Who Are You Looking At?

Sorry for the lack of posts, team.

Since being here, I've found that time has a way of getting away from you. And it's not so much that I've been doing a heap load of trip hopping - although I've already done a fair amount of that - no, it's just the everyday things that people do here that tend to eat up a lot of time. Like eat, go shopping, eat, visit friends, eat, sing karaoke, eat, go drinking, and did I say eat? My grandma has been cooking up a storm since we've all arrived and thank goodness for the month of detox diet I did before I left since I would seriously be the size of an elephant by now.

I've caught up with plenty of people, some I remember from when I was a child, a few I've just met and plenty that I no longer recognise. It really is awkward when they come up and greet me as I'm often stumped to think as to whom I'm speaking with. In any case, I seem to get by.

My sister's wedding comes up plenty in conversations as the whole town seems to know that she's going to tie the knot at the end of the week. Invariably, either one of two things will happen. The first is that I'll get asked when I will get wed myself? This usually happens when I'm speaking to someone who hasn't seen me since I was young and so feel the need to ask the question out of politeness or curiosity. After all, it's especially unusual here for the eldest child to not be already married before their younger sibling. I simply answer jokingly that I'm still having far too much of a good time.

The other thing that happen is the one that I find most amusing as well as the most curious. Instead of being asked the question, I will instead get the "look". You know the one, the "I-know-your-little-secret" look, which is usually coupled with a polite smile and not without a hint of pity. It doesn't faze me so much as it unhinges me in the way that some people get unhinged when confronted with something completely unfamiliar. With my not-so-close relatives, whom I haven't felt the need to say anything about my being gay, I can understand why I get the look. Things best left unsaid, and all that. They still treat me the same regardless, so I accept this as their unspoken acceptance (not that I'm after it, you should understand). But from complete strangers? That's something I still need to wrap my head around. I almost want to ask out loud what they know and how they know each time I get it from them. I feel like I'm in a middle of a Chinese Whispers game.

The funny thing is that it happens to some degree every time I go back home. This time around, though, I've found less of the former happening, and definitely more of the latter. I guess that it's a game that's been going around for a good long while.

Oh, and postscript, I'm fast becoming a big fan of Hen's Nights and Bridal Showers, especially since the stripper at my sister's gave a little private performance to, erm, yours truly. It was wicked.

Just So You Know...

...the holiday is going well.

Woke up this morning with a penis in hand... and it wasn't mine! A wonderful start to a birthday, wouldn't you agree?

Scrumdidlyumcious!

Regulars readers of this blog (that's the four of you; thanks Evol, Gabriel, Sebastiane and Jughead!) will note that the normally sporadic updates have lately been a daily event. The reason? Simply, time.

Contrast to last holiday's mad dash when I was literally still packing my suitcase at the 11th hour, this time, I've been super organised. So much that, aside from the regular posts, I've also had the chance to...

• Take an absentee vote AND the early opportunity to stick it to Howard.
• Setup the plasma TV, VCR, stereo system and home wireless network at a techno-challenged friend's new place.
• See the new crocodile monster flick, Rogue, and god-awful vampire thriller, 30 Days of Nights.
  
• Register as a Sole Business Trader entity for (hopefully) future work as a freelance writer.
  
• Finish watching the backlog of taped TV shows, some going as far back as BB06.
• Have a two-hour long remedial massage to relieve the four weeks' worth of over zealous weight training and cardio (due in part of below).
  
• Attend farewell dinners, lunches and breakfasts with friends and sundry.
• Drive all over town in my brand spanking new pimped-up ride.

And now, I'm truly done. For most of today, I've been pretty much just killing time. Right at this moment, I'm watching Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory as I type out this post. I love how scary and maniacal Gene Wilder appears in this film, much to my obliviousness as a child.

Every person who finds out that I'm about to leave for my 9-week jaunt invariably asks the same question: "Are you getting excited?" In truth, not really. Perhaps due to having kept myself occupied or in fear of preempting, I'm yet to feel that giddy, butterfly-in-the-tummy sensation. But soon as I have those bags checked-in tonight, I'm sure to start jumping on the spot AND clapping like a little schoolgirl hyped up on Bratz-branded sugar.

