This is a confession letter written by Mr.H
It is 5 years to the day I lost him, yet his memory is still etched as deeply and fresh in my mind. There are times I let my guard down when I see something funny, sad or simply memorable and I turn to share it with him, only to remember again that he’s not there. We met when we were in camp. I had one of those schoolboy crushes the moment I laid eyes on him. He was the duty officer of the day and I was a platoon sergeant from another company. I concocted a lame excuse to drop by the Ops Room to find out his name, D. Through some illegal means I obtained his number and for a couple of days I deliberated calling him, keying it into my phone before chickening out and hitting cancel.
I went out for drinks at Tantric that weekend with a close
friend to dish and ask for advice, when who should walk in but my crush
himself! He glanced over, gave me one of those cheeky knowing grins and walked
away. I spent the night longing to talk to him and secretly hating every cute
slut who hit on him. We met the following week at the camp canteen. He ordered
his food and walked over with an air like we knew each other for years, sat
down and said “I was waiting for you to come and talk to me that night. Shy
ah?” I wanted to smack him so badly for his cocky arrogance and yet, it was SO
appealing. I mumbled some reply and pretty soon we were hitting it off. Before
it was time to go, he casually reached out for my phone and started keying in
his number only to find out that I already had it. Oh the embarrassment…
I won’t go into the clichés of describing our relationship.
When you are in love, the world disappears and everything feels magical to you.
Being an officer who had his own bunk, I often snuck out of mine when my mates
were asleep to look for him. Our book outs were spent in each other’s company
and when I brought him home to meet my family, my mother doted on him like
another son. But he always kept a part to himself and it wasn’t long before I
figured it out; he wasn’t out to his family, particularly his mother who was a
“church elder”. Coming from an accepting family myself, I didn’t want to push
him on this issue. We chose to ignore it and lived happily in our own world.
Then he had a serious accident. His getting a bike license
was something I never agreed with but his elder brother rode one and it was
something he had his heart placed on since young. I only found out when his
friend from his company (who knew we were dating) called me. I made up a
bullshit excuse to get a nights off pass and rushed down to the hospital. His
parents were already there and they thought I was a camp representative, an
assumption I did not bother to correct. I nearly cried on the spot seeing him
lying there injured, his arm and leg in a cast and bruises all over. He was
still under the effects of the sedative when he came to and saw me, smiled and
said “I’m sorry baby I promise to be more careful next time. I was so scared I
would never see you again.” I looked up to see his parents’ shock. I told him
to rest up, bade a hasty farewell and left.
He called me the next day from the hospital, saying that he
could be discharged soon. I applied for off again and when I reached; no one
else was there. I asked if he had called his parents and he shrugged. I knew
what that shrug meant; “I don’t want to talk about it.” He held my hand tightly
during the taxi ride to his place and when we reached, I felt his body tense. His
parents had the locks changed. I stood there hapless and not knowing what to
say as he argued over the phone with his dad. It was clear what was happening;
they did not accept him coming out and unless he promised to never see me
again, change and go for church counseling, they did not want him back in the
house. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry and it broke my heart. He was
shouting “I am still your son, which is more important to you??”. He was so
frustrated at not getting through to his parents that he finally hurled his
phone out into the air, over the parapet.
I brought him home to my place and whispered hurriedly what
had happened to my mom. Since I had to be back in camp while he was on a
month’s MC, she took charge of his recuperation without hesitation. His brother
dropped off some clothes for him with a menacing warning, “You better tell my
brother to stop being a gay or else he can change the address on his IC to
‘this place’.” I had never met such homophobic hostility before and I kept the
words of his brother from him. He recovered but his demeanour changed. Having
to readjust to a life in a new home, no matter how welcoming, affected him
greatly. He hardly laughed and would some dark mood swings. I held him on many
nights as he cried over his family’s rejection. He bought his mother a gift for
her birthday, hoping she would forgive and accept him but she said that unless
he changed and prayed for forgiveness, she only had one son. His father
rejected his calls and his brother told him he was ashamed of having a “chao ah
qua” for a brother.
Then he went missing one Saturday. He got to book out
earlier than I did and we would always meet up at my place; that day I reached
home with lunch for the both of us only to find that he wasn’t there. I waited
all day and night. My texts went unanswered and his phone was switched off. I
went to bed with a sense of dread. His camp-mate, the same friend who knew
about us, woke me up with a string of frantic missed calls. His family had
called the camp to report that something bad, real bad had happened to him. I
rushed down to his place and my worst fears realized when I saw the wake in the
void deck. I didn’t want to go in and face the truth. He had left me, left all
of us for good. His parents refused to allow me entry to bid him farewell but
his brother relented when they were not around. It was all so surreal seeing
him lay there in the coffin. I kept hoping that it was a bad joke.
Afterwards, his brother told me that every Saturday morning
D would come round to the house, pleading with their parents to let him in and
forgive him. I did not know this and I cried that he had kept this from me. His
brother was beginning to change his mind and accept his baby brother, even
tried talking to his parents to let D move back in. That Saturday morning,
following yet another futile begging session, he climbed onto the parapet in front
of their flat and jumped 12 stories. My life has this huge void now. They say
that time heals all wounds but the pain is still as fresh as it was yesterday.
D, I graduated as I promised you I would and I recently started working. This
should be a time of promise and possibilities but all I can think of is the
memories we will never get to make together.
I wish you had spoken to me more or at least let me book out
with you all those Saturdays. You promised that we would see the world together
and someday we would have our own place. I am so sorry that you left this world
thinking that your parents no longer loved you. I wish I had worked harder to
make up for that, that my love was enough to make you forget them. I can never
replace you and wherever you are now, I hope you will wait for me. Till we meet
again.
Love,
H
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