The Mega Pot Gayness

I have always preferred Kyoto to Tokyo. It represents all the Japanese elements that we are familiar with, i.e. the wabi, the sabi, and of course, the wasabi. Tokyo in my mind is but another overly internationalized mega pot that washed off the majority of its own identity. But I guess I'm wrong, partly, sort of.
After all the hassles that I went through looking for a hut and getting all the foreigner documents, I finally got time to sit down and appreciate the city. The one word I would use to describe this city is STRANGE. There is nothing more bizarre than Tokyo in many aspects. It is especially the gay side of the city that bewildered me the most. Like what I had expected, the gay culture is somewhat oppressed here. Sure, there is Shinjuku Nichome, there are the bathhouses and the hattenbas where essentially are just sex houses. But I don't see anyone standing out to fight for their rights. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Tokyoites are intrinsically afraid of standing out; say, there are only four colors in the city during winter - grey, olive, khaki, and black. And when I posed the question about what it is like to be gay here, I always ended up with the same answer: it is better not to tell. So I get it, DADT version 2.0. But then again, as I thought that gay rights are non-existent in this country, I was informed that gay marriage is actually legal here, provided that one of the spouse being a legal dependent. Why is that? I couldn't figure out for now.
There was one night when I went to 24 Club, the most famous and infamous sex club/hattenba/bathhouse in town. It was depressing. The lights were dimmed down in the rooms and moaning sounds were teasing everyone's ears, and more. The glory holes on the wall of the shower cabins were obviously frequently utilized. People are standing in the hallway, lying in the bed, scavenging every inch of the space for their next prey, or just being the next prey. I had my fun times. But it felt empty inside. An unspeakable feeling arose when it all finished. I wanted to talk to him. However the next time when he saw me, he just walked away without looking. OK, that is cultural. I thought. Body knowledge is supposed to bring two individuals closer, but now it kind of did the opposite. And I feel sorry for some of the patrons there; they made it feel like that it is the only place where they can get laid. Especially when I saw an old man with his hair all white and his body shaky when he walked, I felt a tinge of guilt and pervertness. It is inexplicable and I am going to leave it that way.
Later when I talked with a friend of mine about this, he just said, "you know, they may be executives at their work, they may have a wonderful family, they may be super rich. You don't have to be sorry for them at all. Quite contrarily, you should feel happy for them, for that they have found a place to enjoy being themselves." Well, why not? I guess I was just thinking too much.
I am sure there was something more I wanted to say today. But I am so unorganized. Maybe next time I will make it up in another journal. But anyways, as I am gradually settling down here, it is time to sink and start to appreciate the Tokyo side of Japan, and the Tokyo side of the boys.

Tall, Dark Strangers - March 17th

It was my last night in Chengdu, and I have done my packing. After my departure this time, I may not be able to return for a few years, and I know I'm gonna miss it. So I decided to go on my last adventure here and to have a little bit more fun. Polly singed up as my partner in crime, as it was also her first time going to a gay club. We were all geared up and excited, and by the time when the moon hit the mid-sky, we hailed on a cab all the way through upper east side to the lower, where located our destination, MC Club.

The most popular gay club in town has lived up to its reputation. The premise was filled up with guys by the time we arrived. It is typically a Chinese night club. Young blokes swing their hips with the trashy loud faux-dance music. They stare at each other, aimlessly or thirstily, but nonetheless, no one makes a move. The boys were okay cute, but only okay cute - they are above average, but nothing really attractive. In another word, they are not sexy. Yes, it is not as thrilling as it's supposed to be. And we soon discovered the fact that it could never be what we imagined it to be - cute boys dancing on the speaker and making out with each other. Naked.

The service was slow and the lady in red is visiting Polly. These situations were tenuously connected by the fact that she had gone to the restroom twice during our wait for the drinks. The third time she was gone made me a little annoyed standing alone by the bar. As if god had heard me, a husky voice came through behind me: "Two gin and tonics, please." "Good choice of beverage on a night like this." I turned around. A green argyle sweater jumped into my eyesight. "Oh thanks, so is yours." He responded with an European accent; his eyes rested on the Mojito I was holding. He was tall, and I had to tilt my head up to see his face. Nice, a good-looking young man with dark features. "Are you a student here?" I asked. "No, no, I was just visiting." His accent got thicker when there was a little uncertainty in his voice. "How do you like Chengdu?" "I like the food here." "Really? You like spicy food? Where are you from?" "Barcelona, Spain." Great, I felt a little embarrassed. That club scene was definitely not what I would like to show my friend from Dancelona.

