Disclaimer: In Real Life is a platform for everyday people to share their experiences and voices. All articles are personal stories and do not necessarily echo In Real Life’s sentiments.
This story is shared by a Malaysian man who recounted his personal experience of being asked to donate his kidney to his dying twin brother by his parents who judged him for his sexual orientation.
It was a typical day when the phone rang, disrupting the tranquility of my life. A voice from the past, one I had hoped to never hear… and then a second one I also didn’t want to hear: My parents. My guard went up the instant they started prying into my life.
In between questions about how things were and the weather, I dropped a bombshell I had been saving for just such an occasion: I had emigrated, about 700 kilometers away, to Australia.
The shocked silence at the other end was amusing, to say the least. That is, until they unveiled the true purpose of their out-of-the-blue call: My estranged twin brother was extremely ill with only months to live. They needed money, and, if it wasn’t too much to ask: one of my kidneys.
I hesitated for a moment and then dropped the second bombshell that day: I revealed that for the last 35 years, I was gay.
The next 2-3 seconds of speechlessness mirrored the years of neglect and indifference towards my childhood. I left them to marinate in their stunned silence and hung up.
The Forgotten Child
It had been a nice evening. But after the call, I ruefully reached for the ice and vodka. In the company of my very male partner, I unraveled the tightly wound ball of resentment that had nested in my heart for 35 years.
My parents had been emotionally absent from my life; my twin brother had been the favored golden child while I, the chess-playing, game-playing geek, was left to fester in the shadows. We were the same age, shared DNA and a birthday, but my brother and I were polar opposites.
My brother was everything I was not: Gregarious, fun, sporty, outgoing. As such, he was praised, supported, and showered with gifts. Meanwhile, I got the hand-me-down clothes, got forgotten at birthdays, and for some reason, constantly pushed to be more social and athletic.
To his credit, he never turned on me. He just followed along with my parents, the way children do because he got what he wanted that way. Meanwhile, I learnt to live in his shadow.
Even though we were in the same school and shared classes, he always gave me the cold shoulder. It got to the point that by the time we were in college, we just didn’t interact with each other. Now that we’re both adults, there is no real relationship, no bond of brotherhood.
So, I hatched a plan to move abroad and never come back.
It was during my graduation that cemented my decision to move abroad. Despite having paid for them to attend, my parents had not shown up. “We’ll meet up with you later at dinner,” my mum texted me, almost as an afterthought.
At that point, it dawned on me that my family had never truly been present for me all my life. Not only that, but if I allowed things to continue as they are, they would keep using me or ignoring me for the rest of my life.
So I made the difficult decision to break ties with the family that never acknowledged my presence. I went no contact, worked very hard at my chosen profession (advertising), and emigrated abroad. I found some peace with myself, and even some measure of happiness when I met my boyfriend and settled down with him.
Seeking Painful Truths
Sitting there on the coach, I broke down recounting all of these memories to my partner. Unpacking all of this was tough. I knew my parents were going to demand answers. Answers, and an apology for being gay, which is a sin in Malaysia (my family are devout Muslims).
I knew that in the next few days, I had a tough decision to make. After unearthing these memories, I realized that I didn’t want to be forgiven. I didn’t want them back in my life. I just wanted to put my past behind me once and for all.
I video called my parents and decided to ask some tough questions. Questions that I needed the answers to when I was 12. In that call, I learned a lot about my upbringing. All of them ugly, painful, hurtful truths:
My parents had noticed my “feminine traits” and “personality quirks” when I was a teenager and had tried to “gently”, without my awareness, guide me away from them. Hence, the exhortations to join the “manly sports” of basketball and martial arts. Hence forced guitar lessons, instead of the violin like I wanted.
I asked them, honestly: “Do you think you had messed up as parents?”
They acknowledged that they had not been good parents, but then added, “Because of the deviant life choices you have made.”
So in the end, they still firmly believed that they had done the right thing in making my life miserable, lonely, and unloved – all in the pursuit of making me “a real man.”
There was no self-awareness, no apology for not being loving parents. They told me, “It’s in the past, grow up and get over it. Be the man that your brother needs!”
