Celebratory

There's a part of me - and a huge one at that - that thinks it absolutely crazy that in a few hours time, I'm turning thirty. Who would have thunk it?

Really, I'm surprised that I've even made it this far, considering the amount of times I've entertained the fantasy of dying before anyone else in my family. I realise that this is some borderline institutionalised crazy behaviour but part of me has always had this notion in the back of my mind. Perhaps it's a relic from years past of growing up in a dysfunctional family; not to mention dealing with a sexuality that was yet-to-be widely accepted, let alone spoken about.

But I digress.

Tonight, as I celebrate the last few hours of my 20s with a bottle of wine, some candlelight and my own solitary company, I can't help but feel happiness that I haven't previously felt before. I've made it. I'm well, I'm healthy and I feel fulfilled.

In spite of the fact that many I speak to - usually those of the younger generation - bemoan the death of my own "youth", I feel particularly excited about entering my "dirty thirties". I can sense the endless possibilities. And boy, will it be fun!

So here's to being formally considered an adult, to leaving the heady youth of the 20s and to welcoming the rockin' 30s that's about to unfold.

Happy birthday, me!

Anger Stage

I'm not going to preface this post except to say FUCK! That pretty much sums up at how upset I am from the email I received this morning.

I got an email from my editor who summarily told me that they no longer need my column. Seems I've been bumped off for more 'arts articles' space. I'm a little annoyed that it was so sudden - I didn't even get a chance to write a vale piece - but mostly, I'm feeling sad that after all this time - more than 40 issues and just short of two years - it's over. Just like that.

No warnings. No further explanations. No chance to say goodbye. I knew it was going to happen at some stage - I'm under no allusions as to my longevity of being a columnist for this magazine - but I didn't expect it to be so soon and in the way that it was done. Am I supposed to just accept it? I guess I have no choice. Besides, I don't want to make a big deal of it and surely I'll find a writing job elsewhere. But right now, I'm just pissed. FUCK!

I think it's pretty obvious that I've reached the Anger Stage.

Stock Non-Standard

As my Dirty Thirty approaches ever closer, I can’t help but look at my life and take stock. Especially when those I speak to inevitably remind that the 30s is the age when you’re truly considered to be an adult. No more of that cheerful irresponsibility the 20s afford, 30s is where you really get down to business. I’m afraid I fail.

For one, I’m still homeless. No place to call my own. My job barely pays for my weekly necessities let alone payments for mortgages or even rent. I have no real substantial asset, unless you count a credit card loaded with debt as something remotely redeemable. And I’m still single with only a history of failed relationships to keep my bedside warm.

But then I find myself having spontaneous cocktails with friends on a balmy Sunday evening, with no need to be anywhere else or a need to answer to anybody, and I realise my life is pretty good in spite of these failings, especially when recalling the marvellous weekend...

...comedy shows, festival discussions, art galleries, film screenings, radio shows, television production, lunches, banquets, birthdays, wines, beers, cocktails, cocktails, cocktails, friends, family and BFFs...

I may be considered a failure when measured by traditional yardsticks, but looking at my own, I realise that my stock isn't bad at all. I guess it's just different to most.

Man Tears

My sister is probably the only person in this world who comes closest to knowing the real me. In spite of the exceptional relationships I have with other family members as well as friends, there are parts of me they still haven't seen. My sister has, warts and all, and she still loves me for who I really am.

Which is why the last few days have been most miserable.

She and I had a fight, not a trite bickering or a silly argument but a real one where spittle flew and hurtful words were said. It was particularly terrible. And it was made even more painful by the fact that I didn't really want to be angry at her in the first place. I was just trying to protect her from herself after she and her husband had a fight themselves. I guess fiery tempers run in the family.

I would never dream of getting myself involved in any argument that my sister may have with her husband. After all, it's their business. But when she starts disappearing in haste, driving away angrily, without a single explanation as to where she might be going, I deeply worry. So when this exact thing happened again last weekend, instead of standing by the sidelines, I finally spoke up. It wasn't well received.

I was told to mind my own business. That it didn't concern me at all. That not everything was about me. That I should just fuck off.

We waged a silent war for almost a week. Neither acknowledged the other, let alone spoke. It hurt not to be able to talk to her or even look at her, but every time I tried, it just made me angry. As well as tempers, pride runs high.

