Tomorrow

Tomorrow is the last day of the Water Festival here in Cambodia. This is the fourth time I had spent this particular holiday here in Phnom Penh, unlike many of my friends and the people I know. Last year Kimrun and I planned a holiday outside Phnom Penh but we canceled it because we were going to Manila anyway. This year we discussed going to Laos but Kimrun couldn’t leave because of too much work.

Yesterday some of my friends dropped by for a merienda of ginataang mais (sweet corn in coconut milk). We started playing mahjong at around 3PM and stopped at almost 2 in the morning. For dinner, I served the beef bulalo that got cooked too late for lunch (I started late and the beef tendons took longer than I expected to become tender and gummy. Lou tried and served a recipe of pata tim (braised pork trotter) that was different from the one I am used to. It was different, but nice nonetheless.

Today the same group of friends is coming in an hour for day 2 of our mahjong tournament, the Phsar Kapko Open. I just informed them that we have to wrap up earlier because…

Tomorrow I am flying to Chiang Mai, Thailand to attend a training on conducting rapid assessment and response (RAR), a qualitative research tool, on drug use and HIV. Harm reduction has always been an interest of mine, and this is the first opportunity I had to receive training on the topic so I am grateful to the Technical Support Facility (TSF) for granting me a scholarship to be able to attend it.

I first came to Chiang Mai on May this year, and I must admit that I fell in love with the city right away. It is as relaxed as Phnom Penh, with all the modern amenities of a cosmopolitan city like Bangkok. The weather is wonderful as well. I even seriously considered moving to it when I got shortlisted for a job with an international NGO there, so I was a little let down when nothing came out of it. Anyway, I vowed to visit it again and I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I am excited, even if my real purpose in being there is to learn and not to gallivant. Learning is fun, anyway. And if it seems not, I’ll make it fun, even for myself!

I’m blabbering… 

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

This year I will spend the Christmas holidays here in Cambodia because of work. I’m a little sad because last year I had a good holiday; Kimrun even went with me to Manila. And this year it looks like I will be doing field work during Christmas day itself (ugh!). I, however, do not like to think of that yet. There are, after all, more important matters at hand. Like, setting and trimming my old Christmas tree.

Last year I set up and trimmed my tree even if I spent the holidays in Manila. My color scheme was silver-pink-purple. When I arrived in Manila our Christmas decorations used the gold-red color scheme, which I liked. Drawing inspiration from that, I decided on a white-silver-red color scheme this year (I’m not particularly fond of gold). I looked at the stuff I had last year, visited the local stationary shop, and bought some new things. When I visited HoJ (the home of Mz Joy & Mz Lou–as known to the Filipinos who hang out there), Joy and I decided on an ex-deal. Her tree is sporting pink-purple decor this year and she had lots of white-silver stuff from last year so I proposed borrowing her blingy white decor in exchange for my pink-purple stuff. I wanted red lights only so I borrowed some from Nill, who had loads from an event he organized months ago.

On Saturday I set up the tree with the help of my housekeeper. I also put on the red Christmas lights on the trunk of the tree because I wanted the tree to sort of glow from within. But I felt sad at the prospect of decorating my tree alone. Then an idea came to me: why not make this an occasion to have friends over? I can prepare food and we can all have fun eating and trimming my tree. So I set in on Monday afternoon and sent the invitation through SMS on Monday morning. I prepared chicken Arroz Caldo with Tokwa’t Baboy (Tofu & Pork).

By early evening Hav & Ted, Wowie, Nill, Gaye, and Jojo arrived. We decided to eat first. After eating, the group set to work like good little elves. I christened them Santa Santita’s elves & fairies (Santa Santita, is of course, me)… 

Romyr, Eng, and Lou arrived soon after and joined the festivities after eating. While working, I also played the new Hairspray film for a healthy boost in positive energy. By 9PM all the balls were tied, and nearly all of them have been hung on the tree. Ted brought out the mahjong set and he, Nill, Lou and Gaye played. I continued decorating the tree.

