Homecoming

Chapter 15: A Different Christmas

There was something about this Christmas that reminded me of how different my other Christmases were. It was a holiday that I wasn't necessarily giddy about, despite the festive carols, the eggnog, the exchange of gifts, or even the snow. Inevitably, being gay made my Christmas a lot sadder and a little less celebratory. My version of this holiday entailed sitting inside a gay bar with a drink in my hand while drag queens butcher a holiday song with energetic lip-syncs and choreography. When I felt like it, I was sometimes surrounded by temporary friends while we danced to the beat of whatever the DJ played. Among us were other strangers who wore fake felt antlers that they probably impulsively bought at the dollar store. They did what they had to do to feel the spirit of Christmas even in the tiniest measure. My effort was an oversized red cardigan with thumb holes for the extra comfort and because I knew I looked good in it. During these Christmas parties, more often than not, I drowned myself with alcohol, just because. The less sober I was, the better things got. I belonged inside a room filled with excuses. A room of strangers who got together once a year to feel less alone and probably have sex with the one they found the most attractive. Who cares? It was Christmas.

This Christmas was different. I was at home having Christmas dinner with my dad, Zen, and his fiancé. He got engaged last year, at around the same time Erin and Brad did. As I sat across them, I wondered if this would be the new normal as I made more efforts to reconcile with my family. It probably would be. But deep inside, I was still afraid that I wouldn't fit in.

They perhaps felt that I was holding back, in between the awkward silences, because I was quieter than my usual quiet self. I knew my dad had many questions that rested at the back of his head, but he was decent enough not to ask them in front of my brother, and most especially my brother's fiancé. They didn't sign up for that. Given a chance, how do I answer his questions without lessening his opinion of me even more? How do I exactly explain to my dad about the last Christmases I had in New York? More so, how do I tell him I was a recovering addict?

When I went back to New York last month, my dad has reached out and texted me more times than the collective amount of messages I got from him over the previous five years. We talked about anything, really, but he constantly updated me with his treatment. He also said that he already announced his retirement to focus on getting better. I told him more about my work and how I missed the warmth California had to offer. With those messages, I got the assurance that my dad was trying to change his ways. He was more affectionate now. I didn't call him out on it because he would be shy about it. At least we shared that quality, the incessant need to downplay our emotions.

Among the Christmas dinners we had, there was one that I was fond of. My mom was still alive, and Zen was still in law school. I tried to be sober and gave myself a clear head, which was difficult in all the possible ways. Despite the tension my dad and I had, it was gone that moment. We had a fun night, and it felt like we were a functional Asian family. That said a lot because we all had issues we took out on each other. But for some reason, all worries were out the window, and we were happy.

My dad even asked how my school was and when he found out that I did well, he smiled. When dinner was done, my mom pulled me by the corner and told me that she accepted me for who I was. She convinced me that my dad was trying as well, but that version of myself years ago searched for the lies hidden beneath the revelation. I wanted to believe it because I knew my dad was a good man. Now that I was a bit wiser, I started to believe it little by little. He has always tried, but I refused to let him in.

This Christmas dinner, my dad decided to cook. We had a bountiful feast, and I was worried if we could even finish it when there were only four of us. But clearly, Zen had an appetite.

"We're closing on the deal on the record label," Zen said in a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "I don't think I've slept for at least three days after working on negotiations with the contract."