Out games

It was an interesting book, and I opened to read it as soon as I had boarded the bus to go to the beach. He was next to me and noticed the title of the book, 'The Ottoman Gulf -- the creation of Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Qatar'.

He said to me -- some people are just friendly, they can open a conversation with a total stranger just like that -- "I lived there once, in Kuwait," and left me so surprised, I could only manage, "Oh ya? When?"

We went on to talk a little about the time he spent in Kuwait, and then about the beach we were both headed to.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

"Yup."

"My boyfriend will come along later, and join me at our usual spot on the beach; he's gone to the computer shop to clear his email first."

"Ah, he's one of those, eh?" I said. "Can't live without email!"

I could see this Canadian guy was very pleased. I didn't trip over the boyfriend part. How often he does this to test strangers I don't know. He had probably half-guessed that I was gay, though what of me that might have given that away, I couldn't imagine. Not that it bothered me at all, anyway.

With that little trick, I think he had a good day. It's a kind of secret delight for some gay people, to keep on telling others that they are gay. It boosts the ego, yes, and tickles the spirit, but it also keeps the tables turned around to our benefit. Instead of being at the receiving end, responding reactively to the shit the world throws at us, we stake out our positions first, and set the terms of debate.

However, we learn to do it with a light touch, sometimes even humourously, very often without even realising how political such statements can be.

I see this gay couple on the MRT, both with nearly identical white T-shirts. On one, it says in bold type, "This is a gay boy". On the other guy's chest, it says, "This is a gay body". They may have worn this outfit a few times, because they are not at all self-conscious about it. Like good Singaporeans, everybody else on the train pretends not to notice. But I am watching closely, and I can catch the flicker of eyes as they take in these two breathing billboards.

After a suspenseful wait, a pair of sisters, seated opposite them, finally blink. One whispers perplexedly to the other, but I am close enough to catch it, "What's the difference between a gay boy and a gay body?"

I can't resist a smile to myself. We’ve got them going around in circles.

Sometimes, you can even use gayness as a weapon to cut people off.

A few years ago, I had to visit a factory on the outskirts of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City). It was a long drive, about 45 minutes, from the hotel, and while in the car, I carefully went over some technical terms with my interpreter, seated with me in the back. I didn't want him to stumble over those terms while the discussions were in progress at the meeting. He was a fast learner, and we exhausted my shortlist of technical words before we were even halfway through the journey.

Having accomplished that, he then switched over to his agenda, which was to ask me if I wanted to avail myself of some of Saigon's more delightful entertainment later on in the evening. He could take me to the best discotheques and bars, where we'd meet very beautiful girls.

No thank you, I'm not interested, I said.

But he was persistent. They're very cheap, and will do anything, he continued.

No, I insisted, and tried to change the subject. But every fifth sentence or so, he would go back to his main purpose. I could understand though, that incomes are meagre in Vietnam, and you'd hustle at every opportunity you had, but still I was getting annoyed. Thankfully, we arrived at our destination soon after.

The meeting over, we faced a long drive back. Immediately, he started on his subject again. He knows all the bars in the city, he said. The police don't give any problems. What time do I want to go out?

No, no, I don’t want any of that.

But what else is there to do anyway? he went on. If you go out alone, you won't know where to look for girls. Do you want even younger girls? There are special places …

Faced with the prospect of this kind of pestering through all 45 minutes of the return journey, I had to do something, so I told him, in a firm tone, as befitting his paymaster, "Do you know why I keep on telling you that I am not interested?"

"No, why?" he asked.

"Because I am gay. I am not at all interested in girls."

"Gay?" He didn’t understand the word. I don't think they teach such degenerate terms in Vietnam's English classes.

"Yes, gay," I said. "It means I'm homosexual."

"No, cannot. I don't believe." Well, at least he understood homosexual.

"Believe it." I was getting pretty firm.

"No.... " He was wavering.

Now I pounce. "I'm telling you. I know. I am. I am homosexual. I like to have sex with other guys. Sex with men. I am gay. Homo."

That did it. He had nothing more to say, and for the rest of the journey, he sat as far from me as possible, hard against his door, looking out of the window.

Score 1:0.

© Yawning Bread 

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