I don’t know when it all started. I was still a child, before I even had the words to understand what was the feeling of liking someone. I once whispered to myself, “bata pa lang ako… ‘wag muna, tama na muna iyan, mali yang ginagawa mo, alam mo namang para sa babae ka…” I would wonder, not knowing why, how I already felt so different than the other kids my age.

I remember noticing things I wasn’t supposed to notice, feelings I wasn’t supposed to feel, feelings that I should not be craving. “Normal lang ‘to, ‘di ba?..” I kept convincing myself, even when deep down I already knew that it wasn’t what they called “normal.”

As I got older, the feelings didn’t fade—it grew sharper and harder to hide, like a truth that keeps on trying to resurface on the ground above. I began to realize that this wasn’t ‘just a phase’ anymore, and that terrified me more than anything else ever had.

So I learned how to bury everything that I feel, to cover it with a version of me that society can accept. Hiding my favorite colors because it wasn’t normal, constantly dipping myself in black paint to mask it all. I remembered telling myself always, “‘wag kang magpahalata,” constantly reminding myself that my existence relies on the lies I kept on preaching. I became careful with my voice, my actions, even my thoughts, as if being myself was something I had to constantly apologize for.

Whenever people ask me about my sexuality, I feel my body tense like I’m about to be outed for who I really am. I would just laugh it off. “Well, hindi ko talaga alam, pero alam ko para ako sa babae,” I would respond, and then I would try to change the topic, or stay silent, because saying nothing felt safer than saying something that could change how they see me.

I feel a different kind of fear whenever I feel like people are watching me too closely, like they are waiting for me to have a slip-up and reveal everything that I tried to bury ever since I was a kid. “Alam na ba nila na ako ay...?” even when no one has said anything yet.

As I unpack my things in my room, I can hear my parents talking about people like me. I hear how they talk about people who struggle with the same cruel problem like me, casually, like it’s just an opinion, not realizing those words land somewhere inside me and stay there. And I snap back to reality as they opened my door. ”’Nak, buti na lang, ‘no? Hindi ka katulad nila,” they say as I just sit in my room, clutching my bag tightly and smiling.

I smile at them, nodding and pretending that I agree with the things they kept on saying, sugarcoating myself that it doesn’t affect me. “Oo nga, Ma… Pa…” I managed to say, even when it feels like I’ve just betrayed myself again.

Even in faith itself, I started to feel like there was no place for people like me, like I was someone who needed to be fixed before I could even digest the idea of who I really am. I constantly hear people like me being ridiculed because of our own preference, people being blasted with “hindi ka tatanggapin ng Diyos! Mabubulok ka sa impyerno!” and it stood by me, it became a fear that lurks behind me, waiting to attack, waiting to once more make me feel like I belong nowhere.

I tried to change, really, to pray it away, to beg for something in me to just disappear, to never come back, just so that I could feel worthy to be considered as one of them. I cried that day, shouting at the top of my lungs. “Lord, alisin mo na ito. Bakit pa po ba ako ang pinaramdam mo ng ganito…!” I shouted, for me to be straight, so that they won’t be ashamed of me anymore, for others not to tease and judge me anymore, not realizing that I was wishing for a part of myself to be erased, for a part of who really defined me to be left under the rug again.

Somewhere along the way, I started believing all of it. Maybe they were right, that maybe this part of me was something I should be ashamed of. I started believing that I needed to be fixed because I wasn’t ‘normal’. “Ayoko na maging ganito, ayoko maging katatawanan sa harap ng tao,” I kept telling myself. I repeat, and repeat, and repeat it, until I can’t anymore, even when I knew I didn’t ask… even when I knew I didn’t choose to be like this.

I lie awake again, staring at the blank wall, imagining finally telling them about who I really am, that I have finally decided that I could let the truth exist outside of my roaming thoughts. I rehearsed it… over and over again—” Ma, Pa… ganito kasi …ako… ako ay...” but each time I tried, it sounded… empty, it sounded like it wasn’t safe enough to express, never feeling that I could ever be accepted.

I rehearsed it too many times, trying to make it easier for them to accept, but every time I get close, something inside me pulls me back, reminding me of everything I could lose, of how quickly love can turn into hatred. The words never got to see the light of day, and I am left here in the pit again, holding onto rocks that feel too heavy to carry, but too dangerous to even let go…

“Kaya ko harapin ang anumang pag-subok…” I tell myself that I can face anything, because one simple truth can destroy the world I used to live in. Funny how they always told me to always tell the truth because it is for the good of all people, but when it comes to my truth, it comes to a dead end and destroys everything that I have. And that fear became louder than any truth that I can shout, stronger than the part of me that just wants to be free…

And the most painful part is realizing that ako na mismo ang unang tumanggi sa sarili ko, because before anyone else could reject me, I already did.

Maybe one day, the words I want to say will finally leave my mouth. Maybe everything will change for the better, or maybe nothing will—but one thing is for sure, tonight I am still here, I am still their son, still their version of me they didn’t even try to understand, holding a truth that I had carried for so long, quietly hoping that even if the world cannot accept me… yet… cannot accept us yet. That I will learn, little by little, not to be disgusted by myself anymore, to finally love myself like how others did. I do not want to let go of myself. Just because other people cannot accept me for who I am, I want to stand as me, not some version they want to glorify.

The Frontman