Friday, July 1, 2016

That time when I threw a book at the Irish...

Everyone who knows me well would know that I'm quite the temperamental guy in every way possible.

While most times, I'm more of a verbal person (which means I yell, scream and shout to vent out my angst), there are times where physical actions are involved.

Again, if you know me well enough, you'd know that when I get physical (hah! I always do *wink*), it gets ugly.

For over two decades of my life, I've hardly shown that side of me with the exception of my parents and siblings because I find it quite ugly (post-angst ventilation).

But you (The Irish) are one of the other few outside of my family who'd seen it.

I still remember it as clear as day. It was a mere two days before our first holiday together and we were headed out to Mornington Peninsula for a three-day getaway.

It was supposed to be amazing and we were counting down the days and crossing our calendars with plenty of excitement.

Just think about it. Hot springs, wine tasting (that was mainly you. I don't drink), the sunny beaches and comfy bed and breakfast. In one word: BLISS.

Then it happened. Two days before we hop into your red Holden Cruze and drive off on sunrise, you blurted it out.

It was one of those nights, where we just sat at the couch mindlessly watching TV with me lying on your lap.

"Erm... sweetie, I think we have to postpone the trip. I have a last minute project to complete by the week. So, I have to stay back," you said, quite nervously I might add.

Perhaps you had a premonition that I would go ballistic? I don't know.

All I remember was jolting up and backed up from you with eyes wide opened. "WHAT!?" I snapped.

Okay, before I continue this, I have to admit one thing. On hindsight, I might have been a tad too dramatic, but anyway... back to the story.

Right, so I snapped out and you just looked at me painfully and try to comfort me.

I didn't know what went in my head (still don't, by the way), but I yapped on and complained. You tried to explain and I was having none of it.

Even if you said, we could go again another time. My argument was our schedule hardly match up. See, I was a barista, freelance writer and part-time photographer, while you were on the white collar, finance side.

It went on for a good half hour and finally, you gave up. You probably thought I was hysterical and such a drama queen (I agree too, but hey, you signed up for this).

You said with a sigh, "You're probably not going to like what I'm saying now but I'm gonna leave you alone for a while to cool down and then we'll talk. You can take the living room and I'll take the bedroom."

You started walking off. See, you were always the one who fumes quietly. You hardly ever yelled. Always with that calm, soothing voice that tries to reason with me and obviously, I was the spoilt little brat who wants things going my way.

I knew you were actually angry but you kept it in. You know that it wouldn't do us any good if the fight goes on.

But again, I was not having any of it. I stared with disbelief at the fact you want to walk out of this. I grabbed whatever that came to my hand. A hardcover novel.

I threw it and it slammed to your back. A loud smack and it fell to the floor. A small patch on your back turned red (Yes, he wasn't wearing a top. We're at home and yes, I packed quite a throw when I'm mad).

You turned with your eyes widening, nose flaring and mouthing a "F...". I was prepared for a throw down and then you did the unexpected.

You stopped mid-word. The "F" never continued. You clenched and released your fist a few times and sighed again. You said, "Talk to me when you're calmed down."

And then you walked into your room.

I sat there shocked at my actions. Even in my state of frenzy, I know the book was a tad too much. Okay, fine. It was way too much.

I continued sitting down and staring at the ceiling, while voices in my head argued. Yes, I talk to myself occasionally to rationalise things.

I realised I was wrong. I was an ass who got too unreasonable just because you always let me have my way. If it was a reversed situation, you'd give me a sad look and say "It's okay. Next time."

I calmed down and timidly walked into your room. Your eyes were at the door even though you had an opened book at hand.

I was about to apologise and somehow, you knew and motioned me forward before I could mouth out the words.

I crawled into bed, snuggled in your arms and whispered "Sorry".

You laughed and gave me a kiss. You said, "Mate, that was quite the fit you threw. My back is still tingling and burning."

I snaked my hands to your back to feel it and true enough, your skin was slightly tough and a small bump (probably swollen) was there.

I was flushing red with embarrassment and said meekly"I wasn't thinking."

And you just said, "Yeah. You really weren't. You owe me a swollen back and I owe you a trip. Don't worry, it'll come sooner than you think."

Then I rushed my lips over and kissed him again...

So... yeah. That's it. Sorry if it bored you to death. Anyhow, weekend is here and Raya is following up. Have a great festive week ahead!

Love you fags and hags out there. Have a good weekend.
Yours Queerly 

Thursday, March 3, 2016

When memories of you flood back into my mind

I still remember all the times when I lie down on your lap reading my books and you casually comb your hands through my hair absently, all while you're reading your own book.

Or that time when you gave me a back rub and say "I love you" while I was cooking in the kitchen.

And I still remember those mornings when I woke up with you by my side and I just can't stop smiling. You'll open your eyes, all drowsy from your deep sleep, and  say "Good morning, love."

Yes, I am getting all emotional with all of you reading this right now.

"What happened?" you ask. First was that one post someone shared on my Facebook talking about how you know that the person you are dating is the one.

Then there was that new web series from China that my friend recommended. It is a glorious 15-episode web drama series (go watch it. It's so sweet and cheesy that it made me feel lonely and depressed, all while giggling about it.)

The series is called "Addicted", a gay romance drama set in a high school in Beijing. You can watch it on YouTube (here's the link:

Watching it made me all giddy with love and brought back so many memories about my ex-boyfriend.

So I've decided to write about the first time we met and how we got into our first date.

Now, back to my emotionally charged post.

