Because I have to, right?

Abraham Joseph

I am a male. I am expected to be a guy. I have to live like a man. 

All these times, I am too confused to think about who I really am. Living in the place where I am surrounded with tons of expectations, I have to become who they think I should be. 

I should know how to play basketball or Mobile Legends Bang-Bang. I have to be surrounded by boys. I am not afraid when someone dares to fight with fists. I should not look or act feminine in front of everyone. I must attract and fall in love with girls only. I should not cry and be a child at all costs. 

All of these few yet heavy standards feel so sick for someone who is somehow trapped in a boy’s body. The weight of being a man knowing the real identity is not too easy to show up — and that is in the closet of hiding the true self. Yeah, inside the closet is the free and beautiful sense of being a gay where the courage stuck so much to get its pride. 

Along the way, I am totally scared to be that. I am careful of my behaviors and manners when talking, walking, or doing even the simplest gestures and vocabularies. That reminds me of when my father advised me to still be a boy that everyone knows even though it was years ago. His advice has already been carved in my mind growing up especially in adolescent and early adulthood days. Whenever everyone is questioning my identity, I am constantly denied — the way that I might escape from more chances of judgement and discrimination against me. 

And that worsens the trap. I have to stand still straight. 

If I am asked to plan a marriage and build a family, I have to chuckle and say to focus on schooling and career even though those are lies. If I am hooked into half-naked and handsome guys, I have to pretend not to be interested even if they are already the attraction. If I am determined to be a strong and stable person, I have to act fine even if those are the differences.

Even though the trap keeps drowning me, I attempt to be who I am.

I was confident revealing my femininity one time when asked to compare Pygmalion and I during a Filipino activity. I am being “different” in selected places where showing ‘gay’ things in communicating and all. I embrace the fact of getting passion into guys of all ages who really care and love for who I am beyond lust. 

Are those enough to say I am really who I am? 

It is too sinful from Above, too uncomfortable from Holy society, and importantly, too shameful from the eyes and mouths of People. 

So, why bother living true when I am known as a mere male? 

If I am that person who everyone knows, I need to put on a lot of shows because I have to. That really covers up the swings and shakes of feminism where I definitely represent myself. With everything that hinders me to get out of the cage filled with fear and hesitation, then I have to be like this, right? 

After all, I am someone else who dresses with polo shirts and white rubber shoes yet wishes to get girly hair to bounce. I am that someone who pursues a sexy chick yet wants a hot hunk to pick. I am that someone who can fight everything yet does not know how to be coward and vulnerable. 

Dastard ah? 

Because I was born male, I will die as a male. Because I am expected to be a guy, I do exactly as other guys in all things. Because I live as a man, I have to live with it. 

Lesson learned here? I have to be ‘that’ forever.