“Status quo, you know, is Latin for ‘the mess we’re in’.”
– Ronald Reagan, (1911-2004), the 40th president of the United States from 1981 to 1989.
Several Christmases ago, I introduced my girlfriend to my family, and it was one of the greatest and most meaningful gifts I ever gave to myself. It was the gift that allowed me to assert my presence and be seen by the people whom I deeply care about in the fullness of myself. It was the gift of bringing my worlds into collision to become one. Ultimately, it was the gift that enabled me to live in truth and to walk in freedom.
My extended family has developed the tradition of gathering to celebrate Christmas the week before so that everyone can be home with the core family on the actual day. This also has the benefit of allowing people to travel when the roads and airports are less crowded and to go out to activities together when bars, restaurants and entertainment venues are still open.
The celebration location floats around from one family member to another family member. That year, I hosted it for the first time in my humble New York City apartment, the second time I had ever hosted. Back then, it was too expensive to ask the whole family to travel to the States too often, especially at the start of my Goldman Sachs career.
I decided that if my family was coming here, they were going to meet the person I was dating. It was as simple as that.
However, the situation wasn’t quite straightforward. I had never had the sense that both families were receptive to marrying someone outside our faith. I could see the trains colliding from the moment I brought up the idea of matching together.
My father, in particular, wasn’t happy about “O Clone,” the short story I wrote for the campus newspaper back in 2012. That was the piece where I told everyone who I am, and how I finally consider faith to be “an individual pursuit and not succumb to a guilt trip imposed by family”. I suggested that if we lack the courage to do this, it’s probably best that we go back to the admonition of generations past and “stick to our kind”.
My mother, on the other hand, has never called the story by its title. On the few occasions when she spoke of it, after having it read to her by my brother (since my parents are illiterate), she would vaguely say, “You know that story you wrote for the school.”
When it was adapted into an opera, only one of my two brothers came to see it. My mother did not, although she did go to see the movie theatre screening it. She didn’t tell me what she thought.
The subsequent death of my potential father-in-law from cancer completely changed me. I now start every decision with a question: If not now, when? His passing infused my life with urgency and clarity.
There was no room for fear or indecision, no time for wasted days and years.
I must live — now, fully, ferociously. I had to stop being self-destructive and live in self-care and self-forgiveness. In my case, it is not hyperbolic to say that his death not only changed my life but saved it.
I thought I was being rejected, plunging me into darkness. When he passed and moved into the light, I chose the light.
Part of choosing the light was choosing to shine it into all of my corners, to make sure that all the people I loved knew whom I loved and how I loved.
My girlfriend (now wife), a hepatologist at a hospital in Atlanta, was attending a conference on the day my family arrived, but she took an early flight the next day so that she could meet them before they left. My family had no idea that she would be there, and aside from my daughter Bella, I wasn’t even sure they knew of her existence.
For two days before they met, I suffered from terrible tension headaches. I coped by taking medicine and told myself that this was a thing that had to be done.
That Saturday, she walked into my place with my entire family, and I reflexively introduced her with a joke: “Everyone, this is my girlfriend and Bella’s mom. She and I have been dating for years since Form 6. If anyone is shocked by that, take a deep breath and swallow hard. You’ll get over it.”
My family responded the way I should have expected them to: seamlessly. They embraced her and fixed her a plate and shared love and laughter.
Bella asked her with a wry smile, “Mami, do you need me to make you a drink?”
My brothers, curious, started quizzing her about her life and career.
Later, we all cycled through Central Park even though it was cold, and that night, we went bowling. More love and laughter.
In the abstract, my family may have disapproved of this supposed lifestyle, but when confronted with the truth of my life and the flesh-and-blood person I loved, they responded with love because they loved me.
I should have been elated by all of this, but I was enveloped by an enormous sense of regret. I had waited and worried all this time. There were years, even decades, of sadness and pain that could have been avoided. I have often talked and written about the importance of visibility, but I’ve had to learn that lesson repeatedly. I’ve realised that telling everything is not a one-time event but a series of events.
I was initially hesitant to write this column. I questioned myself, “Does anyone care about the journey of a man who diverged from his traditions, had children out of wedlock, and chose a life partner from a different faith?” But then I remembered the lesson from “O’ Clone”. I am not alone. There are others out there with similar stories, feeling as though they are alone.
To my readers, I give the gift of being seen and reflected. I give this story and hope that it helps. I give the gift of permission that I gave to myself and that my late father-in-law gave to me. Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas!
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of New Sarawak Tribune.
