KEEPING MUM DESPITE (PRESUMED) OPPORTUNITIES TO SPEAK GAY

It was a rainy welcome when I arrived by train from Vaasa, Finland to Helsinki. I grabbed a cab, checked in and went to a nearby café someone recommended on an online blog. (It was okay, but I won’t pass the baton with a further recommendation.) As I left the café, I noticed several tourist pamphlets and took a few. This form of paper advertisement is no better nor worse than random online sources. Still, one brochure stood out.

 

The main heading on the front of the pamphlet said, “WE SPEAK GAY…FINLAND.” I added it to my little stack. 

 

In truth, six days later and in a different country, Estonia, I am only now glancing through it.[1] I consider the brochure more of a novelty souvenir than something that would have helped navigate my stay in Helsinki.  

 

Helsinki's Oodi Library

Before I travel—often only the night before arriving at a destination—I will Google a few things online. Typically, I look for museums and special exhibits, best coffee spots, bakeries and the central library. Food is not an issue. As a vegetarian with an eating disorder, restaurants are not a highlight, especially as a solo traveler, which is my preference. I simply look up the closest grocery store once I get to the hotel.

 

I don’t give any thought to looking for gay things—bars, bathhouses, bookstores. Why would I park myself on a stool, drinking a margarita, when I could be out seeing the city (or prepping for the next day’s agenda which usually begins before sunrise? I know many gay seek a sexual encounter as part of the “pleasure” component of the trip. I’m not adverse to it, but I don’t establish eye contact in bars and men use apps just as ineffectively abroad as they do back in Vancouver. Why would I respond to a faceless “Hey”? Why would I be interested in a profile that fills in nothing? I am quick to stop checking my one app. Really, if I have nothing to do, it’s easier and perhaps more pleasurable to read my new book. 

 

A romance, go figure.

 

My aversion to a gaycation goes back to one of my early boyfriends, Gary, whom I met through a newspaper personal ad in L.A. It was the type where you had to send a note to a related box number in care of the paper.  Old days. Similar to online messaging in terms of process, but a written note required words beyond “Hey” or “Wassup.” Can you imagine getting a letter and that’s all it said? Trash can. (This was before recycling.) Standards have changed for many, but a “Hey” still goes immediately to trash for me.

 

Gary and I didn’t travel much during our year and a half together. San Diego, Santa Barbara, San Francisco. The loveliest trip involved seeing San Simeon and staying in a cabin in Ragged Point as raccoons stared in and we stared back. The city visits were not as fun. Gary’s primary objective was to check out the gay bars, of which there were more back then. I didn’t see the point. He never danced; just sat on a stool, smoking one cigarette after another while keeping a growing bar tab. Part of me was insecure. Why did we have to be immersed in gays when we had each other? I’d hoped being in a relationship meant I could stop going to bars. But then Gary was the alcoholic, not me. He was getting something out of it, not me. 

 

Gay bars on holiday? Not me.

 

I also have never planned my travels around Pride celebrations. I’m not a parade guy. I love dancing, but I’m not a raver. Pride would, in fact, be a reason for me to reschedule my trip to a different weekend. I know this makes me sound sad or sour. I am neither. I did the Rose Bowl back in 2010 when my school, TCU, won the game. That won’t likely happen again in my lifetime. Mardi Gras, Mexico City’s Day of the Dead and anything to do with Carnival in Rio are the only parades left on my bucket list. Carnival is a distinct event. Pride in Amsterdam or Munich or Taipei? Pass. I don’t need to see how they do queer parades in London or compare the abs of twenty-two-year-olds atop floats in Barcelona versus Sydney. With Pride generating big turnouts more than ever, hotel prices are bound to be higher and the non-Pride events may have larger crowds. These are the same reasons I don’t travel to Europe in summer. I love taking photos and I don’t want every shot of Mona Lisa or the Trevi Fountain photobombed by people’s shoulders. 

 

This has been my fifth trip to Sweden which I broadened to include bits of Finland and Estonia. I know I am safe in Sweden. I know I don’t have to repress mannerisms that might be viewed as stereotypically gay. Swedish society is incredibly progressive. More than that, they give you space and leave you alone unless you approach them. My gayness is not an issue. 

 

Helsinki harbor

I felt Finland would be similar. Nothing about my stay made me worry or think I should tone anything down. If you’ve read this much, you probably think this non-raving, parade hater, hookup app critic has nothing to tone down. You might say, if I toned things down more, I  would be flatlining. I do like good conversation, good times and big laughs, all just on a smaller scale.

 

Perhaps I should have read up on gay rights in Estonia. It is, after all, a former Soviet Socialist Republic. The Soviets weren’t known for individuality or freedom of speech and expression. 