The party wrapped up at past 11PM. Alone again in the house, I looked at the finished tree and drew a breath of satisfaction. With the lights on, I achieved the effect I wanted to. The tree appeared to be glowing from within, while the crystal stuff and silver balls reflect and bounce the red light along. Against the red wall, the effect is close to spectacular. Now it’s really beginning to look a lot like Christmas! 

And a big thank you to my friends who helped me. Much appreciated, dears!

What am I to you?

I have never really been confronted by homophobia. Growing up, I was not the typical rambunctious boy. I was a well-behaved boy who preferred studying than playing with other children. Because of my precocity, I was already in high school at age 11. At that time I still had no idea that I might be gay, even though I was already fooling around with a 14 year-old family friend that time (another story). My childhood countenance remained the same in high school: I kept to myself, writing and drawing, indifferent to the posturing and preening of the other boys in my class. I liked certain girls in my class but never thought much of those feelings. My sexual activities happened outside of school, so it was easily compartmentalized away. In school I wasn’t effeminate, but I wasn’t masculine either. I was teased for being overweight, for being a nerd, but I never received any taunting because I was ‘gay’.

When I came out to my (immediate) family and friends in 1997, homophobia was not too much of an issue as well. To be fair, my mother was very supportive in spite of her Catholic background. I could feel that she really tried to understand and accept me. What made it difficult for her was not her religion but her social background. Like most people of her generation, she grew up around certain stereotypes of gayness (loving only straight men, financially supporting lovers, gay men preying on young boys, etc.) that she feared for my physical and mental well-being. I had to explain that I did not like sleeping with straight men (not all the time), that I didn’t financially support my lovers (emotional support is priceless), and that I didn’t prey on young boys (I like my men older, even now). It took her a long time to disassociate me from those things. Our misunderstandings were mostly about issues of trust, and not my being gay.

None of my friends abandoned me when I came out to them. E, one of my oldest friends, was living in Australia that time and I sent him a letter informing him of the things I had been going through. Among my college friends, E could easily be considered as the group clown. His disposition and behavior is seldom serious, and it was easy to dismiss him as a goof ball. It was difficult to sit him down for a serious talk. But he was surprisingly supportive and I remember feeling extremely touched by his message to me. We remain friends up to this day, even though life has brought us physically apart. 

Homophobia was also never an issue in any of my work. In the nineties, gayness was almost a given if you worked in the AIDS field. The first NGO I worked for was staffed with only gay men and fag hags that a running joke among us was, should any of us be interviewed by the media, we should begin our statement by saying that our NGO is not a gay organization. When I eventually worked for media (broadcast and print), it was the same: being gay was a non-issue.

Whether this is a testament to my good fortune in having an understanding and supportive family, my skills in selecting the only broad-minded and sensitive friends or the most appropriate jobs is still subject for debate. Because, as it turns out, even if I didn’t experience the traumatic manifestations of homophobia, I still encountered it. It’s a different kind, though. Less confrontational, often expressed with a small smile on the face, and in a kind of sympathetic and confiding tone. I do not know which is worse: getting beat up for being a fag or getting ‘accepted’ as if you’re an inevitability one must endure.

This became especially apparent when I came to Cambodia. In Cambodia there is a huge same-sex subculture that the ‘polite’ society does not acknowledge. Cultural quirks make it easy for men to have sex with each other with absolutely no strings attached. One of these ’strings’ is an identity. There is no specific word for gay in the Khmer language. Not even something close to our bakla. This non-existence has many implications for the Cambodian gay man. Because in spite of this sexual behavior/preference, he is still expected to carry out his obligations as a man: marry a woman, father children, and support his family. For me, this non-existence is a most extreme form of homophobia. And it’s going to take a long time for this to change, if it will change at all.

Because my lover is Cambodian, I am indirectly affected by this. It took him a long time to accept himself fully as a gay man. And now he feels that the only way for him to be able to live freely as a gay man is if he leaves the country. But my direct experiences with homophobia did not happen with Cambodians, it happened with other Filipinos.

