Confessions of a Cat-holic (132)

You wouldn't need to be his close friend to notice that he didn't like to be filmed. Anyone should have been able to tell that. It was rather obvious that he wanted to be as low key as possible. I could understand him because I was just as shady as him, if not more.

I said I didn't have a picture of him, a proper and real picture with his face not blurred or hidden or out focused. I asked him to send me a few pictures so I could always remember our times together.

He did, as I requested. He sent me a few super small resolution pictures, that were literally just thumbnails that could not be properly magnified.

And the ironic thing was that all of his poses were carefully manifested or orchestrated in a manner that mimicked my kin brother, Da Meng. I only possessed a handful pictures of my kin brother. Other than that, I had never talked to or met him in person but he remained deep down in my heart as one of my closest relative whom I always kept as a secret.

One picture was Rex sitting in a squat position on top of Toronto's CN tower. I had never been there but I could tell it was Toronto. He was doing the exact squat position like what Da Meng did in one of the less-than-five-picture collection hidden all the way in my locker drawer that none around me was able to reach. Another one was Rex doing Da Meng's pose in a snooker club holding a cue stick, with most of his face in the shades so no one could tell how he actually looked.

He wanted to tell me that he knew my deepest secrets. He knew I had a mafia kin brother. He knew I never told anyone anything about him and he knew how I did that, by keeping my mouth shut and never letting anyone grab hold of his pictures with his face exposed.

I thought he understood that I understood him. I thought this was our mutual empathy. This common dislike of being photographed and exposed in limelight should have been understood by both of us without our further need to articulate.

One day in the bleak winter, he asked to have a photo taken with me. He said he wanted to have a photograph, a proper portrait taken with just me and him. I knew he disliked photos, as much as I did. So I agreed but I took him to the gaming arcade on top of World Trade Center at the time, to have our photo taken in those Japanese photo sticker booth. I said I looked better in those photo stickers. But it was a lie. None of us could afford to tell the truth in this cosmopolitan city. I didn't want to have our photograph reproduced by means of a reel of film, just like how I protected my kin brother and how my kin brother had protected me.

So we had our photo taken in the booth. At the end of the photographing session, the Japanese machine gave us the option of nominating ourselves to post our portrait on the weekly updated chart or voting other portraits out there. He asked me whether I wanted to nominate ourselves to be voted on the chart, like many other couples. No, of course not. All the other couples looked uglier and more MK, while Rex and I looked way more sophisticated and enviable. This could be the last thing I wanted to see in a photo booth, a photo of myself with a handsome and presentable boyfriend who could make the whole world jealous. Hell no.

He acted very sad coming out of the booth. I used to the word "act" for obvious reasons. He was acting very disappointed for not having been able to nominate our portrait out onto the weekly photogenic chart. I knew he probably hated this popularity contest thing as much as I did. But he continued to press me on, like he really wanted us to be seen and coveted like we were the best looking couple in Hong Kong.

That was the closest we had ever got to having a fight. He said he doubted my love for him because I was not showcasing his status as my boyfriend like a tour. Whatever public kisses and PDA were not enough. He wanted to get on those photo sticker popularity charts. Yes, obviously little Rex had yet to grow up. After all, he was just a childish teenage boy who craved for public's attention.