His name is... let's just call him the Irish. No, he's not from Ireland but he is Australian and of Irish descendant.

He is a pure-born-and-bred Australian who lived his whole life in Melbourne (can I hear a "Oy, Oy, Oy" from you?).

I met you one fine autumn day on my way back from shopping. I spotted you walking around the mall by himself. He was a sight to behold.

Casually dressed in a cotton shirt and chinos paired with a black pair of glasses, you were walking towards the bus stop.

I was too and decided to follow you from behind (yes, I was stalking him). In my defense, I was walking in the same direction.

As if some higher gay being heard my prayer, you boarded on the same bus as me. We made brief eye contact and you smiled.

I was pretty sure I made some sort of face when I tried to smile, but you weren't bothered by it. You continued reading your book.

I sat opposite of you and kept stealing glances at you. You just kept on reading – clearly transported elsewhere.

When we reached the train station, I got down the bus thinking that I probably won't see you again, but you were right behind me.

Our roads forked as you walked into the university campus next to the station and I walked towards the train platform.

I kept thinking, "Damn, he was hot! I wonder if he studies at that TAFE. Maybe I should drop by this area more often."

As I was daydreaming all about you, you appeared in the corner of my eye. I turned and you smiled again. I returned the smile and am pretty sure I was flushing in red.

When the train arrived, you walk into the carriage in front of you, while I got into mine, which was a few down yours.

And I thought to myself, "Well, it's not like he's going to come sit in your carriage. Damn it! I should've sneaked to the spot near his side, so that I get into his carriage and stare at him more."

(Stop judging. When you see a hot guy, you'd do that too. No. Don't try and say otherwise. I know.)

Then it happened. By the graces of god (or whoever that did it. Cher, was that you?), you walked into my carriage and boldly sat a few seats opposite of me.

You caught me gawking (possibly with my mouth opened), but I took the initiative and smiled at you first.

I didn't expect you to say anything but you said, "Nice weather today huh? Cool but with just enough amount of sun."

Then the conversation continued, you were funny and so charming. I was in heavens as I try to make more conversation with you.

Looking back, any guy would've thought I'm a little crazy. I was yapping on and on about everything, but you didn't.

You thought I was incredibly cheerful and rather 'cute'. I still didn't believe you when you told me that on our second date (but that's for later).

The train ride was 40 minutes long but it felt like 5 instead. When we reached the city, I was sure that this would be where we part ways. I thought you kept on to my flow of conversation because you're being nice.

When we tagged out of the gates and I walked off. You asked, "You don't have anything on now right? Wanna grab a coffee while you wait for your friend?"

I said "yes!" immediately and we headed off together. That became our first unofficial date and till now, I still remember it.

You'll always be the love of my life and even though we are in different continents and we never kept in touch anymore, nothing will change that.

I Love You Irish.

So... that's how I met him. More to come soon I hope. I'll try and update more.

Love you fags and hags out there. Have a good weekend.
Yours Queerly 

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Mid 20s gay conundrums: Being taken seriously

 (Photo by Coming Out on Top)

As a mid 20s gay man who prefers to date older, more matured men, there comes many a times (in Malaysia), where I find an interesting guy that I fancy but left hanging because they think you're too young for them?

Before I go deeper into this conundrum of mine, let me define my preferred type of older gentlemen.
  • Someone who is about the age of 30. Usually between 28 to 36 years old.
  • Matured with a stable job and well cultured.
  • Someone who can carry a conversation with you without being too vain (we're gay, there's always a vain moment, but not all the time)
  • Someone who respects space and boundaries when it comes to a relationship
So I'm about 26 this year and most of the times, I find younger men unattractive when it comes to having a proper relationship.

Yes, they might be good looking with rocking abs. That's good and all but they are nothing but eye candies.

In my terms, they are "nice to see, nice to hold (literally) but once deeper into it, it gets boring and off-putting because they are either too clingy or can't think of anything but getting you home for a fuck.

So I tend to initiate conversations with older gentlemen who I feel more in sync with. That's when the problems kick in, while we are great in conversations and all, it always comes down to a single thing – I'm too young for them.

In their eyes, I am this young kid who is barely old enough. Whenever I say I like to have a steady relationship, they will laugh it off like I am joking. I am constantly friend-zoned.

The thing is I do want to settle down. I am tired of the partying and lapping up hot young things for non-committed relations.

The older men often take me as this understudy that they felt compelled to mentor. They take me as the little brother (actually sister) who just got inducted to the homo-hood and needs to be guided.

But I am not. While I can't say I am very matured but I think I have bypassed the twenties zone, where parties, sex and late nights are priority.

(Photo by Coming Out on Top)

I am perfectly content with my cup of coffee, a good read and a nice date night out. Then possibly followed by hot sex with my partner.

In Malaysia, it just seems impossible. They are two types of guys I attract.
  1. Young boys in their early 20s (possibly 18 and 19 too) who wants sex, sex and more sex. The ones who don't bother getting to know you and after two minutes of conversation, they either want sex or they say they love me and wants to be in a relationship.
  2. The other group is the men over 50s (most of the time, even 60s) who wants a young boy toy to satisfy their closeted desires.
While I am never one to judge, these two types of men are just not in my attraction scope.

Then when I finally men that are exactly how I like them, they often friend-zoned me or make me part of their sisterhood entourage.

So comes my question to all of you out there reading this, how can I escape this conundrum?

Maybe I am still immature for having this rant about it? I don't know. Any thoughts?

Love you fags and hags out there. Have a good weekend.
Yours Queerly