First off, a very Merry Christmas to all of you who happen to stumble on this entry. Today we mark the two-thousand-and-eighth (right? I’m never sure about these things) anniversary of Jesus Christ squirming his way out of his mortal mother’s vagina and calling it a day. For those who gave a plethora of gifts to others, congratulations - you’re way ahead of the Bell curve. I kowtow to you, since I did none of that myself.
This year, I’ve done little but update my Facebook status to say “Xuan wishes you all a Merry Christmas. Ho. Ho. Ho. I want a ho.” and randomly visit people’s profiles to rape their Walls with the usual sentiments. Other than that, I’d like to say that this Christmas has been quite blah - although the holiday season does manage to make me believe in a better world and true love and all that other shit. A little bit of season-fueled optimism never hurt anybody, right? Right.
The past week has been extremely hectic. Last Thursday, I got my right earlobe pierced. If you’ve read my previous entry, you’ll know that my father was not a fan of my right cartilage ring. So when he saw the tiny stud that was punched rather ceremoniously through my right earlobe, he went nuts. In hindsight, this reaction was probably one I’d anticipated. Cue all the usual shit - bombarding me with bullshit about how being gay is wrong, and I have severe problems because I choose to sleep with guys, and how my mother (if she were alive) would not agree with it. So then we sparred for a bit (I do realise that I sound shockingly cavalier about all of this), and I packed my bags and left the house for a couple of days.
I spent six days at my best friend’s place, and it seemed that I seamlessly integrated into her family. Never mind the fact that they’re Vietnamese as well. I felt more at home there than I did in my own home with my own father. It gave me a chance to think, and like it or lump it, something’s changed in my outlook since then. Well, that, and I got so drunk on Saturday night at another friend’s place that I threw up on her foot and then lurched over to the toilet and threw up some more there - I had to myself an entire bottle of champagne, half a bottle of wine, ten shots, and other random drinks. All on an empty stomach. Note to self: Never drink that much shit again. Ever.
I’m back home now, and things have changed. I haven’t yet argued with my father (a record, considering our previous history), and he’s being surprisingly civil. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s Christmas today - I can’t help but feel a little less antagonistic, annoyed, argumentative and alliteration-driven. The next few days are going to be … hmm. “Hmm” is really the only way to describe it. Particularly on Monday - my boyfriend (dude person, fella, significant other, whatever you’d like to call him) is moving to Lebanon for a year on Monday (to study medicine - and I’m going to wait for him), so chances are, I’ll be an emotional wreck (Amanda, expect an SMS at 3:30PM on that day). But after that, things should look up - I’m spending New Year’s with friends, getting pissed off my face and ringing in another twelve-month rollercoaster. I look forward to it.
So. Happy Holidays to everybody who comes across these words. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to search for a bottle of port and call a couple of university friends for a well-overdue catch-up. Drunk.
Posted on December 25th, 2008 | Filed under Family & Friends, General, Life |
Yes, I do like to devise blog titles that make me sound inordinately verbose. At least it distracts me from the slight throbbing pain in the cartilage of my right ear.
So I grew some balls today and finally got around to getting my ear pierced - having harboured the desire to do so for the past few months, it’s nice to reflect back on it (albeit only ten hours later) and tick it off my “To-Do List”. Let’s all gather round and look at a picture of it (warning: may be anti-climactic):
Yes, it is in my right ear. To be brief about it, the procedure was all of five seconds, and it felt like somebody was pinching my ear. Hard. The kind of pinching that elicits a reaction not unlike “What the HELL, bitch?! What the hell was that for?!” Joyous, no? I was rather happy when we walked out of the piercing place, despite the fact that a circle of blood was slowly forming around the piercing and turning into a dark crimson crust. Mmm. Yum.
Oh, you say, but that can’t be the end of it! And you’re very well right. I got home in the afternoon, and my father didn’t even notice the piercing. It took him an hour of periodically walking past me to finally ask: “What is that on your ear?” I was tempted to answer with: “It’s a ring I can hang my keys on when I don’t need them!” Because my father really is one of the most gullible people I know … despite being almost sixty years old and having a life behind him well-seasoned with experiences and knowledge. But I was a good little boy and said: “Ear piercing.”
Then, he was nice enough to ask: “What does that mean? That you’re gay?”
Cue firm nod on my part.
And then the argument (which later turned into entirely one-sided physical conflict) began. He threw his “strong personal opinion as a superior straight man” at me, in a rage, claiming that I have problems, and that by choosing to be gay, I’ve come to a dead end in terms of “normal, natural reproduction” (yeah, no shit, Sherlock - nice way to put it, though). Blah blah blah. We argued back and forth for a few minutes until he saw fit to bring the possibility of seeing a doctor about my sexuality, going to counselling, etc. And then ultimately ended with: “You’re not normal.”
Thanks, father. Thanks. Although please be sure to verify your facts next time: Your only son does not wish to be normal. There is no such thing as normal. And you are not superior to me just because you adhere to the majority of today’s society in terms of sexual preference, have been married, and had a kid. I’m increasingly grateful that he didn’t bring his experiences during the Vietnam War into things - because the confrontation would have been extended much further.
So it’s several hours after the initial fight. Conflict. Argument. However you’d like to put it. What annoys me the most - and the most ironic and yet hypocritical thing, I find - is that he sees fit to reprimand me and squash my own argument with his, and suggests counselling when he cannot see that he himself requires it. It bothers me that, as a young child, and into adolescence, he was trained in the military to switch off his emotions like a machine. And it bothers me that this has carried over to excessively into his life now, in a new country, away from our homeland, to the point where he pushes everybody away, refuses to acknowledge others’ points of view, and sees fit to be one of the biggest hypocrites I know.
You think I need counselling, father? Do me a favour. Look in the bloody mirror.
All this aside, I applied for ten jobs today. Productive, eh? And - wait for it - I’m a dunce. I applied for something close to fifteen jobs over the past two months, all of which required cover letters, and none of which I got a call back for. And I only realised today, why this is … I forgot to update the date on the cover letter. *headtothefuckingdesk* much? Here I was, in early November, sending out cover letters that had a date from late September written on them.
God, I’m such an idiot. *facepalm*
I need reliable income, and I need to get out of this house, damnit! Never has this been more important. So … raise your glasses, please! Here’s to hoping I get a job! *drinks a plentiful amount* *hic* There we go. Heh.
Posted on November 19th, 2008 | Filed under Family & Friends, Life, Rants, Work & Uni |
