Warm.Pixels

New Year

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 06:54:00 +0000

It still hasn’t changed. It’s been a whole year since I’d first met him and nothing has changed. I feel like as if I’d stopped aging after I’d met him. I love every moment that I spend with him.

My new year’s day this year wasn't anything like the other years that so dreadfully trudged by. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but just an entire day sleeping in with Firefly, watching movies and having breakfast, lunch and dinner on bed, curled up together, not unlike cats.

You see why I had stopped writing… I didn’t want anything to compromise this absolute bounty, the glorious feeling of waking up to someone I love.

So many people take for granted what I just said. It is just so easy to get married and do exactly that. For people like us, we, who have to live a life of lies, or of constant fear, usually both… it’s infinitely difficult.

Ironically, it’s that difficulty that makes the victory ever so cloyingly sweet, because despite the odds, somewhere in Maldives, there is this tiny bundle of love and contentment.

Sigh.

I watched the movie, “The Stoning of Soraya M.”, the other night (finally, after much nagging). What got to me wasn’t the hypocrisy exposed in the movie, or the ease at which someone could be found “guilty”, but of the severe lack of humanity of the act of stoning a living, breathing human being to death.

Is it any less human, for me to fall in love with another as myself? Am I not human anymore, that I deserve to be killed like an animal? And who decides that? Who gave them the authority to?

Will the trolls reading this realize that those are all rhetorical questions?

Anyway, I thought I’d go on anyway. Avoiding hot topics will be like navigating through an SEO buzzword minefield, but I think it’s better to talk than be silent.

Until further notice.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 07:33:00 +0000

In a way, writing this blog has been my one way of reaching out and touching people that needed a push, through my wild experiences and quirky thoughts. Reading what I've wrote over the last few years was fun... I never thought I'd wince at my childishness and laugh at my impulsiveness...

I had realized that I was looking at life... at my life with a completely new perspective.

I hope you all have enjoyed reading through the archives. For the time being, I am going to continue hiding because of security reasons that is now fairly apparent and very real.

Reading the news to see people I know and care about getting hurt is something I never thought I'd come to experience. I do hope that they do take fair caution in the following few days. Everyone is important to me, and my life would be strangely different without them.

So, until further notice.

Yours,
WP

The cap of the toothpaste tube

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 23:43:00 +0000

Quite often, I walk down to his office to sit with him during his lunch break, up at the bistros that stud the grounds of the Alimas Carnival. Drinking in his smiling face and a cafe au lait the Maldivian way, under the dappled sunlight filtering through the gigantic shrubs of Beach Naupaka, I am in complete contentedness.

Quite often, I sigh, and lean back... go over the memories of the times we had, fun and trying... all to support, and love each other as much as we possibly can. One of those lovely afternoons, the cafés were buzzing with clientele, while we spent quite a while discussing our kittens. There was this momentary lull, and I sighed, relaxed in my chair, and asked,

"Do you ever get the feeling of being here, and now?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know... of being here, that you're you and I'm me, and here we are?"

I don't know how to describe it, but for a very pleasant form of jamais vu and déjà vu combined. A very lovely freshness to see him there with me, knowing full well he's been with me for the better part of this year, that we've seen each other every day in 2011, but for a couple of days.

I get the feeling about once or twice a month, and it's quite amusing for both of us.

It's not all smooth sailing for us. There used to be moments (like when I found the toothpaste tube uncapped!) when I bite my tongue and think, "I love him, I love him...". I generally don't start arguments that I'd loose.

I did win that one about not leaving the socks on the bed though...

1 out of 21,938, more or less. Because, being with him although it means the cap of the toothpaste tube will be off at all times is far, far greater than being single and having a properly capped toothpaste tube.

I think, having lived with him for so long, I've adjusted to the fact that there are things that he'd do his way, which although might not be the way I'd do it, still achieves desired result. It's probably the scariest part of actual growing up that I did this year.

Mom has always been a micro-manager, and I just wonder what she'd think of my extremely radical ideas of hanging my clothes whenever I feel like it, let alone organize them according to color and purpose, when I see her next time.

I wonder how she'd react to seeing my Firefly. I wonder if she'd sense the intense love we have for each other. I wonder if we could keep it down while pounding into each other, at Mom's.

I wonder if she'd ever come out of denial and just accept the fact that Firefly is the only son-in-law she will have, from her brood of men.

I wonder if she'd stop and think, "I love him, I love him..." instead of blowing up about the cap of the toothpaste tube...

Statement

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 20:44:00 +0000

I have a feeling that a lot of my friends and readers have an opinion about me that paints me as a gay personality in the Maldives who is completely out of the closet and advocates the same.

I'm not, and I don't.

I have been pro gay, yes, but I don't want to be famed in this part of the world as a gay man fighting for gay rights in a society that can be potentially hostile.

So, even though I can appear to be quite open, I don't generally let people know about my sexuality unless it is a necessity. Like I've said before... straight people don't introduce themselves as straight.

So why should gay people do so?

I very much would like to people to respect my right to privacy, and fight for that particular right themselves rather than organize pride parades.

I know some people, for lack of conversation at coffees, love to talk about me and *gasp* my sexuality, but I do not appreciate it (even though that sort of thing feeds my ego to no end.) Instead, you could talk about the weather, or some sort of weird skin problem or your ongoing battles with flatulence. There are things you could do, like research something interesting on the internet and talk about that.

Just leave extended discussions about my life out of your puerile gossip.

To those who think that I am the same person that I was a couple of years before... or even two months back - People change. That's what makes us human. I learn, adapt and move on.

Which means, I haven't been a whore since the beginning of this year. Please do not tell it to my face that I have become a "boring person after I got married"... Firefly and I are very happy together, and we do a lot of fun and interesting things that shouldn't matter to anyone else.

I am not one of those people who are stuck in a cycle of oblivion, in a static illusion of an idealistic reality. I do not see moments. I see conversations. I do not see effortlessness... I see hard work.

And that's how reality works. How relationships work. It's how this whole "being gay" thing works. It's not about having a pride parade and being an activist. It's about being grateful for what you have... not how you have it, the amount you have it or any other way.

The Decency to be Discreetly Indecent.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 20:01:00 +0000

Decency is another commodity in the Maldivian market these days, that has no sales at all. In fact, shopkeepers have started to give out decency for free with every purchase of Ridicule, Ostracism and Raucuous Laughter, but for aught.