 

Here is my belated research on the status of a couple basic gay rights in each of the countries I visited, with Canada (where I live) and the U.S. (where I’ve lived) thrown in for comparison.   

 

Here are the relevant countries ranked based on when homosexuality was decriminalized at the national level: 

              Sweden – 1944

      Canada – 1969 

      Finland – 1971

      Estonia - 1992

              U.S. – 2003

 

Here they are ranked based on when marriage equality became a national right:

              Canada – 4^th in world, since 2005 

              Sweden – 7^th, 2009

              U.S. – 17^th, 2015

              Finland – 20^th, 2017

              Estonia – 35^th, Jan. 1, 2024

 

With a few countries having gay marriage pending, we’re at about forty countries in the world that allow this. It says something that, yes, Estonia is now on the list. It may say even more that homosexuality was decriminalized so soon after the fall of the Soviet Union and more than a decade before the U.S. 

 

Yes, a safe trip. They speak gay in Finland. I’d say they speak it in Sweden, too. Estonia as well. Assumptions, to be sure, Finnish pamphlet notwithstanding. Quite honestly, I spent this trip with my mind on the frequency of Ukrainian flags more than gay men. How does anyone visit Helsinki and use a gay pamphlet as a conduit to all-things-gay without considering how Finland shares a border with Russia. Same for Estonia. 

 

Awakening Faun by Finnish artist
Magnus Enckell

I also went to several art museums, my mind focused on how hard it is for a talented, successful artist in one country to have their work seen and appreciated elsewhere. I saw much that was on a level with Rembrandt, Picasso, O’Keeffe and Warhol. Presumably, the Finns and Estonians know and are proud of their own art wunderkinds. If only the art world were better at broadening the platform and elevating the exposure and status of painters like Finns Sam Vanni, Tyko Sallinen and Magnus Enckell as well as Estonians such as Henn Roode, Olga Terri, Peet Aren and Eduard Ole.   

 

Beyond that, My Big Non-Gay Vacation involved lots of cafés where I wrote and people watched, bike rides to get me beyond city centers and runs through the forest, along the Baltic and in my favorite park spaces in Stockholm. 

 

I didn’t speak gay this trip. I didn’t speak Finnish or Estonian either. I read small amounts of Swedish but didn’t dare speak it despite five years of daily practice. The only different speaking turned out to be French which I slogged through with a lovely straight couple from Normandy while we tried to navigate how to use public transit to reach the Tallinn airport. Bus drivers didn’t speak gay or English or maybe even Estonian. They just stared gruffly, a very clear form of nonverbal communication. 

 

Speaking anything is not always necessary.

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[1] The actual pamphlet is a listing of a hundred businesses throughout Finland…a few gay bars but mainly restaurants and hotels. There is reference to a pledge these businesses take to show their commitment to the LGBTQ+ community. The closest I could find to a pledge on their website is the following:

“We stand together against homophobia, transphobia and all kind of discrimination. We are working for a safer and more inclusive society.” All good. 

  

THE SWEDISH EXCEPTION

More than two months ago, I took guidance from Air Supply and realized I was All Out of Love. Five times love happened. Five times it un-happened. I was done. I was ready to let go. All those songs about love could shift over to the meaningless category along with tunes like “Tubthumping,” “Barbie Girl” or even “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

 

My thoughts on love have not changed. Done. In the past. It feels good to be single and free.

 

But there is an asterisk that belongs to that July blog post and it’s only become apparent this past week.

 

I’ll fall for a Swede.

 

The reason this became apparent this week is because I am in Sweden. It’s my fifth visit since 2017. There would have been more but COVID and one of those five past loves got in the way a few years. I have every intention of making this an annual trek. It would be even better if I could just stay. 

 

I mean that. I feel more at home in Stockholm than anywhere I’ve been. I have stopped seeing it as a tourist. When I visit, I go about my ordinary days, writing, walking, exercising, reading, musing. But “ordinary” here always seems to have an “extra” in front of it. My level of comfort and ease is exceptional. I didn’t know I could be myself this much.

 

It’s not something I can explain. It just is. Kinda like love. I know it when I’m in it. And I love being in Stockholm.

 

I also happen to find the men here exceptionally attractive. And aloof. I don’t think I have ever made eye contact with a Swedish man. They aren’t oglers. That’s why I can steal glances so frequently. 

 

I entertain myself by practicing my beginner’s Swedish in my head. 

 

“Du är min pojkvän.” (You are my boyfriend.)

“Du är min blivande man.” (You are my future husband.)