As we were speaking, his friend and Polly returned from the restroom. We did not talk any more and parted our ways. The performance at the club was at its best mediocre that night. The singers obviously tried their best, but we were not very keen on Chinese covers for Korean pop songs. Soon enough Polly and I found ourselves bored and back to the original spot. A moment later, so did my Southern European friends. Apparently they were disappointed by the fun that club has to offer and decided to move to the next venue. The problem is, they could not find the way, even with the help from a map on which they had dotted all the gay clubs in town. Expectedly, I am the go-to person for help because I speak English with at least an understandable accent. I explained about the routes to each bar, but since I myself had only been to MC among others, I had the itch in my heart to go on the adventure with them. Just as I was thinking, the Spaniard brought up the topic of drag queen performances. "I want to see drag queens. They are absolutely fabulous." I said with eagerness hidden well in my voice. "Oh really? Then we should go to see them. Come on, let's go have some fun." I looked at Polly, she was equally excited and nodded her head with obvious curiosity in her expression. That was how we ran off from MC with two tall, dark strangers we just met.

On the cab, we exchanged a proper introduction of one another. The Spaniard is Jordi, a software engineer working in Qatar, who had come to China for his Chinese boyfriend in Beijing, only to discover the unfaithfulness in him. The Latina is Luiz, a flight attendant of Emirate Airlines, who ran into Jordi, an old friend of his, at Chengdu Shuangliu Airport, and decided they should go on a boys' night out. "Have you lived in the US, darling?" Jordi asked me, trembling his tongue with every "r" in the sentence. "Yes, for a little over a year." " I knew it! I can tell from your accent." "Yea? And I can tell from yours that you are not from the English-speaking world." The comment was followed by a burst of chuckles as the car pulled in to our destination. "Mmm, I can smell it." Luiz sounded awfully turned on. I turned my head and sniffed at him: "Yes, the gayness."

To our dismay, the place was closed due to a recent construction in that neighborhood. I am quite sick of the endless constructions everywhere in China. The monstrous buildings were quite ugly and generic, rendering the cities to lose their originality. And they eradicated all the fun places from the map like magic. Black magic, if it had to be. We had nothing to do but get on another cab and rush to the next destination.

The next place we were going is just across the street from MC. No one complained about our previous failed attempt. Nonetheless we had a delightful conversation and got to know everyone better. On the cab Jordi called his little fuck buddy to inform him of our plan and location. Our luck must have been used up - when we got there, the club was also closed due to its redecoration. Seriously? I started to question my decision to leave MC at the first place. The disappointment was up on everyone's face, except for the restless Jordi. And Luiz was urged by nature's calling. Now we started to panic. There was another club next door. And it seemed like our only choice. Surprisingly, it was a lesbian bar. A lesbian bar right next to a gay bar, really? Sounds like a master plan from their mutual owner. Like typical gays, Luiz and I were thoroughly uncomfortable being surrounded by lesbians; the two groups are like arch Nemesis in the same tribe to each other, everyone knows. Only Jordi, oh darling Jordi, was having his sweet time, because he found himself popular among lesbians. And yea, camp little Chinese boys. There was a birthday party going on that night, and we were invited to congratulate the birthday girl. Not only did Jordi have a large slice of cake, he was hit on by a boy in glasses, whose taste was quite unappealing. The conversation among us four turned a little bit vulgar as the alcohol took effect. It was to my surprise that Polly had no idea when we gestured about cock sucking and ass rimming. So we gave her a little lesson about gay vulgarities. Under the request of Polly and Luiz, we finally got out of that vile nest of evil vayjayjays and went back to MC. Oh I forgot to mention that Jordi's fuck buddy, Hung, arrived when I went out to get cigarettes with Jordi. But anyways, that was not important. He was not important. And he is not hung, according to Jordi.

Our second attempt at MC was uneventful, except for that I did not get my drink due to the waiter's stupidity, and that Jordi was offered to be taken a photo with a hideous guy sucking his face. We decided that we were sufficiently tipsy to end this activity of bar-hopping, and to sit down and enjoy some street-side barbeque. As darling Jordi said with an emphatic stress on each preposition, " Come on, we are having street food, on the street, with Chinese people, at the middle of the night. How can it get more Chinese than this?" Indeed, this is what every visitor should do when they come to China.

As usual, the night barbeque talk was the highlight of the night. The topics spanned from the difference between being posh and being tacky, to what luxury means at this era. Luiz also shared some stories from his flight experience. I have not had such fun for a long time, so that when we decide to finally part our ways, I was a little reluctant to leave. But alas, I needed to get some sleep since I have a train to catch the next day. We exchanged contact info and hugged goodbye. It was already 4:30 in the morning when I went to bed. The hookup I booked earlier did not get in touch with me, which means he might have changed his mind. Fuck him. But I was too exhausted for any more actions anyways.

