Journey - Chapter 8

My orientation continued to manifest on a daily basis, and there were times when it in­truded noticeably. As in high school, it sometimes caused me to modify my be­havior. Four examples have stayed with me all these years.

But before I continue, I feel it’s impor­tant to reiterate that, even though I can now write about these situations with a high degree of awareness, at the time I still had not named my experience. I did not identify as homosexual or gay. I was, however, growing increasingly aware of how differently I experienced the world compared to my male friends.

My first example, although a simple one, involved my living arrangements and my roommate whom I will call Rick.

Although our apartment was spa­cious, we shared one small bedroom with two small beds. Throughout the year, I was as discreet and stealthy about dressing and undressing as I could be. It helped that I could use the washroom and shower in private. I think Rick was surprised at how quickly I could undress and get into bed. Often, by the time he came back from a trip to the bathroom, I was already curled up in bed and facing the wall!

Although I am a bit bashful, my moti­vation for being so speedy was not about ensuring my privacy but about decreas­ing my stress over seeing Rick in some state of undress. While that was not al­ways possible, it worked well for me. Per­haps too well because years later, after learning of my orientation, Rick com­mented on how overly discreet I had been around the apartment. Again, by overcompensating because of my orien­tation, I had drawn attention to myself.

Before moving to my second exam­ple, I want to mention an intuitive obser­vation on the part of my roommate. I was surprised to learn, in a recent con­versation with Rick, that he felt I had mood swings during the year. Mood swings! I had never heard anyone say that of me before. He told me that I seemed, “low for a long period during the winter and came out of it in spring.”

That he picked up on this impressed me. My orientation always took me down a notch or two emotionally. I didn’t set out to hide my mood changes, but doing so had become second nature. In truth, I was very much out of touch with my emotions. Low-level depression and sad­ness were always present.

My second example specifically in­volves bathing – this time with a Japanese twist

However discreet I was in our apart­ment, fate would not let me escape be­ing naked with others in public. I still had to contend with the occasional visit to the sento-- the communal bath house. If you haven't experienced a sento, check one out on YouTube. Nothing boosts stress like scrubbing down surrounded by male colleagues and strangers while being attracted to the male body.

At the sento, everyone sits along the wall on little stools – naked, of course. Al­though you have your own faucet to work from, all bathing business is done in public. Once you've scrubbed and rinsed, you can join whomever you like in the various pools of water -- hot, warm, or cold. You have to leave your little wash­cloth on the rim of the pool before climb­ing in. As a result, naked men were con­tinually climbing in and out of the pools in front of me. If you don't like walking about naked, you can use your wash­cloth to cover up. That was my prefer­ence. It was not everyone's practice, however.

On occasion, we were invited to join a student at the local bath house for this cultural experience. I didn’t mind the cul­tural part of the experience, but it was still awkward for me. On other occasions, when on a school-sponsored ski trip, summer camp, or teacher’s retreat, pub­lic bathing was often the only option. On those occasions, going to the sento meant I would be surrounded by naked students, naked colleagues, occasionally a naked boss, and, of course, my naked roommate.

In general, I didn't have much difficul­ty with the over-sixty crowd. (I can say that, now that I’ve arrived there myself!) Those around my age, however, were more of a challenge. Whether they were stark naked or hiding things behind their towelettes, there was still too much maleness around for me not to notice. You can avert your gaze only so often in a sento before stumbling into someone or something.

As I have already said in various ways, I was attracted to the whole person not just what was behind a strategically placed washcloth. Many times, it would have been far less distracting if a bather had just put a bag over his head. I could become preoccupied with a man’s eyes. A killer smile could make me weak in the knees faster than an exposed groin. Those who don’t know homosexual men and women well might dismiss the pow­er of a beautiful smile as it relates to orientation. It is no less significant for us than it is in heterosexual attraction.

As always, I didn’t understand why. With every desire to look or be close came memories of Honolulu. I was afraid I might look at someone too often. It is difficult to explain how tiring it was to be attracted to people and constantly trying to look at them while looking through them.

