In the spirit of the National Coming Out Day, I thought I'd share my story. I rarely speak about it to anyone and whenever they ask I always just give them the cliff notes version (probably because there's not much to it). I'd give them bits and bobs but I thought maybe it's time I set the record straight. It's not THAT life-changing but here's my two cents.
I've always known I was gay. Or rather, I knew from an early age that I wasn't like the other boys. When I was seven years old, I made friends with girls mostly, I read the Sweet Valley High series instead of Dragon Ball Z (although later on I became a manga dork), I much preferred playing with my sister's Barbie dolls instead of my prize-winning Hot Wheels collection- and above all else, I had crushes...on boys. I tried to ask a girl out once but it just came off as disingenuous and weird, and truth be told, it was only to appease my dad's expectations. After all, what would his eldest son doing with all these girls if he wasn't into them? Perhaps the environment I grew up in affected my sexuality? Maybe. I grew up in my grandparents' household and at the time, I had two bachelor uncles living under the same roof. My granddad was a quiet but firm army veteran while my grandmother was a religious matriarch and though tolerant, she was still adamant with her values. My uncles were into chicks and they always had their friends over who shared the same interests. As luck (or fate) would have it, I grew up going against the grain. I am neither religious nor into chicks.
So this was how my life was to be for the next six years. Fast forward to 2005.
If we're gonna talk coming out to parents, I'm gonna have to pass. Most gay guys and girls find it most difficult to come out to their parents, for obvious reasons of course. My situation was different. See, my parents worked abroad all my life until I was thirteen, and the family moved to England. They would come visit and we were close, but its different living with your parents for good after a lifetime of just one month holidays. Its safe to say that during my first years in England, it felt a little like living with strangers. Now then, why should I care to come out to them when most of the time we were guerilla fighting in a cold, cold war? At the very core of my soul, I was more concerned about coming out to my grandparents. I never came out to my parents, and even to this day, when our family is stronger than ever, it isn't necessary. At least I don't think it is. I was always there...wearing make-up from the Halloween party that never ended. They always knew and that made things easier. My mum always said that she never cared what we were or who we dated, so long as we were happy with the choices we make, but my dad obviously had a tougher time dealing with it. It was always very passive aggressive, but when they realised that apart from liking boys I was still the same person they knew, they backed down. The only time my sexuality was brought up in discussion was during a heated family meeting. My parents were in a room full of angst-ridden teens and because they worked abroad all our lives, I'm guessing they had no idea how to handle their children who were suddenly all grown up. My being gay wasn't addressed explicitly. They just asked me if I had any self-respect for what I was doing, and all I gave them was a flat-out YES. End of. Just to give you a bit of context- I was a devotee of the emo scene at the time, complete with piercings, multi-coloured hair, self-harming scars and lashings of black eyeliner. And I went to a Catholic school. Therefore, in retrospect, perhaps it wasn't even a question of my sexuality as much as it was concern for the kind of person I was turning out to be (physically and emotionally).
But I did come out, and in a clichéd manner at that! If the world ever needed a tongue-in-cheek coming of age film about an extremely gay guy spending his formative years faux-soul-searching, then somebody get me Diablo Cody so she can write about me. I was at the basketball court with my friends when I decided to finally come up for air. It was the Fall of 2005, my family had just moved to England the year before and at the time, there weren't many Filipino kids my age around my area apart from four (including my sister), and these four girls ended up being my bestfriends. It became a regular weekend ritual for us to get on our bikes, cycle to the courts and hang out by the park while out little brothers played ball. This time though, I dropped the I-think-I-may-be-gay bomb (the biggest overstatement of my life) on them over crackers and Polish Iced Tea. Cutting the faux-soul bearing moment short was Carla, who just said 'dude, we know.' I guess I was always as subtle as a pink glitter gun. I then spoke to one of my dad's friends who I grew fond of. She teaches at an all boys' school hence her sharpened and highly cultivated gaydar, and since she has a daughter my age, they decided it would be best for us to hang out and be friends. She told me that before we left for England, she had told my dad that I was (not may be) gay and that all he could do was be supportive. This was the man who once said in the car that he would be ashamed to have a gay child. When I phoned her after the basketball court confession, she told me that my parents knew all along (durr!) and that she was proud of me for finally owning up my fabulousness. The kids at school were mean. Once, I got dragged along the field in the dead of winter during a PE lesson because I was the only one with no mud on his uniform. Whoever decided that letting children play rugby in the middle of winter, snow ankle-deep, is a moron. The girls were mostly sympathetic and I found solace in those friendships.
Then came the mammoth task of talking to my grandparents.
