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“Please welcome the most wonderful, the kindest, and the smartest woman I ever met,” Ellen deGeneres introduced her wife, Portia de Rossi, the first gay couple legalized by the state of California.

No, she’s not! I know someone more wonderful, kinder, and smarter.

You.

“I was lonely when I came to Singapore, till you came and brighted my days. Keep those stars in your eyes.”

It was on your goodbye note before leaving for Sidney.

What stars? I looked at my eyes in the mirror and found none . I think they only lighten up when they met yours.

So I scan your card, write the same exact words (even the gramatically-error brighted) , and give it to you.

“I was lonely when I came to Singapore, till you came and brighted my days. Keep those stars in your eyes.”

Some call it plagiarism. You call it romantic. I call it honest.

Echt! Except for the lonely part. I was never lonely in Singapore. You were already there.

Even after you left, I was never lonely. I missed you, always, but never felt lonely. I think you left me with enough love and confidence to say loving will never leave you empty handed. Me after you was the best me I ever had, even after you were no longer there.

Life was a celebration because I never felt less loved.

And I found nothing sinful about my feeling.

There is a reason they called it homosexuals. Because it is sexual. As long as I expressed my love not in a sexual way, we will have a very healthy relationship.

It really was.

It was fun. It was nice. It’s over.

But life blessed me with another two days of you in Sidney. I was so waiting for it even if I have to have breakfast with your husband.

Good choice, indeed. Not a tall good looking one, but a genuinely loving human being. You never cared about look. Maybe that’s why you don’t mind spending time with me. And that’s why I love spending time with you.

As long as the Sidney Opera House is for just the two of us. I have no interest of listening some fat lady singing in Italian, or the architecture of the turtles having sex, I was more interested in capturing those stars in your eyes.

Bwehhhhh... What was I saying? I am not a romantic. I found no stars in your eyes. Only glimmering lights, not stars.

But you said I am. I am a romantic.

I looked at myself in the reflection of the darkened Sidney shops. Romantic? Huh! I guess it was another side of me exist only when you are around.

Then you came next to me, and I turned my back. I hate our reflection together. I hate every photographs of us together. Because it tells me a reality: we don’t look good together.

Why would I hate it? I do not want to be together with you. I do not want to marry you. I do not want to move to Melbourne and spend my lifetime with you. I do not want to chat with your sisters. I do not even know how many you have. I am not interested in being friends with your mom. I am perfectly happy with what we are today.

Am I?

At least until before I saw Ellen and Portia. I do not dare to point fingers and condemn them to burn to hell. They are so beautiful together. How can anything so beautiful be called sin?

What if I was wrong? What if you were actually the one? What if I have passed my Portia de Rossi in the sake of path of least resistance? The path where my mom and my dad will be happier and hopefully live longer.

Life blessed me another dose of you. This time: Bandung.

I keep telling myself I do not want to be gay. The thought of sex freaks me out. The platonic one gives me more peace.

But why did my heart beat faster everytime you hold my hand to cross the street? I am a spoiled brat, too afraid to cross one. But when I was with you, I took the path of more crossing. Yeyyyy=D

And your lips.

Your eyes.

The scar on your back.

You are tempting. But it doesn’t mean I am a lesbian. Who will not love you? You are considerate, fun, loving, and beautiful. Any woman I know that knows you love you. They just don’t tell you like I do.

Maybe I am not a lesbian. Maybe I am simply the most honest woman in this world.

But then those women do no write any book or any movie based on you. Your smell is just all over my works. It’s impossible to hide that I thought about you a lot.

Do you think about me?

“It’s gloomy in Sidney. It gets me more to think about some stuffs. You are one of them.”

I got out and did a raindance, hoping God will notice and make it always sunny and bright in Sidney so she will have no time thinking about me.

Or maybe once every two years, for a minute or two, let it be gloomy, God.

Only so she can know how it feels to be me.