So we had hot pot on New Years. For those unacquainted with this Chinese tradition, it involves boiling pots of water everywhere, many sets of chopsticks, intricately-woven, small, wire food-baskets with handles, fish, chicken, beef, shrimp, shrimp balls, shrimp paste, noodles, fun see, choy, other greens, tofu, dumplings, hot sauce, soy suace, curry sauce, and I’m sure I’m leaving something out.
Oh–tons of family and family friends. We gather round the canned butane powered hot pots, dipping, prodding, picking, sipping, steeping, dropping, talking, yelling, screaming, biting, passing–there’s action everywhere. Conversation is fast-paced and often ruthless in its intentions.
So how’s college, my relatives ask, and I choose to give them the good-natured, optimistic response. Where’s the girlfriend, some ask. That’s your next big project. Or at least it should be, they claim. I just smile and nod to dispel any notions that I’m with a girl. Damn, I’m not even with a guy! (yet.)
These are the moments where I can feel my heart sinking into my stomach. My body crumples, my defenses fall, my thoughts drop. I am resigned. I cannot win. I cannot respond in a way that would stop these inquiries into my personal life, because these are the types of questions that family ask. Nor can I think of a way to tell them the reality of the situation. That I, Mackenzie Lee, am gay. That I will never have a girlfriend. That I will fail, as the first grandson of both sets of grandparents, to produce a natual born heir to the Lee clan.
I understand the anthropological importance behind passing down a name, for it is more than just a sound. It contains elements of belonging, history, and masculinity.
But why do I accept this importance so readily? Maybe it has to do with the fact that family has been the most constant thing in my life. I’m not saying that the type of relationship that I have with my family is ideal, or even close to ideal, which it is not, but I would like to say that the constancy of having family around has been comforting.
Nothing has been constant, really. I’ve passed from infant to toddler, to young teenager, to young adult. I’ve moved around constantly. I’ve changed my thinking and the way that I perceive things. I’ve never really had friends for more than a year. As such, I’ve really given up on thinking that any large immutability exists in this world as I perceive it, and have resigned to accept change.
Speaking of change, I hate carrying change around in my wallet. It makes the wallet unberably thick and bulky which in turn juts out my pockets. But have you ever thought about the musicality of coins? The jingling, the rolling sounds, the whiz and whir of coins steadily circling to the bottom of the round donation receptacle make coins better than bills in terms of sound. I used to grab the coins right before they fell into the bottom of the recpetacle so that I could repeat the phenomena to watch and hear it over and over again.
Speaking of spending, I recently bought a pair of Vans with three velcro straps and white stiching on black cloth. And a pair of brown, tan, and white Puma sneakers. And a pair of Lucky jeans that were half off, yet still pricey. WHY? Who am I trying to impress? Does it really matter?
Not in the boyfriend department. I’ve tried that already during this past quarter.
Me? Hell no. I’ve been too disappointed by “me” lately.
You? Don’t know you, really.
Maybe I like pretty things. And then I want pretty things. It’s actually quite repulsive when you think about it. I feel disgusted.
Is it better to achieve and attain beautiful things through art, music, dance, or literature? Why not fashion? Food? Does the fact that you have to pay for the last two diminish their beauty? No, because I have to pay for the first four as well. So, is this my justification for paying $50 for the Vans, $60 for the Puma’s, and $80 for the Lucky jeans?
No. Because I feel that I cannot derive the same amount of satisfaction through buying a piece of clothing than reading a deliciously good book. Or can I? Or is it the quality and type of satisfaction that I should be concerned about? What if I cannot really complete my satisfaction without attempting to attain all six of these beautiful things?
Beauty. It’s all realtive. I’ve had more time over break, and, shamefully, I’ve been spending a lot more time looking at myself in the mirror. (Wouldn’t a narcissist justify this act by saying that he was trying to get more in touch with himself, and that the first step was to memorize and acquaint himself with his physignomy?) God, I’m ugly, I think as I look in the mirror. I compare myself to all of the impossibly beautiful movie stars that I have seen in the many films that I have seen over break. Juxtaposition of my picture next to Jesse Metcalfe’s would be disastrous. Beauty and its dangerously destructive relativity destroyed me. And of course I’m talking about the physical beauty here.
Enough. I’m going to eat more blueberry boy bait. Yes, it’s a baked good. No, there’s no secret ingredient, and there’s no guarantee that you can snag a guy with it. I sure as hell did not see any disclaimer that accompanied the recipe.
