Honestly I don’t have an exact answer. But I do know that when I did admit to myself I’m gay, it was the second most important turning point in my life. The first one, by the way, happened on July 15, 1997 but this story will never see the light of day on this blog.
Maybe my gayness started when I got excited with Steve Armstrong and his sideburns, and not with Voltes V the robot and its fight with Bozanian monsters. I didn’t grow up with
Or maybe my being gay began when I felt both indignant and at ease when I was about seven and a distant cousin of the same age taunted me “Bakla, bakla!”. I did throw the same taunt at him until a memorable fistfight happened. The last time I saw him, he was even “gayer” than I was then which proved to me that birds of the same feather fight each other.
Or how about when I tried on my mother’s housedress and posed at the top of our staircase? My mom just laughed and ordered me to change clothes.
Or maybe it started when I saw beyond the aesthetics of a male physique. I think it was the same time that I became uncomfortable being called “pare” complete with slaps on the back and even the occasional bearhugs.
Or maybe it was when I had that overrated “first experience”.
Or maybe it was when I got introduced to the activist world and discovered that it is alright to be gay and what’s important is to situate gays and the gay struggle in the people’s movement.
I do not really know.
It was more of a journey of self-discovery. It was not without contradictory emotions, thoughts and actions. It included a series of steps, leaps, jumps, runs, walks, rests, and even some steps back (like when I had a girlfriend … yeah Kiks, jeer).
When I became an activist, I plunged into it. With my gayness, it was more of touch and go until I finally got to exorcise from inside me the vestiges of fear and shame that our society instilled against homosexuality.
So when did I realize I am gay? It was like this: a long time ago, there was a princess who lived in a tower and her name was