The other day, Polly asked if I was attracted to Jordi or Luiz. I told her no. They are only tall and dark strangers we met on a night out, and probably I will never talk to them again. I couldn't possibly put myself in such danger to have fallen for my random encounters like that. Yes, I had fun talking and clubbing with them. They will be a fun story to tell, but that's it. Am I being too prudent with my romantic life? Who knows. I am comfortable with the way I end up with. I am enjoying my solitude, at least for now.

A Night with Jazz - March 16th

"Here's the menu for juice."

"Er....We are actually here to get drunk."

"Well, then here are the cocktails and beers we have."
"Why don't you recommend any wine, since, apparently, this is a wine bar?"
"I do get a commission for each bottle of wine I sell. But they are a bit overpriced; it will be more economical when you have more company."

This is how the waitress gained my favor. She is not really that pretty, even a little chubby. But the smile on her face somehow made her seem divinely pure.I am glad we went to the wine bar on that Jazz theme night. It was my last boys' night out with Larry in this lovely town where I called home. The dive bar across the hallway had minimum purchase requirement on Friday nights, which was the direct cause of our move to NZ Town. It turned out to be a much better choice. "It must have been Fate," as Larry put it. Friendly service is always a good start. What makes it better were the chic performances and an elegant selection of booze.

After we ordered our drinks, the show began. The warm-up was, for what it's worth, better than what I had expected. The singer has a somewhat coarse but touching voice. He sat on the stool still, all loosened. His head was swinging with the melodies. I was generally content with his performance, appreciating his own version of Someone Like You and Di Da Di. But other than that, nothing actually remains, if I had to recall. Remember that random Youtube video you watched and laughed, but can't really tell why it's funny? Yep, you got it, delightful but not profound. Larry and I wished that he could put on a three-piece suit, with a fedora and a pair of wingtips, to make it slightly more memorable.

Alas, he soon went back to his fag hags and started chatting, leaving the audience in reminiscence and anticipation. The stage went unoccupied, but not for long. The next time when I turned around from my conversation with Larry, I saw a gentleman walking in. I couldn't believe my eyes at first. He was exactly what we had imagined a jazz singer would be - a gentleman from the 50's. His three-piece suit was tailored to fit; his fedora elegantly resting on his head; and his wingtips shining with the dim lights shedding on the surface. Oh and his smile, so light-hearted, as if he just carelessly fooled somebody else's heart. A perfect dose of flirtation with a strain of disdain, he surely knows how to impress. Then I started to worry: Is his performance going to be on par with his outfit?

The concern was unnecessary. Not only was he a better singer, he also spiced up the performance with jazz elements like tap dance. There were a lot more dynamics in his performance. It was enticing and creative. Every song he sang was original with his own mutation. While at the same time, he could be Louis Armstrong, or Frank Sinatra, or Lou Bega. A little bit clumsy sometimes, but he would manage to deceive the audience in believing that he was Charlie Chaplin in the 20's. It was nearly perfect. And I was pleasantly surprised, nearly star-struck. He noticed me applauding to every single one of his songs. He bent over to me and sang, "Take your hand and kiss on it." And posed a gesture of invitation. This littlest delight pulled out the flirtatious spirit within me. So I chuckled and responded, "What a Continental gentleman. But that has to come later since I currently have a company to entertain." He smiled back at me and continued on his singing.

As if Larry was infected by this scandalous atmosphere, he leaned over and whispered, "You have no idea how much I wish you were a girl at this moment. So that I could give you a proper kiss, as it is being urged by this proper amount of romance." I was left in shock for a moment. He was never this straightforward. There was certainly chemistry between us. Absolutely and without a doubt. Even the blindest and least creative person could see it. But we both know it is never gonna get anywhere further than collegiality at work and friendship afterwards. Quasi-dates are we all could have. After all, he is about to get married with a wonderful girl, and I was about to leave that town. I didn't know what to say or do. So I held my Margarita up and started sipping, hoping that the sudden blush in my face could be buried by my Asian glow.
When I was lying on bed that night, I could not help but think about what he had said and about my relationship with him.

We developed a great friendship over the four months. I enjoy hanging out with him, and from what I gathered, the feeling was mutual. We, well at least I, tried very hard to not even think that this relationship could in some way develop into anything else. And it worked. I did not think of him as anyone more than a dear friend I newly made. But that night, perhaps because I was leaving very soon, he put his feelings on the table. He shouldn't have though. Sometimes it is better to just keep ignoring the elephant in the room. Now, he decided not to ignore it regardless of my disagreement. But his attempts were destined to be unsuccessful as I was set to be unresponsive. I wonder what he was thinking that night. What he was thinking about his soon-to-be marriage. What he would tell his fiance what had happened. I couldn't stop thinking what if John was right, what would he do then?

The jazz melodies wouldn't go away on my mind. I stayed up late that night thinking about all sorts of stuff.