Atonement: A Tale for the New Year

Your emeralds are green, glowing with envy. Your rubies, red, seethe with all your anger. You have diamonds and sapphires too, cutting and cold like your arrogance and pretenses. And those gleaming pearls, your bitterness and self-doubts, strung tightly like a litany of curses.

Through time, you have decorated your armor with many and the brightest of gems, wearing them proudly. You have done so that you may shine and have the right to shun. You have worn them as proof of all your past hurts, traumas, and despairs. They tell of the vengeance coursing through your veins, your heart yelling retribution for all the pain and suffering the world has given you.

Each night, you madly ride through the land on your white horse, glaring at passersby, shaking your fist at the moon. Yet on this night, this particular night, your steed pants in exhaustion. The cadence of your journey grows familiar, and loneliness begins to invade and gnaw at you. Your body then begins to ache under the weight of your rage, your resentment, and your heavy, heavy armor.

Unbearably weary, you decide to stop. You wince at the pain that shoots through your arms, legs, and spine as you get off your stallion. After tying the beast to some craggy tree, you limp your way to the edge of a lake. As heavy as stone, you drop to your knees. Eyes closed, you bend your head back, and the deepest of sighs escape your mouth. A faint breeze begins touching you. You hear the leaves of nearby trees rustle and the rhythmic lapping of the water. You open your eyes.

A multitude of stars is flung across the dark sky. The ominous moon, round and full, paints the lake silver. Calm begins to envelope you. In your stillness, you realize how worn down you have become, your battle with the world having led you nowhere. You become aware that you have adored your own woundedness far too long. It has brought you even more heartache and suffering. Your enemies are but figments of your imagination, tales you concocted to justify your ways; to affirm your hurts and pains. You begin to weep and comprehend the reason behind your solitude.

You cup your hands and try to reach for the lake’s soothing waters, but in doing so, your armor gets in the way. Piece by piece, you dismantle it, flinging its parts around you. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and pearls are strewn across the shore tainting it with a sparkle. You are now naked as the day you were born.

You knead the flesh of your arms and shoulders, surprised at the novelty and power of your real body, of your true self: vulnerable, humble, human.

As you reach the glistening shore, tears fill your eyes anew. An unbridled feeling surges inside you. It is unfamiliar, yet it stirs you so you welcome it anyway. As you take each step, the cool waters begin to touch your toes, your knees, your belly, your shoulders, neck. You walk on till you are swallowed completely.

A moment passes and you find yourself afloat in the middle of the lake. You savor the million tongues that buoy you. Above, the sky is awash in streaks of deep purple, blue, and orange. Only a handful of stars remain, unblinking.

You marvel at the firmament before you, astonished to witness the birth of a new day. Then, faint signs of the sun emerge; its rays shrouding the world in the gentlest of glows. Softy, you chant: “I forgive you… I forgive myself.”

'Faggot' Encounters I

I remember hating the words “fag”, “gay”, “bakla”, “bading”, “agi”. I remember always cringing, my defensive ramparts raised mighty high, and my seething temper rear its ugly head whenever I’d hear them. Then I grew up a little more, loved myself a little more, and the vicious power of these words seemed to wane. Or so I thought.

The other night, at my childhood friend’s wedding reception, I found myself in some disconcerting circumstance. Glad to have met and reconnected with several friends of yore, I ate and drank the night away; noticing myself more confident and less conscious than ever before. It’s always this way. Each time I go home, I find myself gaining more strength, letting go of the baggage I used to lug around in my childhood and adolescence. But this night, I was just caught off-guard. I almost ignored what happened and thought nothing of it, till it clung to my memory, prying my eyes wide open when I wanted to sleep.

After all the activities during the wedding reception, the lights dimmed and the lounge act made its way on stage. People started dancing. Bottles of scotch, wine, and vodka made their rounds on every table. Many of us got even wilder after each cheap rendition of current pop tunes. I kept going in and out of the hall with friends, glass of poison in hand, socializing while smoking cigarettes by the hotel veranda.

By the nth glass of vodka and cigarette stick, I found myself tired and sitting by myself. Soon, several high school mates, a year older than me, made their way towards my space. They were in some inebriated romp, dancing like those drunken uncles we usually recoil at the sight of. I actually found the scene funny and silly, till they got closer and one started straddling me. Then the other joined in, rubbing my head. It was fine at first, I joining in the fun, until things got long-drawn. The fun of it all seemed to subside, and I found myself mocked; and ultimately, offended.

