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Hello, Friends!


19 years. The generation gap seemed insurmountable. Apart from that, there's the instant stigma borne by Caucasian - Asian couples, in which the Caucasian half is older and usually wealthy, and the Asian half is younger and usually financially needy. Reeks of the "Pinkerton Syndrome." We know all about it.

In Manila, I've seen many a Pinoy gay boy flaunt his afam boyfriend as though he were a walking credit card. He spent almost three years in Bangkok; he has seen many an oily farang order moneyboys around as though they were slaves in a harem. In Hong Kong, it's easy enough to see that gweilos and local boys trade each other up and watch the value of each transaction cause fluctuations on the Hang Seng Index. Pretty soon, identifying the victim and the victimizer becomes moot and academic.

There are so many reasons why this shouldn't have worked out.

And yet, like many decent gay relationships, ours started quite commonly enough.

With sex.

We met in Volume.

He had been in Hong Kong barely a month and was still in the process of looking for a flat. I was young and, in the kind of chutzpah that the young wear on their sleeves, I felt like I was capable of everything.

This cute old timer kept smiling at me across the bar. And so I pretended to make my way to the loo, but really, the intent was to walk his way and say hello.

With gay boys, it never really just stops at hello.

It was a rainy night in June. His friends - a gay couple with whom he was bunking until he found a suitable flat - were overseas. Which meant I didn't have to go home to my walk-up in Yau Ma Tei and risk getting a cold from the rain, because I could conveniently crash at his friends' flat on Robinson Road.

I had to walk the Walk of Shame even before I walked the Walk of Shame in broad daylight; his friends arrived a day before they originally intended to. After having taken my morning-after shower, I had to meekly ask for a towel whilst the boys were having breakfast.

I proved what I needed to - that, indeed, I could do anything.

And yet, unlike many other things that I quickly tire of- and there have been countless, because I still haven't got myself all figured out - this is one is different.

After all, who else will put up with my nights of drunkenness, when I would "acidentally" pee into the trash bin instead of into the toilet bowl? Who else will put up with my terrific mood swings whilst I continually struggle between wide-eyed pragmatism and my own unsinkable ambition?

Only Chris.

"How do you guys make it work?" is a question I'm always asked.

It's simple. We're so dramaticaly different. Diametric opposites. We've learned to stop asking why, because we've come to respect that which can't be known about the other.

There's so many  reasons why this shouldn't have worked out.

And yet, it does.

Soon, it'll be four years since we met one rainy night in Volume.

It's our third Valentine's Day together.


With Affection,
James