticed a technical issue with one of the computers and asked my colleague to check it out. My colleague tried pressing a button but to no avail. Another colleague tried and no luck either. Suddenly a voice came from the speakers surrounding the office. The speech was incoherent, like how a witness’ voice is distorted in a crime documentary so their identity is concealed. And then the person, whoever it was, began to laugh. It was maniacal.

Panic ensued as we learned that someone from outside the organization was trying to hijack our office. Everything was high-tech so the lights, furniture, and even the kitchen cupboards, were controlled by Bluetooth. Whoever was behind this was making the furniture shake and the lights go on and off. The voice grew louder as fear and dread paralyzed me. I couldn’t move.

For some reason, I understood the identity of this person to be someone who used to be part of the organization but who had a falling out with its members. They were terrorizing us as a way to get revenge for whatever wrong was done to them when they were part of it. They started shaking the ground and I felt like I was in the middle of an earthquake. I called out to them and said, "It's one thing to not like a group of people and to leave them alone. But the fact that you're doing this shows that this is what you’ve devoted your life to. You are miserable. Whoever you are, you're a miserable person!"

I let out a whimper loud enough to wake myself. The guy beside me told me he heard me too. As I was leaving the dream world and entering reality, there was a period of in-betweenness that felt like I was neither awake nor asleep - I was just stuck. Stuck in nothingness. Like a patient in a vegetative state. The numbness I was feeling in my dream manifested into a numbness in my physical body. I tried to move but couldn’t. I remained calm and willed my mind to move my leg, like how Uma Thurman’s character did after waking up from a coma in Kill Bill. It took me two to three minutes of trying before I finally regained control. I would later learn that this experience was my first, and hopefully my last, with sleep paralysis, a state in which your mind is awake but your body remains asleep. In other words, you have mental awareness but are incapable of moving. I would also learn that people with jet lag have a higher chance of experiencing this.

I was able to ground myself back to reality. I could hear the wind breezing past the aircraft and see the silhouettes of passengers, most of whom were asleep. Even though I was now awake, the terror had not left me. In my dream, it felt like whoever the person was (if I can even call it that) had complete control over my mind and body and I was totally powerless to their will. They had hijacked our office and hijacked me. Like a demon taking over my soul, I was under their possession. I never want to experience that again.

I told all this to my seatmate, a Japanese guy I met at the beginning of the flight. He said it was probably because I was sleeping in a bad position which caused me to have the nightmare. The lights slowly turned on and my eyes adjusted to their brightness. Pretty flight attendants going about, serving food and drinks. Interactions in Mandarin and English. People eating, conversing, existing. Normal people on a normal plane. I wonder how many of them heard me shout.

I don't know if my dream was a premonition that someone from the past will mess with my present or if it's random and has no direct link to real life. Alternatively, it could reveal that I think someone in my waking life is becoming invasive and crossing my boundaries. I’m not sure who that would be. And why a dream like this? It’s been years since I was a student. And I’ve dreamed of falling off cliffs, of running away from something but being too slow, of people dying. I’ve had nightmares before but this by far was the most demonic. Apparently during sleep paralysis, it’s common to hallucinate and to even see a demon sitting on top of you. I experienced neither. If there was any demon, I only interacted with it in my dream. I only heard its voice. But hearing it was terrifying enough.

Still seated, I gave myself a hug. I was a kid again. I was seven years old and hiding behind a pillow as a horror movie played on television. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s just a dream. It’s not real. You’ll be home soon, I told myself. It’s over.

I went to the washroom, pleased to see my haggard face in the mirror and not a demon standing beside me. The lights remained on, the cupboard above the faucet stood still. The only shaking I felt was that of the plane as it continued homebound.

I splashed my face with cold water and felt relieved, knowing that demons only exist in the mind.

#sleepparalysis #nightmare

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darspeaksout · 1 year

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I Found My Bully On LinkedIn

For some reason, LinkedIn recommended to me the guy who used to bully me in school. As expected, I learned that my career and life overall were better than his.

He didn’t have a profile photo, which was consistent with the rest of his social media accounts. If I was built like SpongeBob SquarePants and had Nosferatu’s dark circles, I wouldn’t want to show myself either.

I remember he spoke a lot about wanting to beat me up when we were in ninth grade, reason being I’m gay so I deserve it. I got some of my friends who were seniors to fight him for me. Well, all they had to do was threaten him and that was enough to shut him up for the rest of high school. I know it annoyed him to see my friends defending me because he wished he had the same, and I rejoiced in his discontentment. Luckily, we were only classmates in homeroom, after which I was never put in the same class with him again because I was in a higher academic stream. If being ugly wasn’t enough, he had to insult me twice by being stupid.

Through extra-curriculars, I became close with one of his friends who was surprisingly a decent person. The more he hung out with me, the less he hung out with the bully, to the point that they drifted apart altogether and his friend became mine. We’d be seen spending time together both inside and outside of school. As a result, I had the double-effect of scaring away Count Dracula and making him jealous. And I didn’t even have to lift a finger because I had people in my corner delivering the karma for me.

Every day, I’d walk down the hallways with a different girl because I had a lot of female friends. I just couldn’t help that I was so naturally charming and smelled good always. Although I’m gay, I’m more of a man than he ever was and ever will be. Frankenstein knew this and spent the better portion of his youth hating me from a distance, as I continued to take my sweet time with the girls who’d never look his way, and of his friend who found him pitiful enough to keep around.

