Boyfriend dream

7 09 2012

Woke up and wrote this all down before I forgot because I think it’s a little special.

Boyfriend dream

I was in a relationship with my dashing friend Owen.  We also were on tour with the Vancouver Queer Film Festival, on their tour bus as they drove across the country (which they don’t do, of course).  At one stop, the QFF set up some promotional stuff in this town, including Owen’s contribution: a bright pink, glittering diorama featuring him and another girl on stage.  There was also some writing with the diorama explaining how super gay he was.

Owen’s mother was there, and he had not come out to his family yet.  I found her staring at her son’s very loud diorama, and went over to her.  I asked her about his singing and his songs.  She kept asking me, “When?” which confused me, and when I tried to clarify, she only repeated the same question: “When?”  I told her I hadn’t heard any of songs Owen had been writing, but that he had told me he was writing some songs last summer.

I walked off so she could absorb the news of son’s strange coming out.  There were also two other younger kids there with her, presumably her other children.

I texted Owen to “come here” since his family was there.  He didn’t respond.  Instead, the next thing I knew, he was standing with his family and talking with his dad.  It appeared they were arguing.  I stood a little way off, watching, knowing this wasn’t my place.  Both of us, and possibly everyone there, was dressed in black.  I was dressed in my uniform from Fifth Avenue.

Owen came over and said I should properly meet them.  He took my hand and confidently walks over to his family.  I, on the other hand, am a nervous wreck.  I look up at him, and his face is hard and determined, and I feel bad.  I ask him if it’s really appropriate/too much that we’re holding hands especially since his dad just got the news and isn’t okay with it, and we let our hands fall.

Owen introduced me to his father, who glared at me.  I knew he though I “corrupted” his son.  My lip trembled from being so nervous.  His dad said I was just a “sex hookup” and left.  I yelled back as he was leaving that Owen and I hadn’t even had sex yet, and that we were still together because loved each other.  I said goodbye to his family, and called his mother Alice (because we were totally bffs).  I told Owen his mom was much nicer/understand than his dad, while Owen struggles to genuflect awkwardly and for seemingly no reason at all.

That’s it.  I don’t actually know if Owen’s mom’s name is Alice but it would be freaky if it were.  I texted him today and told him I had a dream with him in it but he didn’t respond.  I’ll ask him about his mom later.

By the way, Owen has a girlfriend.  Or so he says.

The World Behind Closed Doors (part 6)

30 11 2011

While his father was mainly away on business in Hong Kong, his mother was suspicious of anyone he would have over, even friends.  Her world consisted of God and suspicion.  She was perceptive of people and lies.  She was – and still is – extremely conservative; Kem had told me that were he to come out to his parents, he truly believed his mom would kill him.  Her conservatism made my mother seem like Siddhartha Gautama.

After Kem’s graduation ceremony in April, there was a reception in the music building where parents and now post-graduates took pictures, told each other of future plans, and thanked teachers that they had known since freshman year.  I somehow found myself standing across from his mom, who I recognized from earlier when he was taking pictures with his family.

“You must be so proud of him,” I said.

She smiled at me, and I wondered if Kem’s description of his mother as a follower of the Westboro Baptist Church might be an exaggeration.

“I am.  He’s tried to teach me music but I don’t understand it.  I just like to listen to it,” she replied in Cantonese, chuckling.

Unlike Kem, my Cantonese is very much broken.  I can understand it fairly well but when I speak, it often comes out in fragments and I’m usually left to say what I mean in English, hoping the other person knows what I’m talking about.  I knew my flawed Cantonese would not impress her.

“That’s good,” I managed to say, beginning to sweat from high use of translating power.

There was a brief pause before the expected, yet unexpected, question: “How did you two meet?  Do you go to school here too?”

Being accustomed to the lie by now, I casually responded, “No, I’m going to film school.  Kem’s helping me with applying to UBC next year.”

“Oh.  So how did you two meet if you don’t go here?”

In that moment, I realized what Kem meant when he told me his mother was a perceptive person.  I saw her take a glance at my shoulder bag, which, among other things, had a Mickey Mouse pin coloured with rainbow colors and another one that said “Queer” on it.  I swallowed hard, not knowing if she was going to bludgeon me with her purse right then and there.

“Ohhh, yeah, I don’t go here.  I met him through a friend,” I said, managing a half-smile and nodding along as if I was just clarifying myself while her eyes bore into me, a lie detector trying to decide if what I was saying was real or not.

“Oh.   Okay.”  Her eyes left mine and it appeared I was out of the clear.


“Do you think she knows?” I asked Kem one night while we were lying in my bed, the lamp on my table illuminating his face.

“I don’t know.  Do you think your mom knows?”

“I don’t know.”

We certainly weren’t going to be addressing the issue anytime soon and like Chinese mothers, if they did know, they wouldn’t say anything either.  It was a stalemate.

(continued in part 7…)

Saturday Morning Documentary: Story of the Weeping Camel

5 08 2010
Story of the Weeping Camel

Story of the Weeping Camel

What a unique and interesting title, it pretty much explains the significance of the movie itself.  In a rural village in Mongolia, it’s camel birthing season (there’s a season for that?) and the herd of camels are doing their thing.  One particular camel has a difficult birth, and it takes her around 2 days to finally deliver her calf.  Perhaps it is the hard delivery, or maybe it’s because her calf is a rare white camel instead of the more common brown or tan.  Whatever the reason, the mother rejects her baby and refuses it milk.  The folks in the village do their best to try and get them to bond because if not, the calf won’t be able to get the milk it needs to survive and may die.  I won’t spoil what happens, but The Story of the Weeping Camel is an interesting look at a remote village in Asia and the different customs and culture they have.  The kids in the village also venture on camelback to the city, and the distinction between city and town and the traditional versus the modern  is interesting to note.

Done cinema verite style, there is no narrator or host to guide viewers along, which may frustrate and bore people.  The film takes a while to establish the setting and the villagers before focusing on the camel and the birth.  After watching this little film, I really wanted a baby camel.  So cute!

Mother and her calf

Mother and her calf