Louise Bourgeois, Petite Maman
Mexico City, Mexico
It has come to my recent realization that at my twenty-five years of age, save for one ill-fated relationship, I have been single the majority of my adult life thus far.
Before you scoff and roll your eyes at me, just suck it up.
Some people, like my mother, say that I shouldn’t worry my pretty little head. She believes that the right person will come along eventually, and that I should instead focus on more important things like studying, finishing school, working, etc. Such a Mom Answer, I think.
All my life, I guess I’ve always wondered how important is love, anyway? If you know a bit about me, or know me personally, you know I have dedicated a great portion of my life to (classical) music, and I would say that for all types of artists, all human emotions are important, but none more than love. How can you sing an aria about heartbreak, or play the “Tempest Sonata” by Beethoven if you’ve never experienced emotional turbulence first-hand? I guess that’s why Youtube child prodigies don’t impress me, because I truly believe a child is less capable of understanding the emotional depth of a work that was/is written by a more plagued and troubled person.
Anyway, that’s not the issue I’m here to write about. I guess, it being the end of the year, and believe me, it has been one of the most difficult years of my life, I’m really here to see if in writing, I can make sense out of any of this which which has always been an issue for me.
Here’s a summary of facts, and what my twisted little head believes:
Seeing it written out, even I must concur that it’s a pathetic summary of a non-existential love life; I almost feel like a gay-Mexican-Bridget-Jones type; sans the smoking. Far from being the love story I witnessed in the (wonderful and sad) documentary “Bridegroom” or more recently, in the news, with the Olympic Diver and his screenwriter boyfriend.
I’ve always felt lost. Ever since I was a kid (and I was a CUTE little bastard), I was always loved and favorited by friends, family, teachers, etc; however, I always felt like I wasn’t like any of them. I knew I was different. As a person, as a human. Now as an adult, as a gay man, that feeling hasn’t changed.
Whenever the annual Pride Parade hits Mexico City, I now refuse to go (I have been twice though), and I tell people it’s not because I’m ashamed of being gay, far from it… I’m just more proud of being me: Noé Raúl García; and he doesn’t feel like making a spectacle out of it. I detest nightclubs, and don’t thrive in them as much as other people, and living in a country which is only mine by birth, I can’t even sing along to Belinda, or Yuri, or Jenni Rivera… I grew up with Celine Dion, and Shania, and Whitney (rip). I’m no good at striking up conversations with strangers or making small-talk. I don’t think living in a developing country, which México is (as much as I may love it), really helps; most people are impressed with just about anything: money, a degree, even something as lame as speaking English raises your social status. My best friend, who is eighty years old, and has lived in Europe for part of her life, tells me it’s that way all over the world, but I can’t help thinking that at least when I lived in Tennessee, and in the US in general, people were more themselves, instead of trying to fit into one mold, which in Mexican gay culture consists of money, gym, degree, bar/nightclub.
Even despite all this, I have managed to keep some hope. I met someone this year, and before it all went downhill, or rather plateaued, it was okay. But then, this guy was an expat, just like me. I could see he was interested in me, as a person, as a man, and there’s nothing more interesting and exciting than an interaction of that sort.
Anyway, the thing that I fail to compute or rather resolve, is what exactly do men look for in other men who they look to be in a relationship with? Are there any t
wenty-five year olds, people, such as myself who want the same things in life? I’ve often wondered what I’m looking for, but there’s a wonderful song featuring Patrick Watson that inspired my train of thought.
I guess what I’m really looking for… even if it is in the long run, is to build a home. I want an apartment (have that already), with a piano (that too), and a fat dog (that we could dress up spontaneously), and possibly even a kitty-cat. I want a patio with plants, and planning out dinner parties. I want to spend holidays at his family’s, or mine. I want to watch television on the weekends on the sofa, or on rainy nights. I want to comfort and be comforted during difficult times, and share stories late into the night. Share an umbrella-ella ella under the pouring Mexico City summer sky. Someone to go to the opera with, on weekends. Someone to go on holiday with, to the beach, or to a rustic town on the edge of civilization.
But I think, more than anything, what I want is to be understood… by Someone, and be loved despite the unpleasant details that make up the person I am, and be loved even more for the pleasant ones.
Maybe as I am typing out this end-of-the-year blog, he is also typing out something similar, or at least thinking about it.
"Whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger", has been the recurring motif this year. I have many goals and tasks for the upcoming year, and no, maybe finding a boyfriend isn’t at the top of the list, but it sure would be nice to have a clue what to do in that regard. Maybe that just comes with the passing time.
I think I’m ready to move on to the next phase in my life, and I do it with my head held up really high.
Just watched this beautiful documentary, and it hit very close to home. Thank you so much to Shane for sharing his and Tom’s story with the world.
|—||Grandpa from Cold Sassy Tree written by Olive Ann Burns|
|—||Abraham Verghese, Cutting for Stone|