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.
