And when the sun is high / we’ll kiss and say goodbye
One of the best parts of being gay, as I experience it, is that you have the rich emotional responses of a woman and the insulating obtuseness and detachment of a man. One of the worst parts is that you can’t always choose which is ascendant at a given moment.
I didn’t actually make a spectacle of myself when I took Atsushi to the airport yesterday; I just kind of felt as if I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Since I had to get back to the office, I couldn’t wait until his plane took off. I had to content myself with leaving the observation deck before his flight was scheduled to leave the gate. Haneda Airport, which handles most domestic flights in and out of Tokyo, is actually in the same galaxy as the city (unlike Narita, the airport where most international flights go, which is way the hell out in Chiba Prefecture). It was just turning to night from dusk. You could see part of the incomprehensibly vast lit-up Tokyo skyline across the bay, and under it in the foreground, the planes docked at the departure gates. Two of my favorite sights in civilization (rendered with my appalling, amateurish digi-cam skills in the banner). The rain had stopped, but there was a lot of mist. It flattered both the lights and the JAL and ANA planes (which look a bit cheap to me in strong sunlight). Jets drifted down like big moths and shot into the sky like spears.
This was one of those vacation weeks that are busier than going to the office. The only meals we didn’t have at restaurants with friends who wanted to find out how Atsushi is doing in West Buttf**k, we had here with friends who wanted to see what the apartment looks like now. (“Like there’s finally a fag living here” was the verdict. I’m not sure how I feel about that.) Too much food, too much drink, and endless assurances that everyone’s looking after me while he’s working in the provinces. I wished I didn’t have to leave him at the airport, but we’d been surrounded by people so persistently since Sunday that a part of me was relieved to head home to the apartment and not have anyone to look after except the plants. Just another month and we’ll be leaving for Bali together. Not that long to wait.
“One of the best parts of being gay, as I experience it, is that you have the rich emotional responses of a woman and the insulating obtuseness and detachment of a man.”
I may have more of one than most, since I was raised mostly by women in an almost all-female environment.
Hey, we straight men have a feminine side too!
When my girlfriend and I parted at Narita, I was a water tank with legs. I’m surprised I didn’t dehydrate after all the tears that flowed from me. I did, however, get my act together by the time I boarded the plane so the flight attendants and my neighbors didn’t get wet.
PS: Sanskrit lives in Balinese. Sorry, couldn’t resist …
Yeah, I gotta invoke the “BS” alert on this one, too.
My wife sometimes complains about my moods, saying that if she had wanted to marry a woman, she’d just become a lesbian.
*Sigh*. Is it all about you straight boys? I notice everyone goes right past my agony to the we-hets-have-emotions-too part. As if being 97% of the population didn’t commandeer enough attention.
I am not, for reasons I hope are obvious, going near the topic of whether anyone’s wife would be happier as/with a lesbian. (Well, okay, I’ll go near enough to say that my reply to such an insinuation from my partner would be a level gaze and a clearly enunciated, “Want me to prove we’re not lesbians?”) I will only note that while straight men’s feelings/moods/intuitions are as legitimate as any others’, I really do think that the extremes of obdurate machismo and melting emotionalism are found together in more gay than straight men. This is only observation on my part, so there are plainly biases, but in my experience, it cuts across cultures and generations.
LOL.
Okay, you win.
But the line ain’t as clear as you imply it to be, let’s just say.