This Stirring Love

Short story in English

It came in through your window on that first night, the last night you would ever sleep without air-conditioning, climate change be damned. That was the first night the blinkered and the damned came for you, and you would not sleep, you could not sleep without the windows sealed, the door jammed with a towel, Posey’s number on speed-dial, phone face-up on your bed, speed-dial perpetually open and screen-locked, blue light be damned as well. Back-up charger and wire on the other side of your pillow. Torch underneath it. A can of baygon beneath the bed.  

Hey, it worked the second night, and the third night, and the nights after that. No screaming or police required.

It was Thursday night, that first night. Hot as fuck, because climate change had damned you all, even the Lion City and all her Green Plans and New Sustainability Initiatives and whatever the hell else the college was trying to drum into you every other Civics lesson and public holiday commemoration. You weren’t really paying attention; you never had, and had resolved that you never would after the vendor the college hired in your first year to do sex-ed had quietly tried to convince all six hundred and fifty-four of you that, although homosexuals were welcome in society, every single one of you actually had severe Oedipal issues and a form of complex, infant PTSD that prevented you from understanding where exactly your penises should be planted – in the same week that a deputy prime minister went on the record about how gay people were, in fact, every Singaporean’s kith and kin, but the law was the law, and if people wanted to change the law, well, they would have to change it through Parliament. Or something. You were done giving the state chances after that.

It makes sense, said Posey at the time, after the session was over, and you and him and the rest of your class were aggressively filling in the online feedback form. You tell someone you love them, and because you love them, you know, you just want what’s best for them, which is to control them, and love is control, right? Oh yes, you control me really well, you said, loud enough for Nabilah, Xin Ting, Wenli, Nicole Chan, Scholastica, and Erica and also all of the class behind you and also the young, erudite Geography tutor who taught them to also aggressively snigger and for Mdm Seah to give you her classic Mr-Alexander-Francis-Hippolyte-ARAUZU,-what-have-I-told-you-about-talking-about-your-your-your-well-if-you-really-want-to-call-it-RELATIONSHIP-public face, with flames, ice and all the usual don’t-you-DARE-bring-your-homosexuality-into-this-lesson vibe. Like, you protested loudly, unfazed and still going strong, you’re getting me to fill out this feedback form really well, aren’t you, Posey? You’re in control of me, Posey. And Posey is all like, shut the fuck up and fill it out, Xander, be a good homosexual, and Mdm Seah is like, I’m so done with both of you, even though you knew she found it weirdly cute and very shippable.

You were a good homosexual. Kept your head down. Let the college do its thing. Let the state do its thing. Which was why that first night was completely unexpected, when It came for you.