Ōtautahi, Summer 2020

Jake and I had our first date at Little High Eatery. We ordered anticuchos and Pollo a la Brasa from El Fogón to share and a caipirinha each from Caribe Latin Kitchen.

After dinner, Jake and I sat on the banks of Ōtākaro (Avon River) while we ate ice cream. It was the perfect date. I brought Jake back to my inner-​city apartment and we spent the night together. I could only describe these first few days as magical.

Within weeks, we were in a relationship, but we both wanted to take things slowly. Jake ended his long-​term relationship, so we were going to spend the first year navigating what it meant for us as a couple. However, fate had other plans in store for us.

It was the early days of the Covid-​19 outbreak. The initial cases of the pandemic had been recorded in Wuhan (武漢). An unfortunate consequence of this was a gradual increase of anti-​Asian discrimination. I still remember one incident during rugby training.

“We need to start thinking about nicknames,” the team manager and fullback shouted at our team as we stood around in a circle after rugby training.

“How about we call Sid, ‘Corona’?” Oliver chuckled. “You heard me, right, ‘Corona’!” “That’s enough,” Jake told Oliver sternly. He saw from my expression that I was uncomfortable.

I drank my Lion Brown. I felt grateful that Jake was there to stand up for me. I pretended I heard nothing and let the comment slide. I hoped no one else had heard Oliver’s comment.

Besides the increase of anti-​Asian discourse, we did not understand the severity of the situation until March 2020, when we received an emergency alert on our phone.

“From 11:59pm tonight, the whole of New Zealand moves to Covid-​19 Alert Level 4. Where you stay tonight is where YOU MUST stay from now on. It is likely level 4 measures will stay in place for a number of weeks. Kia kaha.”

“Are you watching the announcement?” Jake messaged me while I was at work. Everyone was glued to their devices watching the Prime Minister deliver her update on the outbreak.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just about to go into a meeting. Are you okay?”

At the meeting, our managers instructed us all to go home immediately and to take whatever office equipment we needed. I cautiously hugged my colleagues as I said goodbye -​ who knew when we would see each other again.

“Do you want to move in with me?” Jake proposed to me as I left the office. Guaranteed cuddles every night! You are my designated SID –​ self-​isolation daddy.”

I was at the liquor store when I received Jake’s message. I was just about to buy Jake some gin for his birthday which was not for another month. If I was already thinking that far ahead, I suppose there was no harm in moving in with Jake.

“Well, who knew all it’d take was a global pandemic for me to move in with you!” I agreed without thinking twice.

Within hours, I moved in with Jake. Jake was living with three gay men –​ unbeknownst to me, everyone in the flat was Queer! Since everyone had to stay at home, the closet became my safe haven. I was safe from my ex-​partner and my family.

My greatest challenge during lockdown was still working from home while Jake and the rest of his flat were waiting for life to return to some form of normality. As public servants, we were expected to support the Covid-​19 response.

I was asked to provide census data at low-​level geographies to hapu and iwi. This was computationally expensive and my Surface Pro would struggle with my requests. While the data loaded at a glacial pace, I spent the time to see what Jake was doing downstairs.

I set up my computer in Jake’s room and for the first days, I would roll out of bed and begin extracting data. I felt like I was stuck in a time loop. Jake helped me move my workstation to the spare room, which gave me some reprieve from the cabin fever.

“Aren’t you meant to be working? For someone meant to be at work, you sure are taking a lot of breaks,” Jake joked after my umpteenth visit. He was playing Animal Crossing, which was surely more exciting than watching my computer struggle with the program.

I returned to my desk upstairs. I sat there and watched my data load on the screen. I was overcome with emotion as I internalised Jake’s comment. I was upset. In the past, I would have bottled my emotions, but we were now living together and there was nowhere for me to hide.

“I need to tell you something. I felt hurt by what you just said,” I admitted to Jake, a lump forming in my throat. “I’m stressed and I’m tired. The last thing I want to do is work while the world is falling apart around us.”

Jake put down the controller and looked at me. I started to cry.

“I’m sorry, cutie,” Jake said apologetically. “I was just joking. I didn’t want to upset you.”

