by Radcliffe U. Hall

As a dedicated walker of the streets without any means of transportation to my name besides a ten-year-old skateboard, I was pleased as punch to find out that there was an entire day devoted to me. Pedestrian Sundays are a wonderful celebration of the environmentally friendly and athletically inclined; or as I overheard some hipster tweens say, “those lame-oes who are too poor to take the bus”. This spectacular day occurs on the last Sunday of every month in my very own neighbourhood of Kensington Market and brings together a diverse range of skin tones from around the world, mainly Jamaican. I myself am quite diverse as I am a quarter Dutch, English, Irish and Gaysian1.  After a strenuous walk down the block I decided to enjoy an empanada when my appetite was interrupted by the sight of a beautiful pure-bread gaysian woman weaving through a long line of hemp booths. I felt that special quarter of my body tingle with glee. 

Normally the sight of a beautiful specimen would merely encourage my hunger for Mexican food but this time it only encouraged my desire to keep active….as in I followed her through the crowd. Midway through our walk she stopped abruptly to dance in a circle of bongo drums. Normally the sight of bongos encourages me to cry but this gaysian was mesmerizing; she had a full head of hair with blunt bangs, a tight vest with no shirt underneath, hoop earrings and colourful purple leggings. After the gaysian finished her impromptu bongo dance she reunited with her posse of other gaysians. I immediately hid behind the nearest sunglass display. I began to experience a sense of longing as well as a curious sensation in my feminine region. I had to meet this gaysian at once!

So I devised the cleverest introduction I could think of; I pilfered a pair of sunglasses and pretended that I was a saleswoman trying to sell cheap knock-offs. The gaysians ate it right up. My main gaysian even asked for a personal fitting! As I tenderly placed the sunglasses on her face our eyes met and I saw into her gaysian soul. In that instant our connection was explosive. It wasn’t long after, that I found myself invited to a karaoke session2. It might have been the one Shirley Temple I had drunk but something came over me and I experienced an irrepressible urge to sing a double bill of Bette Milder’s The Wind Beneath My Wings and The Righteous Brothers Unchained Melody. Although I didn’t dedicate these songs to my main gaysian in a verbal sense I could tell that she knew they were sung for her. I then mustered my deepest courage and aced a song I knew she would appreciate: Gwen Stefani’s Hollaback Girl.

As I left the karaoke bar that night I found that I had become entranced with my new found gaysian friends. But just as I thought the night was over it was demanded that I join them for some late night pho3. As if the evening could get any better, I experienced my first gaysian kiss over a steaming bowl of soup. More to the truth, I chose to suck on the remaining end of a noodle that was currently being consumed by my main gaysian. But she didn’t seem to be disturbed by my bold move. In fact, she clearly enjoyed it as I was invited out to a dim sum brunch the next Saturday.

In an effort to quench my insatiable thirst for more Asian I immersed myself in ancient Chinese texts and YouTube. I also wanted to make sure that I was prepared for my next date. As I waited outside the restaurant for the gaysians I thought about how fascinating the history of China was, in comparison to that of my Dutch, English, and Irish ancestors. Within seconds of their arrival I couldn’t help but share with them my newly acquired knowledge about the Ming Dynasty.

I told them about how great it was that in Anicent China, homosexuality was celebrated in its art and literature until 1740, homosexuals were viewed as normal versus how in my European homeland, they were stoned and burned in the town squares. I also said how impressed I was with their ancient medicinal practices of chrysanthemum and ginseng to cure all types of ailments as opposed to Prozac and heroin. Just as I was about to impart my knowledge of how the Great Wall was constructed I was cut off by my main gaysian. She told me that they didn’t really care about the history of ancient China and would rather talk about the new Death Cab album. Being unaware of these Death Cabs I quietly ate a dumpling4.

As I was walking home after my meal of dumplings I realized that maybe my sudden attraction to the gaysians had been gestating for a long time. I couldn’t explain why I was so amazed by every facet of their history and style. I started to experience the cold sweats. My heart was pounding in an unfamiliar fashion. I could barely wait till the next time I saw them. Was I in love? It had been too soon. I knew that I had contracted some sort of virus. So I turned to my trusty medicinal resource: the Internet. After listing my symptoms it was clear as day what was affecting me. I had a fever. A fever of the yellow nature.  

Footnotes

  1.  Any individual from the continent of Asia who has homosexual sex
  2. A generally embarrassing but altogether awesome experience involving Asians (not necessarily homosexual), a microphone and an electronic keyboard version of a song by Kelly Clarkson and others; the main purpose of which is to sing along to projected subtitles of your chosen tune without sounding deaf .
  3. A Vietnamese noodle dish made with vegetables, chicken and/or tripe (stomach lining of a cow) primarily consumed by the residents of Chinatown, Markham, Richmond Hill and U of T fraternities
  4. Like a baby perogie, but instead of potato and cheese as the filling it has a myriad of wonderful spices, pork, and onion