Amongst the cigarette-butts, Supaarie coverlets and whatnot that come boiling out of the gutters in the torrential rain, we find so many tons and tons of Decency, still in their packaging.

Someone, do something.

The Holy Month of Excess.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sat, 03 Sep 2011 01:06:00 +0000

After rearranging our apartment, Firefly and I thought about using a prayer mat as a bedside rug. We decided against it, seeing as it would spoil the new spacious look.

We have been saving up for months without buying any furniture, clothes or appliances because the economy is still 6 feet under. It's taught us a good lesson in budgeting, all these months, and prospects are finally looking up.

It's not that bad, considering that we have learnt to make do with what we have, and being happy with it. We don't need to have the latest stuff, although both of us sigh and whine about our wants. Seeing groups of youth wandering around in their bling and on their bikes makes us appreciate what we have that nearly the whole of this population desires.

Independence.

You can't buy the feeling that we enjoy, that satisfaction of curling up, buck naked on a Friday on our bed and sleeping till it's almost dusk, and hang out with the select few that we choose to share our lives with.

In the last week of Ramadan, I had been in clothes for 6 cumulative hours out of the 168 hours... something that's almost impossible to pull off unless you're in the insane asylum.

Well, let's just say that it was a personal, silent protest against the haze of hypocrisy that descends upon even the most sensible people during this season.

I have this absolutely cynical view of the festival of cooking, otherwise known as Ramadan... in the Maldives at least. It's supposed to be a reminder for mankind to not forget about those with lesser means. Yet there are clothes, 42 inch 3D TVs, furniture and god-knows-what else on sale in shops here. Somehow, economy or no economy, everyone seems to be flush with it when they paint and remodel their houses and buy new furniture and renew their wardrobe in a gigantic orgy of spending.

Of course, every mosque is full to the brim... until the month is over. Then praying falls back to being a weekly thing, on Fridays, because you know your mother is going to have your ass in a sling and a greased fist up your chute if you sleep in.

Oh, and don't get me started off on the drug-huffing, harem-handling, iPhone-toting beardies, who invests more in accessories than personal hygiene. The funniest thing is, this city is paved from seawall to seawall, yet they insist on lopping off a quarter of their pants and wearing nighties lest they step into camel dung while getting off their expensive bikes.

The loose cotton nightie-like kurta is for modesty's sake... to hide their saggy man-breasts, I suppose. Excessive eating can lead to that, I hear. Hmm.

And yet, I still get preachers on my blog, who reads all the juicy little details while pawing at their genitals, and then preach against what they enjoy reading.

It's not frustrating, I actually feel really good putting this down for them to see. They can launch vendettas to preach me into taking this post down, but in the deepest part of the locked box inside their souls...

I know that they agree with me.

They comment here because of the overwhelming emotions that arises from the dichotomy that they feel from trying to suppress feelings that they feel they cannot express without being punished.

And I let them, out of pity. I know it's idiot compassion, but then, I'm not the sort of person who would change the world. I find it amusing when people spend so much time and effort, only to be frustrated while trying to change something that is unchangeable except from within: the human mind.

So, yes, feel free to comment.

To put it simply.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 09:00:00 +0000

Having an open mind gets one only so far. I learnt that last night from Hilath, after hearing what he's gone through in the past weeks that I've been off the Maldivian social radar.

It takes a lot of courage for a man to admit he has feelings. Hilath's letter addressed to his beloved, an intensely personal thing revealed to the public is not sarcastic word play, if one considers the fact that he has been in love for a half a year.

But it appears that most didn't.

Hilath's Letter: This is not a suicide note.
The reactions: Why so depressed?

I felt sad though, when I read about the reactions to that particular post. He elaborated on what had happened, which made me feel that quite essentially, the LGBT community in this country are misunderstood, at the very fundamental levels.

It's true, that most of the marriages in the Maldives is out of love, and not arranged. But how does one gauge that? I've know a lot of gay men who gave into heteronormative pressures and got married to fulfill their "destiny", to satisfy their parents and society at large, and sometimes, even to escape home.

So, I think Hilath's friends should ask themselves these questions before they ask him to forget about the one person he is evidently deeply bonded with...

Do I know what romantic love is?
Do I know what being in love feels like?
Do I believe that allowing oneself to experience love is not a sign of weakness?
Do I know that falling in love includes getting hurt like I've never hurt before?
Do I believe that in a relationship where procreation is not the ultimate fate, love is much more intense?

If they have answered 'Yes' to all of the above questions, I think that the answer is pretty straightforward as to how you can offer support at times when a member of the LGBT community experiences sorrow from unrequited love, fights, estrangements and/or break ups. Things to say and do will come naturally to you.

I know that this is a cut and dried phrase, but I'll say it anyway. Gay people are people too. And perhaps, much more human than straight people, because they live their lives keeping a close reign on their emotions and actions to prevent being singled out in a hostile society.

It is a life of continuous stress from fear of persecution.

Thus, for one to fight for gay rights for the LGBT community, one has to first understand the reason why there is a need to fight. The fact that it contravenes the Universal Declaration of Human Rights is just not good enough.

And bullying others to lay down their lives while one sits comfortably in the closet under the generosity of a influential parent isn't very ethical either.

Incidentally, I believe that one of the main reasons why the Maldives still continues to be hypocritical in the matters relating to Human Rights is because of the same grounds: a lack of understanding of the gravity of injustice done to minorities.

Like I said, an open mind will only get you so far. You also need to have an open heart.

And to Hilath, I asked him last night to hang in there. Although this will provide paltry relief, have patience, and be patient with your friends. They already know that one day, they will have to let go of their "gadda" and their football, and mellow out to be more loving.

Let's just hope that it's sooner, so that they won't regret having lost so much time in pretending to be something that they're not.

Life, the Maldives, and 42 buttons.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 13:05:00 +0000

His soft breathing sounds like waves in the distance, as he sleeps away, almost sighing in contentment beside me. But here I am, fingers itching to break free of the infernal writer's block that has been plaguing me since I joined what was a sweatshop of an office, where I was expected to churn out "quality" articles every day while spinning plates on poles.

I left that circus about a week ago, and it's been about that long that I've been camping in our apartment that looks like it's twilight in midday sun at best, and growing an unwholesome slovenly beard that looks like my body is generating testosterone for the entire neighborhood.

Did I mention I glitter in the sun, like Edward? Fabulous.

It's difficult to find work in the Maldivian job market, and despite having savings and reassurances, I find myself working hard to get another worry furrow on my forehead and getting a permanent haircut.