That following summer, we were scheduled a family holiday back in the Philippines and I had planned to suck it up, be a man and come clean to my grandparents. I figured that it would be easier for them back home because the country is brimming with gay and the rainbow culture. Hell, they even have their own language now! The country is a paradoxical microcosm wherein the Catholic church and the gay community kiss each other on the cheek but you have to read the fine print. They call us the 'third sex'. My grandmother has never professed disdain over the gays (in fact, she has unicorn relatives too!). I was curious and afraid to find out how she would react, but unbeknownst to me, I was never destined to find out. In February of 2006, my grandmother died of a sudden stroke. The woman who raised me as her own child just died, out of the blue, faster than you can name all 12 Philippine regions. I remember it well because I had just received my wages from my first job and on my way home I kept thinking of things I could do to treat my grandparents when I go visit them. I was numbed to the core. It was truly the worst thing that could happen and yet I was still trying to make sense of it all. Of course I was devastated but in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and guilt. I felt guilty that I had waited too long to tell her, but at the same time, I knew what she was like so there was a sense of relief in that I had avoided what could have possibly been a sullied reunion. It's sick and twisted to feel that way and I never like thinking about it. By the time we had to go home for the break, I had told my eldest cousin that I was gay. Again, she wasn't surprised, but what I didn't know was that she had told her mum to keep it cool upon my arrival. I will stress again that I come from a religious stock. Not crazy fanatical, but...well, let's put it this way- they once banned the reading of Harry Potter books between us grandchildren because they thought it was all things witchy and satanic. Got the picture?
Anyway, my aunt was the eldest child and was now the head matriarch of the family. When my cousin, who was the poster child for rebellion in our family, spoke to her- she told her mum that 'Josh is coming home, I don't want to hear anything about you guys giving him a hard time for being gay. Got it?'. I knew I loved her so much for a reason! When we touched down, I was in full My Chemical Romance get-up. The emo thing was relatively alien in the Philippines at the time (they followed suit three years later) so obviously, my appearance came as a shock. Everyone in my family had been told of my revelation and I knew something was up, because not once did I hear the word gay thrown about. It was like everyone was on lockdown and mum was the word. My cousins didn't mind talking about it with me, in fact the gay jokes came sooner than expected, but I was waiting for some reaction from my aunts and uncles. These were the people I loved, so how could they not say anything? What I do remember however, was the first thing that my grandfather said to me the moment I arrived at his house. I speak about my grandma alot because for the most part, my granddad was always in the background- the calming element to her dynamo. Being the kind of man that he was, he would only step up if my grandma has had enough, and we knew that when that happened, it was time to stop. All of the sudden, he was full of emotion and he had gotten warmer! I had never seen him like that and I knew that the loss of his other half broke his heart, but nonetheless, he was closer to his family than ever before. The moment I walked through the gate, he told me that he missed us so much. Later that day he told me something that I will never ever forget. He told me in a giddy mood that he didn't care about what I looked like or what I am. I was beautiful in his eyes. Of course he shared the same sentiment to my brother and sister as well but it was just what I needed to hear. A sense of relief and joy washed over me because the man who was there with me from the very beginning, the quiet half of the Tamang superteam, wasn't forsaking his gay grandson. He welcomed me with a warm, big hug and it felt like home.
As it turned out, the rest of the family was still in mourning. We observe a forty-day window for grieving over the dead and when I realised it, I understood the silence and figured not throwing a fit over something trivial was the least I could do for my late grandmother. There is no way for me to know what could have happened between us had she not passed away, but as tough as she was when she was alive, she was also the most maternal and affectionate woman I have ever known besides my mum. Looking back, it was always her opinion that I wanted the most and unfortunately, I never got it. However, the last time we spoke over the phone she was very happy and excited about the prospect of us coming home. Even now when I think about it, I think she would have been proud of what I've accomplished so far. A few years later my grandpa followed suit and passed away. That holiday was the last time I would ever see him and we parted in tears because he already missed us so much and we hadn't even gotten out of the house! My siblings and I were the only grandchildren they raised like their own and so it was like bidding farewell to parents (as it turned out) forever. The rest of the family were supportive as well. My aunties even raided my make-up bag for my collection of kohl liners.
Things back in England were slightly different. Although the bullying still went on, it was lessened by the fact that in my new, out-of-the-closet courage, the boys got a bit funny about being near a gay kid that they just left me alone. The occasional jerk would come along and throw a low shade at me, but I had my girls and my secure sense of self to rely on. It was empowering to have so many friends and a strong familial support system behind me, giving me the confidence to be whoever I wanted to be. From then on, things got a bit easier. I didn't have to pretend to like girls, or keep my head down when somebody asked me if I was a fag. I was sassy and savvy and it has been like that ever since. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty whenever I read articles about teens committing suicide because they couldn't handle being bullied for their sexuality anymore. I know that reading this, my coming out story isn't one for the ages. In fact, I know that I have had it easy compared to some of the other gay people out there. But the truth is, whenever I hear of other people and their experiences, I can't help but wish that they had what I had to get them through the tough times. As for contemplating the thought of suicide because you can't take it anymore? It DOES get BETTER. You just have to stick it out. Big words- I know, and I can't speak for anyone else but myself, but I found that keeping a strong support system behind you and sticking to your guns and toughing it out will help, even if its only a little bit.
I know it's cheesy as heck, but in the immortal words of Linda Perry and the emotional voice of one Christina Aguilera, I would like to say that 'You are beautiful, no matter what they say.' That's what my grandpa told me, and coming from a war veteran- it was nothing short of spectacular.
That's it, I won't say anymore. I think I've said enough.
Happy National Coming Out Day!
Why don't you share your coming out story?
Love,
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