In the end, my mum intervened and got the two of us in the same room. For a while, we didn't speak; just sat there in silence. Then she whispered something that made her burst into tears.

"Sorry."

I guess things have been hard for her, too. Of course they have! Why wouldn't it be? Anger has made me stupid and blind. She's been as miserable as I have been. And the thought that I made her feel that way, made me depressed. That's when the man tears came. Thick and fast, all that pent up anger disappeared and in its place came sadness and exhaustion. I cried so forcefully, it became hard to speak without my watery voice catching in my throat. In the end, I had to whisper.

We're good now; sorted our differences. She knows that I didn't want to be involved but had to do what I did; I was only looking after her. She knows that I didn't mean to say the things that I did; I was only reacting to her own painful words. And she knows that I still love her, just as she does me. After all, I'm still her brother and she's still the one person who knows me best.

Man tears are ugly but boy, they help.

Vincent & Ben

Writing for a magazine has taught me to be conscious of my intended audience and how to pitch the story without due bias or influence. I have learnt this from the numerous negative feedbacks I've received whenever I've been a little too opinionated about certain issues that some readers feel they have a better understanding of. One such topic is 'coming out'.

Below is the article I wrote with the help of two friends, a couple who have been together for a decade and yet are largely still in the closet. I've been careful when writing and editing this piece that I don't portray their 'choice' to be neither good nor bad. I'm hoping this will be published as a feature article for a future issue.

For now, you can read it in its entirety.

-----------------------------------------

Vincent*, 40, and Ben*, 45, are a couple who have been together for more than 10 years. Aside from a handful of people, both are still in the closet with their sexuality and relationship, even from their families. Vincent and Ben talk about forging and navigating the complexities of their special kind of relationship.

How did you meet?
Vincent: Ben was one of the support staff at a personal development course I took. The relationship developed as I began talking about my personal life; the past, the present and the future. Ben started sharing his stories with me too. There was such a relaxed and comfortable sense when being with each other: lots of laughter, good conversation, and a lightness that seemed “right”. Ben and I seemed like friends from long ago, yet we had only just met. I guess it’s that inner knowing that this relationship was meant to be. When the course ended, we kept in touch and started seeing each other on a regular basis.

Was it a conscious decision to “stay in the closet”?
Ben: I suppose it was not completely intended to be “in the closet”. But as time went on, it became harder to tell friends and colleagues since we had not been up front from the start. It seems to not be an issue for us with newer acquaintances and friends, and we enjoy the freedom experienced when with them. So the embarrassing side with older friends is not so much that “I am gay”, but rather, “I neglected to tell you I was gay all these years later after a seeming open/honest relationship”. I suppose I should just get over it! Concerning family, well, it’s awkward since they live in another country (I’m an immigrant here). And they have voiced their views openly. I just can’t be bothered with having to justify myself to them. They haven’t asked. If they did, I’m quite certain I would be honest.

How does this affect your relationship?
V: There were lots of lies involved. There was a time that we had to use different addresses even though we were already living together. There was also a time when I had to think of changing my superannuation beneficiary because my superannuation company did not recognise same sex relationships. Also sometimes I envy other couples who can show their affection towards each other publicly and without minding the people around them. These are challenges and complexities, but I think there is also a healthy side to our relationship as we give 100% focus to one another when we are alone.
B: I suppose the lies become difficult when trying to remember who knows and who doesn’t. Then there’s the possibility of being “found out” – though I’ll deal with it when it happens and probably be relieved. So you probably wonder, “why not just get it over with?” There’s a major block which needs counselling. Shame? Catholic guilt? I don’t know…

Do you think that those who aren’t supposed to know already do?
V: My mum thinks Ben is my best friend; an older brother! I don’t think she needs to know. But I do think that my sisters know already though we don’t talk about it. I think they are okay about it as they like Ben. As for Ben’s family, I only exist as his housemate; they don’t even know my name! I keep joking with Ben that I will have a big problem when he dies as I will have to explain to his family why I am crying at his wake and funeral!
B: Interesting that Vincent thinks I’m going to die first! Anyway, my family is on the other side of the world, and don’t seem too interested in my personal life. So it just doesn’t come up. A lot of friends just seem to know even if we don’t say it outright, and is seems okay. I’m not fussed one way or another. My work colleagues are different. Because I never mention much about my personal life, they assume I am straight, and after all these years, it seems awkward to have to “set them straight”.