Eventually, we developed a healthy routine. We explored suburban Ōtautahi on our daily walks. We cooked dinner as a couple, and we spent the evenings together watching classic movies. Our relationship developed organically over the course of the lockdown. We learnt about each other’s likes and dislikes. We learnt about ways to communicate difficult topics. We learnt to trust each other. We learnt about what it means to be in a relationship.

As the alert levels decreased, the number of Covid-​19 restrictions loosened over time. We returned to our workplaces and slowly expanded our social circles. We were all scared of what it meant to live in the “new normal”, but I had Jake to navigate this “new normal” with me.

The highlight of this period was our first road trip beyond Ōtautahi. We ventured across the island to Te Tai Poutini (West Coast) and meandered through the mountain passes. Te Ika-​a-​Maui was still in lockdown at the time, so it was just the road and us.

We held hands walking down the foreshore of Hokitika. We explored a replica Chinese garden we found on the lake-​bed of a forgotten mining town. We played Ur on the beach while being stung by annoying sand flies at Awarua (Haast). We watched gangs of mischievous kea (mountain parrot) attack unsuspecting vehicles.

“I love you,” Jake reminded me as we drank our morning coffee under the splendour of Piopiotahi (Milford Sound).

“I love you, too.”

Te Awakairangi, Autumn 2021

As we returned to life under the new normal, I could no longer hide my relationship from my family. I owed it to myself and to Jake to tell my parents about our relationship.

On my first trip back to Te Whanganui-​a-​Tara since the start of the Covid-​19 lockdown, I stayed with my parents in Te Awakairangi. I had to tell them about my relationship with Jake. It was now or never. No more secrets.

「我想話畀你聽我拍緊拖.」 (I’m dating someone.) I told Mum at the dining table.

「哦.」 (Oh.) Mum was surprised. She was not expecting this from me.

「我同個男仔一齊.」 (It’s with a boy.)

「係咩.」 (Really?)

「係.」 (Yes.)

「咁呀。你唔驚因果報應咩.」 (Is that so? You’re not worried about bad karma.) This was Mum’s final attempt to dissuade me.

Of course, I knew this was not entirely true. I knew for a fact diverse expressions of gender and sexuality were not wrong or immoral within Taoism (Siker, 2006). Neither was it sinful in terms of Confucianism or Buddhism. Mum was just trying to find a reason to justify her disapproval.

I knew there was an expectation for children and their descendants to support them in old age. I knew at the back of her mind, Mum wondered who would burn incense for her and Dad once they passed away.

After I told my parents about Jake, I noticed they became less affectionate. Neither were shy of showing public displays of affection, but the hugs and kisses were now replaced with curious questions. Once again, I was happy with tolerance, if acceptance was not attainable.

「你有冇嘢想同我講？」 (Do you have anything you want to tell me?) Mum asked me.

I was once again in Te Whanganui-​a-​Tara for work. We were having breakfast at home. It was the first time Mum and I had had some alone time together since I had told her about Jake. Thankfully, there were no prying eyes or ears.

「你想問咩呀.」 (What would you like to ask?) I replied.

「冇嘢好問.」 (I’ve got nothing to ask.) Mum interjected quickly.

We went back to our breakfasts and ate in silence. I had nothing to hide. If Mum had any questions about me or my relationship, she was more than welcome to ask them.

「佢大定你大呀.」 (Who’s older?) Mum asked a question.

「佢大過我.」 (He’s older.) I answered the question.

「邊個賺多錢呀.」 (Who earns more?) Mum asked another question.

「我人工高過佢.」 (I’ve got a higher salary.) I once again answered the question.

It did not take long before Jake and I tested positive for Covid-​19. We were on the first day of our next road trip on the Te Tau Ihu (Northern South Island) when Jake developed symptoms. We drove back to Ōtautahi to isolate. After a night of restless sleep, I tested positive the next morning.

「喂，我中左招呀.」(Hello? I’ve caught it.) I told Mum over the phone.

「咩咁唔少心呀,」(You should’ve been more careful.) Mum responded.

I felt terrible, and I expected Mum to continue scolding me for my carelessness.

「至少你有人照顧你呀.」(At least you’ve got someone to look after you.). Mum told me.

She told me to take care and hung up.

Success. At least Mum acknowledged my partner. Even though I was sick with Covid-​19 symptoms, this felt like a light at the end of the tunnel. I knew it would take time for her to unlearn and relearn her expectations of me, but at least she was beginning this journey.