It really doesn't matter though, because I stand up for what's right and honest, despite what rules say. I wouldn't be WP if I didn't.

Sigh, no, this isn't a rant against my former workplace. It's what one should expect generally, when one even begins to have romantic ideas of getting a job and moving to the Maldives. True, I believe that the world is unfair, but you'll be aghast to discover that the unfairness is slightly more concentrated in this part of the world, than anywhere else.

Well, if you ever do come to the Maldives, you'll find something that people world over envy, and mothers pray for. Patience. Because, here. you're going to get your buttons pushed every single day. All 42 of them.

Firefly's hugging my shoulder in his sleep... I think I'll continue later, unless I want to learn to type with one hand.... no.

"... how a man can love a man."

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 07:42:00 +0000

Two days ago, I got a comment on twitter that went, "i just read your blog, but i can't believe there are so many gays. also can't understand how a man can love a man."

I wish there was a way, without violating people's privacy, to find out for certain the percentage of homosexual and bisexual people in the Maldives. (I know there are people who would pick a sentence and run with it, before it's even fully said or read.) By my estimate, it would be more or less half, and about a quarter of that would be purely homosexual.

Which isn't a big deal, because you've been living with them, loved them and care about them all your life without knowing that particular part of them.

So just breathe.

You don't have to run around converting people to your belief that being gay is bad. So you like Nokia. I hate Nokia, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to convince me to like Nokia.

Okay that's not a good example, seeing as I use one of those monsters now, after really sad circumstances involving a tearful parting with my BlackBerry. But you get the idea... right?

So we come to the part where one tries to "understand how a man can love a man."

If you know the answer to, "how can a man love?", you pretty much understand how a man can love a man. Or a woman. Or anything else.

It's not about sex, you know. It's about love. All I have to do is look over to the desk to my left to see Firefly's handsome face intently scrutinizing his monitor, to feel the aura of love. Or when I put him to sleep at night spooning him, arm in arm, while his head rests on my other arm. Or when I wake him up gently in the morning.

Or when he hugs me and kisses me every single chance he gets... sigh. I think I need a hug right now. Excuse me.

Sigh...

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 10:23:00 +0000

“Mwah”, formed little white pixels on my phone’s screen. And as I looked on with a smile on my face, they started to swim and dance, and inside me I could feel a sort of joy abound like a fountain.

Writing down my life was never an easy thing to do. The handful of people who ever read the sordid tale of my growing up have drifted away, to become friends on Facebook, where I wish them every year on their birthday, and an odd message or two the rest of the months.

Unedited, my LiveJournal is juvenile, childish whining that I’m glad to say I’ve outgrown. Mostly. But reading them, rereading them and having the opinion of someone I adore have taught me something.

Yes, I was immensely unstable, so much that I sound like two different people fighting over a keyboard. Yes, I committed the same mistake over and over again only to have my heart torn out of me painfully. Yet, “because you were so lonely, you clung onto hope and faith with a vengeance.”

I was a bit stunned when he said that. It’s true. I did. I wasn’t at it all the time, but I do cram hope and faith down people’s throats whenever they need wind in their sagging sails.

Maybe it’s because I believe that there is hope, and we should have faith, no matter what. Perhaps, because I didn’t give up through that seemingly eternal night, searching for a gem in the sands of an endless beach that today, now, I admire the fire and the brilliance of a diamond that I’d found in the breaking dawn.

Sure, we had our share of bad days. Yet something somewhere deep inside us knows that we need each other, like the Earth needs the beauty of the day, and the glory of the night for it to be alive.

I know it’s difficult to understand something as intangible as hope. Or faith. But believe me, they are very palpable.

To my female friend with a broken heart, to Firefly’s best buddy trying to move on… all I can do is to be there for you, and offer you something you feel is paltry fare of hope and faith.

But from where I stand, I see myself giving you priceless treasures from an infinite supply. Just like love… as endless as the oceans.

And today, I stand tall and smile, because I’m the richest man in the world with nothing but Firefly.

Silence

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 09:13:00 +0000

Sometimes, one has to step back and watch the loom of life unfold that which is golden. For in those moments, do I hear my mind making a fool out of myself.

But then, allowing oneself to laugh about it and moving on with renewed hope, that is the difficult part. Not because hope is impossible, not because hope is dead. There is hope, even when you're dying. It is extremely difficult to strain and see that tiny, almost improbably small mote of hope floating in a dim shaft of sunlight cleaving the dark night around you.

But if you do, it will appear larger than ever.

Time and again, in my life I've been through things that have prepared me for that which is yet to come. I've wept, screamed up at the heavens and tried to back out of life, but all was for aught. It is inevitable, like the sunrise, that I have to experience what life has in store for me.

So, for the time being, I'm hoping. And making sure to look for the bright side of all what I'm going through, because otherwise, I'd end up making myself and everyone around me unhappy.

If nothing, there still is Firefly who lightens up my world.

Running away: Not as glamorous as it seems.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Mon, 30 May 2011 07:41:00 +0000

It’s always hard to strike out on your own and trying to make it without getting embroiled in debt. It wasn’t easy for me either, though I had a lot of help from a friend and another guy that I was dating at the time.

Mine was fairly dramatic, involving a scene of running away and a lot of crocodile tears from my family, who for the next 2 years, never bothered to look for me. I’m pretty sure they were fed up of me by then.

Sure, I eventually went back to them to make amends, after which they leeched what was my life savings. Twice.

I don’t hold it against them, and I don’t really think they hold my sexuality against me, except for the fact that they force me to get married every now and then. But well, since my family doesn’t have anything to withhold (I renounced my inheritance), there’s really nothing much they can do about it except screech about it behind my back.

There are a couple of reasons why I don’t like being this independent. One is that it involves lifting very heavy responsibilities. The other is, well, acting with the sort of maturity that makes it credible for people to actually believe in me, that I will be faithful in a job, that I won’t trash their apartment, and the part where I have to tell myself, “I’ve got to stick with a f-ugly Nokia, because I cannot afford to buy a snazzy new phone.”

That last part is an hourly mantra or whenever it gets stuck, whichever comes first.

Sure, I can still reach out and borrow money from people, but that really doesn’t appeal to me. One is, that they would expect something in return, and the other is that they would expect it back soon, which I can’t really guarantee. And then there’s this tiny little ant in my mind that says, “You’re not really independent, if you have to borrow.”