I’d see him in the cafeteria eating with the same two people he’d been hanging around since elementary school, meanwhile I had branched out and expanded my social circle. When I considered the success of my academics, the loyalty of my friends, and everything else, it dawned on me that he became a bully out of fear and jealousy. Fear of stepping out of his comfort zone and jealousy because I was able to. He’d noticed that I was gay and knew he had nothing else to use against me. So he latched onto the lowest hanging fruit and kept tugging in the hopes he’d be able to knock down my tree. I grew and grew, while he stayed the same. Same hometown, same group of toxic men, same friendless pothead deadbeat loser he always was and always will be.

I regret that he did not follow through with his plans to beat me up. Then at least there would’ve been a story and some character development on my part. But no - he was too spineless to be a villain and backed out at the slightest opposition from my older friends. In addition to being ugly, stupid, jealous, and homophobic, he was a coward. I’m reluctant to even grant him the title of “bully” because he was incompetent at being one. He had one job and he failed. And just like all the jobs listed in his resume, they too were unimpressive, lackluster, and vapid.

Legend has it that Spanish Smeagol is still at his warehouse job from 2019 and is trying to find his “precious.” I wonder if he ever managed to get a girlfriend and if she looks worse than him. The chances of that are high, and I’m referring to the latter.

I blocked his account so he had no way of reaching out in case he tried. Then I clicked on my page and saw my accomplishments before me: my trip abroad to China, my internships with various humanitarian organizations, every customer service job throughout university, and my position now with the government. I thought about the guy who tried to demand my orientation out of me and the girl who outed me in high school. I thought about the guy in elementary school who approached me with his whole entourage to ask if I was gay, and how he later got expelled for getting into a fight. Why did all the people who were rooting against me end up losing in the end? Not only in their career, but in life?

Given my history with bullying, I could’ve turned out just as damaged, lawless, and delinquent as them. But I didn’t - why? I think it’s a matter of choice. I was hurting for many years and chose to recognize it, overcome it, and ensure that I would not pass this pain onto others. I made sure I was the last person these people’s unhealed trauma would reach. I cut the cord and in letting go, welcomed my full potential. I found my bully on LinkedIn and learned nothing I didn’t already know.

I logged off and let out a chuckle, remembering that in the end, I won.

#lgbtq #story

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darspeaksout · 1 year

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I Unfollowed You

Back then, AriZona drinks were 99 cents a can. They were available in a variety of flavors, colorfully displayed on the shelves, but I always opted for the green tea one. On the weekends, we’d bike to the mall with your sister to grab a few snacks with our allowance then stop by the park near your house to chill. You lived just down the street from me, followed by a left turn. As a kid, I took it for granted that everything was near and the people I was friends with were also near. I took it for granted that we’d always have time for each other to go to the park, to go on bike rides, to sneak to the mall when you had told your parents you weren’t going out. I assumed there would always be another class, another grade, another day I could spend with you. Growing up hits you with the harsh reality that youth feels like the longest period of one’s life, but just like everything else, will naturally come to an end.

Our bikes watched us from beside the benches. Our half-eaten bags of chips and half-drunken AriZona cans sat on the pavement between us. I could smell your scent mixing with the hot summer air - you smelled of cotton, basketball, and sweat. The sun shone brightly down on our world and I felt my youth was eternal.

You put your hand on my shoulder. “Darwin, I’m glad you’re my friend.” Time stood still.

“Yeah, so am I.”

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”

“Of course,” I replied, without hesitation.

My feelings for you were growing but I kept it to myself. We went to my house after and I don’t remember the reason. You and your sister went home after about an hour and I realized you had left your zip-up hoodie in my room. I told you over Facebook messenger that I’d hand it back to you in class on Monday.

That night, I was too excited to sleep. My mind was flashing with all the moments of that day - the sugary sweetness of the AriZona, the fresh breeze that came and went as we biked to the park, the shock we both felt when we saw your parents’ car parked outside the mall, and you hadn’t told them where you’d be. We left as quickly as possible with our snacks, laughing on the way out. I was missing you already. I took your hoodie out of my closet and placed it beside me on the bed. I embraced it, I caressed it, I whispered your name into it. Everything got hotter and more intense. I buried my face into your hoodie and felt longing, desire, shame, and rage all at once. That was the first time I discovered what semen was.

It frustrated me that I felt this way towards you and I couldn’t say anything. So I told a friend who I thought I could trust, and you ended up finding out through her. At the time, I was identifying as bisexual because if I pretended to like girls too, I figured it would’ve softened the blow - but it didn’t. When you found out, you put a wall between us. Back then, we were kids. So I couldn’t fault you for not knowing how to handle it, as I didn’t either. But I wish you had said something, anything at all, because for years I was stuck believing that you stopped talking to me because I’m gay. Now as an adult, I’m reluctant to tell people about my orientation, even if it may be apparent. I wonder if they’ll get up and go like you did.

We stopped hanging out at the park. We stopped riding bikes together. We avoided each other in the hallway and in class. And when some of the guys you’d play basketball with had found out I liked you and started to bully me for it, you didn’t reach out. Not once. I lost you and you chose their side. Our classmates avoided me. I’d hear “faggot” in the playground as the bell rang for class and I’d rush to get back inside. I watched my friendships slowly dwindle, and learned this was the price I paid for being gay and being honest about it. For the rest of elementary school, a heavy sadness weighed over me.