After the second national lockdown, I was in Te Whanganui-​a-​Tara for less than a day. I had a few hours before my flight back to Ōtautahi, so I met with Mum and my brother for dinner on Courtney Place.

「好耐冇同你講心事喎.」(We haven’t had a heart-​to-​heart in a long time.) Mum exclaimed loudly at the Chinese restaurant.

「你又咩想問呀.」(What would you like to ask?) I asked her inquisitively.

I knew Mum wanted to ask me about my relationship, but she did not have the vocabulary. I was only going to volunteer the information according to her comfort levels. There was no point forcing her to accept my Queer identity unless she was open to listening.

「冇呀，食完飯先再講.」(Nothing. Let’s eat first.) Mum responded.

Maybe next time. We continued with our meal eating what felt like the worst Chinese food in Te Whanganui-​a-​Tara. She did not ask me any more questions for the rest of the night.

As our relationship progressed, Jake introduced me to his friends, a trans husband and wife duo. She is a community advocate, published celebrity chef, and drag artist. Her husband is the salt of the earth and would rather spend time working the soil than socialising –​ much like Jake.

“I don’t know what it’s like to have culture issues to deal with, my parents adapted instantly to me, and then instantly to my wife,” Jake’s friend messaged me after spending a day gardening with Jake.

“I hope your parents can come to the point of acceptance and see how happy you are. We love how happy you and Jake are.”

I was so heartened to see these words of support. It was honestly a privilege to meet older Queer people at this stage of my coming out journey. They were trailblazers who fought fiercely for our Queer communities. It helped me put into perspective my personal struggles. It also taught me why we need to continue advocating for our communities so we can live authentically.

Ōtautahi, Summer 2022

We were speeding down Bealey Avenue on New Year’s Day. It was 5 o’clock in the morning and the sun was on the cusp of rising over the horizon. Sam was dropping me home from the New Year’s Eve party at a mutual friend’s home.

“Jake always laugh at my quirks, like the funny names I give objects or the specific ways I needed things done. We normally have a routine before bed where I need him to scratch my back before I roll him over to spoon him,” I told Sam as we sped down Bealey Avenue. “He also gets mad that I’ve got ten conversations going through my head at all times. I’ve always been like that.”

I could not help but laugh.

“Have you considered that you might be neurodivergent?” Sam asked me from the driver’s seat. “You should check it out.”

“Don’t be silly!” I replied drunkenly. I was already Queer and Asian –​ how many more intersecting marginalisation in society could I possibly occupy?

As the weeks progressed, I started to take Sam’s comments more seriously. I started reading up about neurodiversity and the symptoms associated with a neurodivergent brain.

「雖然你讀言語學，點解你溝通能力咁渣架.」 (Even though you study linguistics, why are your communication skills so bad?) Mum asked me time and time again.

One day, I stormed downstairs to see Jake after another heated phone call with Mum.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me?” I exclaimed to Jake. “I feel like I try my best to talk to my parents, but I still feel like I’m failing as their son. Sam mentioned it might be because I’m neurodivergent –​ I could be autistic or have ADHD. I think that’s why I’ve struggled with maintaining relationships my whole life.”

“Don’t be silly, cutie,” Jake told me reassuringly. “Every brain is wired a little bit differently. Don’t worry about it. You’re fine just the way you are.”

I knew Jake was trying to comfort me, but I wanted to retreat into my thoughts. I was once again transported back to the days when I first came out to myself. I was reminded of the countless evenings I would get drunk to the point I would throw up. I would wake up in the morning dry-​mouthed and hungover. I was addicted to that sensation because it gave me a reason not to commit to anything or anyone. Once again, I felt like I was back “in a closet”.

“I would like to talk to you about ADHD,” I mentioned to my family doctor near the end of our appointment. I went to see him after experiencing chronic pain in my abdomen. Neither the X-​ray nor ultrasound found anything unexpected with my health.

“Well, I doubt they would’ve missed this during the early childhood screening,” he told me matter-​of-​factly. “It’s quite trendy at the moment. I doubt they’d accept you through public referrals unless it’s a life-​or-​death situation.”

“Have you considered going private?” my doctor asked me before escorting me out of the room. “It’ll cost you a bit, but you might find the answers you’re looking for.”