With the economy as it is and a boss who refuses to see beyond his own HSBC account, it’s slightly harder than well neigh impossible (yeah, it’s that hard) to manage to live in a decent apartment, have nutritious healthy meals, and have savings in the Maldives, but somehow or the other, these two teas that I drink, responsibility and maturity… they help me have my cake, take a picture of it and eat it.

Of course, the government is far more interested in pairing their young population off in a bid to tame the monsters stalking the streets murdering, raping and pillaging, so I’m yet to find any government sanctioned solid footholds for people who can’t get married legally.

Really, the gay population is quite fortunate, despite it all.

You know, about the only good thing financially, to come out of finally going through with the whole gay revolution and allowing gay marriages in the Maldives is joint insurance.

Respect from the society? Not so sure about that. You can change the constitution, you can make the laws, you can have pride parades, but you cannot change the hearts of a stubborn and unruly population, like the Maldivian people for several decades.

Like 2TT said some time earlier, the generation that involves our parents needs to die out, as they have been poisoned by conflicting religious opinions. The generations preceding them and succeeding them are far more liberal than this particular batch of people, some of whom have managed to pass on their prejudices to relatively few pockets of youth, who since have further corrupted religion and misuse it to cover a lot of their wanton needs and deeds.

There’s a reason why I’m writing about running away from home, and it’s not exactly to encourage. Right now, security, economy and employment in the Maldives is probably the worst it has been in the past few years, and I have to say, unless that your condition at home threatens any of the above adversely, consider staying back and saving up for the move, rather than rush out, flounder at the first reef and bail out.

It’s always rosy and romantic when you look at a battlefield from the comfort of your home, on an HD monitor, but it’s really messy out here. So, unless you’re as anal retentive (yeah…) as we are, writing down everything we spend down to the 50 laari for supari, you need to sit still and wait for the economy to swing back.

Dickly thinking...

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sat, 28 May 2011 09:01:00 +0000

As 2TT and I were walking down Maafaithakurufaanu Magu past Ghiyasuddin School several years ago, we arrived at this particular topic. He asked me how I managed to get so much attention on the streets, and I said,

"Think Penis."
"What?!"
"Think 'penis' and walk around; you'll find that your mind subconsciously sends out a vibe."

It always works. I've had people ogle me with looks filled with blatant longing to have my body naked and oh-so-vulnerable to being ravished. Or something.

I'll tell you, it works with both sexes.

Anyway, just about a fortnight ago, 2TT tells me why he hadn't actually followed my advice, and that he's now really ready to "TP" as we call it now. I don't think I have his permission to speak about the reasons, but I'll have to say, I laughed for about 15 minutes, due to the irony.

I'd also found out how I keep transmitting my "gayness" despite not being a gangly teenager. Apparently, when I lean on things, I do this sort of curve thing with my hips and body.

"But that's because my back muscles are weak! I find it comfortable to stand like this," I said, standing like that. 2TT seemed less than convinced, but there wasn't much I could say about it in my defence.

All in all, I think I should ask him to not be afraid to stand the way you want to, rather than trying to fit into the heteronormative "way" of standing. We'll see how he's managed to think penisly.

Article 62

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Thu, 19 May 2011 10:43:00 +0000

Continuing from Flagging Secrecy, ...

I just saw a post on Hilath.com that stated Article 62 of the constitution of Maldives and its two clauses.

Though the Maldives Constitution is anti-Islamic — in that it tries to “spread Islam by the sword” by prohibiting Maldivians from freely embracing other religions — the Constitution (surprise surprise) protects sexuality rights of Maldivian Citizens, including gay and lesbian and other gender rights, as pointed out to Fandiyaaru Kakuni (he told me) by none other than a gracious Maldivian Judge:

Retention of other rights.
(a) the enumeration of rights and freedoms in this Chapter are guaranteed equally to female and male persons.
(b) the enumeration of rights and freedoms individually in this Chapter shall not be construed to deny or negate other rights retained by the people which are not specified in this Chapter.
Article 62, the Constitution of the Maldives

I'm sorry to say that though heartening, this is simply not possible. Clause (a) specifically details sex and not gender.

Clause (b) is very perplexing. I read that in 2009, made a big hue and cry about it only to be made to understand by two equally authoritative unnameable sources that it is implied from Chapter 1 of the Constitution that nothing against the national religion is permissible. Hence the above-mentioned suggestions to the amendment of the Constitution, which will hopefully make the application of this article a powerful tool.

Meanwhile, I guess the only thing the LGBT society in the Maldives can do is to live in mutual trust and understanding that I've mentioned before.

Flagging secrecy.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Thu, 19 May 2011 10:08:00 +0000

The radiant heat from the corrugated metal roof makes my former apartment swelteringly hot even after sunset. Right after we became a couple though, we found throwing ourselves at each other, ripping off our clothes, pulling the mattress off my bed of matchsticks and onto the white tiles on the floor.

As a table fan with a broken neck hesitantly blew puffs of dusty air over our sweaty bodies, we explored each other and found assets to our liking, thus sealing a bond some time later with an exchange of body fluids. In an entanglement of limbs, we slept in our nakedness, I knowing full well that my brother can burst into the apartment any moment, as he had a spare key to it.

Perhaps I didn't care. Perhaps, I just wanted to let it be known rather decisively that despite my family being in denial, I wanted to tell them that this is who I am, this is what I want out of life for me to be happy.

Yet, I have to consider the fact that my partner isn't out to his highly conservative family. It's important that I do, seeing as having to cope with a murderous family going on a manhunt isn't going to make him any happier, nor me.

Yet, there is no possible way I can stop people who know us to stop flapping their mouths. It's become an inevitable thing, I suppose, that his family will eventually be subject to gossip, following which our happy little microcosm will crumble apart. I've been taking security measures, of course, but it's still a race against time.

Sometimes, I wonder when Maldivians will understand that we let them know of these little facts about us, because we trust them. Sadly, what happens is that women often run around in their circles spreading gossip that would usually start with a breathless, "INGEY....THAHHHH..." that roughly translates into "ZOMGBTW DID YOU KNOW..."

There is a reason why I avoid hanging out with people incapable of handling any thought that goes beyond their need for dramatization and being in the limelight of any conversation at anyone's cost, and that could very well be it.

