Inside, I knew who I was. But my family did not. Oh, they had an idea—they knew my psychological makeup was “a little bit different”—but I never gave them the whole picture. Probably it was because of fear or embarrassment: the fear of being perceived as even weirder than I already was, the embarrassment of having to explain my “personal preferences.” But someday, it would have to come out. I would have to come out.
Do you know what it’s like, having a feeling that eats at your very soul? Having to shade the truth everytime you come home to visit, making up polite answers in polite company (“Oh, he doesn’t have a girlfriend because he’s married to his job LOLOLOL”)? I always told myself I would explain it to them eventually. In the right place, at the right time. Someday.
looool.
The place was Manila. The time was April 2010. The Philippines had recently been struck by a cataclysm of seismic proportions: the Korean Wave, characterized by a surge of K-dramas on TV (often dubbed hilariously in Tagalog), an accompanying interest in Korean popular music, and even an upswing of Korean visitors and immigrants to the country (most of whom wanted to hang out in Boracay). The top-selling album in the country was Oh! by Girls’ Generation. Super Junior was stopping by on Saturday to perform in front of thousands of adoring fans. It was in this pop-cultural climate that the seeds were ripe for a personal revelation.