Because our surnames began with the same letter, we sat next to each other at graduation. The whole time, we didn’t exchange a word. When I won my awards at the ceremony, I couldn’t feel joy or accomplishment. I don’t remember any one of our peers congratulating me. The silence I received at graduation reminded me of the silence I received from you, when you had found out I liked you more than as a friend. And that’s when I began to think that as long as I’m gay, no one will find it in themselves to be happy for me.

My parents had invited some relatives over to our house to celebrate. Since the school had not communicated to them that I would be taking home seven out of the ten awards distributed, my family was even more surprised and proud of me. But I couldn’t share any of their joy because I felt that nobody from our graduating class, not even you, the guy who said we’d be friends forever, wanted me to win. Once I got home, I went to my room and locked the door. I set all seven of my awards down on the desk, feeling guilty and undeserving. Despite the fact that I worked hard for them, and continued to work hard in spite of the people who bullied me and the people who did nothing to stop them. My relatives arrived and I heard their cheers from down the hall as my parents shared the good news. I gave myself a moment to cry before joining them.

Four years later, when we reconnected through church, I learned that you never hated me for my orientation. You just felt awkward about me because you had never been taught how to deal with gay people. So it wasn’t homophobia, after all; it was just a lack of education. I never told you this when we were friends, but your silence hurt me a lot. On the day we had to leave for youth camp, we saw each other on the bus.

You gave me a fist bump and asked very loosely, “Are we good now?”

I said yes, accepting your gesture.

Somewhere in there, you said you were sorry. But because we never talked about it any deeper, I didn’t know what you were saying sorry for. I didn’t know if you truly understood how I’d been hurting. I was also a teenager so I didn’t have a mind developed enough to comprehend and articulate the homophobia and bullying I went through. A big part of me just wanted to move on, like you did. So it’s also my fault for not taking the initiative to discuss it with you properly. As I’m recounting these events, I’m beginning to see that it was a lack of communication that resulted in the ending of our friendship.

However, you have to understand that you also set the tone for its demise all those years ago, when you stopped talking to me as soon as you learned about my feelings towards you. It conditioned me to not want to talk about being gay because I’d only be met with punishment. And I didn’t want to lose any more friends. You, a straight man, used silence to reject me; and I, a gay man, used silence to be accepted by society. The less I spoke about what mattered, the more people were willing to welcome me in. Through you, I learned that the world rewards people who choose to be dishonest about themselves.

You were my mentor for the first few years in church. It seemed like we were back to normal. But since I never told you how I was hurting, you never fully understood. The fist bump we exchanged on the bus was an adhesive placed over the scar, but the scar still cut deep underneath. When I entered university, I decided to leave the church. I had been meaning to, since my values no longer aligned with those of the institution. We haven’t had a conversation in years so I don’t know if you’re still part of it.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. Your presence in my life has been reduced to a small circle of a profile photo that I occasionally see on my Instagram feed. My only reassurance that you still remember me and the friendship we once shared is your name appearing on the list of people who have viewed my story. You know what I’m up to on a daily basis. You’re aware of my interests and hobbies, which have changed over time. You know I like fragrances. You know I throw knives. You know what school I graduated from and what my major was. You know with whom I still keep in contact from youth group. You were there when I was in a relationship and when I was single. You were there when I got my first pet. You were there for every brunch, celebration, vacation, and milestone. You were in my life, always, and yet you weren’t.

You stopped being a part of my life, physically. You stopped being a person I could talk to at night at our youth camps when everyone else was fast asleep. You became another account on social media, another chat that hasn’t been active since 2019. You became more and more distant, like a figure I reach out for in the dark, but one that drifts farther and farther away. If it weren’t for your photos, I’d have forgotten your appearance.

And one of those photos is of us from 2014. I thought that if you kept a photo of us on your feed from that many years ago, it meant that you still considered us close. Which is why I was surprised when I invited you for lunch to catch up, you declined with obvious disinterest. You told me you were living in a different city but didn’t say if or when you’d be coming back. You gave me reasons as to why it was not possible instead of finding solutions with me to make it work. When it showed that you didn’t reciprocate, that’s when I knew - we were no longer friends. This, coupled with the time I had seen you as a customer at my old job, when we noticed each other from across the barista’s counter and you didn’t say hello, proved the fact even more. I remember you pulled down the brim of your cap to hide your face, hoping I didn’t see you. But I did. You scrambled out of there with your drink in hand. I should’ve pieced everything together that day - if that was your reaction to seeing me, obviously you would have no interest in meeting up. I was left to wonder why you were avoiding me when on social media you still had a photo of us posted, and on every single one of my stories, you were one of the first to view them. Was it guilt for having done nothing as I was being bullied? Was it regret on your part too that you never knew what I was going through? I wondered if the reason you kept tabs on me online was so that by knowing I was doing well, you could alleviate your guilt. But these are all just guesses. Once again, just like when we were kids, I was met with your silence. And I didn’t see a reason for us to be following each other anymore.

Today, I finally decided to unfollow you. And before I did, I saw you had deleted that photo of us.