 

My mental messaging gets me nothing. Not even that coveted glance. 

 

Maybe that’s all it’ll take. Kismet. Same wavelength. Love at first sight. Why not? People speak of such things. 

 

Let a kind, funny, intelligent, handsome, stylish Swedish man be my asterisk. If that sounds like a lot, handsome and stylish are already in abundance among Swedish men so I tell myself the whole package isn’t such a stretch. 

 

I’m willing to meet anywhere and fall in love. My one condition is we settle in Sweden. Stockholm, if I may be so bold in the gentlest of ways. Like a true Swede. Or close. I’ll refine my understanding of that once I relocate.

 

  

MAKING "LOVE" OUT OF NOTHING AT ALL

Back in January, I wrote about finally being able to like rom-coms again. I was also reading romance novels and liking a few. In the late ’80s and throughout the ’90s, rom-com movies were my thing. I couldn’t get enough of Meg Ryan’s cutesy on-screen image or Nora Ephron’s sharp writing. 

 

Then a bad relationship soured me. He’d seemed perfect until I discovered he was anything but. I should have walked away after nine months…two years, tops. Unfortunately, I’d been raised in a bubble where no one got divorced and the words “for better or for worse” meant everything. 

 

“Worse” should never include abuse. I finally escaped that horrid relationship after seven years, emotionally beaten down and battered.

 

Love was a bunch of hogwash. 

 

I saw through rom-coms and their happy endings. Sometimes I felt especially disheartened, sensing that the couple was not meant to be together. Why would I cheer when they made up after a breakup? Why in hell would I want them meeting at the altar?

 

I credited my new boyfriend for making me a believer again. I was in love, I’d learned from my past and I felt secure in thinking we would go the distance. Let’s watch rom-coms! Bring on the romance novels! Happily ever after yet again! Why would I want it any other way?

 

Two months later, my two-year forever love went kaput. I hadn’t seen it coming. I still can’t explain where or why things went wrong.

 

I should be repulsed by rom-coms and romances again…for a while at least. I mean, I’d flown from Vancouver to Denver for a two-week visit and he dumped me ten minutes into the ride from the train station where he picked me up. It also happened to be Valentine’s Day.

 

F%#k love, right?! 

 

Happily ever after, my ass. Utter bullshit. Enough with the Hollywood endings. Life—mine, at least—looks nothing like that.

 

At the time, I was muddling through the middle of writing a gay romance novel. The logical thing would have been to set it aside or kill off one of the two main characters. So long romance; hello, murder mystery. 

 

Let the survivor go on, living triumphantly on his own. Let him realize love is but a distraction from greatness. Or it’s fleeting, at most.

 

But I wrote on while trying to recover from a severe case of What Just Happened? as The Supremes’ “Where Did Our Love Go?” played on repeat in my mind.

 

My fictional characters, Jeremy and Shaw, had problems and broke up, too. Conflict is a fundamental element in fiction while something I avoid at all costs IRL. Still, I set aside jadedness and cynicism. I shrugged off the dumping as best I could and told myself it would not impact Jeremy and Shaw. 

 

I couldn’t control my relationship and its demise, but I had full authorial command over my world of make believe, playing out in an expanding manuscript. Not once did I think they were forever doomed. Never did I wish my woes on them. I rooted for them, even when they were apart. They needed to grow, together and separately. They needed to realize how much love they had between them and take action to not just restore but strengthen it. 

 

I am pleased to report I finished the first draft today. SPOILER ALERT: happy ending. It’s not actually a spoiler at all. Romance novels are required to end with Happily Ever After or, at a minimum, Happy For Now. If I could, I’d escape real life and jump into a rom-com or romance novel. With my luck, I’d be nothing more than a supporting character, the Rosie O’Donnell to Meg Ryan or the Rupert Everett to Julia Roberts. 

 

But, no. Jumping into a rom-com is not possible. In life, I’m solidly single. I’m fortunate that my novel lets me play around and imagine what might have been. I’m truly happy for Jeremy and Shaw. 

 

As I do with all my novel first drafts, I’m setting this manuscript aside for the next six months. It creates some distance between the characters, the plot, the word choices, the tone and me. When I open up the document again in April, I hope I will still see a spark in the work. I hope I’ll still like both Jeremy and Shaw as individuals and love them as a couple. I hope I will see enough in them and the work to dive into the challenging process of revision with the intention of making the story even stronger.

 

Right now, Jeremy and Shaw can just sit back and relax. For the next half year, they have no more conflicts or challenges. They are firmly in love. Let them savor that. Let me step away from their love while I focus on a new project. Something involving a sad-sack character. Something I can authentically write.