I attended church service on Sunday the 23^rd of Dec, probably because I didn want my folks nagging about what a pagan Ie become. After a full year without a proper service (a one off hardcore 17^th century Baptist service in Edinburgh notwithstanding, it was with my parents again) I suppose I was waiting for that familiar sense of elcome home?which never came. Somehow Ie been numb to everything since my eath? and I really wish I didn go for it (aside from the fact that I received a nice present from Maddy, thank you!) The Pastor just had to bring up the whole gay issue for some reason or another, but frankly his reasoning doesn hold any water. He preaches that omosexuality is a sin because in a homosexual act, there is no fruit of the seed.?This relates to the fundamental argument that heterosexual sex is orrect?because it is procreative, whereas homosexual sex is not. A-duh, no brainer there.

But hang on a second; this is not a Catholic church which is against contraception within marriage. And if oral sex between a husband and a wife is procreative, youe seriously doing it the wrong way. An no, I so do not believe that heterosexual couples do not have sex for the pleasure of it. Anyone who makes contrary claims is either a virgin or just in a profound state of denial. Then there was the od made Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve? pun line which is about as stale as the manna from the Old Testament. (Oh yes, but it makes the audience laugh every time doesn it, milking their humor as a sense of self-assurance). But the "God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve" interpretative approach rises or falls on the plausibility of the claim that complementarily of the sexes is built into the structure of creation by God in a way that mandates exclusive heterosexual monogamy as the sole moral expression of sexual relationships. The thing is there are so many Bible study sessions by the church expounding the historical, Greek, Hebrew traditions but as soon as homosexuality comes into the picture, it is suddenly such a taboo to even look into it. Well for those who care to, here a link that shows both sides of the argument in historical and Greek contexts : http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G1-153025992.html

Then there was the tradition of asking God for 3 things at the end of this year-end service. Nothing wrong with tradition, and I all for people faiths if that what they want. But hindsight has a way of being a mirror of how things are instead of all the colourful hopes that are so easy to project as the uture? I remember 2006 was supposed to be he year of acceleration?and 2007 was he year of new beginnings? I still remember quite a few of the things I asked god for those years, and none of them came to pass. Absolutely none. In fact 2005 for me turned out to be he year of Heartache? 2006 was he year of uncertainty? and 2007 is most definitely he year of great disappointment? Well, if Tarot cards are anything to be believed, I suppose the card of eath?also signifies ew beginnings? Whatever, I didn bother asking for anything this year. No point asking for something that won happen anyway. Once, bitten, thrice shy.

I wish I had never sat under such teaching, all those youth services where they used to preach how same-sex love is abhorrent, wrong, something to be ashamed of. I cannot blame myself for sitting there, because I did not know better at the time. But I also ask myself if it makes any sense, or if it even makes things easier for me to blame the church for all their brain washing. The answer, logically, is no, but I will not deny that there is a deep sense of resentment towards it. Why? Because back when I met the love of my life I was so adamant, so deeply ingrained in the belief that I was somehow afflicted by this roblem?(as the pastor so generously called it on Sunday) that everything I did was an attempt to elieve right? I honestly believed that I was orn?heterosexual, that true love and intimacy annot?exist between two men, that god was going to ave? me from myself. I never fit in with any group / crowd / circle in church, and I always knew I was different, but I kept hoping / praying / believing that n time?god would make things change. I never wanted to be a gay man, not even admit that I was (after all ight believing equates right living? no?) so just for those of you who have been there since that time, that was why I went for all those services, those camps, those eliverance sessions? All they ever did was to build up the lies in me.

And that is why when the love of my life asked me to choose between staying in Singapore with him, and continuing my studies in London, it was not even a mental choice. Why should I stay and ive a lie? as the church would put it, when god was going to make me a istory maker? And every single day since I lost him, when the weather falls to winter and the nights are long, when the wind blows sharp and when the hours drag on and I toiling, I kept telling myself that I did the right thing. I kept telling myself that god has a plan for me, plans to prosper me, that it would all pay off, that I would be right in the end. Just finish my degree and get on with life. How could I possibly fail? In my mind I kept replaying the verses that ope does not disappoint?

Well, tough.