I was always the one remembering your birthday, I was always the one messaging you first. I was the one still trying for this friendship, and what I realized after all these years is that it’s because our issues have never been resolved. Because we never talked about it. Because I never told you precisely how being gay has affected me inside and outside of the church. I never told you what was going on at home and the slurs I’d hear coming from my own parents. I never told you that after piano lessons, my dad would spend the drive home mocking my instructor who was LGBTQ, and a very competent pianist. I never told you I ended up switching to a more masculine-presenting instructor because I wanted the homophobic car rides to stop. I never told you that when we went on an overnight school trip to Quebec, it hurt me that you and the other guys in our hotel room all slept on one bed, and left me alone to sleep on the other. It made me feel like you were doing so because all of you knew I was gay and didn’t want to be near me. I never told you I couldn’t sleep for most of that night as I stayed up late crying. I never told you that if I could pinpoint a moment when my journey as a gay man began, it was when you learned of my feelings towards you and you stopped talking to me. But even if I were to have told you all this, I’m not sure you would’ve listened. And I’m not sure I would’ve had the courage to tell you at the time we still knew each other.

I unfollowed you online because you had already unfollowed me in real life. Because I was tired of chasing answers from a person who never wanted to speak. Tired of thinking we were close because we popped up on each other’s feeds, when in reality we’d grown apart. If I were to hold on to you while knowing that nothing about our dynamic has changed, it would only serve to remind me that I was an option. I was at the bottom of your list for consideration. Nobody else in my life treated me this way, so why was I willing to put up with it from you? Because part of me wanted us to go back to the way we were, as kids. But we’re not the same people we used to be.

We had exhausted our bike rides. We had grown too big for our hoodies and for each other. Now as an adult, I can appreciate you as my childhood friend, a friend with whom I had fun, but not necessarily a friend with whom I can grow - and not a friend who can allow me the space to be myself. Neither one of us is a bad person, but you just don’t reciprocate my efforts in the way I would like. It doesn’t mean that my ask for friendship is wrong, it just means you were the wrong person to ask all along. And if it was closure I was seeking from you, rest assured I found it.

“Darwin, do you think we’ll be friends forever?” You had asked that day at the park.

“Of course,” I replied, without hesitation. “Do you?”

You smiled, setting down your now empty can of AriZona. You looked toward the trees, vibrant and green for all eternity.

And as always, I found my answer in your silence.

#prose #lgbtq

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darspeaksout · 1 year

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Overcoming Fear : On Writing “I Don’t Have It In Me To Forgive You” And “I Felt Nothing When You Died”

This is the first time I’ve written about these two events. I’ve told these stories to loved ones but it’s different when you have them written down and posted to the Internet, where they exist ad infinitum.

Even if no one reads these two pieces, I knew that writing them would be useful in tracking my progress as a human being. Although painful, certain experiences must be remembered and recorded for the purpose of self-improvement. And I fear that if I forget what I went through, I risk not understanding myself fully. And the last thing I want is to feel that I’m a stranger to myself.

I recall the memories as I’m writing, but as soon as I’m finished I discard them from my mind and turn my attention elsewhere. Creative people tend to be overthinkers, and I want to remain creative but at the same time prioritize my mental health. That’s why it’s important for me to set boundaries with how much time - and for what purpose - I spend thinking about a particular experience. Since I had developed more confidence in myself over the years, recalling these memories was not a painful undertaking. Time and growth both contributed to the strange feeling that these two incidents may not have happened at all. They felt so foreign because they took place a lifetime ago, buried in the past, which no longer exists except in my memories. I felt like I was writing about someone else’s life.

In both I Don’t Have It In Me To Forgive You and I Felt Nothing When You Died, all the events described are true. To say that these were “inspired” by real life experiences would be an understatement; they were taken directly from them. As much as I would like to tell you that I’m a creative, imaginative writer, neither of these pieces needed any of my creativity or imagination. I was recounting real events, real people, and real feelings. Hence, if there was any creativity or imagination to speak of, it was in how I decided to structure the stories, which themes I chose to highlight, and how I explored my own psyche as I processed self-acceptance, homophobia, forgiveness, and grief. The creativity is found solely in the writing style, lyricism of the prose, and what I chose to reveal about my rationale, and not at all in the “plot,” if you want to call it that. Because these stories are real, the emoting was natural - I took everything I was feeling and ran with it.

This resulted in completing these pieces over the course of two days. For each, I finished the rough draft in one sitting, and used another sitting to edit and finalize. I played Cha Soo Kyung’s “Can’t Forgive,” one of my favorite Korean songs, to allow for maximum emoting. I chuckle as I write this, but I’ve been told by family and close friends that I’m OA. It’s useful when writing, not so useful in real life. When I write, just like when I do perfumery, I make changes to my surroundings in order to produce the best work I can. And playing the right songs helps me to enter the desired emotional state. I had to channel both vulnerability and strength for these works.

While the two are related in subject matter, each shows a different approach to how I handled these situations. In I Don’t Have It In Me To Forgive You, there is an element of chance and there is no lengthy confrontation with the antagonist - I run into the homophobe on the sidewalk, acknowledge his presence drily, and move on. The story is resolved with my decision to literally, and figuratively, walk away. By contrast, in I Felt Nothing When You Died, my encounter with the girl was deliberate and we did see an explicit confrontation via the speech I had made. In the first story, I removed myself from the situation; in the second, I put myself dead center and rose to the occasion. I highlight this to say that depending on the circumstances that life presents to us and the people we are dealing with, our approach will be different.