What changes have you noticed in other people’s attitude towards your relationship and sexuality over the course of time?
V: Since only a handful knows, I haven’t really noticed “other people”. But I have noticed a change in our attitude towards our relationship. We are somehow freer and more relaxed as we start to have friends who know about our relationship. Before, we had a completely separate set of friends.
B: People who know us genuinely like us (what’s not to like?!), so I can not imagine they would think less of us. Well, I say that about the people I particularly care about, and the others who may have a problem, it’s their loss. I suppose it’s when it comes to family… That’s a hard one and I’m not sure what would happen. That’s sad, isn’t it?

What do you envisage in the future for you as a couple?
V: We are not planning to get married and not planning to have kids. Everything‘s fine. Just pay the mortgage. Maybe more holidays, including a cruise! But generally, just enjoy life.

*Names changed.

Over-Thinking

1/ I think I’m rundown. And my proof of this lies in the three ulcers that are currently pestering inside my mouth. Not to mention the patch of cold sore that has so glaringly appeared on my upper lip. I’m tired, moody and lack any semblance of energy. And I don’t know why. I’m eating well – salads, vegetables and plenty of fruit – and I’m not staying out as much as I used to. But it seems that my recent run of good health was very short lived. I’m looking forward to this year ending; in fact, I can’t wait for it to be over. I can’t ever recall having such terrible string of illnesses before, even during the year when I suffered through migraines and eventually had to have surgery for sinusitis. Even with hospitalisation and the after-surgery experiences, it hadn’t been such an ordeal as the one I’m now going through. Someone please tell me which god I should go offer a virgin sacrifice to?

2/ I think I’ve reached that stage where I can no longer consider myself as part of the youth. This dawned on me while I was at my brother’s Halloween Party when I completely felt out of place amongst his friends that were about 5 to 10 years younger than I am. In-jokes and familiarity aside, they all seemed to have their own way of speaking which I couldn’t quite grasp and their level of conversation seemed to be one that isn’t quite on my wavelength. I felt silly for being there – in spite of my gorgeous sexed-up winged costume – and aside from spending time with my sibling and a chance to dress up, I wondered why I attended in the first place.

3/ I think I need to change jobs soon. The place I’m working at now has become filled with passive in-fighting and bitchiness the likes that one might see exclusively in reality TV shows starring starving models and wannabe celebrities. Much of what we cultivated – the openness and close relationships – amongst staff seemed to have turned in on itself and everyone seems to have something terrible to say about someone else. I try to stay away from it all but inevitably some shit will fly and stick. Worse still is that the perpetrators for the undercurrent of negativity hovering over the place are colleagues I consider as close friends. Yet, I feel hesitant to say anything lest I cause more problems. The result hasn’t been good for my psyche as I feel that work has turned me into a vessel of indifference, in a sea of pessimism. If only I can use my middle finger as cannons.

4/ I think this weekend will be an opportunity for me to close chapters in my life I have left open-ended for too long. I’m attending the wedding of a high school friend, a gathering where much of the guests in attendance will be people I haven’t seen close to a decade. It’ll be a good reunion to see how everyone has moved on since high school days and to find out if people are much the same or much different to how they used to be. There’ll be one person in particular whom I’m anxious to see since we parted ways in the most acrimonious fashion where hurtful words were exchanged and a high school length’s worth of friendship were quickly broken. I’m hoping ten years is a long enough time for things to heal and for people to move on, but then again, sometimes it’s barely the beginning. Either way, I’m hoping for an ending.

And to think, I'll have this god-awful ugly cold sore on my lip.

Work Load

Have you ever masturbated in public?

I realise it’s a strange question to ask, not to mention incredibly personal, but I’m curious to know just how many of you guys out there are doing it. The reason I ask this is because of what had happened a few weeks ago at work. I walked in on a client rubbing one off in our gym change rooms. I guess he was whipping up a post-workout protein shake.

I don’t know who was more in shock; he, for the wank interrupted, or me, for the weird way I saw him pleasure himself. Two-handed, one palm opposite to the other, like he was wringing out a dish cloth. It was a strange technique I’ve never seen before. At least the boy was blessed with a two-fist full of manhood.