Well, despite the fact that extremists are a minority in Maldivian society, they still are the most vocal, and backed by legislation that is both crude and widely accepted throughout the nation and the world as obsolete. While a significant section of the population of the Maldives are quite happy being undercover lesbians, gay men, bisexual and transgender, it isn't viable, nor feasible for a pride parade or protests, as it requires major amendments to the Constitution of the Maldives, specifically in articles 2, 9 (d), 10 (a), 10 (b), 16 (a), 16 (b), 16 (c)(6), 17 (a), 18, 27, 34 (a), 36 (c), 59, 67 (g) and so on lest be in danger of imprisonment and most definitely, a very public scandal that culminates in flogging and worse.

Now, I don't want to invoke constitutional rights, such as articles 24 and 33, as I still have this faint hope that people would not run amok with our little happiness and throw it down a well.

Which is why I want to make it expressly clear to these people.

We are not a threat to you, your girlfriend or boyfriend, your husband or wife or children, nor your extended families.
We are not spreading disease.
We earn our pay decently, we don't have any debts and we are self-sufficient, despite inflation.
We do not disturb public peace, we actually go out of our way to be as inoffensive as possible.
We have immense respect for our ageing families, we care about them and we do not offend them.

We never spread gossip about anyone's clandestine activities, and we hope stories of our relationship does not go any further from now on, except of course, the deliberately general information on this blog.

Gay love in Maldives is not all that difficult.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Wed, 11 May 2011 05:07:00 +0000

Over the course of 2011, violence, rape, abuse and every other social disturbance possible has magnified, coming to a point where police have stopped me on the streets three times just because my accessories are too colorful. Well, the first time doesn't count, that was when my bf proposed and we kissed.

It was in a very unfortunate location, mind you, yet I was made to understand later that he just couldn't hold in the vast adoration that he felt for me.

So, as the fumes from the kitchens of the bistros in Carvinal, and the lovely aroma of rubbish wafted over us in the parking lot towards the Artificial Beach, he looked up at me with stars in his beautiful brown eyes and said the magic words.

Oh well.

I looked at him incredulously, and had half a mind to say no and make him do it properly. I paused, thought about future consequences, took a deep breath, a leap of faith and replied.

We had a moment there, where you know, the usual stuff like two worlds colliding and merging into one, and stars being born occurred, but were too deliriously happy to take note of cosmic events.

That's why it was fairly lucky that we just were in each other's arms when police arrived.

"What are you two doing?"
"Um, nothing, just hugging." my bf replied.
"That's so gay and disgusting." The Dhivehi word for homosexuals is extremely offensive to me, yet I kept quiet.
"But he just lost his job, and I was trying to console him." said my bf whose lips were a bit swollen.
"Yeah right. Aren't you ashamed?" By now I was getting really mad. First off, they didn't see us kissing, and then all the insults.

Then the guys turn and ask me in English, for my work permit.

"I don't need a work permit. I am Maldivian. Who do you think you are..." I exploded.

I don't know how long I went on about rights and duties and the law, but I did notice the fact that a police jeep arrived, and the sergeant took my bf aside and questioned him, while the short police guys who first insulted us walked around me and stepped on the pavement, to reach up to my eye level, in vain.

In the end, I offered to lodge a complaint of harassment about the two, and we all exchanged numbers and addresses forthwith (seeing as they desperately wanted to sleep with us.)

Later, as my bf and I were laughing, he told me what he said to the sergeant.

"I just told them you lost your job, and you were depressed and angry, and pointed at you ranting and raving at the policemen, and he glanced at you and understood."

Har har.

But yes, that's how, after a first date, an evening out, few lingering kisses and a whole night of singing songs on the steps of the swimming track, we came all the way to a proposition, acceptance and legal observation.

Happiness

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sun, 08 May 2011 12:19:00 +0000

Happiness is like a butterfly, I'd often thought. The harder you seek it, the more elusive it is, but the moment you stop trying so hard, everything seems to fall into place.

Four months after we'd met, my bf and I had had plenty of arguments, lots of disagreements, and come a long way in finding out who we are. I've come to love him for what he does to me: calm me down when I'm in transports of fury... something no one else can ever do.

Today, now, I know that I can, like Mariah Carey sings, make it through the rain.

After weeks of not being able to be with each other due to logistics and medicals, I lay in his arms last night. I've hugged many men in my life as I slept with them, but I'd always felt a gnawing uncertainty that deep down, under all the militantly gay bravado... is this real?

And last night, I knew. It is. It is the most natural thing in the world to hug him and go to sleep with his warmth next to me, making me sweat wherever my body touches him.

His head was on my left bicep, his left hand in mine. My head was on his neck, as I spooned him from behind, my right arm around his waist, touching his arm. Of course, we move around in sleep. He's fairly acrobatic in his sleep, and I'm not exactly a heavy sleeper. But I love to watch him sleep anyway; his wonderful face in repose is worth every moment I stay up.

My eyes stray towards him every other moment that he's within my sights. It's become a sort of involuntary gesture, so much that people might wonder if I'm suffering from nystagmus.

I guess I've met with what probably is the biggest opportunity to learn something. Because every single day that I've been with him, I'd realized that I learn something new, new about myself, about others, about humanity.

Sigh... happiness... it's a state of mind.

Weirdest thing.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sun, 08 May 2011 12:10:00 +0000

Yesterday, I was halfway to a coffee when I realized I was wearing what could possibly be the most uncomfortable outfit I've worn in years.

Today, I got up early for the first time in a month, threw on some clothes and ran to get on my ride to work. Halfway through I realized that I wasn't wearing socks. Now I'm not known for being absentminded about my appearance. But when so many people started staring at me on the streets, (not in the usual appreciative sense) I looked at my reflection in a window pane, and realized I looked quite a bit like a hobo.

Damn.

I must be really exhausted or something. I wish I could do with 3 hours of sleep.

Malé

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sat, 23 Apr 2011 06:33:00 +0000

We had sex, of course, on the boat. Ishan wanted it that way, quoting the universal line that everyone uses when they feel they’re going to be rejected. Or maybe just being melodramatic.

“I want to remember the last time we have sex.”
I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head. “We really don’t know that, do we?”
“I feel like as if this journey is coming to an end.” Four years ago, I’d have appreciated the poetic nature of that line…

After quite a while, we used the little shower at the back of the boat as we started to cross several islands that lead upto Malé. I felt a growing apprehension as we entered the south harbor and docked at the tetrapods. How do I say goodbye to a bunch of people who’d managed to get through a lot of defense walls that I put around me?

How would I explain a swollen jaw to my friends?

I hugged them all at the boat, and they escorted me to the sea-wall of Malé. I smiled, said a quick goodbye. Ishan turned away, and I shrugged at the captain. “Take care of him for me.”

