5 Years Out

5 Years Out

There are certain moments in my life where everything comes together in extreme clarity. All of the decisions and attitudes I’ve developed or absorbed into my personality brought me here today. I’ve been out of the closet for 5 years to this month, but at the time instead of assimilating in the culture I shied away from it. I made really good friends with a cocky soccer player, and him and his boyfriend have illuminated my idealistic view of what I think my life should be like in the future. Finally, my nursing professor taught a lecture on infertile women and their identities. And that is what I’ve made myself up to this day…an infertile woman (will be explained, promise).

Life was hard for the first two years upon coming out. I can go on to specifics but you can easily read my past entry. Tiger (alias), my locker was next to yours in P.E. in middle school. You had that swagger, and had perfect illuminating skin. Your biceps and defined abs always gleamed in sweat and the light. You looked like an anime character straight out of manga, all the girls thought you were fucking hot. I did too. Whenever I sold chips or candy for my clubs, I always sold to you first and saved your dollars and replaced them from bills from my allowance. You were my first eye candy and every guy that came after you was immediately compared to the incredibly high standards you set. My experience with other guys pretty much just wanted sex, but at the time I wasn’t ready. I then vowed that I’d be the “cleanest” gay guy. I enveloped myself with attitudes like purity ring bullshit and immediately discarded guys that just wanted sex before getting to know their personalities and what they wanted with their lives. I didn’t know that relationships could be formed through physical first. Due to my Catholic upbringing, I was a sucker to think that emotional investment must happen first.

I was an only child and I thought my parents would love me unconditionally. They loved me dearly. I was their most prized possession, their golden child. When I was small around 12 years old I had excellent grades (not that I don’t now, but at the time I excelled for them, never for myself). I was also an altar server and wanted to be a priest. We had emigrated from the Philippines only 3 years ago, but everyone was warm, happy, and cozy in our little room that me, my mom, and my dad slept in. We would always have family over and even though we were crammed into a small living room, there was always good food and someone cracking jokes. And I grew up. I discovered I liked guys. To this day I don’t understand the genetics versus culture debate. No one taught me how to like guys, I wasn’t inducted in some cult or was “recruited”. I was an artist in my early childhood, I appreciated male beauty. If anything was taught to me, it was that I wasn’t supposed to…

So as a trusting uneducated little fool that I was, I told them. Life was a complete turnaround. My mother called in a priest. My father threw away half of my stuff that “made” me gay like my bonsai tree, stuffed teddy bears, and glow in the dark stars. To this day whenever I see either of the three, my insides burn a little. He threatened that I would go to hell and was genuinely concerned for my soul, assuming that he hadn’t destroyed it that day. I developed a curse mentality because god hated fags. Anything I did immediately made me self conscious about myself. If I wasn’t to change I would also be sent back. There was a whole tirade of my family relocating here just so I could have a better future and here I was fucking it all up. For them it was an American dream and culture gone wrong. When I look back at it now, if I was sent back I would’ve probably still have found another Tiger. When I’m thirty five I’d probably cheat on my wife for another man and get divorced. Everytime she would want sex I’d make up reasons not to. I would probably be thinking of someone else if it did happen. Sexuality is socially constructed. I would’ve followed the typical straight regimen, but would hate my life every single day. I would love my kids, but the uterus they were born out of, I probably would not.

How perfect was this last summer? Just went to work, and worked out. I met a guy named Thorin who worked at another commons in UCI. At first I thought he was a douche. He had the popped collar, aviators, typical egotistical asshole. I discovered later that it was just a façade developed to dispel people that didn’t care to know who he really was in the first place. I’m always respectfully in people’s business so I delved deeper. He had a rainbow bracelet and I asked him if he was an ally. Apparently, he was family (code used by gays to refer to other gays secretly). We got to talking and started hanging out. We swapped ideas about the community (code meaning the wellbeing or state of the gay community; sometimes used by me to police its members as being “bad for the community”). He was always talking about his boyfriend and I was adept in listening. It was so refreshing to see a gay couple not bashing each other for their weaknesses, but constantly developing each other. Whenever he talked about him, his eyes would light up and his voice broke constantly. His boyfriend was the air he breathed, the ground he walked on, and the beauty that he saw in the world. Hearing his unbridled admiration about another guy was intoxicating. I had the pleasure of hanging out with this mysterious creature a couple of times and seeing them together is something you would have to see for yourself.

As I got to know more about them, I couldn’t help it take bits and pieces of what they had and assemble what I wanted into my paradigm:

Intense friendship developed into intense passion and commitment.

The willingness to literally annihilate the current environments they were in just to be able to be with each other, because that’s all what they needed in the first place.

Being able to spend exorbitant amounts of time with each other without getting bored. (I definitely need work on this)

Having someone to admire, nurture, and love with reciprocity.

Finally, today my professor told us about the study she did in her PhD study. With heavy verbiage, it was called “The Work of Taking on and Managing an Identity of Self as Infertile”. The study involved women who couldn’t have children for genetic reasons. They go through such a change in character just because they labeled themselves as infertile. They would start off simply by admiring other kid’s babies to taking on an identity as infertile. They became so consumed with infertility. One woman that my professor interviewed who worked out, had a banging body said that none of this matters because she couldn’t have what she really wanted. This then hit me. I was similar to this woman. I’ve climbed leadership for a long time and I’ve achieved so much for my age, but none of it matters because I didn’t have someone to share it with. Everywhere I’d go I’d see couples holding hands, wishing I had my other half. I labeled myself as “single” whereas before it was great and didn’t really bother me. It became such a burden at parties that I had to manage the identity of being gay and single. It’s extremely hard to find a monogamous down to earth, fun, and good looking guy. I’ve overcome societal aversions for gays. I’ve built up a vast network of friends, developed a positive mindset on how to handle situations that directly stereotypically affected gays, but at the same time there really isn’t a wide pool to choose from. It’s like graduating with a sociology degree only to find yourself without a job. It’s like pitching a tent only to have your vacation cancelled.

The help she suggested for these women was that they must reenter the real world. I’ve introspectively looked at my mistakes. I know what I’ve done wrong all these years. I want to make that change. Hey real world, I did knock, but this time I’m going to ring the doorbell instead.