Speaking to a friend online, I asked him the same question. To my surprise, he admitted that he, too, has done it. And at work, no less.

Apparently, at times when he finds himself alone in the office late evenings, he points his dick over to the ‘Guys With iPhones’ website and go double-clicking. I’d hate to see the state of his mouse.

So, isn’t he worried about getting caught?

“No, not at all,” he says nonchalantly. “We’re only a small office and I can look down the hall to see if anyone is coming.” What, apart from him? He didn't laugh; I guess the joke went over.

So, why do it?

“Why not? After a stressful day at work, a guy needs some release. And this is the best kind I know of. Besides, it’s healthier than, say, drinking alcohol or smoking a joint.” He has a point. “Have you done it?”

Have I done it? No. Will I do it? Not sure.

Masturbation, in general, is something that I find uncomfortable admitting to doing. Not sure why exactly, I guess you can blame my Catholic upbringing; spilling seeds, brimstones and such. So, the thought of pulling off anywhere but the comforts of my own bedroom/bathroom/toilet/garage makes me feel less inclined for some self-sexy time.

So, am I missing out?

“It’s exciting,” continues my friend. “The thought of getting caught is part of the thrill. I’ve had some of my best orgasms right here at my desk.” Well, at least no one can say he doesn’t do anything in the office. But has he done it anywhere else?

“I tried but it wasn’t the same. I even got caught once. And she didn’t look impressed. You wouldn’t think a nun could swear like that.” A nun? I didn’t dare ask. “So, no. I’ll just stick to work.”

So, will you ever stop? Surely, this is something you can get fired from.

“It might be, but you know what, if masturbating in my office is wrong, I don’t ever want to be right.”

Right.

Gay Ol' Time!

One of the things I didn’t expect about being gay is the terrible lack of ceremony. Think about it. Our straight counterparts have engagements, weddings and even baby showers, but for those of us who live the “alternative” lifestyle, there really isn’t much to look forward to. Or at all.

Sure, there are birthdays—the ubiquitous equaliser—and these days I guess some lucky gays are now also able to celebrate their marriages, even births of their kids, but for the majority of us single homosexuals, what do we have? Not even a ‘coming out’ party.

Having been privy to the growth of their relationship, I’ve been present in all of my sister and brother-in-law’s ceremonies.

I was there for their engagement (a house party) and at both of their two weddings (first an intimate civil ceremony and then a lavish extravaganza event overseas). I was even there for my sister’s hen’s night (a male revue show – that was loads of fun). Then afterwards, there was the baby shower and when he was born, my nephew’s christening.

In all of these events, I was there; present and in most cases, even helped organise. And each time, I was amazed by the amount of people who came to celebrate my sister and brother-in-law’s momentous life occasions. The love and support was palpable.

It made me think of the disparity we, as gays, further experience when not following these “traditional” paths. Why can’t we, too, mark these kinds of occasions? Why can’t we rejoice in the same way? What are we really missing out?

Certainly at times I have felt a little jealous; most especially when my sister and brother-in-law celebrated their vows in the presence of hundreds (and I mean HUNDREDS) of people. It was a massive statement about their love for one another that they were allowed to make. That was when I really felt I understood the most basic argument that is pushing the fight for gay marriage: the equality in recognition and validation. That it should be a statement allowed to be made by all, regardless of sexuality. I mean, that’s only fair. Isn’t it?

But in any case, this post wasn’t meant to be about my stance on a subject that others have already contributed thousands of words to.

No, all I really wanted to share is the fact that in spite of not being able to celebrate the kind of ceremonies my sister and brother-in-law have had the privilege to, there are still momentous occasions that I can rejoice in.

My upcoming 30th birthday is one of these.

I’m planning a party and today, I’ve booked the venue and the date. It’s still about six weeks away but already I’m excited. Not for being able to make any kind of statement (because there's none to make, except getting older) but because for the very first time in years, I’ll be able to gather all those who are dear to me and share with them my very own special occasion. And of course, purely and simply, to have a gay ol’ time!

Suck Face No More

Earlier this week, I spent a butt-numbing three hours to see a doctor who's been helping me over the last few weeks. Normally, I wouldn’t waste so much time waiting to see someone (my regular doctor is usually available within 15 minutes) but this GP came highly recommended. He’s the third opinion on the recent bout of illness I’ve been having. The reason I went to see him this time was to get the results of my blood test, which he’d ordered to find out what’s been making me overly tired and sickly, on top of the strange stomach problems (I’m just a bundle of bad health and hypochondria).

