swallowing my pride
living with one foot out the closet — entry 03
my memory often fails me. but when it comes to the very first time i entertained the idea that i might be queer, i can trace back to the exact moment.
i was twelve and it was the time of my life when i was obsessed with japanese pop culture and fashion. i was watching a j-drama called ‘last friends’. one of the main characters, ruka, suffers from gender identity disorder. and my love for the show led to an extensive reading about sex, gender, and sexuality.
when i first read about bisexuality, i distinctly remember thinking: huh, i might be like this. this was my earliest memory of acknowledging my capability of being attracted to anyone, regardless of gender. but this realization was immediately followed by shame and revulsion.
in that same year, i developed a very close relationship with a girl from another class. i remember saving up the coins from my allowance to be able to buy load credits so i can stay up late and text her using my hot pink flip phone. it was freeing, to say the least. we both knew what we are. and we both know what was going on. and soon enough, the whole grade knew.
while practicing for recognition day, a classmate, out of the blue and probably out of boredom from the long program, asked me if i was a “tomboy”. she told me she heard about me having a “girl friend” from the other class. she didn’t even ask it in a bad way. i can tell it was genuine curiosity. but something in me snapped and my first reflex was to disprove everything. i can’t recall what i exactly said, but to this day, i know i have never denied anything else so hard in my life.
once i was finished stumbling on my own words and saying everything i can to make her believe that what she heard wasn’t true, she answered: “okay? pero wala naman din masama kung ganun ka nga,”
pride march 2017 (shot in film with olympus trip 35)
the constant confusion
i discovered who i was at an early age. but i also spent the entirety of my adolescent years repressing and denying it.
it was a confusing time. i loved wearing skirts and dresses, i dreamt of working in a fashion and women magazine, i loved the color pink. yet society taught me that this wasn’t how gay women act or look. i thought that if i really weren’t straight, i shouldn’t be looking like a stereotypical girly female. so i couldn’t possibly be gay, right?
throughout high school and college, i diverted my attention and only dated men to fit into the socially accepted constructs. and mostly because it’s safe.
by only dating men, i don’t have to explain my attraction, i don’t have to feel terrified about getting caught, and as someone who always had trouble getting along with other people, dating men helped me get along with other girls my age. to put it simply, it was just easier.
but this easier way of living didn’t feel right.
i harbored secret crushes for girls. but this was during a time when commenting “girl crush <3” on someone’s facebook profile photo was the norm. and in my head, that meant every girl feels this kind of attraction. this is normal. so i couldn’t be possibly be gay, right?
for most of my life, i rejected the fact that i wasn’t straight simply because i felt like my experiences weren’t enough and i don’t look anything like the stereotypical gay women i see in films and television. even though i’ve had romantic feelings for women, i can't stop feeling like a fraud.
it was only in my last year of college when i started to feel fully comfortable with who i am. i just turned 20 and i don’t exactly know what sparked this change.
maybe it was maturity, maybe it was getting to know more gay people in my life, maybe it was the comforting fact i learned from one of my college assignments: that only 48 % of gen z identify as “completely heterosexual”. or maybe it was a combination of all that — plus kristen stewart dumping robert pattinson and dating alicia cargile.
the closet
the first time i ever came out, it happened in a group chat on viber. anti-climatic, i know. but i remember hurriedly exiting the app right after clicking ‘send’ and ignoring the notifications. i slept that night wishing my friends won’t bring it up the next day.
the thing about coming out is it never seems to end and somehow also never gets easier. i came out to my high school friends during a late night drinking session, to my sisters after i accepted their follow requests on my private instagram, to my co-worker in my first job during a slow news day. every single time, i say the words with a shaky voice and i always don’t know what to expect. sometimes, all i get was “cool”. most of the time though, it’s disbelief.
five years after coming to terms with my sexuality, i feel like i’ve already come out too many times now. but at the same time, i know i haven’t done it enough.
pride march 2017 (shot in film with olympus trip 35)
coming out has been set as a rite of passage. a some kind of an important announcement of who you are. queer movies always have this big emotional coming-out-to-family moment. some youtube personalities even record the whole thing for the public to see.
whether we admit it or not, there is pressure on the gay community to do it — like it’s somehow a mark of validation or a proof of staying true and being proud.
people always say “take your time” or “you’ll know when it’s the right time”. but what if i don’t ever want to come out to the rest of my family? does that make me any less queer and any less proud?
i constantly think about it. sitting my parents down in our living room, me pacing around the room finding the right words. but i can never figure out what to say and when to say it. i remember telling myself i’ll do it once i’m financially independent. when that happened, i changed it to once i’m 23. then it became after i move out of our home.
everything happened already but i’m still at the same place. and the truth is, i don’t see it happening anytime soon. or possibly ever.
of course i wish i were brave enough to just say the words or that i had better relationship with my parents that i don’t have to worry about their reactions. or i wish things were simpler and easier. i wish i didn’t have come out. i wish people like me weren’t expected to come out at all.
i imagine a world where i can bring my girlfriend to family reunions, a world where i can freely post a couple photo on my instagram, a world where i can go out with her and not get terrified of the fact that a family member might see us. it’s these small freedoms that i hate i’m missing out on. and the thing is, i know i’m only one step away from this imaginary world.
but i can’t bring myself to take that one step. and every day, i try to forgive myself for not being able to. i try to remind myself that it’s alright if i don’t ever come out to certain people. i can choose who i tell my truth to. and refusing to come out doesn’t make me less gay or make me a bad one.
coming out is a never-ending process that takes courage. and it’s fine if i’m not as brave or as proud as everyone else. and if i ever choose to stay in this weird middle ground forever, with only one foot out the closet, it’s okay too.
pride this year feels different. saying ‘happy pride’ doesn’t even feel right when twenty of our brothers and sisters were arrested without warrant during a peaceful pride protest four days ago in manila. the arrest of #Pride20 clearly shows how unjust the system is and how the government keeps on silencing its critics.
now more than ever, the lgbtq+ community needs your voice and support. pride isn’t just about waving our flags and riding colorful floats. pride has always been and will forever be a protest.