“It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it. And even more courage to see it in the one you love”.
– Oscar Wilde
Every person you meet is the hero of a different story. Here’s mine. Born in 1987. Male. Single child. Divorced parents. Raised in the fast pace world of the Hong Kong circuit, a materialist’s wet dream; traditional, cultured, and spoiled. Grew up with little to no expectations. Awkward childhood mischief. Sheltered from the rest of the world.
Age 16. World comes crashing down. Father’s death. Sent off to live in Canada with relatives. Puberty and depression, anger manifestations, and a part of my history that I’m not fond of telling strangers straight off the bat. Bad crowds, worse attitude. Strange fixation for all things dark and dangerous.
Curiosity. Sexuality. I’d be the one that would be quietly watching you from the corner, observing your interactions with my friends. Contemplative. Naive. I’d feed you to the floor at a whim if you looked at me funny. Troubled youth. Angry youth. Less anger than fear, more terror at the surrounding world than anything; sharp, deliberate, and methodical.
Age 21. Regrets. Absent friends, dead friends. Failures and miseries, chainsmoking fiendish behavior. Gradually discover oneself to be kinky. Slip into a world of decadence, of a raw and primal nature; never looked back since, not once. Terrified yet fixated initially, donned a mask, a suit, and emerged as a smooth alter-ego of a masked deviant.
Slowly discover the nature of one-self, about truths and honesty, about consent, respect, and virtue; clashing views on the taboo nature of fetish, muddled by the hypocrisy of the outside world. Confused, indulge wantonly in virulent hedonism and debauchery. Never regretted it.
Age 25. Coming out. Watch interactions of people in the community slip, human, filled with triumphs and errors; more questions than answers, more heartbreaks than orgasms. Spiral into a self-destructive state of mind, fueled by profound wonderment of the surrounding world. The mask becomes too heavy, too suffocating, and one day is torn off entirely by own volition.
Pack my bags, my toys, and a pride representing the BDSM lifestyle. Embark on a massive exodus, exploring the neighboring groups, and plunge into seven month long odyssey of self-discovery. The adventure that took place begins here.
Return home to high praise, suffer from chaotic withdrawal of traveler’s high, and begin writing a book documenting own views and commentary on the scene at large, enriched by the stories and experiences of others during the journey. Unofficially anointed as a flag bearer; raise flag, voice, before observing world and stood vigilant ever since.
Currently writing memoirs, doing activism work in the heart of British Columbia. This blog serves as a chronicle of the ongoings of a semi-benevolent kinky vagrant, dreamer, and shameless hedonist; a punk, a gamer, a gentlemanly rascal; a friend, a son, and the diaries of a young man in the 21st century.
If you’re a first time reader, don’t be shy and leave a comment. I don’t bite unless you ask, but if you do (assuming you aren’t a direct relative) then we’ll have to negotiate. Or unless you’re a relative because, that’s just a bit weird even for me.
“Just as a painter paints,
and a ponderer ponders,
a writer writes,
and a wanderer wanders.”
― Roman Payne