Anyway, as it turns out, I'm a vampire. I guess with all that sucking and nighttime proclivities, it was bound to happen. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner.

But seriously, the diagnosis was this: I have a severe deficiency of vitamin D. The normal range for most people is between 70 to 360. Mine came back hovering just above 10. Apparently, this pretty much explains the lethargy, weakness, aches and pains, and mood swings I’ve been feeling. Sadly, it doesn’t explain why I’m still single and sexless. But that’s a whole other kind of vitamin D deficiency.

His prescription was simple: get out in the sun at least 10 minutes a day to maintain levels and take a vitamin D tablet to bring me up to normal range.

So that’s exactly what I’ve been doing in the last few days. It’s amazing what a world of difference a few minutes bathe in sunlight does to you. I’m sure you know what I mean. Instantly you feel refreshed, happy and alive. And to think that’s it just out there--and free! It’s a pity that most of us fail take the time to do this even once in a while, what with desk-bound jobs and errands that need doing.

So there you have it. My ordeal for this week. Not too bad a result really. I mean, for all the things that you can find, I guess low vitamin D levels is the least terrible you can ask for. It’s easily fixed with a pill, not life-threatening and what’s more, an excuse to be outside and away from the drudgery of the indoors.

The only thing is, now I guess there goes my starring role in the next Twilight movie. And I was so looking forward to sucking face with Mr Pointy.

No big loss. I hear he's quite the stinker.

I Really Have Nothing To Add To This But...

...OUCH!

Clueless

Friday. AM. Work.

Client: Hello.
Me: Hi.
Client: I saw your photo on Facebook.
Me: Yeah? Which one?
Client: The one in your undies. They were blue.
Me: Oh. That one.
Client: I have the same ones, you know. The undies.
Me: Really?
Client: Yes. Except mine are pink.

*pause*

Me: So, shall we get started with your workout?

* * *

Saturday. PM. Bar.

Me: Hi.
Bartender: Hey. Can I get you something?
Me: Yeah. A beer?
Bartender: Would you like to try an Asahi?
Me: Sure.
Bartender: It's my favourite.
Me: I know this place that has them during happy hour.
Bartender: Yeah? Where?
Me: A bar. In the city.
Bartender: I'd love to go there sometime.

*pause*

Me: Sure. I can give you the address.

* * *

Sunday. PM. Friend's House.

Friend: What's been happening with you?
Me: Not much.
Friend: Seeing anybody?
Me: No.
Friend: I really don't understand how you can still be single.

*pause*

Me: Yeah. Me neither.

Why Did You Eat That Gnocchi?

To: Future Joshua
From: Past Joshua
Date: Thursday, 23 September, 2010

Subject: Why did you eat that gnocchi?


Dear Future Me,

It's 2pm on Tuesday, 22nd September 2009 and you had gnocchi for lunch. Now you're sitting here typing away while the potatoes and cream go bubbly in your stomach. You've been stinking up the place with your hot farts. The question is, why the hell do you do it to yourself?

For the last couple of weeks, you've been dealing with stomach problems that's seen you go to three different doctors and subjected to as many tests: a gastroscopy exam, an ultrasound and a course of blood work. You don't know the results yet, though you suspect it might be gall stones. Deep down, however, know that it will probably turn out to be nothing. You'll know the results by Thursday.

It's roughly four months away until Christmas. Your whole family is going overseas and for the very first time in your life, you're not going to be with them. You've decided to stay home for Christmas with the idea that you're doing so to save money. You are in considerable amount of debt and finding it a challenge to keep up. How is it now?

The other reason you've decided to stay is because of a boy. You've reconnected with a friend you met ten years ago. His name is Brian. He was involved with your other friend, Tristan. Do you remember? For Christmas, he is visiting from Canada and will be spending time with you for two weeks. You are excited to see him and is very much looking forward to his company. At the same time, you're worried because you have put on some weight and feel that you won't lose this in time. You want to look good for Brian because you know that there is some serious attraction between the two of you and sex is inevitable. You also know he has a boyfriend. Do you care? Perhaps not.