Back home, I felt really lonely suddenly, as I usually do. It didn’t matter as much. I fell onto my dusty bed and slept till evening. My adopted brother came in from his island, and was puttering around the apartment when I woke up and yawned.

And my jaw came off.

So, I had to go to the doctor with him to get it back on: a painful ordeal that happens once every blue moon. Or twice a month, depending on how manic I am.

* * *

I started on my job a few days later. The guy I picked up from Seahouse kept calling me, except that I just was too busy to have a reprise performance after the first few times. Besides, not many people have pushed my sexual boundaries as much as Ishan did.

A few weeks later 2011 rolled in as depressingly as it could be, bringing with it memories of several break-ups in the season that is supposed to be jolly.

One of my exes decided to kidnap me to his island on New Year’s Day though, and we had fun walking about the island and watching a gay soap series far past midnight. The next morning I came back and spent the whole day in orgy after orgy past another midnight, till I finally couldn’t get it up.

Well, that would make an interesting side story, but let’s not go into the technical details of a record-breaking day of sex. Trade secrets being what they are and all.

It’d been a wonderful 25 years of life for me; I’ve seen life happen over and over again, and I’ll have to say, it had become about as interesting as watching a rather boring movie. I was contemplating the pros and cons of throwing myself away to having sex, mindless sex, even selling myself off as a sex-slave or something, and have my memories erased.

I’d seen redemption happen when I’m at the end of my tether but this time it came to the point where I no longer found any meaning to living. I had several thoughts stray off towards the incessant phone calls from Ishan and his mother, both of who adored me to bits.

It would be a great feeling to having family, I’d thought. Nevertheless, I just didn’t feel that getting into a relationship with Ishan was going to be a balm on my troubled mind, rather, a blam on my troubled jaw.

It all came down to one day - the 3rd of January - I was trying to be religious and praying to God to give me some meaning in life, to give me someone that cares about me like no one else does. I was on Facebook at work (who doesn't?), and chatted with someone who I thought was smarter than the usual, “Hi, how are you, let’s have sex”.

We made coffee plans for later in the evening, and meanwhile, met up with a pregnant friend who’d lost her brother and got divorced by a loser of a husband less than a fortnight after the tragedy.

At Dolphin, we talked about faith. She is an amazing person, let me tell you that. Despite all the tremendous pain she’d had to go through, she shows this amazing faith in life, and I felt myself feeling ashamed for having thought that I’d decided to throw my life away (just) because my ex decided to cheat and break up with me, that my family swindled me out of my life savings, that I’d made enemies strong enough to get me butchered and that I’d been unemployed and starving for more than 6 months.

I talked about my life and mentioned the faith I derive from praying, and we sort of agreed that I'd find someone to share my life with, that there is redemption for those who have a good heart.

Ha.

And then I discovered that I didn’t save the guy’s number, so I ran back to office, and to my relief, he was online. We swapped numbers, and pretty soon, I found myself getting apprehensive all over again, standing below Seahouse.

And then he calls and walks up to me with a smile on his face.

Goodbyes

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 06:47:00 +0000

We walked in silence, under the shades of the Indian tulip trees and waving palms, till we reached the jetty. The captain gave me a wry smile a couple of times, which I returned with a shrug. Ishan and the other guy got the boat ready for departure while I made small talk with the captain.

"So, what did you do on the island?"
"Oh, nothing much. I thought I'd leave you two alone."
"Er, yeah." I smiled.
"What's that bruise on your jaw?"
"Um, what bruise?"
"Whoa... what happened?"

Things didn't look very happening suddenly. It was like as if a cold draft was blowing through. Maybe that's because the covers were up from the boat.

He called Ishan over and grilled him about it, and he looked positively aghast. I got the feeling that Ishan didn't really talk about this with them, and I didn't want to be victimized, so I made to turn and sit at the back.

"You come back here!" said the captain. "Why didn't you fight back?"
"I didn't want to hurt him."
"Well, that sure is stupid of you!"
"I know."

Yeah, I can be infuriating, when I want to be. He seemed to go into conniptions for a while, and as soon as the engines started up and we were out of the harbor, Ishan climbed up on the roof.

I felt bad. I mean, seriously, I cared about him. I climbed up after him, and sat beside him.

"Ishan, why are you sitting out in the sun?" It helps to start with some sort of matter-of-fact comment, with him. There was no answer from the wind-tossed mass of curls that was his head.

I looked closely. His face was an open mouthed horror mask, and tears were dripping thick and fast from his eyes, and my tummy dropped a thousand feet. So, basically, my opening remark wasn't really of any help.

Sadly.

I hugged him and stroked his back for a while while he sobbed into my shoulder. I've never seen anything like him in my life, really. For one, boat crews are always a little obnoxious and body-conscious, and Ishan was anything but. He has this flowing grace about him that one could gladly watch without even passing eyes on the beautiful Maldivian seascape flowing past the boat.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"
"Don't go, please." came a heart-rending reply in a broken voice.

Sigh.

After a while, he calmed down enough to actually listen to me and climb back down. We sat on the back seat, while the captain kept throwing dirty looks at Ishan.

I kissed him then. He pushed me off and said, "Don't. It'll just hurt you more", referring to my jaw.
"I don't care."
"I'm sorry!" He suddenly bawled. Well, that was nice. I mean, I rarely ever do get an apology from people who hurt me.
"It's okay." It's always okay, even when it's not.

He kissed me then, a long, deep fervent kiss that sort of made our hearts more audible than the roar of the engines just 5 feet away.

The fight.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 07:26:00 +0000

I'll always be partial to boats. I would know every nook and cranny of a Gulf Craft that would be comfortable to pound into someone, or be pounded into.

The next day we were supposed to leave. He clung onto me the night before, not unlike an angry monkey. Hair disheveled, his liquid eyes above jutting cheekbones that formed a dam, and a tiny lake of tears that refused to tumble. I didn't know what do say to make him feel better.

"How can we be in a relationship, if you're going to cry like this every time we have to part?"

It was mean of me to say that, but it's true. It didn't stop him from hitting me so hard I could feel the welt rise on my cheek. And I couldn't very well budge an inch, seeing as he was straddling my chest, with my arms under his muscular legs.

"I'm sorry..."

He still glowered at me. And threw in a couple more punches on my jaw that dislocates with a healthy sneeze. It didn't this time though, I started to bleed from my mouth. I didn't fight back. I didn't want to excite him even more. And even if I didn't love him, I really adored him, and cared about him.