I also believe that the punishment should match the crime. In the case of my friend’s cousin, the issue was between us as individuals, so any resolution would’ve involved just the two of us and nobody else. In the case of my classmate who outed me, the issue unfolded publicly, so I dealt with it publicly as well. In the first story, karma is served in my decision to never associate myself with this person again, to remove him from my life and remove any remaining method he had of accessing me. I blocked him on all my social media accounts and with time, outgrew the church and left for good. In the second story, karma is served in my decision to speak up for myself, which resulted in a peaceful rest of the school year, and a peaceful senior year - at which point all harassment had stopped. I would like to think that the people in that class told their friends about my speech and that the gossip spread throughout our grade. I never saw to what extent this news had travelled. But it seemed that it travelled quite far if everyone took the initiative to back off. This, coupled with my low profile, contributed to people finally leaving me alone, I imagine. I am quiet until you give me a reason not to be and then the gloves are off. And when I speak up for myself, I can promise you my words will land and they will cut - just like the knives I throw. To be clear, I don’t see it as karma that my classmate passed away. She served her karma when she was alive in having to bear the knowledge of the pain she had inflicted, and her death only gave me further closure. As I wrote in that story, “... since you’ve passed away, so have our issues.”

While on the topic of karma and death, I would like to discuss this quote: “Since I made the decision not to kill myself that weekend after you outed me, I believe that God took your soul in my place.” To be honest, I don’t actually believe this. I don’t actually believe that the fact I’m still alive is because she died, nor the reverse - that if I had killed myself, she would be living. I only mentioned this in the story because it offered a unique way of looking at the situation. This one sentence touches upon the themes of religion and karma, and the belief that if you were able to evade misfortune, then that misfortune would be passed onto somebody else. The same holds true for good luck. Perhaps this is more of an Eastern belief which has been ingrained into my psyche from having grown up in a culture which emphasizes fortune. When I was discussing creativity and imagination earlier, this sentence is an example of what I mean when I say that that the creativity and imagination in this story come from how I navigate and describe my psyche. While admittedly, I don’t believe that she died for the purpose of sparing my life, my decision to mention this is a step I took towards creative liberty.

I am a stronger individual after having overcome both of these incidents in my youth. I am even stronger for writing about them and sharing them on a public platform. I’ve been told by close friends that I possess an aura of unwavering confidence. While this is true for the most part, I am human at the end of the day so I do waver. I do feel uncertain at times. However, I don’t let my feelings of uncertainty interfere with my goals. Prior to sharing these works, I had a moment of doubt whether I should proceed. This doubt came from my trauma whenever I’ve discussed what it’s like to be gay and I’ve been ridiculed for it. But I knew that in order to be a more self-aware and authentic person, I would benefit greatly from sharing the challenges I went through - regardless of the reach, regardless if I’m the only one who will ever read these stories.

If I have any parting words for you, dear reader, it’s this: if there’s something you’ve been wanting to do and it scares you, but you have a feeling you’ll benefit from it, then just do it.

#prose #writing #lgbtq

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darspeaksout · 1 year

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I Felt Nothing When You Died

You outed me in front of the whole class in high school.

We had set up our chairs in a circle. There was an article we were assigned to read for homework the day before. I can’t remember what the article was about but during the class discussion, the topic of gay couples came up. One of our classmates asked the teacher how she should explain to her five-year-old niece that two men can be together romantically and that same-sex relationships were becoming more socially accepted. Before the teacher could respond, you took it upon yourself to announce, “Why don’t we ask Darwin. Maybe he would know.” I was shocked. Did I just hear that right? Yes, I did. You really just called me out.

The bell rang and everyone returned their chairs to their desks. As I was putting mine away, I felt my face get hot with rage, my hands shaking. I wanted to punch the wall. My friends in that class who recognized I was upset were quick to approach me and ask if I was alright. Obviously I wasn’t but I was too stunned to respond. I grabbed my backpack and on my way out, stopped at your desk. You were in the running to be our grade’s representative and had even campaigned to me personally. Through tears, I told you with all the fight I could muster, “You just lost my vote.” That was the last exchange between us before you passed away.

I got on the bus to go home. I had a church event planned that evening, so I had a few hours to pull myself together. We’d usually begin events by sharing good news or things we would like prayers for, but I knew this wasn’t something I could share with them. Once the shock had subsided, my mind went straight to planning mode. If this had happened to me in ninth grade, I would’ve cried alone and said nothing. But because we were approaching senior year and I had developed somewhat of a spine, I felt empowered to speak up. I spent the ride home thinking about how I would handle this. I knew I was going to address you in a speech, one that I would write out as soon as I got home. But I didn’t know what to say and how far I was willing to go to hurt you back. Marginalized people tend to see it as their responsibility to educate those who have offended them. But I didn’t see it that way. It’s not my job to educate you, but it is my job to fight for myself, regardless of how you receive it. Whether or not it hurts your feelings, that’s the least of my concerns. It was a Friday, so I had the rest of the afternoon and the coming weekend to write out my speech. I went to my church event that night and spent the weekend trying to calm down.

When Monday came, the chaplain with whom I had established a friendship, and our teacher for that class, both screened the speech I was about to deliver. They advised me to remove some of the rather offensive and unproductive messages contained therein. When I told them about my plan to address the entire class, both were supportive of my decision. Both reassured me I can always approach them for any issues should there be any, going forward. The chaplain said she would provide moral support and be there at fourth period. And when the bell rang, it was my time to shine. And shine, I did.