I replied tersely, “I’m the best gay man I can be, living in “sin” with my boyfriend. Who knows? Muntaz getting a kidney from me might turn him gay. Then you’d never have grandchildren.”
The screen went dark, and I overheard my mother saying, “Buah pinggang dia haram. Tapi dia boleh bayar untuk pembedahan.”
“Turning off the camera does not mute the audio,” I said, and ended the call. A week later, a new number called me. It was my (now desperate) twin brother.
My first conversation with my brother after 10 years
“I need the money… if a kidney becomes available, then I’ve got a chance.” He did not look well. Tired. Dark circles around his jaundiced eyes. He hesitated, “Will you help me?”
Seems that my gay organs are haram, but my gay money is still halal.
“What’s in it for me? You were my brother. You never cared. You never watched out for me! We were in the same class from Darjah Satu to SPM. I got bullied. I got beaten up. You stood there and watched. You laughed! I remember all of it! Every, single, time!” I vented, letting loose a deluge of repressed anger, hate and disgust.
He stayed silent through my tirade.
“Now that you need something, it’s not even me, your brother that you need. It’s what you can get from me!” I was on a roll. “If I was straight, you’d be begging for a kidney as well as the money!”
Only silence followed my accusations. After there was nothing from his end, I added, “That’s the truth isn’t it?”
He disconnected the call.
The opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference
After that outburst, my state of mind fluctuated between the two extremes of anger and indifference. Were they manipulating or gaslighting me somehow? Was I inhuman for callously leaving my twin brother to his fate? To die without my help?
I discussed it a lot with my boyfriend, and he honestly didn’t know how to have an opinion on this matter. I went through a lot of memories, trying to find a good reason or memory to justify helping them.
I didn’t find one, but still my conscience gnawed at me.
I decided to do the “right” thing, for a personal reason
Growing up, I’d formed the survival habits of not drawing attention to myself, not being noticed, just to avoid fights and scoldings.
Now, so far away, those ingrained habits were in conflict with the freedom I have earned. Call it brainwashing, but the childhood urge to listen to my parents was in conflict with my independent growth as an adult.
So finally, after everything that happened, I called my father and made him an offer: I would transfer RM45,000. In return, they would sign a legally binding contract to never contact or visit me.
The contract wasn’t really something I could enforce. But what it did was give my whirling, overwhelmed brain a firm anchor. As a psychological coping mechanism, it’s not the healthiest, but it worked.
Two days later, holding the signed contract in my hand, I transferred the money, and then my father called. After listening to his mumbled thanks, I replied, “Remember this moment, abah: “Every time you look at your golden child, it is because you took blood money from your pondan son.”
I am with a better man that I deserve.
Finally, after 35 years, there was the closure I needed. My nagging conscience shut up. Now I was free from the obligation of being my family’s son.
I finally understood a life lesson, that people don’t abandon their loved ones, they only abandon the people they are done using. Now, they can never use me again.
Now, my past is no longer a prison. I’ve taken one final step towards the freedom and peace I’ve always wanted. I’m planning on proposing to my boyfriend, and since I am never returning to Malaysia, our future together is free. And where we are is a sin-free existence.
This story highlights the difference in cultures and mindsets between people living in Malaysia and abroad.
What do you think of this story?
Send an email to hello@inreallife.my and you may be featured on In Real Life Malaysia.
Read also: Hun Sen, Najib & Marcos: Southeast Asia’s Most Corrupt Political Leaders
More from Real People
I Won RM1,000,000 In The TOTO Lottery, But Kept It A Secret From My Family To This Day
This story is about a man who struck gold with a RM1,000,000 jackpot from the TOTO lottery but chose to …
Help! This M’sian Family Lives Just A Few Steps Away From a Rubbish Dump and Needs Aid
This story is about a Malaysian woman, Grace Edward, whose son has fallen sick because they are forced to live …
Child Prodigy Thevissha Naidu Enters Malaysia Book Of Records For This One Mind-Blowing Ability
Meet Thevissha Naidu, a remarkable 3-year-old prodigy who entered the Malaysian Book of Records for naming 51 Asian Countries within …