"I'm sorry!" I mumbled.

Sigh... I wondered if there was a future with him. Till then, I am someone who starts taking distance when things start to wilt in a relationship. And by then I needed about a couple of atolls of distance from him.

Yeah I know it'd hurt me as much as it would hurt him. But I'd rather never fall in love as much as I did in January of '10, with disastrous consequences.

It was 3 am when he finally fell asleep. I drew the covers on him, and left the room in the only pair of boxers I had, to get a drink of water, have some cloves to numb my mouth and sit on the joalifathi. The pain had closed my sympathy gland quite effectively, and all I could do was to feel angry about it. But I didn't explode.

Unfortunately for me, his mom was there. I smiled at her, and sat down. She smiled back, thankfully. At least I had an ally.

"So, you're leaving tomorrow." I started to reply and she cut me off. "What's that on your cheek?!" I was so hoping that the light from the single bulb there would be too dim for her to notice, except that she's myopic, unlike my mother, who wouldn't know even if I had a gaping wound with blood gushing out of it, from nearby.

"Erm..."
"He hit you?"
"I... uh." How do you tell your "boyfriend's" mother that you two were in a fight?
"Was that all the noise about?" Now that was embarrassing.
"I'm sorry", I said for the third time that day.
"What for? Don't be! Wait, let me get some ice! Wait till he gets up, he's going to hear from me!"
She scurried off before I could say anything. I could feel something burning inside, fighting to get out. Five minutes later, she came limping with a towel wrapped around some ice, and applied it on my jaw, mumbling about how irresponsible Ishan was.

And that was when I felt it happen.

All that stress, the emotions, it all came out in a silent stream of quiet gasps. I am known to weep aloud most of the times, but when I'm really depressed, it just tumbles out like a waterfall and makes me feel hollow inside.

And she noticed that too. Then, for the first time, I think, an authority figure asked me, "What do you want to do?" And at that state, I really didn't have much to say except the usual, "I want to die..."

Bah. Why do people expect me to be rational when I'm at the breaking point?

Next morning, I woke up late. I'd crawled under the sheets and hugged Ishan's tiny form for a while. His usually serene sleeping face was covered with an angry frown, and I felt sorry for him.

He was there wiping my face with tear stained cheeks. I'd bled overnight and some of it was on the pillows and on my face.

I smiled at him, and hugged him. I don't forgive people just like that, but with him, I felt responsible, somehow. I know, I know. My shrink told me to not feel guilt for what others do to influence me. But then... that's me.

He burst into tears. And wept, through our shower, through breakfast while his mother scolded him, up until it was time for us to leave, which was when I took him aside into his bedroom, sat him down and asked him to stop crying, and stop trying so hard to make me fall in love.

"It's not like as if it's goodbye forever. You can always, always call me on the phone, and I promise to answer. And besides, I need some time, to get to fall in love with you, dho, Ishan." I did say a great many things, and one of them must have done the trick because he finally sighed and regained his composure.

So I said goodbye to his mom, who gave me a pack of hadhiyaa, to have on the way. I hugged her, and we left her standing sadly in her yard.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 06:45:00 +0000

“I… I don’t know what to say, Ishan… I don’t know if I like you that way. I wasn’t exactly looking for love when you walked up to me that night. I was probably lonely.”

“I know. But isn’t my companionship enough for you? Don’t you have more than enough here? Don’t you love this place? Don’t you find happiness with my mother? Can’t you wait, and meet up with my cousins?”

“But I…”

He kissed me then. We kissed for a while, and I could feel a smug smile on his face. ‘Well, I told him,’ I thought.

It was getting late in the night, and I started to get visions of snuggling up under the covers of his bed. Not that I had sex in mind. I was tired after a whole day of being under emotional war. The week before Ishan took me away, I had a fierce fight with one of my friends, and it hurt me a lot. Hence the ignorance of calls and stuff.

In retrospect, I wish I didn’t answer his call ever.

“Then again,” I thought, while his feet were on my shoulders, and his hair in my fingers. He stops me, every now and then. He knows that I’m getting close, and we change places. He doesn’t tire of riding me anytime soon, and I love to have him pound into me.

After a while though, we blew our loads off. I could feel his dick throb inside, filling me up with his spunk, and I came spontaneously, spreading my thick mayo-like paste in our tummy sandwich.

His glorious curls were all on my chest, as he listened to my breath. He loves doing that, for some reason. I on the other hand, love to play with his curls. He fell asleep after a while, and I put him on the bed and hit the shower, before clambering on beside him and falling asleep.

It was afternoon when I woke up to an empty bed. I had a call from an employer, who insisted that they wanted to hire me, but had some problems at their workplace they needed to solve first, so I dazedly mumbled yes and hung up.

Then I woke up, and realized I needed to go back home, immediately. It's been fun, and happy... and full of action, but I couldn't just live my life like this. I mean, even if Ishan and I did get into a relationship, he'd be away for a long time, and I'm sure I wouldn't last a week without sex.

I washed my face and stumbled out. I could hear Ishan and the boat crew talking outside on the joalifathi... and decided to eavesdrop.

"The fishing was good this time. Pity your guy couldn't catch any."
"Oh, well, he's good in everything else." Ishan defended me.
"Yeah well. He's not your usual type eh. Kind of psycho to blow you off like that huh? Can't take the rejection?"
"Ha ha. We'll see."

Why does it come down to that all the time? I mean, can't a guy just fuck, pick up and leave? I don't like to be high-jacked with love. If that makes me a psycho, sure, I am.

His mom was in the kitchen, and we talked again. She wanted me to stay on the island and live with her, and I started to feel overwhelmed. I told her about the phone-call, and she looked sad.

"I have to go, you know... I can't just live on an island and do nothing."

Life, as of April 2011.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 08:01:00 +0000

I'm still not done writing about Ishan. A lot of things happened since last December... things that involve many, many people.

I'm in a very happy relationship now. In life, very rarely do I feel confident enough to say content, and yes, I am. We spend nearly every waking moment together, sitting beside each other. His presence is like Prozac that calms down the maelstrom in my mind.

His subtle fragrance is like an expensive attar on my skin.

Yeah, we've had tough times, several battles of getting to know each other. There was a moment when life was called to question, and it was all about maturing, and not running away with problems, and not listening to inner demons.

And we grow, together, in so many different ways. He is my pride and joy, to say the least. And then, his mom and I have a really good rapport. I'm learning a lot about him, and I hope he does, about me too. After all, there is a person behind the pixels exuding love and warmth.