I walked to the front, speech in hand, and took a moment to assess the classroom, my classmates, and you - looking petrified as you shuffled in your seat. What was going to happen, what will he say?, you probably wondered. You weighed significantly more than me, but I’ve never seen you look so small. The tension hung dead in the air you could cut it with a knife. I closed my eyes for a moment and told myself I wasn’t only delivering this speech to you. I was delivering it to you and to every other person who thought they were entitled to my identity.

I talked about how alone and ostracized I felt for most of high school, I talked about suicide. I talked about how my extra-curricular activities saved me from jumping off a building or hanging myself in my room. I talked about my family, religion, bullies, and how when you’re gay you expect homophobia to come from any and all directions, it doesn’t matter the person, it doesn’t matter the age. I talked about self-acceptance and how on some days, it’s more difficult to practice. I talked about how you called me out on Friday and how you’re lucky I’m this strong. Because if I wasn’t, who knows what I would’ve done to myself over the weekend and where I would be right now. When I finished my speech, nobody clapped. Everybody stared. That was the first time I was able to silence an entire room.

For a moment while I was up there, I wondered what the reaction would be if I derailed from my plans, set down the paper I was holding, and called you out, cursed at you, embarrassed you with the gossip I’d heard about your family troubles, made you feel what you made me feel. But I decided against it.

Because of how things stood at that moment, you were the bully and I was the bullied. If there was someone to root for, it was me. And I wanted to keep it that way. For once, the gay guy is the protagonist. For once, the gay guy is the one people want to see succeed. I was tired of being the best friend, the accessory, the shopping partner, the punchline, the man who is never seen as a man but not seen as a woman either, the man who isn’t taken seriously because he loves other men. As far as perception was concerned, I had the clear advantage. You cast yourself as the villain in my story. You earned that role from how you decided to act towards me. And I kept you in that role because I found your performance convincing. Bravo to you. You outed me for being gay, so I outed you for your true character. I was just returning the favor, so no need to thank me. We’re both actors, if you think about it - one is pretending to be straight, the other is pretending to be a good person.

As promised, I didn’t vote for you and you didn’t become our senior year representative. For the rest of my time in high school, you never bothered me again. I would have another class in which you sat at the very back but you later switched it for another course. I never knew if it had to do with me or if you genuinely had a schedule conflict. Either way, you were no longer around me so I considered it a win. I passed by you in the hallway once and you kept your head down, looking ashamed, similar to my best friend’s cousin that day on the sidewalk after he had tried to interrogate my identity out of me. What both of you had in common was that you think that by simply being heterosexual, it’s suddenly your job to coach and to police the identity of gay people. If I didn’t have the courage to speak up to him, I spoke up to you. I had double the rage and double the angst. You had to bear his transgressions against me in addition to your own, so I thank you for your service. But where the two of you differ is that in your case, I can actually forgive.

Who is easier to forgive, the living or the dead? I think the reason I was able to forgive you is, I visibly saw that you felt remorse for your actions. You understood my message, you left me alone, you gave me space by switching classes regardless of whether you did it for me or for your own reasons. And when a mutual friend of ours was planning a graduation party and I told her I wouldn’t feel comfortable if you were there, she uninvited you and you respected my space enough not to attend. I felt your remorse even though you never said sorry. But in the case of my friend’s cousin, I never saw that he regretted how he treated me. And that’s why I can forgive you but not him. As far as I know, he’s still alive and has the rest of his life to feel remorse. But since you’ve passed away, so have our issues, and I feel like I got my closure.

Three years later when I heard the news of your death, I felt nothing. No sadness. No elation. Just nothing. I observed the news as how I would observe a cloudy day - neutral, devoid of emotion. I was told you had died in your sleep due to a complicated medical history. If there is a preferred way to die, sleep is probably one of the more peaceful ways, I can imagine. Since I made the decision not to kill myself that weekend after you outed me, I believe that God took your soul in my place.

If there was anything I felt, I felt at peace. Peace that you understood how you hurt me. Peace that you showed me, in quiet but poignant ways, that you were sorry. Peace that you can finally say goodbye to your family problems, to being in and out of your mother’s home, to having to constantly move schools before you could develop any solid friendships. I felt at peace that you no longer had to feel alone, because I, as someone who’s gay, feels that a lot of the time. And I felt at peace for myself, that while it’s true I felt nothing when you died, it hit me that finally, we can put this chapter behind the both of us. I’m no stranger to the pain of living, and if your life was too painful I hope that wherever you are right now, may you find solace in knowing that with time, I grew to understand you. I really did grow to forgive you.

To the girl who never became my senior year representative, may you rest in peace.

#lgbtq #prose

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darspeaksout · 1 year

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I Don’t Have It In Me To Forgive You

Darwin, are you gay? You gotta confirm that.

This conversation happened in the bedroom of my childhood home, probably about seven years ago. It’s hard to say exactly when. We had a church event that night so you had stopped by my house so we could carpool to the venue together. I had to be in a good mood and put a smile on for these strangers, pretending like you didn’t just pry yourself into the sensitive parts of my identity a couple hours ago. It was that same night, as I found myself sleepless in bed, that I decided that I wouldn’t have you over at my house anymore.

