By: Maria Ysabelle Chua

Let’s call the boy “Raven.”
If Raven did not start saying “Hi,” I wouldn’t have noticed him. In fact, he had said “Hello” to me many times already before I realized that he was actually my lab classmate of mine who I’ve been sitting a few tables away from me all semester. Yes, Raven was really nothing special.
Except he asked for my number game over. Before school closed for the summer break, he asked me and said he wanted to greet me on my birthday. I made excuses, but he insisted. I gave in. He called. Often. We became close friends.
For the sake of our friendship, I ignored the rumors and the chocolates on Valentine’s Day. It was harder to ignore the little notes he left on my locker: “Didn’t see you today ah. Went home na. Talk to you tonight, okay?” It was even harder to ignore the kilig feeling that sparked in me when I read them.

But I couldn’t turn a eye to the dozen roses of them all around my car one day. Friendship it just wasn’t the word for it anymore, and I know it I can’t be wrong. I opened my eyes to the fact that he was treating me like a girl not a guy friend anymore. But why would he do that? I wasn’t gay. Was I? The boundaries of our relationship were out of seen already; it was only a matter of time before one of us crossed the line.
It was raining that day I told him. I was at university, at the hallway on the bench, and nervous as hell. The day could not end without me knowing what we were just friends or… at the time I could not even bring myself to consider that we could only stay friends. But I knew there were feelings between us that I didn’t understand and that I wanted to be more because it could be the best thing that ever happened to me. You always see the bright side when you’re in love.
He picked up the phone.
“Raven, I have to tell you something. Promise me to just listen because I’m only going to say this once, and if you don’t hear it, bahala ka na, basta I said it na ha.”
And I said it: “I’m in love with you, Raven.”
We were supposed to live happily ever after I loved him, and we were close friends. These stories always end happily. But instead, there was quietness.
Later on, he told me he is not gay. The roses, the phone calls, the playlist he played for me on the phone these where things guys did for the ones they loved but not with me. So how could he not be in love with me after all? It was an emotional distress and a love crisis all at once. He made me question who and what I was and changed the way I saw myself and who’s around me.
Whatever it was, it ended. And though our ending was forever after, it wasn’t happy.
But it was also a beginning.
It wasn’t really about “coming out gay” for me because it was something I was hiding in the closet. It was just that I had only began to realize who I really was. After “the Raven thing,” times were a bit hard. Aside from the heartache I felt because of the end of the relationship and the confusion that cause me because I was discovering my true identity, there was the added trauma of dealing with a judgmental society. People who knew me insisted I had been in the closet for too long because they always had suspected I was a gay, as if I had been pretending not to be gay. That was a bit harsh. They were intentionally calling me a liar to my face, and the worst kind, too, because I had been lying about who I was so they felt it.
On the other side, there were people who felt I was pretending to be gay. They looked for evidence when they should have looked at the person. Aside from the fact that I didn’t fit their group of gayness, hadn’t I had a girlfriend for some time before I guess? Did I still not like girls?
True, I used to have a crush on a girl in my barkada (before I met Raven) who later became one of my really good friends. And after Raven, I had a relationship with another girl, which also ended though we are now still close friends. But when every time I thought about it, that’s what girls were to me really, friends. I used to “fall in love” with them because they were caring and kind, I wanted to develop in myself. I used to like woman who fit the “mother image.” They’ve since become like sisters to me then.
It was different with guys. No brotherly love here, I wanted something more than just friends. There’s an attraction that isn’t there with your friends. Let’s say it, sexual attraction is what defines ones sexuality. No matter how close we are with our girlfriends or how much we care about them, there are bounds we won’t ever cross because they’re straight, and we are gay.
No matter what people thought or say, I knew I was no great fraud. I was just continuing to be myself. I did not start to dress or talk differently or make an effort to show off my newfound self. Being gay wasn’t a role I had to take on, so why should I change clothes or put on a show?
Remembering the “signs” were there, even when I was young. I used to think homosexuality developed because of his/her environment or because who influences him/her while growing up, but now I believe people are born homosexual. Even earlier than I can realize, I was gay-even before my gay friends, my theater group, my first love, and all the other reasons one would explain why I “became gay.” I cleaned up my room the other day, I came across an old story I’d written when I was in fifth grade. Whenever I would describe a female character, the illustration would be short, sometimes just giving her a name. With the male characters, my imagination really outflows. The story would read something like this: ‘This is Issa. She has a best friend named Robin. Robin is so cute. He has an athletic body and likes to play baseball, and he wears short trunks.’ And this was before I even knew what being gay was.
There was no dramatic happen with my family where I sat them all down for my big confession. I didn’t feel the need to tell them I was gay, and I didn’t need to hear them saying they accepted me. Do I need them to tell me they are straight? Of course no.. Being straight or gay doesn’t define you as a person. You are what you are, no explanation needed. I didn’t change, so the way they treated me didn’t change too. Even before I realize I was gay, I’d openly point out cute guys when we go out, and they just laugh. There was nothing for them to adjust to, because I was just being me. Matthew, their son, their brother who just happened to like boys.
I think my mama has always know I was gay because she will tell me telltale stories from my childhood how I liked to dress up as a girl and dance. It was a little harder for my father and brother the men in the family but they were understanding. I’ll still give them the grandchildren they want if I can. Since the Philippines is a Catholic country, sadly, I don’t see that happening in the future. One of the greatest joys in the world is to be a father/mother. It hurts to think I could be poor of that just being gay.
I think gay people like me are the loneliest people in the world, especially here in the Philippines, because they don’t guarantee of companionship in their later years, they can’t get married, have a family, or adopt children to give them love and care when they grow older. For gay people, their friends are all they’ve got, especially if their families don’t really accept them. I’m thankful that I have friends guys, girls, and gays whom I know I can count on, hopefully, for life.
I wish there were more Wills (from Will and Grace sitcom) in local media instead of the gay expression we see. Here, gays are illustrated in only one way as comic figures with their shocking behavior and clothing, and their absurd humor. It would seem the reason gays are put on this earth is simply to make others laugh for entertainment. Just because we are “gay” doesn’t mean we are naturally happy. We’re not automatically funny because we look unlike. Is it too much to ask that we ask some respect in the media and in society?

Not all gays are parlor/salon gays. I’m not. But still, I can’t judge those who are. They are still gay, like me, and they are just human like you and me. It’s not their obligation to change who they are. It’s society’s obligation and responsibility to change the way we view them.
In a perfect world, “That’s so gay” or “Bakla!” would be a compliment, not downgrading. We would be considered normal. Right now, we have conditioned ourselves to be proud of our unlikeliness to think of it as being special. But it gets tiring loving yourself for being special. I never asked to be special, ever.
In a perfect world, we had to be the heroes of the movies and our movie like lives. People think of gays as second girls the sidekick, the supporting cast, the best friend. Gays are not just women trapped in a man’s body because there’s also a male part to our person. We are gays trapped in a man and woman’s world. We don’t get our own check boxes under gender, our own public restrooms, our own storylines.
In a perfect world, I’ll get my happily ever after and be able to tell you the story of my gay, gay life. I wonder when that will be.