The first happened around May this year. I had participated in the planning of activities for the Independence Day celebration of the Filipino community here in Phnom Penh. There were grand plans for the celebration: entertainment, sports, and forums. I decided to help out in the forums. V, a consultant, was spearheading this aspect of the celebrations. There were 2 planned forums: one was a serious discussion on migration-related issues (as far as I remember) while the other was a light-hearted look at Filipinos here who have married outside of their nationality. I was sitting across V in the table, while another guy sat at my left. I suggested the inclusion of Filipino gay men who are in relationships with foreigners to round up the potential guest list. When V heard this, she smiled (she likes to smile) at me and nodded. And then, still smiling, she turned to the guy at my left and said, ‘XX, isama na din natin yung bestiality mo (XX, let’s also include your bestiality)’. Nervous laughter from me. I kept quiet from then on but by the time I went home I was fuming mad but not really knowing why. I asked K if I should be upset by V’s remark and he said yes. Before I continue, let me just say that V is known for being tactless. My other friends would attest to this. But I had no reason to dislike her because we weren’t close. With this, I felt frustrated. How could someone who works in the development sector be so homophobic? This is not being tactless, which to me is tolerable.

The second happened more recently. Three nights ago I was happily having dinner with friends and we were casually conversing about mundane things. G and L are two ladies who share a flat. G works in the IT sector while L is a college professor. Both were married and with grown children in Manila. N and I like to tease them that they’re probably a lesbian couple and other lesbian sex-related jokes that will probably get me in trouble with my lesbian friends (me being insensitive). But the pleasure of seeing them groan with frustrated protest offsets the need to be PC so we do it. That night, however, N and I weren’t teasing them. We just told them that we saw what appeared to be a butch Cambodian lesbian riding a motorcycle with a pretty lady. I felt like sharing this because it is a rare sight in Cambodia. Then L sort of confided that she really felt uncomfortable around lesbians, and that she’s fine with ‘the gays’ but not with them. G echoed this sentiment by telling us how, as a child, she was chased around by a lesbian who desired her, leaving her ‘traumatized’. I have heard this story many, many times already and that night, it somehow struck a nerve. A phobia is an irrational fear of some thing or some situation. L couldn’t explain her discomfort towards lesbians while G rationalizes it with that almost-molestation story.  That, to me, is homophobia. I wanted to yell at her, ‘Get over it!’. And I felt sad. I blurted out my feelings, which they of course dismissed as me joking once again.

But I felt really sad. I mean, if they were my relatives, I could have responded with a clever, scathing retort. But they’re my friends. Unlike my relatives, I chose these people as friends. How could I have homophobic friends? How could they accept me when at the back of their minds, they are rejecting my lesbian sisters? What am I to them? I felt so frustrated that night.

Now that I have given it thought, I realized that homophobia is indeed an insidious part of our lives. It can manifest in the most unexpected situations, expressed by people that we never thought will express it, and experienced by even the most jaded. It’s important to speak out against homophobia and call it as such when one hears it, even from their friends. Homophobia is often borne out of ignorance but sometimes, it also comes from not being able to understand the unknown. We humans are creatures of habit, and more often the different is met with fear.

And, it is up to us whether we accept or reject people we see as homophobic. I ended my participation in the Independence Day festivities because I didn’t want to see or talk with V. Anyway, she’s not a friend. I choose to remain friends with these 2 ladies because I think they’re good people. I can accept this quirk, and hope they change their views through my support and friendship. If they don’t, well, I can continuously rant about them in this blog. 

Kids

My friend told me this story, which happened to her only a few days ago. M is an Executive Director for a non-profit organization working with children. One afternoon, she was walking in a mall in Malate, Manila when she noticed a commotion near the exit of the mall. When she got close enough for a view she saw a boy, around 8 years old, yelling at hitting an older woman who appeared as if she were the grandmother of the boy. The mall’s security guards started coming to the old woman’s rescue and tried extricating the boy from her. M’s alertness turned to alarm when she saw one guard take out his handcuffs and tried putting it on the boy. She quickly stopped the guard, told him that it was illegal to use cuffs on a child. As she tussled with the guards, one of them started hitting and kicking the shouting and writhing boy.