Your cousin, who was my classmate, told me you had seen me at my part-time job but that you didn’t say hi. Apparently you saw I was busy serving customers and didn’t want to disturb. I chuckled when I found out. When has my being busy, or my being gay, ever stopped you from inserting yourself into the picture?

I graduated high school and moved on to university. Because my campus was near the house I had spent most of my life, I was a commuter student. It was sometime in my first or second year when I was on my way home that I ran into you, still in your high school uniform, as you were a few years my junior. We’re both Filipino so it baffled me how you could talk to your elders like that. I exited at my usual bus stop and proceeded to walk to my house. On the sidewalk, you were coming from the opposite end. I remember I had gotten a haircut a few days prior, I was wearing my best trench coat, it was a sunny day and one of my essays had been graded an A plus. I felt glorious - and in the best possible mood to run into an enemy.

We saw each other in passing and exchanged a brief hello. Actually, it was you who said hello. All I did was nod in your direction and kept walking. You looked awkward, guilty almost - as if acknowledging my presence was as grave as an insult. Don’t worry, you can look. Making eye contact with me won’t make you gay.

I remember you were walking with a girl. Was she your girlfriend? I never knew. It was none of my business so I never bothered asking. That’s the difference between you and me - I know to mind my own business. Just as on the day you demanded to know my sexual orientation, I wondered if you still felt superior having a girl by your side and knowing that that will never be a possibility for me. Did you feel big? Did you feel macho? Did you feel all the things you wanted to feel as a straight man who looks down on gay people? Before, you wouldn’t have hesitated to shake my hand, give me a hug even, upon seeing me at our church events. Now, you hardly get a glance out of me. And I only say your name when I recount this story to better friends as I introduce you as the homophobic prick, the cousin of my high school classmate, who thought he could interrogate my identity out of me. Well, you never got your answer, at least not directly. And any chance you had at becoming my “brother-in-Christ” as all those hypocrites from church liked to call it, you had squandered it all. I hope your masculine entitlement was worth it.

When I reached my house, I made a cup of coffee and basked in my academic success, my newfound passion for learning, and my good fortune of having crossed paths with you for a brief moment. If you didn’t know it then, you knew it now: I don’t need you, I never did, and I’m better off without you. Since that day on the sidewalk, I haven’t seen you since. I wonder if you were able to connect the dots and realize that that conversation in my bedroom had everything to do with the boundary I set between us. It’s not an accident that we drifted apart or that I appeared less warm and inviting; it was always my intention to keep you out after how you disrespected me. I would see you at events and engage only if we were put in the same group. Just by being in your vicinity, I felt I needed to wash my hands. When you judged me for being gay, just know I judged you even more and lost even more respect for you for being homophobic.

Sometimes, I think about how I would respond if we suddenly crossed paths again and you were to say sorry. The reason I think this is not totally impossible is because other people who have treated me similarly have made the effort to reach out and apologize. People grow and mature; neither you nor I are exempt from this. But those people who’ve said sorry were just bystanders and never the bullies themselves. While it’s true that standing by enables and perpetuates poor behavior, it’s not the source of it. And that’s why I can usually forgive a bystander but not the perpetrator.

I can, and I have, forgiven a lot of people for a lot of things. I have hurt people and have been forgiven, too. But if you were to ever say sorry, I honestly don’t think I’d have it in me to forgive you. The question you asked in my room felt like an attack. It felt like you were sizing me up and down, determining my worth as a human being based on who I’m attracted to. You gotta confirm that, Darwin. I don’t need to confirm anything to you. The only thing confirmed here is that you’re not a friend of mine, and I don’t care if you’re the relative of one of my best friends. You were judging me just as how the guys did in elementary school, who later followed me to high school, who I’ve lost touch with since, but whose impact I still feel on the days I find it particularly hard to love myself. Even now as an adult, I still have those days. And seven years later, with a whole degree, a new career, social circle, hobbies, and identity, I still think back to the words you had said. In my own home, my own bedroom too - you made me feel defenseless. It felt like any progress I had made to accept myself was set back by several years. If you were to say sorry now, I would let you know that I heard your apology. I received it. But I can’t confirm that I’ve truly accepted it. When it comes to the subject of my identity, it’s a non-negotiable.

People often remark how “brave” I am whenever I open up about this, as if bravery has anything to do with it. I don’t know if I’m brave or if I’m just angry. Angry at guys who think they can talk down to me and angry at myself for having not said a word in my own defense. Before, I was afraid. Now, I would give those people Hell. I figured, if these homophobes will never respect me anyway, I can treat them how they treated me and I’ll have nothing to lose.

I am not above being forgiven for things I’ve done. But I’ve also never taken someone’s identity, be it gender-related or otherwise, and used it against them. If anything, I have criticized people’s actions. But anything related to their personhood I have never attacked. And that’s why I feel I don’t need God’s blessing, or anyone’s blessing for that matter, to exercise my right to choose not to forgive you and to choose to never see you again. And beyond not forgiving you, I want you to suffer for it too.

Please see me when you’re out on dates with girls. Please see me in the sidelines at your basketball games. Please see me in the pews at your wedding. Please see me in your son when he comes home from kindergarten and tells you he has a crush on a boy. Please see me in the news whenever gay men are harassed, imprisoned, killed, and whenever we sing, shout, and laugh. Please see me enough times until you see I’m a person just like you who is alive and will one day die. Please see me in this lifetime because I can’t guarantee I’ll get to heaven.