Your life is filled with challenges right now - work, money, health are your stumbling blocks - but you're also blessed. You have a six-month old nephew whom you adore and feel privilege to watch grow.

You love your family deeply, despite of the recent argument you've had with your mother but that happens. You think she's going through menopause. You have an envious life and you have great friends. Remember this even though at times your mood swings erratically and you want nothing more than to be left alone.

You are still single, despite offers from several suitors. You're still as fussy as ever. Perhaps you wear your independence as a shield?

You are also two months away from being thirty. You are excited but scared at the same time. You know you need to start living like an adult, though you don't really understand what that means. You also need to start looking for a place to celebrate, so get your fat arse moving. Where did you end up booking?

Ryan, I know today is tough for you and you feel sad for no particular reason. Never forget that you're surrounded by people whom you love and love you. Feel happy.

So a year on, what's your life like now? And are you still eating those damn gnocchi?


Yours,

Past Me.

Wet Dreams

Just when are you supposed to stop having wet dreams?

I ask this question because a friend asked me the very same. I was speaking to him the other day when I mentioned that I totally messed myself up after a particular dream I had one evening. I dreamt I was on a boat filled with hot, naked and very horny men. You know, the orgy ship, Lollipop.

“You still get those?,” he asked, looking absolutely surprised.

“Yes, apparently. Don’t you?”

“No. I stopped having them in my late teens.”

“Really? Well, I haven’t had one in a really long time. But I did last night.”

“That’s good, I guess. Lucky bridge.”

Well, I don’t think he actually said ‘bridge’ but something that sounds similar. I couldn’t hear properly, you see. He spoke rather softly then.

Anyway, back to my wet dream. Picture it: big boat, big guys and big, ah, personalities. I don’t really remember how I ended up on the ship, though I don’t think that matters much in the whole scheme things, but I do remember being on it and mingling with the nuded up passengers. All sorts were there: leather daddies, muscled jocks, skinny twinks and even spunky Mormons.

I made my way through the crowd, heading to the bar for a drink, when topless Latino deliciousness grabbed me.

“Hola guapo. Estoy caliente.”

Before I could say “no hablo Espanol”, he’d grabbed me and proceeded to stick his tongue down my throat. You don’t need a translator to know that means he was pleased to see me.

Some tonsil hockey, a bit of groping and then somehow we ended up on a bed; he on top, and me with my ankles behind my ears. Obviously, my hamstrings aren’t nearly as tight in my dreams as they are in real life. He continued to mumble something in Spanish and then kissed me some more. I noticed he had a pair of sparkling blue eyes, like the deep blue waters of the ocean below us, and long curly locks surrounding his face. His lips were luscious and his chin chiselled. Sweat poured down from his face all the way to his manly, bulging pecs. He wanted me badly.

With a cheeky smile and a knowing nod, he whipped off the tight pair of briefs that contained his manhood. And what a manhood! It looked like a baby’s arm. I closed my eyes. Held my breath and braced myself for the inevitable.

And just as I was about to receive what sure to be the best riding of my life, I suddenly found myself in a muddy field with my Latino suitor suddenly replaced by a donkey. The ship was gone and so was my hunk!

Not liking the fact that I was now riding it, the ass started bucking wildly and I ended up landing in the mud. Covered in dirt, I tried getting up but instead fell flat on my face. Then suddenly, and to my utter horror, I found the donkey standing over me, sporting a huge donger. That’s when I woke. Thankfully.

Absolutely relieved that I came to before the dream went any further, I soon became aware of feeling something weird below. With a caution, I stuck a hand in my pyjamas and sure enough, my fingers came back sticky. Holy bloody donkey.

So, let me ask again, just when are you supposed to stop having wet dreams?

Don't be fooled by that innocent, toothy smile.
This donkey means business.

In Which I Try To Be Understood (But Fail)

Many years ago, I made the most god-awful comment to a friend that resolutely established two things: one, my deft ability at firmly lodging my goddam feet (plural) in my big fat mouth, and two, cement the fact that I can be a foolish bastard.

Meeting said friend for coffee one afternoon, she arrived late and looked all forlorn. Making jokes at her propensity for not being on time and the seemingly endless excuses she often dished out, our conversation went something like this:

“Glad that you could make it.”

“Sorry, I’m late.”