During those moments of preoccupa­tion with the male form, however, plot­ting how to secure sexual intimacies was far from my mind. All I wanted was to be closer to the one who had captured my attention. Of course, as a fair-haired for­eigner, others were peeking at me, too.

Because of my hyper-awareness, I never enjoyed the sento experience as I could have. Many times, as I did at school, I went to the sento earlier or later than most. Doing so reduced the visual stimulation, but it also meant I was cheated out of the hottest water. Often, I wished I could have joined the women. I never became preoccupied with a woman’s eyes or smile, and I never had the nagging desire to visually explore their bodies. Again, I could not have explained why.

My next example, while a bit odd, illustrates the kinds of things I told myself in response to events around me.

During a pep talk at a teacher’s re­treat, an associate with the language schools for the Far East made it a point to remind us that, while we were sur­rounded by Toyotas, “the Cadillacs” were back home!

Except for the Amerocentric over­tones in his comment, we got the mes­sage. He was asking us not to date. He didn't want the guys bringing Japanese girlfriends back to North America or the girls settling down with a Japanese man. My internal dialogue was revealing.

No sooner had his comment regis­tered than I said to myself, “Don't worry. That’s not going to be a problem for me.” The response was so immediate and forceful that it startled me. I knew intu­itively there wasn’t the slightest possibi­lity of my falling in love with a Japanese girl.

While this incident was not as jarring as when Perry made his subcutaneous-fat comment, it bothered me nonethe­less. It reminded me again of what I did not feel and who I was not attracted to. Japanese women weren’t going to be a problem because I was drawn to the men.

Although I tried to shrug off the im­plications of my response, I was haunted by them and they triggered all those why questions. All I could do was stress over them later in prayer.

Despite the angst that little event created, the pep talk had a hidden bonus. Knowing we were not expected to date for the year took the heat off that area of my life. Not surprisingly, I shone in the no-dating arena. Unlike the great Ulysses, however, some teachers did not have the option of being tied to the mast of their ship and therefore could not resist the song of a Toyota or two.

Later in the year, an up-close-and-personal incident captured another place in my memory.

As in many Asian cultures, the public expression of affection between men is not frowned upon as it is in North Ameri­ca. Boys and young men, like women, can be seen showing affection—holding hands, for example. Once friendships have developed, even foreigners might experience the same expression of affec­tion.

As was often the case, one evening after classes, students and teachers were hanging out in the school office. I was sitting on a small bench with a male stu­dent beside me. We were about the same age and had developed a good rap­port. While joking and laughing with the others in the room, he matter-of-factly put his left leg over my right leg, entan­gled his arm around mine and rested his head on my shoulder. I froze like a deer caught in headlights.

No one else seemed to bat an eye, but I became hyper aware of my feelings – again. His expression of friendship was appreciated, but it sent that familiar rush of anxiety through my body. Because I was good at hiding my reactions, any dis­comfort on my part was obscured.

An event which would mean little to most people, and would have been re­ceived with an air of normality otherwise, distressed me. It touched that part of me I was trying so hard to ignore. That mo­mentary event burned into my memory because I knew I liked his playful affec­tion more than anyone in the room re­alized and that I secretly longed for more.

By more, I don’t mean I wanted to manipulate him into my bed as You and Your Health suggested I would. At the same time, I was nineteen going on twenty and very much touched-de­prived. When a male friend touched me, I became painfully aware of it. All I want­ed was for my student-friend to hold my hand a little longer and feel the warmth of his body next to mine. Had a female student done the same, I would have responded with similar panic but for completely different reasons.

Although some of these examples may seem insignificant, each left me feeling abnormal and defective. Even though I had done nothing wrong, I couldn't help thinking of Paul's com­ments in Romans about those people with dishonorable passions and God’s wrath. I couldn't help wondering if I might be one of those sinister people described in You and Your Health. As always, such thinking was demoralizing.