And if you do make it to heaven and you don’t see me there, tell your god, the god who hates gays, that I said hi.

#lgbtq #prose

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darspeaksout · 1 year

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SUSMARYOSEP Is My Most Surprising Fragrance Yet

- DAR DAR G

Today is April 22, 2023, and I made SUSMARYOSEP. It has notes of green tea, frankincense, tobacco, chypre, and amber. The ratio is 1:1 for all of these notes, which amounts to 2.3 ml each in a travel-sized spray bottle. I figured if I wrote down the formula here, I wouldn’t need to write it in my notebook. Writing on Tumblr has always been more familiar and nostalgic, anyway.

SUSMARYOSEP is a Tagalog phrase which literally means, “Jesus, Mary, Joseph.” The phrase is used to express exasperation or surprise. I arrived at this name because the opening of the fragrance reminded me of the wooden pews in church. This wood feeling is created by the note of frankincense. In addition to the wood, there is a cleanliness which is created by the notes of green tea and tobacco. When I first smelled these raw materials, I was surprised to find that tobacco actually smelled more pleasant than I had anticipated. I guess I was thinking of cigar, which is closer to what I had imagined all smokes to smell like - dirty, grown, ultimately difficult to blend in a fragrance. But tobacco is rather smooth and easy on the nose. I picture a dark blue when I smell it for some reason.

To continue, chypre gives the fragrance that department-store cologne feel. And amber grounds everything together, making it warm. In deciding the name of this fragrance, my mind went from wooden pews to rain (as it was raining earlier today). So we have the image of Mass while it’s raining outside. I thought, what is a Filipino term or expression that derives from religion? And that’s how SUSMARYOSEP came to be.

For those who are already familiar with this term, it may come as a surprise that this is the name chosen for a fragrance that is essentially a woodsy, contemplative scent that leans masculine. SUSMARYOSEP does not evoke shock, anger, or surprise - to me, its creator, it evokes calmness, poise, and self-assuredness. Because of the gap between what “Susmaryosep”, the term, means, and how SUSMARYOSEP, the fragrance, smells, it invites anyone who has the chance to smell it to use their imagination to bridge these two ends together. If there is any shock factor to speak of, it’s that this fragrance does not embody the personality that one would expect from such a name. It is quiet and subtle, yet clean and sharp. It remains close to the skin and is not a projection beast. It does not announce itself because it has no need to. Like someone confident in themselves, their personality is no surprise to them but may come as a surprise to others. This confidence is what I tried to embody in my reel.

I took advantage of today’s weather - cloudy, gloomy - to issue forth the emotions necessary to be felt in order to produce SUSMARYOSEP, and my accompanying reel. This is the first reel I have created which provides a closer look into my process of making a fragrance. As a hobbyist, I enjoy tons of freedom when it comes to creating whatever scents I want, at my own pace, with no external pressure, and a limitless capacity to explore my own creativity. Of course, in the reel I am using pipettes, measuring liquids, spraying tester strips, and the like. But I am also sipping coffee, drinking water, taking my vitamins, and sometimes just sitting in my chair as I stare into space. This is to show that in the creative process, it’s not only about being productive and producing the results that everyone sees. It also consists of pondering, imagining, reminiscing, emoting. It is work and meditation at once. Similar to when I throw knives, I forget everything else and concentrate on the task at hand as I let my “flow state” take over.

The song, “Waves”, by LeRoyce, captures the relaxed and melancholic vibe I was aiming for. The last few clips feature the gray sky, and myself as I walk away from the camera with my back turned towards it. Walking away symbolizes that, at least for now, this fragrance is complete. I say “for now” because as a creative, it’s common for us to revisit previous works and try to perfect them, although objective perfection does not exist. In the ending of my reel, I take a sip of my coffee before the beat drops and it cuts to a clip of a black screen with “SUSMARYOSEP” written at the top, and some of its prominent notes listed underneath. The reel cuts back to me - I turn my head forward then walk to the right until I exit the frame completely. The casualness of my movements shows calm, poise, and trust. As the viewer, you don’t know where I’m walking towards. But from the self-assuredness I have demonstrated, you can trust I’m going to a good place.

This is the essence of SUSMARYOSEP - a confidence that is not performative and heavily charged with hypermasculinity which is the version often seen now in the media, but rather one that is subtle, cultivated by and exists for itself. It’s self-assuredness after having broken away from religion and homophobia, finding strength as an individual for once and not as part of a collective subscribed to the same ideologies as everyone else. A confidence gained only after tapping into your creativity and bringing it to the surface. A confidence that shocks others because of how apparent it is, but also how natural it is to the individual that it often goes undetected. One is left to wonder, “Jesus, Mary, Joseph. How is that possible?”

Personally, SUSMARYOSEP is by far the fragrance that has surprised me the most. A phrase similar in usage that I often hear is, “Diyos ko, ‘day” (”My God, sis”), which is a term mainly used by women. I have not given this potential new creation much thought beyond its name. “DIYOS KO, ‘DAY” is funny, colloquial, and lighthearted. If I were to pursue this scent, I can see it becoming the woman’s version of SUSMARYOSEP. We’ll see if it comes to fruition. Instead of making any promises, I would rather deliver it as a surprise.

#SUSMARYOSEP #fragrance

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