Two Lucky

After work, Jessica took me home and we made cups. I had been wondering what to get Rusty for his 32nd birthday, and I just could not come up with something original. Paul Smith tie, check. Home-made nachos and cheese, check. Private lap dance, check. But what else? Something was missing.

Jessica’s mother is a potter. I had visited her workshop two years ago when Jessica and I were interns in the newsroom. Suddenly, the synapses fired. “I’ve got it!” I jumped up from my desk, startling no one. After a quick call to Mother Potter, yes, it was possible to have a cup ready in two weeks.

For three hours, Jessica and I labored in the workshop to make the perfect birthday present for my guy. It will be a simple, plain cup, rust-colored, made with rough-red clay and white sand flecks. It is beautiful. Now, we wait for the clay to set. Then, there will be brisk fire and glazing. I cannot wait to see it!

I am going to see Rusty very soon. In less than two weeks he will fly down to Singapore to spend 10 days with me. We have plans to fly to Thailand and Laos. It will be a quick holiday, but one that is significant.

On the day before his flight here, he will have scans to see if the cancer has spread further. On April 16, in Laos, we will celebrate his 32nd birthday.

So there are two obvious questions. Will we reunite in tears, or in joy? Will he live to see his 33rd year? This life, we have learnt to live by scans. Each interim between is a gift, and we must ready to accept it.

Last night, Rusty and I had dinner with a friend of his, Jakub, a cute 26-year-old Polish guy who looks like he’s 14. Scruffy blonde hair, a button nose and a puppy-like attention span. He works at Sony too, but he says he is leaving the city next month. He wants to join his boyfriend Tero in Finland.

“What are you going to do when you get there?” I ask. He answers me with a grin: “Fuck?” We laugh.

I can tell Rusty likes him a lot. He says to me later in the cab ride back that Jakub is his “little spot of sunshine” in this city. Of course, I feel a green twinge, but decide to be happy for him. We all need a fix of sunshine when we’re away from our loved ones.

In about 12 hours I will be back at Seoul airport waiting to board my flight home. It has been a good weekend, but it is never enough. The past few months, we have seen ourselves go through so many teary goodbyes at train stations, bus stops and airport terminals.

What I crave is some permanence. A home to share, days to start and end together.

That may come soon. Rusty is petitioning for the company to move him down to Singapore. When that happens, even the darkest days will be bearable. We will be all the sunshine we need for each other.

I am leaving for Seoul again, tomorrow. On Saturday, Rusty goes in for his second round of Taxol and Carboplatin. It will be another weekend of staying by his bed, making sure he has something to drink, eat.

Contrary to what most people think, it’s really not that hard on me, taking care of him. After a while, it becomes a habit. You are used to it. Taking temperatures, giving injections, doling out pills, cleaning the sheets. No, all that is simple. What is difficult is knowing that it’s possible - that even after giving your best - it may come to nothing. This love, what life sometimes freely give, it can take as easily.

Ode to Chi Chi

One fine day in New York City, I came upon a charming and very pretty Chi Chi.

His eyes were a delight, and with his soul and heart he took away all the fright that had come to rule my days and nights.

From New York to Virginia, Seoul, and the Dam, I grew to love that Chi Chi more and more each day - I’m his number one fan.

Chickys, foie gras, and other munchies beware, to Belly mercy is a joke I tell you.
Fall ye not into Belly’s snare .

My sweet prince, you are mine, I am yours - we will triumph together, and drink sweet wine
In the orchard by the fire.

I love you

At Family Day I met an American deaf man from Florida, Kenichi. He and his Singaporean wife, who is also deaf, met while studying in Massechusets. They moved back to Singapore a few years ago, and now they are blessed with a one-year-old son, who is the friendliest little tyke I have ever met.

I have not heard of Kenichi before, but apparantly he has heard of me. Seems word is spreading among the deaf community here that there is a hearing person here who is fluent in American Sign Language. Since very few few people here use ASL, Kenichi was eager to meet and have a chat with me.

So we did, under the shade of trees, and in brief, startling moments it was as if I were back in New York, chatting up a storm with my deaf mates.

During our conversation, Kenichi described to me his difficulty in adapting to life in Singapore. I don’t blame him. Deaf culture is so different and backward here. Deaf people in Singapore do not enjoy basic rights of access to information, since we do not provide close captioning on television programs, not even the news. There is a shameful lack of social services, the most glaring among them being interpreters. Since it is not a specialised profession here, most if not all interpreters are volunteers, and have little, or no certification in the skill. Many times, their help is limited, but it is all the deaf have.

Whether it is gay, or deaf rights, I do not think we are asking for a lot. We are asking for very basic things. We are asking to be heard. We are asking for our basic rights as citizens of a free country to be honored and protected. We believe that civil rights for minorities can co-exist and be non-threatening to the economic and political stability of Singapore.

Until that happens, Kenichi - and others like him - will just have to settle for less.

Oct 10, 2006
Update: News in Singapore is now captioned. Hooray!

It is night again. I didn’t talk to Rusty much today. He called a couple of times, but I was always in the middle of something. Rehearsals, interviews, contact meetings. And tomorrow, it will be about nine hours at West Coast Park hosting an annual deaf event. It hardly feels like a weekend.

I am now finally home but something does not feel right. I feel unsettled, unfinished. It is because I haven’t talked to Rusty. I haven’t said goodnight, haven’t heard his smile over the phone. Of all the things I accomplished today, I let myself forget the most important.

A friend is still battling her feelings for an abusive ex-boyfriend. Another’s been googling online for “suicide”, and Renee just broke off her one-year-old relationship with Brit Pete.

That’s three, and three too many. Who knows how many more people out there - colleagues and friends whom I don’t stay as often in touch with - are walking around with quiet, fracturing hearts? I often think of my situation is an extraordinary example of dramatic irony. I love Rusty, and he loves me. It is this love that makes his condition awful to bear. It is also this love that makes it bearable.

Melanoma brought us together. It threatens to tear us apart. Life is fucked up like that, and I don’t know that it gets easier, or that things become clearer the longer we stick around. But with every cut, we heal, and we learn. Life would probably be a lot less meaningful for someone who has it all figured out. So to my friends: Hang in there. This, too, shall pass. And we shall all emerge stronger and more divine.

Volunteer work is a great way to lift yourself from depression. The theory behind it is simple: It gives you perspective. If people who are less fortunate than you can get on with their lives, so can you.

But volunteering your time and effort is much more than a case of relative misery. Helping other people is a tremendous act of giving. Whether you’re handing out food at a homeless shelter, packing clothes for the Salvation Army, or helping the blind across the street, you touch lives and sometimes, change them.

In so doing, you gain control. If you can change lives, you can turn yours around too. In the eyes of many, this may be too simplistic an approach with the crushing despair of depression. But sometimes, a simple step forward can prove to be a milestone.