Breaking up with Curfew Boy was surprisingly uneventful, with a lack of drama that I almost–but only just, mind you–found to be dull. At the very least, I was hoping for tears (on either side), but we happened to be really mature and prosaic about it, which is, I suppose, a good thing.
Less so, in every conceivable way, was the flood of emotions I went through today when I logged on to Facebook and found that a gay guy I know in Bangkok (gorgeous and funny, naturally) is “now listed as being in a relationship” with another (almost) as attractive young man. If not for the fact that it’s Eid and I was expecting guests at the house, I think I’d have thrown a full-on tantrum, complete with wailing and gnashing of teeth, ripping of clothes, some serious self-flagellation, and most likely the consumption of about six pints of ice-cream.
As part of my New Year’s resolutions this year, I swore to myself that I would stop letting the happiness of other gay men make me miserable. And for the most part, I’ve managed to adhere to that idea, even as I see people around me pairing up, moving in together, having the kind of life that a decade ago, when I graduated high-school, I had envisioned for myself. I certainly didn’t expect to be living at home, taking care of elderly relatives at the age of 28, based out of one bed-room filled to overflowing with books and badly laid-out storage space. I just…well, I assumed I’d be happily settled down with someone who didn’t care whether or not I had a six-pack, for whom I’d be making brunch in the mornings on Sundays and cuddling next to on a lazy holiday afternoon.
I’ve not done everything right, not by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve been fired from work, I’ve lied, cheated, stolen, done any number of unpleasant things. But I’ve always tried to do the right thing, even if sometimes in retrospect. I’ve given up chunks of my life to move back home to Pakistan, to live and work in a country where I can’t be a real person, to earn a pittance because that’s just the way the economy here works; I’ve paid my own way, tried to be a good person and tried to put other people ahead/above of myself.
But when I sit here, agonising about whether I should leverage an opportunity into moving abroad, tearing myself up about how I’d be abandoning my family at the time I’m most needed, hating myself and the society in which I live for not being able to live freely with another man or even try to, and then I come across that fucking news feed on Facebook, I lose the plot. Verging on 30, it’s not just that I’m single, it’s that I’m not even in a place or position to do anything about it. I’m trapped, of my own semi-autonomy, in a situation that perpetuates very little besides misery.
Why am I not allowed this? Why can I not live the kind of life that would make me, if not actually happy, at least content? How did I let myself get here? And why won’t something happen to give me the chance to fix things, to get my life back to where I hoped it would be going?
I try to forget it, but sometimes, the flood-gates give way. And I wonder what the point of it all actually is.
I can sympathize with you and relate to you on several levels. I too am feeling like crap because I am nearly 30 years old but living at home, out of work, forced to hang out with married people twice my age, practically no freedom to do the things that I want to do by virtue of crashing at home, and nowhere near the type of life I’ve worked so hard towards for years now. It seems like doing the “right” things hasn’t brought me very far, and I don’t know if I’m being negative or pessimistic when I compare myself with people who have had half the struggles I have had and made far more mistakes flourishing while I am stuck at an impasse. And I had imagined that at this point in my life, I would have been self sufficient, independent, master of my own schedule and time, and having a career that I both love and is financially rewarding, (the latter very important since I’ve always lived an economically precarious life)– and not being circulated by the Indian American community here which is so heartbreakingly narrow minded, conservative, and status quo.
And love? That’s another story. No way in hell am I ever going to meet anyone while I’m stuck in the middle of the freaking desert and the only people I come across are 50 year old-plus and the tender aged early 20-somethings Indian Americans whose inane discussions never cease to amaze me. But I try not to think about that, telling myself that it’s the last thing on my agenda and my first priority is to take care of “basic needs,” which in my mind are having a job, my own place, etc.
Having been marooned (or more likely marooned myself) in a fairly similar situation (not quite as bad perhaps, but you have a tendency to always trump everyone else) I… it’s not really “empathise” more “want to cry”.
It doesn’t matter what reasons you give for locking yourself in that position; they are not good enough justification for what amounts to cutting your heart out with a spoon. Only people who have no friends but God (unrequited?) believe martyrdom to be anything other than a vainglorious absurdity. Destroying yourself to seeming bolster others is almost churlish. You are not indispensable. You could die before you read this. How would those to whom you are a crutch survive? Would they die upon the news of your death? It’s unlikely (I’m ignoring the example of my grandparents who somehow managed to save on funeral bills).
They would cope. Regardless of what they claim it’s a fairly innate response. Somewhere deep within them they know this.
So move towards not being their purportedly vital little bundle of misery. This may take work to bring in the merry troika of acclimation, acclimatisation and adaptation. But it needs to be done. And if those around you cannot manage a little flexibility then why are you bending over backwards for them?
So in summary I think the point of it all is not to garner regrets.
PS. Caring for the elderly? Isn’t that what money’s for? Yes, that was said tongue partially in check, but use the advantages available to you.
PPS. Intrigued by the sentence that starts “I’ve not done everything right”. Remind me to actually remember to email you at some point.
You will not make anyone happy by making yourself/allowing yourself to be miserable. I know where you’re coming from re the family and the seeming impossibility of getting out, but it is not impossible. And really, what other choice do you have? Staying home, being miserable and letting facebook dictate your emotional life? Come on.
Nobody else is going to look after your happiness. Nobody. It’s on you to do something about it or nothing will happen.
And yes, you will have to pay for it. The price I pay is never being able to tell my family and my parents who and what I am. It is living thousands of miles from the only family I have and accepting that I will have minimal contact with them for probably the rest of my life. And it hurts. But the life I’ve managed to put together here is worth it. I am happier here than I have ever been anywhere and if this is what it takes to do it, then so be it.
Anyhoo’s PS above about money being for caring for the elderly is a valid point. It’s what I plan to do when the time comes. No it’s not being the dutiful doting daughter who stays home and cares for her ailing elders, but it’s effective.
I’m sorry to sound heartless (and preachy – I hate preachy)- I’ve grown quite fond of you over the past year or so that you’ve been writing here. But that’s sort of why I give a shit. I would like to see you do something good for you.
the point of it all?
the point of it all is to sigh, type a few lines, hum a few bars, curse a few lunkheads, laugh a few chuckles, paint a few brush-strokes, live a few lives, and… switch the lights off.
yes, i was being cliched. sorry.
and, merry christmas.