Can anyone even begin to understand now, how much was lost, on that day. Even if god can understand he can fix it. Like my therapist said,  can give you pills and more sessions but I can give the Press Show back to you, there nothing that can be done to turn back time.?That was when it really hit home: there is nothing anyone can do. This really is something god cannot even begin to fix. What can he do? Turn back time? So many chances and sacrifices, and all for nothing.

So what happened next in London? Well I was started on a course of anti-depressants, saw therapists, buried my life in my new pattern cutting course. When I went home I just stay up all night because I didn want to fall asleep and wake up the next day to the disappointment ?I had so many dreams and times I woke up thinking it was the day I go down and see my name on that list. Fatigue finally claimed me. On the weekends I go out with a few friends to the bars, the clubs sometime, but all I ever wanted was the Love I had lost all those years ago. I saw George Michael, the first concert played at the new Wembley Arena, and teared when he performed esus To A Child? the song he and I once shared.

Sometime in July my brother who lives in Sydney gave me a call, which went to voice mail and I received on a Sunday morning. It told me to call home. One thing I absolutely fear and dread (and I believe I right to say anyone who lives overseas from their families would experience this) is the Call. See, I had an uncle, my mum brother who was about 70+ years old and lived by himself as sort of a hermit. And every Sunday my mum and my aunt (her sister) would visit him and bring him groceries, spend some time with him just to see how he is. That Sunday afternoon they went by his place and nobody opened the door when they knocked. They also noticed that the windows to the corridor were open, which is something he doesn normally do when he home. Long story short, they manage to open the door and there was a 3 day old corpse, black from semi-decomposition lying in the room covered with blood.

Not something 2 women in their late 50 would call a walk in the park on a Sunday.

Turns out he had gotten out of the shower, fallen over and basically bled to death because nobody was there to help him. Even the neighbours didn notice the putrid smell from 3 days of decomposition. Suddenly there are so many thought that just shoot through one brain when you hear of things like this, mortality being amongst the prime issues but also the sense of complete helplessness living 11,000+ kilometers from home and further separated by 9 hours of time difference. Really made me sit up and think to myself: What am I doing here, why am I here, and where am I going? I used to know the answers to those questions but I don think theye anything more than rhetoricals now.

And as the new academic year started I watched people from my B(A) course come back with scholarships, from Armani, the British Fashion Council, their respective countries, to start the prestigious M(A) course in fashion. I obviously couldn apply for any of these, being an international student and the fucking Singapore government isn willing to give a proper sponsorship even to its own. But hey, what do I read in the news? A certain Versace member who coasted her way through the Marketing course (it wasn even the highly sought-after womenswear course, I like to make it clear, and she didn cut or sew a single fucking stitch on her sad excuse for a graduate collection, which was all made for her in Italy, no less) is suddenly having her debut label designed, manufactured and distributed by none of than the Link, here in Singapore. I so sick of this pathetic little island self-inflicted inferiority complex that makes them lick the shit hole of every famous foreigner.

Furthermore I had to put on a brave mask every time I stepped into college. h how come youe not doing the M(A)?? id you hear so-and-so got a job at <big design house name here>? hy don you apply for sponsorship?? ave you found a job yet??Let face the hard facts: Nobody is rushing out to hire a B(A) design graduate when there are so many better trained M(A) graduates out there, and even when they did pick B(A) ones to hire for proper design jobs, they all came from the list that made the Press Show. Tough, but that reality, not some fucked-up pipe dream that somehow things are going to get rosier. After a while, I became really good and even had a mental FAQ sounding like one of those automated machines. Didn really matter since I was becoming number with every passing day.

On Sunday night I went to St. James Powerhouse for the ABULOUS?party. I don do drugs or smoke and rarely even drink but hell did I dance. I had so much fun dancing both by myself and with my friends, all the hot sexy Asian men, all the cute army boys, the fantastic music. Someone will sneer that I just trying to drown my sorrows and tell myself I happy in places like that but honestly I asked myself, am I having fun being true to myself and the answer is a resounding yes. I over trying to pretend to fit into the church, pretending who I am, making useless prayers. Still don know where I going from this limbo or what is going to happen but for the first time in my life I find that somehow liberating: the indifference, the fact that I no longer give a damn. I don know if Il update this weblog anymore, as all it seems to do now is serve as a reminder of what a religious fool I used to be. But I felt like I owed the few people who read it an explanation of sorts.

So here is the end of a chapter of my life.