We spent the most part of our weekend gardening. Spring in Calgary is a “transformative” time, which means chaotic, unpredictable, and ever changing. I usually transplant my seedlings on the May long weekend, which frosted and hailed this year. As we got everything in the garden bed, and I sat in front of my hubby’s signature grilled steaks, his way of announcing the summer is here and I can expect better cooking from him, I couldn’t help but feeling grateful for the life we are leading.
I’ll let you in a secret. Every year since moving to Canada, after a few months working with depression and therapy, I had three prayers every morning. Over time, not sure when, the three prayers have turned into three thanks
- I’m grateful to be in a country (Canada) where I can be who I am, that people see me and appreciate me for the person that I am.
- I’m grateful to be with someone who sees me and loves me for who I am, not despite but because.
- I’m grateful to work and volunteer in places where I can be who I am authentically and use my skills and experience, and I get recognized and rewarded for my contribution.
I know. Simple stuffs. But also big stuff. Also rather vague. I guess the through-line to “what makes me happy” in life is just simply “be who I am” and be ok with that.
Some days I’m waffling between feeling incredibly grateful for how lucky I am and getting paralyzed with the anxiety that all these amazing things will be taken from me.
Reading “The migrant rain falls in reverse” by Vinh Nguyen feels achingly familiar and therapeutic. We had many parallels, and the stories he weaved of himself, a queer, brown, Vietnamese refugee who is too afraid to take up space and claim happiness because everything could disappear in a moment notice, resonated with me. I know that feeling well. I know how it feels to grow up in post war Vietnam, my grandfather went to re-education camp, two of my uncles boat people themselves, one of my uncles failed to escape and was imprisoned. I know what it was like to arrive in Calgary in the snowy day of winter. I know the feeling of “I don’t want to belong to somewhere. I want somewhere to belong to me”
Every time I garden, I often think of what my good friend in Singapore told me few years ago “Woah, you so uncle now ah?” I chuckled. Because it’s true. It’s even more true now than before. Crossing over to 40s seems like a big profound thing, but it’s also a weird mundane thing. I’m happy with it (I think). I’m uncomfortable in its space. But I’m reminded that growth and comfort do not coexist.
Here’s a real conversation with a gay friend 10-year younger than me
“When you’re in your 40s like me, you’ll need all the help you can get to be relevant in our community.”
“Calm down, you’ve been 40 for like a month. You’re not old, you’re a daddy now. Plus, you’re still hot and most of my friends want to be with a hot daddy”
How did this happen? This aging thing? This daddy thing? (Also I kept getting hit on by 30-year-olds on top of the usual old pervs) Maybe I’m entering my Pedro era (not the Clooney years. I prefer Pedro Pascal over Clooney any days. Latino. Hot. Kind. Trans-ally) He just celebrated his 50th birthday recently. If that’s any indication, it gives me hope for my next 10 years. Anyways enough about Pedro Pascal. I guess what I’m saying is I’m happy and excited about my 40s. My 30s were fucking awesome. And to a certain extent, my anxiety was driven from the fact that I’m afraid my 40s is just gonna be pale in comparison
As I’m writing this, I’m standing in a condo in the heart of downtown Toronto (I’m here for a conference). I wonder often about the “parallel life” and “what could have been” of I have taken a different path. I often wrote about the “straight married man in Asia” path. But there’s another path I often ponder about. When I graduated in Calgary I thought about moving to Toronto or Vancouver: bigger city, less conservative government, more tech and finance companies, more vibrant queer spaces and queer community. Then I met a boy and did the stupid things people do for love.
Sometimes the stupidest things in people eye’s that you can do bring you happiness in a bizarre way that you can only get with hindsight. Moving across the globe with 3 suitcases in the middle of winter was stupid. Dating a not-out Conservative working for the government was stupid. Changing job in the middle of the pandemic was stupid. Encouraging your hubby to stay and work for a politician you dislike was stupid. Not moving and staying in Calgary, again, for love, was stupid. Quitting a stable job in finance without another one line up was stupid. Getting an 8-week-old puppy before Christmas and before a 3-week trip and a massive January layoff was stupid. I don’t know if I will have courage to do the same things if given the choice. But I can say with confidence, is the fact that all these “stupid” decisions have led me here today, to the three prayers of gratefulness in the morning.
If I have a chance to go back in time and meet the 18-year-old boy with a one way ticket to Singapore, or meet the 20-year-old young man on his way to Philadelphia in the middle of winter, or the 27-year-old with his life in 3 suit cases arriving in Calgary, I want to thank them all. I want to thank them for their courage, for their fear, and for their resilience and stupid persistence in the hope that better was possible and better was on the horizon.
Better is here now. Here now is good. I’m grateful.
P.S: I promise you I won’t bore you with another post about me being 40 years old again. I might occasionally mention it if some hot 30-year-old hit on me again (a man gotta brag when he feels you, you know) but it won’t be this dull old-man positive self taught routine again.
Pace Fine Arts 