I felt emotionally shattered. It seemed like there was nothing I could do. When I returned to the office, I went online and sent through an assessment request.

“It’ll be $150 for the initial screening. If we suspect you have ADHD, then the assessment with a psychologist will be $400,” the clinical administrator informed me. “Following that, if you require treatment, it’ll be $645 for a medication consultation with a psychiatrist and ongoing costs with a coach and your family.”

If that was the price I had to pay for closure, then I had no other choice. I was very privileged at the time because I had a full-​time job. My only stumbling block was the screening assessment.

It required at least one person who could provide information on my difficulties and behaviours during childhood and current symptoms.

I considered asking my brother or Jake, but I felt such a deep sense of shame of already being Queer to even entertain the idea I was neurodivergent. I sat on the initial screening assessment phase for six months before I finally decided to withdraw my assessment.

“Do you have a friend, colleague, or partner that could complete the assessment?” the administrator from the clinic asked me. We had been corresponding for six months at that point. I felt like such a failure.

I sent the assessment to my friend who had recently been through the process. Within days I received another email inviting me to a psychology assessment.

“I’ve always felt different growing up,” I told the psychologist. “I always felt misunderstood. When I was in kindergarten, I remember biting another student because they were mean to me.”

“I remember being put in speech therapy because my teachers suspected I had developmental difficulties, but they blamed it on my migrant background and my heritage language.”

“I always struggled to maintain friendships. In intermediate school I stopped talking to people because I figured no one understood me anyway.”

“My parents complain I don’t communicate properly. They always joke about how I was told off by the instructor during swimming lessons because I was too distracted.”

“My partner told me I don’t pay attention to him, and I’m worried this will put a strain on our relationship. He says I always start conversations in the middle without warning.”

“I’ve recently started my PhD, and some days I really struggle. I would stare at my computer or get distracted by housework or other projects. I’m constantly stressed, and I’ve only managed to do three hours work in the last week.”

“I’m more stressed now than when I was still juggling my full-​time job, Certificate in te reo Māori, the work I do in the community, finishing my second master’s, and starting my PhD.”

“Wow.” The psychologist’s expression said it all. “Let’s get you the help you need.”

It was a week before Christmas; I was having lunch with my colleagues from the research office when I received the email from the clinic. I opened the attachment to the email as my colleagues talked about their holiday plans. I skimmed through the report and read the diagnosis.

“In conclusion, Mr Wong’s presentation, self-​report, available collateral information and the endorsement of items on the inventories and questionnaires used in this assessment are consistent with a diagnosis of: F90.2 Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Combined Presentation.”

Relief. Finally, an answer to a problem I did not know I had. I felt vindicated, but then I also felt a sense of grief. I grieved for the missed opportunities, the impulsive decisions, and the blame I had experienced up until that point in my life. All might’ve been avoided had I received this diagnosis. I was briefly sent back to that very moment when I had kissed Iain in the garden all those years ago. Clarity. Enlightenment. Fear.

Jake was busy planning Christmas lunch. He mentioned the dishes he wanted to cook and how he wanted to decorate the flat for Christmas. My mind was occupied with the diagnosis.

“Are you listening to me, cutie?” Jake asked me. “You don’t seem to be interested in what I’m saying. Is everything okay?”

Jake seemed distressed. He sometimes worried that my erratic behaviour was a response to what he had done. I did not want him to feel that he was to blame. If I were to make this relationship work, I could no longer hide secrets from Jake.

“I need to tell you something important,” I confessed to Jake. “I’ve been seeking help, but I’ve been too scared to tell you. I’ve got ADHD.”

I handed Jake my phone with the assessment report. I watched him read the report on my phone. When he finished, he handed my phone back to me.

“I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?” I told Jake apologetically.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Jake told me. “I love you. And I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t come to me to talk about this.”

With Jake’s blessing, I continued with my treatment plan and met with a psychiatrist. I was prescribed methylphenidate to balance the chemicals in my brain.

“We’re going to see each other a lot now you’ve received your diagnosis, ” my family doctor told me. “It’s not going to be a straightforward process. There’s a lot of restrictions around controlled drugs to make sure you’re not abusing them.”

I nodded. This was another difficult path I was willing to take.

“Well, why don’t we get started with a surprise drug test.”