The idea of meeting friends is to chill out. It was, the last time I checked. What do you do, however, when you bump into friends with whom a meeting inevitably means a descent to Gay Blabbering one-on-one? A bit irritating at times. Funny at others, but a bit irritating at times.
Two ways of looking at it. Like the situation a month or so back, when Flatmate said that I've completely allowed the gay part of my life to overshadow me. I retorted, that wasn't true, and even if it were, it was justified. All that ended ages ago, a lot of conversations with a lot of friends went into all that, and yadayada. It all came back however, the other day, in a conversation with Friend X, when he said he needed to maintain a fair degree of distance from one of the people he's out to. The reason? It was clear that To-be Distanced Friend could not get beyond X's homosexuality.
"It's as if he can't get beyond the fact that I think men are cute, and not women," X said, sipping coffee at his place.
I was examining his dark blue linen curtains and smiled, and said I knew what he was saying. I'd been down that road myself, and was still walking along, signposts and all.
"I mean," X struggled to explain, "It's not that I don't appreciate with how nice he is about the whole gay thing .... but it's not COMPLETELY who I am!"
Objectification. Reductionism. Words I do not understand. Words that some artistic or pretentious artistic friends wish I did, but that's another matter altogether. Closetalk is gay. Closetalk is not only gay, however. Drawing lines possibly never seemed so... important, before.
And then, there was Friend Y, who recently came out to his brother's girlfriend, who's quite an established fag hag in her own right, and he's come to the horrible conclusion that he's just become her latest 'project'.
I have a lot of coffee conversations with these people, it seems, for the other day, Y put his feet up in the coffee couch, and moaned about how she was asking him insistent questions about his love life (or lack of it), sex life (or lack of it), and continuously asking him out to watch arty-farty plays, because "...you're gay and clever, so I'm sure you'll love it, Y!..." I burst out laughing at Y's bosom-breaking groan, at the end of his story.
Extremes, really. The world at large knows of how homosexuals are not accepted in mainstream society. Little does it know, that where there is acceptance, there is often a nasty habit of obssessive occupation. Perhaps, Flatmate was right, after all.
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