The Other Bear

Every time my friends reminisce about their youth, I pray that, for whatever arcane reason, I could have a different coming-of-age experience. Unfortunately, my family knows nothing about my upbringing as a closeted gay man in high school when I was still in the Philippines.

I shut all talks about women, men, and dating when I’m with my family. For me, it is a taboo—a topic I always avoid, turning off any intuition of my difference. But without a doubt, the gay clock will soon strike midnight, blast confetti and glitter, and every part of the world will hear Lady Gaga’s Born This Way. However, the time is not nigh, so I am stuck ruminating how I will cope if they find out that their youngest son likes men and has no plans on having any children.

A person doesn’t change when they embrace their sexual orientation; it is the people’s reception to homosexuality that changes the dynamic. From my experience, however, I learned that I could not be too excessive or lacking; otherwise, I could be flagged and scrutinized whether I am one of them.

Navigating my identity is an ebb and flow, a test to determine what parts of myself and my behavior warrant shame. I was forced to find my position between masculinity and femininity. Other gays from my class ridiculed my reserved nature and habits, which I picked up from my male role models, like giving bro hugs. What’s supposed to be a social act of endearment and greeting became an inside joke in our class. It got pathologized to me making advancements toward men.

My actions required snappiness and stiffness, so I have to walk in a manner that manifests masculinity. I cannot speak too gently or have too many expressions, or my classmates could fish for new materials to use against me. Some people even take offense to my smile as flirtation.

I found it hard to gain the confidence and courage to openly admit I was gay in high school. Teenagers are full of angst and cynicism toward the people that surround them. Not everyone holds the same level of discernment over what is socially acceptable and what is not. I tried to get into the conventional Filipino masculine traits to ward off any suspicions of my identity.

My cousin and I were in the same high school. As my senior, he introduced me to his gang while his underlings, who were the same year as me, tried to befriend and play basketball with me. It came to a point where I took part in training and joined leagues, thinking that athleticism would display solid masculine energy.

Outside the court, the boys confided their secret romance or infatuation with our female peers, asking me to be their wingman and assist with their plans to court them. I, too, had stories of experimenting on heterosexual juvenile romance. I had to so that I could confirm if I had only turned gay because I was a hopeless romantic. I got defeated upon realizing that courting women does not spark me any joy—but it did prove my identity.

People felt betrayed when I acknowledged that I was not straight, especially the guys. They thought befriending them was only a facade, so I could flirt and take advantage of them. But in reality, it was never about them. I masqueraded as a straight man because I didn’t want a rift between me and those around me just because I was gay. My plan only backfired, and I gradually gained a reputation rooted in my queer identity. Contrary to what people think, gossiping does not gender discriminate; no matter what your identity is, you could be a participant.

My teacher and classmates called me BD as a pet name, a combination of the word beki, a Filipino slang for "gay", and duck as a jab for my big lips.

The glares, whispers, and giggles made me anxious and paranoid whenever I walked in public spaces.

As the class pariah, I seek refuge under other people's warmth and attention. I looked for people to bond and play games with outside our classrooms while being tactful about what I said so I won't stave off potential companions. I have not learned how to smoke, drink, or cut class at that time – activities my peers have done as part of the high school experience. Online games served as my common link to most people my age. After class, I rushed into the computer cafes to make a reservation for a seat once someone finished.

While queuing, someone came to my seat and asked if I wanted to play with them. I recognized the person. He was among the people I played with before when my classmates decided to bet against players from the other class. We were decent players, yet playing as allies was pretty new.

Gaming is social; we learn about each other the more we play: our fighting styles, our gaming attitude, our strengths and limits, and what event will likely throw us off our game.

We were two big guys with huge appetites, so after an hour or two of gaming, we would head to a nearby kiosk or grocery store for a quick bite before we went home. Fortunately, we were heading in the same direction and rode the same jeepney. At school, we decided to eat lunch together, sharing our meals while keeping up to date about the happenings in our lives outside gaming. I was looking for the right time to tell him the truth about me. Timing may seem glacial, but I enjoy our time shared, not talking about gripes and our dark secrets.

I'm not righteous, but I learned it's better not to welcome unsolicited information unless asked otherwise. I hope my acquaintance – who I respected – knew that when he cast me out to ask his classmate why he was with me. He spotted the two of us waiting for a jeepney ride. He called my friend from a distance. He covered my friend's ear with his hand, yet his loud voice foiled his plan of whispering. The three of us rode the same jeep in silence.

The next day, I saw him hanging out with his classmates. Our eyes met, but he quickly turned in a different direction. Our interaction may be brief, but I got his message about the fear of being associated with a gay man.

I have been in California for almost five years, but all my hurt travels with me even after immigrating. As a rising senior, I befriended amazing and intellectual people who understood my humor and found me interesting for my passions, philosophies, and visions. It's a fair assessment that my life improved in the United States, yet my transgressions still follow me as a young adult.

I deactivated my Facebook so family and friends back home won’t know about my humor, opinions, and activities straight men won’t like, visit or do. Even though I now live in a country where most people accept me for who I am, growing up as queer in a predominantly male environment restrains how much I could express myself.

Different places, people, and times, yet the same familiar worry of being unwanted still permeates after almost a decade. I grew hypercritical at the pieces of myself that people may find suspicious– teasing, mannerisms, my choice of words, everything contributing to the fear that I might fuck up and break the very thing I long for – belongingness. I go to Cal every day, wondering if being so close to my friends is worth it when they can simply break my trust and hurt me on a whim.

With time, I have accepted and learned that it’s the other person’s loss if they don’t vibe with you just because you’re gay. Yet still, the hard truth is that cognizance doesn’t heal your self-esteem when you ask the universe why you turn out like this.