A lot of people find it strange that I’m not a huge Anglophile, despite the fact that I spent my formative years in the UK. It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in those years. If anything, it was quite the opposite. I had very good times as a student. Made some really good friends and went on some amazing “drinking” experiences.
It helped that Daddy had a flat in one of the “happening”
places in one of the most happening cities on the planet. I was a student in
London who lived on 22 Dean Street in London’s Soho area. The place was smack-bang
in the middle of “sleazy-cool.” My neighbour was one of the many great stripjoints that populated the place and every bar around was a proverbial “meat-market”
filled with a collection of some of the most women around (for some reason, the
British capital attracts the most stunning women in Europe). I had everything a
single young-man could ever want and it goes without saying I wasn’t the
stereotypical studious Asian student. I cruised through my entire university course
based on an ability with the English language.
You could say that I lived in a bubble that was financed
very generously by Daddy. I had fun but I didn’t really achieve anything. If
you were to ask me what I achieved, it always ends up in that period when I was
freelancing.
While my life was what you could call a “bubble,”
there was a particular moment when things were not so smooth. I am, talking
about the bombing of the Admiral Duncan Pub, which was walking distance from
where I lived. While I never hung out at the Admiral Duncan (Gay Bar), I walked
along the street quite often to go to a bar I hung out at all the time (A place
called “Barsolona” which had Spanish Music and funnily enough, one of the best
burgers around).
The bombing of the Admiral Duncan was a “hate crime.” Someone
who hated homosexuals thought it would be a good idea to murder a group of them:
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-47216594
However, in the days that went by, we got to hear of
the horrific details. It was something that was talked about within the group I
hung out with. A gay chap I knew said that he believed that the criminal who
bombed the place was himself a gay person who had repressed being gay to the
point of hating and thus wanting to murder gay people. My other neighbour (who
would later become my tenant), said that she had heard rumors that the Jews who
loved in Golders Green (Jewish Area) would be next.
This wasn’t a “Swift Lion” moment, where I personally
knew the people that died. I can’t call it a decisive moment in life where I
vowed I would or would not do certain things. I can’t even call it a “teaching”
moment.
It was, however, a moment that made me think about
certain things. I mean, it happened on a street where I used to walk on all the
time just so that I could go out and have fun. People came to this place just
to have a good time. Nobody imagined that they would be blown to bits because
someone couldn’t stand the fact that they had different sexual preferences.
I did show up at the public vigils. It was like a good
“community” thing to do. I chatted to a few people and said a few small words
to people I never knew. I was living in that community at particular time.
I am currently on a business trip in the UK. After my
official dinner meet, I took a stroll down to see the old haunt. Even went down
to the strip club and had a drink there. It’s good to see that Dean Street like
the rest of Soho remains “party central.” I’m thrilled that the Admiral Duncan
is filled with happy (pardon the pun) being just that. It’s as if that horrible
incident never happened.
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