I read a really beautiful love letter from a gay man to his beloved. I have had letters, but nothing quite as moving.
From a detached literary standpoint, I appreciate the style and aptly chosen words. It was sincere; it was excellently written; it was serious. There was no double entendre, no Singlish to play up the humour so that the embarrassment can be played down to minimise fears and insecurities of rejection, as always happens when we struggle to pen something ambiguously and importantly for someone to understand the badly concealed desires.
The letter in question was sophisticated (think Mr Darcy’s style) and quietly passionate; metaphors were used in a non-cliched manner and reading it just makes me sigh in wanton wanting.
Then again, like how open admission to an intense liking for another has become politically incorrect, it has become uncool to praise too lavishly even if you think you may mean it. So, the love letter is just okay, really. The minus is that it’s typed.
The only thing I get to flaunt over this are letters I received from someone who has beautiful handwriting, and who can write neatly on plain paper without lines as if the paper has lines. But can that suffice greedy me?
I want a serious letter that tells of how much he misses and desires. No Singlish, please. Write it like you mean it. Choice words and poignant selections that tell of your quietly contemplative love in manly despair and desperation. I am grateful that miniscule me can make you feel in so many ways. And inspire you to write more carefully and beautifully, literally and figuratively: no blots, heavy white paper, and writing that curves and curls most artistically.
But this is all in jest. Have to convince myself of this. Few can write and make me happy in this particularly literary way. Actually, none.
But I CAN. I can write love letters (ie my novels and poetry) rwell and good. Just that only my readers get to read, Never the person they were meant for.
Addendum:
Floating fragments of conversations return to mind as I reread (and rewrote sketchy drafts into something more whole and wholesome). I clean forgot completely them. They come in useful when I attempt to contextualise and assess the situation but it's not so important lately.
"Will do anything so long as she wants..."
"Why...?"
"So that she'll understand how much I care...even if I have never said anything about it."
"Please, then she'll never understand, or know."
"She will, she will..."
"How come you dun worry people will start hanging out with others if you don't spend time together. How come you never make time.
"It's okay, you know. I can win back by trying harder after I'm done with my business."
"You do know you make people very angry hor with your way of handling things. Next time your girlfriend or wife sure run away very frequently because you upset people so easily."
"Then I'll put in a lot of effort to woo her back everytime, kneel or something. Like that then fun mah."
These bits are at least two years old. So maybe someone has outgrown such beliefs, or forgot, like I did. But tonight, I remember, and it's not comforting or assuring, I guess.
亲爱的，念念有词和念念不忘实在很难区分。这样的写着、写着，我又能够
证明什么。把你夹在书页的字里行间，让有词与不忘马不停蹄地持续繁殖，直到我
虚脱崩溃瓦解为止，我还能有什么企图。夹住等于拥有吗，勉为其难，也许吧。又
可能，你已成了一段让我感到羞耻的过去。如今，我用文字遮掩不堪回首。那股要
公诸于世的冲动早不在，我只想说服自己我没真正喜欢你。
有没有一种既风花雪月亦脚踏实地的交往，让人能把性情挥洒得既理直气壮
亦心安理得，毋需终日提心吊胆，害怕百密更有一疏，一切终究曲终人散，就象现
在一样。
原来，不是爱情，也可以到得了这么远的地方。
洪筱薇©
15th May 2004
All rights reserved
From a detached literary standpoint, I appreciate the style and aptly chosen words. It was sincere; it was excellently written; it was serious. There was no double entendre, no Singlish to play up the humour so that the embarrassment can be played down to minimise fears and insecurities of rejection, as always happens when we struggle to pen something ambiguously and importantly for someone to understand the badly concealed desires.
The letter in question was sophisticated (think Mr Darcy’s style) and quietly passionate; metaphors were used in a non-cliched manner and reading it just makes me sigh in wanton wanting.
Then again, like how open admission to an intense liking for another has become politically incorrect, it has become uncool to praise too lavishly even if you think you may mean it. So, the love letter is just okay, really. The minus is that it’s typed.
The only thing I get to flaunt over this are letters I received from someone who has beautiful handwriting, and who can write neatly on plain paper without lines as if the paper has lines. But can that suffice greedy me?
I want a serious letter that tells of how much he misses and desires. No Singlish, please. Write it like you mean it. Choice words and poignant selections that tell of your quietly contemplative love in manly despair and desperation. I am grateful that miniscule me can make you feel in so many ways. And inspire you to write more carefully and beautifully, literally and figuratively: no blots, heavy white paper, and writing that curves and curls most artistically.
But this is all in jest. Have to convince myself of this. Few can write and make me happy in this particularly literary way. Actually, none.
But I CAN. I can write love letters (ie my novels and poetry) rwell and good. Just that only my readers get to read, Never the person they were meant for.
Addendum:
Floating fragments of conversations return to mind as I reread (and rewrote sketchy drafts into something more whole and wholesome). I clean forgot completely them. They come in useful when I attempt to contextualise and assess the situation but it's not so important lately.
"Will do anything so long as she wants..."
"Why...?"
"So that she'll understand how much I care...even if I have never said anything about it."
"Please, then she'll never understand, or know."
"She will, she will..."
"How come you dun worry people will start hanging out with others if you don't spend time together. How come you never make time.
"It's okay, you know. I can win back by trying harder after I'm done with my business."
"You do know you make people very angry hor with your way of handling things. Next time your girlfriend or wife sure run away very frequently because you upset people so easily."
"Then I'll put in a lot of effort to woo her back everytime, kneel or something. Like that then fun mah."
These bits are at least two years old. So maybe someone has outgrown such beliefs, or forgot, like I did. But tonight, I remember, and it's not comforting or assuring, I guess.
亲爱的，念念有词和念念不忘实在很难区分。这样的写着、写着，我又能够
证明什么。把你夹在书页的字里行间，让有词与不忘马不停蹄地持续繁殖，直到我
虚脱崩溃瓦解为止，我还能有什么企图。夹住等于拥有吗，勉为其难，也许吧。又
可能，你已成了一段让我感到羞耻的过去。如今，我用文字遮掩不堪回首。那股要
公诸于世的冲动早不在，我只想说服自己我没真正喜欢你。
有没有一种既风花雪月亦脚踏实地的交往，让人能把性情挥洒得既理直气壮
亦心安理得，毋需终日提心吊胆，害怕百密更有一疏，一切终究曲终人散，就象现
在一样。
原来，不是爱情，也可以到得了这么远的地方。
洪筱薇©
15th May 2004
All rights reserved
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