Cheng Yun & Caspian


I still wondered if I could’ve known, one way or another. That somehow there’d be a sign, something that pointed me to you, instead of another man. That, one way or another, I could’ve dodged this, to save you the pain and suffering that I could only imagine. Yet, there you were, going through the trouble to install a computer beside my bed, just so you can work there (or play SimCity 3000) for half a day before you appeased your father by turning up in the office after lunch. You took over my kitchen duties, even though there was always someone else to break your eggs for you. And in the worst of my days, I could only sit on my bed and watch.

Image Credits: The main entrance to Singapore’s CDC in 1995. Photograph courtesy of Dr Chew Suok Kai. (Source)

HIV-positive. That shouldn’t be sitting so nonchalantly on my permanent residency renewal application. I couldn’t remember what the doctor said to me. After he mentioned something about the Infectious Disease Act barring foreigners with HIV from staying in Singapore, I tuned out. I knew the rest of the things he said would be irrelevant. He asked me a few more questions, but got annoyed, because I didn’t—couldn’t—answer his questions. He clicked his tongue, grimacing like I’m the notion of disappointment brought to life. Another boy needlessly lost, he must’ve thought. He sighed as he let me out of his office
any of a series of motor-racing or motorcycling contests forming part of a world championship series, held in various countries under international rules.

After that, I remembered I had lunch with you. I grappled if I should tell you, especially at Délifrance, your favourite café. But you knew something was up the moment you saw me. I could never hide anything from you. Worry was already burrowing in your eyes, your brows tensing into a knot. You set the menu you were holding on the table, and I heard you take a big breath. Your shoulders rose in slow motion.

That’s when I told you.

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