Well, I gotta go. Gonna have lunch with him!

Under the vines, below the sky.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

I got on my feet and told his mother that I needed some fresh air. She looked up with what seemed to be a puzzled expression.

It was sun-down when Ishan tapped on my shoulder. It's really not possible to hide on an inhabited island, and people would know where the tall guy walked.

"Hey, what's up... did Mom say anything to upset you?"
"No... I... I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"I don't think I feel the same way as you do about me."
"Aah... Mom..."
"She said that..."
"Never mind what she said. She's a bit selfish sometimes."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know. She wants to see me happy."

We sat on the beach for a while, riding the silences between the waves. The Milky Way glittered like thousands of diamonds across the night sky.

"Do you?"

I didn't answer. He's a nice guy. One of those flawless guys that probably dropped from the heavens above. His face shone with thousands of fleeting gleaming emotions. I glanced at him, he was looking at me all this time.

He leaned over and kissed me, slowly, and I savored the salty sweetness of his mouth. His skin smelled glorious, like a sun-warmed Calvin Klein model, and my mind shut down. I don't open up to people who I just can't connect, and Ishan and I didn't connect.

'What do I do,' I thought, much later. We'd walked back to his place, and had a slightly awkward dinner full of anxious looks and silences. His mother hovered over me like as if I might run away in the dead of the night. Really, I mean, this is a one-night-stand taken too far.

Technically, I can't tell his mother that though. 'I'm sorry, I was just goofing around, and your son is a major whore by the way, wink wink' does sound a lot more like me, but that probably wasn't a wise thing to say, seeing as there were several empty miles of ocean between me and my bed.

After dinner, we sat out on the joalifathi. Ishan was going on and on about something, while I really needed to smoke. However, I was being extremely polite, so I didn't say anything.

To major exasperation, Ishan lit up, right in front of his mother. I remember feeling envy many times in my life, but really, this was pushing it. She's happy about her son's sexuality, she's okay with him smoking... what else? I began to smell a rat. Like as if this couldn't be real. Or paranoia. Believe me, this sort of thing would turn any sane person paranoid.

And I'm hardly sane.

After a few polite nods, affirmations, and laughs timed at the right moment, I was feeling drained. His mom left us under the vines, below the sky.

"I can't believe all this, Ishan. These past days... they've been wonderful. But all this is so unreal. It's like as if it's a dream come true. Like all my wishes, they've come true. Yet, it's so... so strange. I don't feel like as if it's really happening. Is this a dream? For a Maldivian mother to accept a gay son so openly... I know you've had a tough life... she told me a lot, things that you've not told me, things you've lied about. I'm sorry about your father."

Yeah, I do ramble (if you haven't noticed after 225 posts on this blog). It's worse when I'm overwhelmed.

At the moment, though, he looked overwhelmed. I was genuinely sorry. I tend to overwhelm people. [My boyfriend can attest to that.] And, well, writing this down in English sort of takes the edge off most of the things I'd said. Things like, "Miee huvafen eh tha?" is just too... melodramatic and rude to be used in casual conversation with someone who has proposed to you.

Well, he looked at me with those damning eyes and said, "But it's all true."

Yeah, so.

noreply@blogger.com (Warm Pixels) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 09:58:00 +0000

So, Ishan left to gather firewood, while I cleared up the dishes with his mom.

[Now believe me, this is the part which caused me to stop considering Ishan as a potential love interest. I have difficulty believing it even now.]

"Would you like to have some more bondibai?" she said. [That's not it.]
"No, thank you, I'm full", I lied. There's always, always room for more dessert.
"Well, take the foa-thabah from the cupboard and let's chat on the Joalifathi."

So we sat under the glorious vine of passion fruit, with a couple of flowers and thousands of buds. I smiled, and stretched, enjoying the beauty of nature.

"He's a nice guy, isn't he?"
"Um, yes."
"Do you like him?"
"He's a nice friend."
"Yeah. He rarely ever finds good friends like you, though. People use him, for money and stuff. He's not that intelligent." She suddenly burst into speech. What stuck in my mind was, "stuff."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah," she went on. "After his father passed away, he lost a lot of hope in life."
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't be. His father wasn't exactly very lovable. But Ishan loved him, despite a lot of pain and suffering he was put through. His father flies into rages a lot.You remind me of him in so many ways," she said, looking at me. "You look so much like him... he used to be very polite too."

Lady, you ain't seen nothin' yet, I thought. Thankfully, I was so insulted with the resemblance comment (I've had a boyfriend who actually deluded himself to think I was his ex) that I quite forgot to go into giggles about the politeness comment.

I looked at her, and saw the beautiful lines around her hazel eyes, furrow-less brow and the sad smile of hers that so reminded me of my mother. I sat there, lost in sad memories for a while. It wasn't an awkward silence though, because I think she was in her thoughts as well.

"So, tell me, what do you plan to do with life?"
"I don't really know. My life isn't exactly perfect, and this year really was bad for me." I told her all the shit that had happened in my life, about how people I love hurt me so much.

"Why don't you come here and stay with us? I bet you can get work here, something, at least, even if it doesn't pay as much."

I was looking up through the vines at the white clouds floating past, and some tears rolled out of the corners of my eyes. It was a hard year, and I'd grieved for the mind numbing losses, but it just wasn't enough. I guess somewhere I still had hope that things would go back to the way they were.

Even the slightest action of reaching out to me makes me cry.

"It's okay," she said, and wiped the tears away with a work-roughened hand. "Ishan loves you. I love you."

I sat up, dumbfounded. It suddenly got a lot darker, and colder.

"I know about it. About him and you." She smiled, wistfully. "His dad used to abuse him, from childhood, till the day he died."
"But why didn't you stop him?"
"How could I? He hurt me a lot too. He nearly broke my back with a heavy pestle. Hence the limp."

I didn't know what to say. I can't very well ask her to stop him from being gay. But it sure as hell freaked me out how she was saying it all so matter-of-factly.

I don't know how long we sat there, but we did. I in stunned silence, she quietly humming to herself and cleaning rice.

"So, you know that he likes boys?"
"Yeah. I don't want to stop him. It's the only thing that gives him the only pleasure. He doesn't want to be with any girls, for some reason. You'd know that better," she said with a laugh.

Ishan walks in at that moment, with an armload of wood. I look at him blankly, he smiles and walks to the kitchen.

"Love him", his mother said. "He's worth it."