Two Lucky

Conventional wisdom teaches us that human beings, in general, do not fare too well in unfaithful relationships. Faith, trust - these are important qualities that build a successful relationship. But between two people, it is not just about faith. We are also inherently selfish. We do not like to share. That is why, even without anti-polygamy laws, few relationships exist outside the “couple” model in our society today.

But there is a derivative that sits well between the abovementioned two, where couples remain faithful to each other, even while being sexually involved with another, or multiple, partners. An oxymoron? We call this the open relationship.

Does it work? An easy assumption is that these couples do not truly love each other, and the relationship is a convenient arrangement. It’s a passing phase. When they become serious about each other, they will stop fucking around.

This is a simple and arrogant assumption. Is monogamy a good test of love? It can be, but is it always? No. Gays and straights have it very differently. Anecdotal evidence from some surveys find that gay people with open relationships last longer than relationships that follow conventional monogamist wisdom.

It is a very male phenomenon. We have to sow our seeds. What separates those who are serious, and those who are not - is the set of circumstances agreed clearly upon by the two individuals about the mechanics of the relationship.

Just because it is open, does not mean it is free-flow.

Some couples agree to only mess around when the other is not in town. Others only play tricks when both are involved - meaning in threesomes or more. There are some who want to know everything about the fling; others who want to know nothing. It succeeds because the two partners fully trust each other. In place is a promise to live out their lives together, no matter what.

“No matter what” is a big promise. But it is there. Fucking a stranger you met at a club does not change that. Love, surely, is sturdier than that.

Dear Rusty, I don’t know what exactly to say, except that I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t more appreciative of all your efforts for this trip. On top of taking care of your health, I actually let you go ahead and worried about the flights, the hotels, the money, about making sure I was comfortable, happy.

I’m sorry for being hard on you about the opium, especially when I knew how much you wanted to relive your time in Laos, because it was one of the few times and few places in the world when you were truly happy, without worries.

I’m sorry for not understanding that at this important time, for being stubborn and refusing to share with you something that you honestly wanted to share with me, because you love me.

I’m sorry for the smart-ass quips, for being on the defensive, for being more concerned about my pride than really listening to what you had to say.

But most of all, I am sorry to have let you lose faith in me as a partner. I think that, above all, is what truly disappointed you.

It says volumes about the kind of partner I am, if I give the impression that I can only stay at the nicest hotels, and eat at the finest restaurants. I have let your generosity spoil me. This is not the kind of partner I want to be. I am sorry, and I will be better.

We are now in the heat of the Songkran (or, better known as the “Water”) festival, and Bangkok is one magnificent, hedonistic party.

On the usually gay Soi 4, straights are having as much fun on this wet night. Over crappy speakers, shop fronts blast Bono, Britney, and the Black-Eyed Peas. None of it matters - so long as there’s a beat, there are bodies and booties to grind.

Water guns drench half-clad boys. Girls, in skimpy beach wear, parade their sexuality. Everywhere, there is tanned skin, wet with desire and delirious with alcohol. Everyone is laughing.

Songkran, like water, is a perfect metaphor for life. This is what it feels like to be free. To be touched by strangers, to laugh with strangers, to acknowledge - in a single expression of abandon - our mutual existence.

We don’t have the full report yet, but it looks like there is much to celebrate! All the four nodules in Rusty’s right lung have stabilised, and in fact, appear to be slightly smaller than they were two months ago.

This is the first piece of solid good news we have had in a long time. I cannot begin to describe how this feels right now. Try this: It is fucking awesome. Rusty comes in to Singapore tomorrow night. It is going to be a great weekend.

In about 12 hours, some light will be shed on what path Rusty and I will embark on for the next few months. Dr Kim will read him his scan results, and he will make his call to me. Whatever the scans say, I am readying to hear. I hope it will be good news. Please let our road be a little brighter, a little easier to journey.

Dear Rusty, I know where you are. You are in that bed I slept in. Tomorrow, when you wake, you will look out that window, face that mirror, walk out that door. Where you are now in Seoul, I have been. I have seen what you see, I have walked where you walk. I know your route to the office. I know the brand of bottled water you drink. Coffee with milk, no sugar. You only like the plain-glazed doughnuts. Your eyes, your smile, that funny sound you make when you tease, the one that I have adopted, too. Your big feet. Your scars.

If you die, where will you be, then? I will no longer see what you see, know what you are doing. Will you be able to see me from where you are? Who will bring you the water you need by your bed? It has been a while since I have felt this dejected. I know that all is not lost. I know that I have to be strong.

In less than a week, I will see Rusty again. In less than a week, we will know if the new chemo drugs are working. It has been almost four months since the last set of bad news. If these next scans show significant progression, I don’t know what we will do next. I don’t think Rusty does, either. Will he quit his job? Will he go back to the US? Or will he come down to Singapore? What will I do?

I could hear it in his voice tonight. He is distracted, as I am. This is how it always is. The worry, the anxiety, the silence. Neither of us wanting to burden the other. So, we do not bring it up. I remember the first time he called with bad news from New York. It was our first set of scans that showed that the cancer had spread to his lungs.

I had been up the whole night, and when he finally called in the morning, I knew something was wrong. I broke down. I cried on the streets, at home, at work. I hid in the bathroom of a shopping mall. I slept very little, ate even less.

And when we finally reunited in Seoul a month later, we let ourselves grieve together. To think that was barely three months ago. Where will we be a week from now? What is coming? What?