Sunday night. I was in need of something spiritual so I fired up some incense, along with the DVD of La Mission. This 2009 movie documents the coming out issues surrounding a young Latino in the San Fran area. The story is more about the father coming to terms with it. It’s a moving motion picture and worthy of a view.
Latinos are full of macho. Face. Family. Friends. Emotion bubble just below the surface. They’re good people, loving, with god and their mothers constantly lurking in the background. I kinda of understand it. Indians only lack the god piece, but in many ways similar. The reality though, all men fit into this mold. All of us, slightly macho, bubbling beneath.
TC isn’t either of these two. Worse, he’s Caribbean, a mixture of Indian, Black and Latino. It’s a monster of emotions and yes friend, twice a day, I “Chris the Tamer of Tigers” willingly climb into his cage to tame the savage beast. I am yelled out only second to his father, which I consider a place of honour. He yells at those he loves and respects the most. A sort of inverted pyramid of power.
But he’s a tiny, 130 lbs of Powder Puff, it’s hard to get too worried about his claws. His pants are falling off showing his ass most of the time. That and carrying 200 lbs of hair product wherever he goes, give me a slight advantage in the daily battle.
Empathy is something we all think we have, who wants to be unemphatic? In my journey, I have discovered most of us, too consumed with our own daily issues, can’t be bothered. Despite all the people I know, into the hundreds, only 1 or 2 have called to ask “how I’m doing”. It’s like I have the plague. Whispers in the shadows. But how would I approach me? I’m not even sure myself.
But for TC, ‘out’ as he is. His family has reach detente. They don’t ask about his life nor do they really want to know. I am often sad about this. It would mean the world for him for his family’s unbridled acceptance. It would empower him and rid layers of insecurity. I am powerless to change this, in fact, I complicate the picture even further.
I feel great empathy to the young. They don’t read this crap I write. But they are out there, looking for hot bois, on-line, sneaking to a bar. Immersed in a sea of flesh, drowning out whatever their brains are trying to tell them. Some may return to the surface, find their way, others may not, never, lurking, hiding in the darkness, and then they too, will write their blogs.