Being gay is simply not a Gender Identity Disorder (GID), as I so would love to believe. Being one is beyond the bound of natural or supernatural hypothesis. Being one is not chosen. You know you are gay when you feel like one.
When I was a growing child, I feel different. I don't play raucous sports, nor run around and twist someone's leg or arm as a "normal" boy would likely play. Yes, I'm aware that I am different but that never bothered me. I was ridiculed as "bayot" (means gay in English) and most of the times go home with a teary-eye after an hour or two of silently defending myself against my playmates' noxious teasing. They redundantly fooled around my identity and lambasted me with harsh-words that I am not normal and I deserve to die before I pass such "sickness" to others.
I began to experience the austerity and the callousness of life when I labeled myself as something special, close to being abnormal. I was in a big limbo, looking for my identity, knowing myself better, knowing what I want, knowing who to befriend, and knowing who I really am. At a very young age, naive of the consequences I'll face in the near future, it was indeed a cross.
I never accepted it at first and was extremely denying the fact that I was gay. I can see some other gays growing old turning bitter and was the funny object of the crowd. "I will never be like them" was the usual impulse. This place is harsh; I told myself, that I must repackage myself into something acceptable and of the mainstream. I saw the reel life lurking on a distance and the painful trauma is felt yet unseen.
As my friends would usually narrate their funny encounters with gays dressing up like a cheap-sexy lady, they would usually turn their heads toward my direction in unison as they softly chuckle. I mastered the craft of ignoring annoying and destructive criticisms on my sexual orientation. I always end up battered and wasted in every meeting we had with my friends. All monkeyshines and shenanigans I encountered and I was amazingly immune to it. "A part of me is fading while the other's strongly fighting" is the best fitted description I had before.
As a kid, I hate family reunions (or should I say until now). They spoil my lovely day. My relatives would usually compare me with my other cousins, noting my behavior, gestures, and comportment, that I'm quite "soft" and very "un-manly". They see me as a silent, obedient and joyful kid, that none of their words would hurt me in any way they knew how, which in return fuels their conversation picking on me. I am always the funny-object in every reunion and I simply loathe it. Being teased and being laughed with your sexual orientation is no joke at all. I surprisingly fought that through crying. Crying has been my secret weapon against insensitive people. After the said reunion, my mom would usually give me something in order to pacify my unheard cries. My mom knew that I was hurting inside and she was my patient sounding board.
One encounter that I could not forget was during Sunday school service in our Protestant church. I was a very enthusiastic student reciting memory verses, expounding on some passages, naming important biblical characters, and re-enactments of the story dedicated on a certain meeting. One occasion, a child raised his hand, pointed his finger on me and simply asked the facilitator if I should be permitted to stay within the church's premises knowing that I'm quite feminine with my actions and added if God would be happy seeing me acting as such. My teacher simply snagged and reprimanded him outside the room warning him not to raise such questions again. I caught myself pouting in the middle of my Sunday schoolmates, as I was seated at the middle. They all laughed and told me to get out for I'm not worthy to be admitted inside for I was sissy. The facilitator rushed in and told everybody never to do that to me again, and that she reminded them that I am also God's child and should be treated squarely. I had so much that day that I stormed inside the church in the middle of the preacher's sermon, sunk into my mother's tummy and wailed.
"Why is the world too harsh on me?" I knew depression well. The very deed of staying in my room the whole day, crying, being bitter, and being masochist was my instant output. The world was harsh on me, too harsh.
I tried myself to change. I cloaked myself in order to hide my true identity and blend in to what they label as "acceptable" or "within the norms". I tried my very best, but the more I coerce the hiding, the more it becomes unconsciously obvious. I tried to play strident games; assume to have a crush on the opposite sex; be manly at all times; started bullying around as my playmates see as masculine, etc. I was happy to successfully blend in, but, as I wrote recently, the more I coerce the hiding, the more it becomes unconsciously obvious. My relatives were happy with my changes, my friends too and loved ones, but I was not. My lame facade collapsed when I suddenly realized that I was not doing it for myself, but to others. Those were my mortified childhood years.
Though my childhood year's brought so many things for my awakening, it never stopped me from knowing myself. I can fairly say now that I know myself better and that I knew who I am. That every now and then, I pause in a corner, contemplate, and simply smile on my childhood memories.
Presently, I've seen a lot of "suspected-gay" kids within the neighborhood. You can never stop yourself from worrying on them. They will be the next generation's gay individuals. Similar communal oppression brings gloom to them for sure. I know how these kids feel. The same gesture I once made. The same feminine games I once occupy my time with. Their masks are quite similar to mine before. The same mask I used in order to look socially acceptable and "morally" mainstreamed.
Reforming an individual's sexual orientation is not merely done overnight. A reprimand won't do the trick. Dissident notations and ignoramus approach on the said matter will heighten the insecurities and uncertainties of gays. Acceptance is the only key to lighten their daily pariah. Acceptance but not tolerance, which means to say that, we allow them to express themselves granting that they will be liable to any misdemeanors they do and that they will be accountable to their own behaviors.
Everything starts at the basic unit of the community ? the family. The family must stand as the main ingredient on one's personal refinement and must be first on the queue of accepting the child. That parent must not in anyway coerce their prejudiced ruling. Show them both sides of the coin. It is appropriate for them to be informed on their future hurdles in this socially and morally biased and twisted environment at the right age when they can fully understand things logically. That at a very early age, they will know their responsibilities just like everybody else. That we must not deprive them of knowing who they are and by showing to them that in anyway they are loved. Remember, we give them the right space and time to know themselves better without compelling our ruling over their very own and by not, in any way, tolerating serious mistakes.
(Silliman University : Paul Rich J. Romano,)