“Where were you this time?”

“At the hospital.”

“Oh really? Shopping for a hospital gown?”

“No. I was visiting my sister.”

“Why? She’s not sick. That girl’s always complaining about something. She’s a hypochondriac. What she say she got this time? Cancer, I suppose.”

Silence. Followed by tears.

The following day, I went to the hospital and visited my friend’s sister. She was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She's now fully recovered.

I share this tale because I want you to know that I still clearly remember the day when I woefully let my mouth run away from me. No, after that day, I learnt my lesson; that when it comes to someone’s health, it’s not a joking matter.

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been nursing a sore stomach. A temperamental belly is nothing new after being diagnosed with gastritis more than a decade ago. At times, eating proves to be a gastronomy spot of Russian roulette. Ingest the wrong thing and I’m in for hours of cramping, debilitating pain. But I’ve become pretty good at playing the game.

The pain I felt more recently, however, was different. Granted the usual symptoms were present – indigestion, spasms, lower back pain, lethargy – and I immediately took the same course of action – antacid tablets, antispasmodic pills, herbal tea, homeopathic creams – but nothing helped. By late afternoon of the attack, the pain moved to my lower right abdomen and I doubled over in pain every time pressure was applied in the area. Stubbornly, I refused to go to the hospital. The next day, I went to see a doctor whose indifferent bedside manner produced the brilliant diagnosis that it wasn’t a serious enough condition to warrant further tests, promptly prescribed pain killers and then sent me home for bed rest.

Clearly gutted (no pun intended) by the experience, I made the mistake of posting a status update on Facebook. Stupid. I don’t know what upset me more; the comments that others had left behind, dripping with jibes and jeers for my own supposed hypochondriac tendencies, or the fact that these were people who should know better. I decided that both were equally disappointing.

Granted, Facebook was not the best place to air my frustrations, but I needed to vent; and as impersonal as it may sound, they were real friends, real people. I assumed that I’d have at least some sympathisers amongst them. Obviously, my own sarcastic nature had bred some equally sardonic company. In the end, I decided to delete the whole thing.

Look, I don’t really know if I have a point here. I just know that for the very first time, I was genuinely scared that something seriously bad was going to happen to me. Even now, I still don't know what's wrong with me. I'm angry, frustrated and feeling completely misunderstood. It's all a big joke.

But I’ll tell you one thing: I'm scheduled for an ultrasound and gastrocopy exam this week. Once I get the results and they find that I have, oh say, stomach cancer, guess which foolish bastards will be sorry then?

Yes, that would teach them.

Prodigal Blogger

Hi. Is it safe to come out?

I'm back from the wilderness; hiding no longer. You see, my Witness Protection Program has finally ended. Jacko is dead. What, too soon?

So, I'll be the first to admit that I've been a little absent updating this blog – heck, completely neglected it, in fact – but I don't think the four of you who read it really minded.

But neglected is still what it was.

A lot of things have happened over the course of the ten months in which I was away. Too many to mention in one single post. Don't worry though; I'll catch you up over the course. Here, however, are a few things that I want to highlight:

I finally ended my "other" blog, after months of agonising and procrastinating over the decision. As of May this year, it's been laid to rest.

I'm now an uncle – a godfather, in fact – to a healthy and happy six-month old nephew. My sister's child brings me joy and happiness that I feel I shouldn't be entitled to. I'm absolutely in love with him.

My foray into media is slowly becoming more involved. I've gone from being a cast member to heading up my own TV show. And soon, I'll be producing my own segments as a roving reporter. Rove should quiver in his tiny boots.

And lastly, a confession. There is an ulterior motive to my return and it has to do with self-preservation. Over the last year, I have felt my writing ability slowly deteriorate and increasingly, I've become anxious that I will lose it completely. Those who know of the regular column I write for a magazine would probably notice that the articles have looked familiar. For good reason. I haven't written anything new for a long time and so have been rehashing old blog posts. It's my secret shame.

So here I am. Blogging again; forcing myself to get back on that proverbial horse (though between you and I, I'd prefer the cowboy). So far, the ride is proving a lot less bumpy than I'd expected.

But don't be too excited. I'm not really sure how long this phase will last. Gosh, that doesn't really instil much confidence or excitement, does it? But hey, it's a start, right?

The prodigal blogger is back... for now.