Not one to wear such feelings on my proud sleeve, I smiled away and pretended that I was cool amid it all. But I caught another school mate laughing and the rest of the people by the table in some unsure gaze, their smiles crumpled. I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. As soon as they stopped dancing, I gave myself another glass of vodka and twenty minutes till I left the hotel.

On my way home, I felt like I was an awkward adolescent again, running away from taunts and cruel peers. That dance kept repeating itself in my head. Till I got to the shower, till I brushed my teeth, till I crept into soft shell of my sheets, the dance teased my thoughts like a mischievous imp.

I shared the incident the next day with my childhood playmates, and I found my gay friend’s quiet anger rise as he drove his car. Like me, though we’ve lost contact at some point in our adolescence, he’s had his own share of cruelty. He was surprised and vexed that such an asinine attitude towards homosexuality happened again, considering that we were all adults already. He shared a similar experience, adding that he had to say something acerbic to put the bastard in his place. Immediately, I hated that I found myself bashful and silenced last night. I hated doubting my courage and strength as a gay man, having always thought myself a rabid bitch when the situation called for it. I hated playing out the scene in my head, me berating them and putting them in their place. I hated that that was all I was left with, raw feelings from the night before.

Can't Have It All

For the restless...



Can't Have It All
music and lyrics by Jay Brannan

applying moisturizer in the microwave window
for the tenth time, he should've called me an hour ago
would he be here with flowers if I lived in Arizona?

they say there's no love left in the big cities, its kinda true
I guess you'll find me coming soon to a small town near you
I'll sell my guitar so i can by myself a tractor

fuck this, this cant be my life
i moisturized ten times tonight
why cant i sit down and write,
bring this question to light?

chorus
do you want a lover, or do you want a life?
one hand or the other, the butter or the bread knife?
do you choose winter, spring, summer, or fall?
its driving me crazy that I can't have it all

if these walls could talk, they'd probably cry out for mercy
til I'm outlined in chalk, I'll be romantically thirsty
so I drink and drink from the proverbial time sink

fuck this, this can't be my life
tears flowing in full force tonight
why can't I sit down and write,
bring this question to light?

chorus

do we hold the future, or does it come in peace?
and if it's in my hands, are you sure it should be in brittle hands like these?
life, love, and the pursuit of all the things they promised me
can I have all of the above? are the best things in life truly free?

chorus

© 2008 great depression publishing

Swimming (in Shit) 2

Am I satisfied with my life? A constant topic amongst friends, either over coffee or buckets of beer, many of us find ourselves defending jaded and cynical answers. Though I often find myself espousing optimism, waxing lyrical and composed retorts, I cannot shake off a pestering thought: do I truly believe the words coming out of my mouth? I try to ignore it, even taking pride in having shared some glimmer of hope amongst a sea of negativity, but it revisits me whenever the question comes up.

Indeed, I am keen on believing that life ain’t all too shabby; and that there are many things one can truly be grateful for. Yet it seems un-happiness is a much easier thing to grasp. I tried writing happy poems once, but I ended up either cringing at the cheesiness of my metaphors or twisting the entire opus into a more dismal offering. Whenever I share how pretty things turn up in a film and wish my life to be similar, expected reactions include either a raised eyebrow or a mordant, “it only happens in the movies.” Speaking of, don’t you notice that even in the Oscars, serious movies have more heft; depressing dramas and tear-jerkers praised highly for their substance and truth? Why does tragedy weigh heavier than comedy? Why is it so hard for many of us to be happy? Have we all become that jaded and cynical?

We all seem too swift to resort to any possible drama and complication, keen on sharing and sometimes even imposing on generous hearts that lend an ear. Maybe because the pain is too comforting and real; and whatever all this shit brings us, we ironically find comfort in it, in its palpable familiarity. Maybe its that insatiable search for love that renders us to unnecessarily dwell in shit. We seek some messiah, some knight in shiny armor, to take all the pain away, whisking us to some "ever after", granting our wish of starting anew. The bigger we ache, the bigger the love we need. The human condition? Nah, Too easy an explanation...