It was two years ago when I received the news that there was a pair of same-sex lovers that was visiting our orphanage. It was a blur how that day they came in hand and hand along Mrs. Chan with the kindest and the most breathtakingly gorgeous smiles hung on their face, and had their eyes landed on me, this petite and ordinary looking kid, and finally decided to take me back to their loving family, to which I at first felt disgusted towards.
Ever since I had the ability to remember the time line of events that was and would be happening in my life, I was probably in my twos or threes, for some reason my brain jotted down faint images of my father. I could remember that he was six foot three, which makes him impressively tall for a Hong Kong male; he had these dark brown eyes that were mesmerizing and mysterious, like how the moon makes your eyes get filmy images of your surroundings when have stared at it for too long, they resembles the moon. But what made my dad's presence so indelible was his vehement belief and trust towards god. My dad was a sincere Christian.
The only way I could feel connected to the man that gave birth to me was to follow his footsteps and live under his shadows. For my entire childhood, I carried the bible that he left with me everywhere I go, I would recite it whenever I had the time to. I used to get lost in my own world where would I picture god talking to me, telling me holy challenges and lessons he had prepared for me, teaching me from right to wrong. This was how I dealt with the pain of losing a loved one, the way I gained confidence in myself and grew as an individual. Therefore, when I was told that I will be living under the roof of two lesbian women, I felt queasy in my guts, I was appalled and it left me speechless, I felt like I was disappointing my father, that I was letting 'him' down. Maybe this was the reason why after all these years, even if I have lived with Elliot and Andrea for five years, I never once called them mom, nor opened up to them genuinely. I thought this would be how I was going to spend the rest of my life, living at some strangers' house until I am old enough of leave and start my own family. Apparently god had something else prepared for me.
June 12, 2016, Orlando Nightclub Shooting. I remembered finishing my last year of high school and acing my DSEs, so with the large amount of extra time before university, I promptly decided to book airplane tickets to the States, ticking the box of "Visiting the United States" with my friend Suzy off our bucket list.
It was the sixth night of our trip. Suzy dared me to go to a gay bar considering how we've never been to one and the whole "You only live once" motto we had for the trip. The bar was nothing like the ones that I have ever been to. The lights and atmosphere was different, like it was so much more straight up, so much more fearless. A few dudes came to me and flirted for a bit, offering me vodka shots and complimented my body, which in fact, nobody ever did even though I have been working on it for the past few months. Despite the feeling of feeling out of place seeing that I was straight, I had the time of my life, everyone was extremely cordial and gracious. As I was thinking how there was no way the night could go wrong, nothing could kill my wonderful mood, I heard gun shots. It was within a split second that everyone reacted and laid on the ground. We should so still and quiet that we could only hear the sound of the offender scrambling through stuff, I could hear him mumble "faggot" and other offensive profanities whenever he walked past anyone that "looked/dressed gay", I could feel the heat boiling through my blood. I could not process what was going through my brain, just this sudden anguish emotions as if I was the one being insulted, but I knew better than to do anything about it.
I acknowledged how we were doomed here, we are on the very verge of death, and one small movement could get us killed. Nevertheless I could not resist the urge to adjust my gaze to look at those around me. I saw couples holding onto each other like their lives depend on each other, I see teenagers carefully yet also aggressively texting, god knows with who, about their situation, which was heartbreakingly saddening, this could be their last words before forever leaving the world. And this was when I thought of my two mothers back home. They were probably enjoying one of those stupid TVB soap operas right now, not knowing that their precious son would somehow ended in a gay bar and having been attacked. But it was this routine picture of my parents happily enjoying themselves within each other's company that hit me, hard, like that bullet that went through my chest. All of a sudden, I could not breathe, I felt pain ridiculing my body like an apparition that controlled me, I hear Suzy whispering my name again and again with desperation, fear and consternation, I saw red lights flashing by the corner of my eyes, I felt light-weighted like how those vodka shots had took a toll on my consciousness few hours ago, I passed out.
Now, I am looking through the windows of the house that I used to live in, where I used to call home. I see my mothers sobbing with a framed picture of me when I was ten on their hands. The nostalgia, bitterness, with thousands of unanswered questions. I feel like I have lost what was mine.
Dad patted me on my shoulders, and we walked away.