So guys, this is it. My last post for a little while as I head off to the big blue warm waters and sunny isles of the tropics. Wish me luck, don't be a stranger and be sure to keep in touch.

I can't wait to eat that airplane food.

A Good Day

Today marks a momentous occasion. And no, it's not because the Divinyls are again back on tour. No, today has a far more personal significance.

As long as I can remember, I've always had this irresistible and innate desire to be creative. From painting with acrylics, playing instruments, stitching embroidery and even drawing my own comic books. But nowhere have I found this creativity channeled more perfectly than in my writing, and thankfully, I've been blessed to have the ability to do this with relative ease.

Though something I may have mentioned once or twice, pursuing my passion for writing and making it a career has been a quiet dream of mine since high school. I never realised that it's actually something that I can, well, realise.

So, after years of scribbling short stories, essays and dissertations, years of writing blog posts after blog posts, and another year of voluntary columns and contributions, today, I officially became a paid writer. An article I submitted to the local gay press will be published tomorrow, and along with it comes my first ever pay cheque for my written effort. The money is meagre, I'll be honest, but that's not the point. The fact that I have finally realised my dream is what's causing me to dance like a giddy school girl every so often.

And when I told my parents about the news? My mum replied, "That's nice, but 10 cents per word? You couldn't really retire on that, could you?" Oy vey!

Isn't it funny how things are never as a big a deal with others as it is for you? Oh well. Nothing's gonna change this inner glow I'm feeling right at this moment. I think I'll go celebrate with a quiet drink. A toffee nut latte at Starbucks.

Today is a good day.

Back On The Wagon...

...and boy, was it ever like heaven. Starbucks, how I missed thee.

To Shag Or Not

Jug and I visited a friend who just came back from Europe. Voula had some wildly interesting and funny tales from her mostly solitary four month experience overseas. The kind you get when you're living out of a suitcase and following an itinerary that comes from a well-thumbed Lonely Planet guidebook.

But what I found really intriguing were her stories of drunken shenanigans and crazy sexcapades. If only because I'm looking forward to some of my own.

Holiday sex is exciting, let's admit it. It's random, exhilarating and quite often spontaneous. There's something about an unfamiliar setting, a new place, where experiences, and even at the times the people, are yours for the taking. You do things you may not normally do because there isn't that thing that defines you from back home; the identity, the ties. But what if that isn't the case?

Voula recounted the brief time she spent back in her hometown to catch up with long seen family. Despite her initial misgivings and subsequent lapsed into insanity, she ended up having horrible sex with a local. In a loading bay. There wouldn't have been much of a consequence if it weren't for the fact that the local was a boy known to the family. Her cousin's ex. She couldn't wait to get the hell out.

Which is the sobering point to my otherwise hot and sweaty fantasies of tropical sessions. Complications will inevitably ensue from the fact that for most of this trip, I'll be in my hometown, where everybody knows everybody and particularly, where everybody certainly knows my well-connected family. Whilst my folks may know that I am gay, I definitely do not want them knowing anything of my gallivanting and philandering. Grandma would never look at me the same way.

The solution? Maybe my own solitary holiday from the holiday? I wouldn't know where to go. Abstain and go without for the duration? Three months is a long time. Or simply go with the flow and root like a local? Most probably, especially in a place where humidity and heat, the smell of rain, and the lean farmerboys dripping with sweat just screams sexual promise..........

Excuse me, I think it's time for a cold shower.

Listen To 'Just For You'

I was cutting a summer edition of my Back To Mine playlist - the tunes you're likely to hear playing when you came back to mine - yesterday when I came across this old hit from M People.

I can't remember when I first got into this British group, but I've been a long time fan of theirs. They make beautiful feel-good music that empowers and celebrates life. Search for a Hero is a great example. Plus, they have gay sensibilities. Fantasy Island, anyone?

But this song, Just For You, is my favourite. It always reminds me of summer when I hear it, which is apt since it's a wonderful summery day outside.

I'm off to spend the day with friends for a yumcha banquet and chill-out in a park somewhere with some liquid amber. The last week of my pre-holiday detox diet has been seriously derailed.

Keep it light, peeps.