From that moment, M was in the fray, so to speak. She tried to talk to the boy and the old woman, who was in fact the grandmother. The old woman told M that the boy has ADHD (Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder). M then tried to calm the boy, who panics at the sight of the guards, by maintaining eye contact and talking calmly. When the boy calmed a little, M learned that the boy had wanted a Happy Meal but was refused by the grandmother and this resulted in a tantrum. The tantrum was complicated when other people started staring, which panicked the ADHD-stricken boy, and the rescuing guards.

Disheveled, M walked to the nearest McDonald’s and bought him a Happy Meal. She also admonished the grandmother not to spend time alone with the boy, especially in a public place, which can complicate an ADHD-affected child’s trauma exponentially.

But how can you tell a grandmother not to spend time with her grandchild? For someone who grew up around my maternal grandmother, I understand how difficult this must be. And besides, both M and I do not know the full story. The grandmother might be the sole caregiver of the child, for all we know. From the little I know about ADHD, I know that it is often mistaken for bad behavior and so it is difficult to diagnose. Especially in the Philippines, where it is culturally acceptable to hit a child in the name of discipline. Even in the advent of (popular) child psychology, many people still see ADHD as a behavioral quirk rather than an actual clinical disorder. Add to this the stigma of having a mental illness, which prevents people with behavioral disorders from accessing proper diagnosis and treatment. 

I just realized: this is my second story on children in one week.

I guess I am still affected by what happened to Marianette Amper. None of my regular readers/commenters have reacted to her story. I am afraid she was eclipsed by the little drama that unfolded between me and a former friend. That was probably more interesting to read. In fact, before M shared her story to me, she gleefully commented how my last stories resembled a telenovela. 

And yesterday morning, I woke up with Kimrun in my bed, nuzzling in my shoulder like an adorable puppy. While I was still half-asleep, he said he wanted to have children with me. I wasn’t facing him so I tried to detect the smile in his voice, sure he was joking in his usual manner. But I couldn’t and when I turned to him he looked serious, with only a small smile on his stubbled lips. I asked him why. He said we weren’t getting any younger and if we wanted children, now was the time to have them so we wouldn’t be too old to take care of them. 

I wasn’t ready for that kind of conversation that early in the morning so I asked him if we can postpone the discussion for some time later. He agreed and asked, ‘When?’. I said soon.

Before I went to bed last night, I thought about what he said. Children. With me. Wow. Aside from the inherent complexity of our situation on account that we’re both men, there are a lot of things to consider before we can have children. Are we adopting or conceiving? If we are conceiving, whose sperm will be used? Will it entail actually having sex with this yet-unidentified woman or will it be artificially done? Do we have the money to do such a thing? Do we have the energy and focus to see this through?

I mean, we haven’t even thought of how the child will be raised: Buddhist (like Kimrun) or Catholic (lapsed, like me)? Kimrun and I have never even raised a dog together; how would we manage a child? 

This is one of the (very) few times when I wish I were heterosexual. 

A song for you

As some of you may have noticed, I have always used song titles as titles of my posts. This is not an affectation on my part; I just believe that there are songs that fit each story of our lives. Starting this month, all my posts here will not only have song titles as titles, I will also (do my best to) include the song itself in the post.

I hope this enhances your reading experience. Let me tell you now that we might not be in complete agreement on why a particular song was chosen, but please don’t let this minor quibble deter you from reading my posts. Indulge me, if you will.

I have edited the previous 4 posts for November so it will include the song in the title. For first time visitors, welcome! For my returning guests/readers/commenters, welcome back! 

Please enjoy the music of Elliott Yamin, my all-time favorite American Idol finalist.