From a long time ago and from another life. Come to think of it, there’s little difference with then and now. Buuuuut, there’s always hope. Yes.
I am scared of guys. Straight guys.
I do have straight male friends and I’m comfortable with some of them. But I tend to be a bit apprehensive with dealing with the others. You see, being gay and all, I’m not really THAT schooled with the complexities of male gestures. Especially with the handshakes that they do and its derivatives.
But the male gestures stuff aside, I find it hard to sometimes even open a conversation with the typical male person. I have had semesters where I haven’t uttered a single word to the male persons in my immediate vicinity. Well, not really. I did talk to some of them–to ask for paper or an extra pen–but that doesn’t really count as an actual conversation, does it? This explains why some of my economics blockmates perceive me as “tahimik” and unobtrusive.
HAHA.
Me? “Tahimik” and unobtrusive? Geez. Even I giggle at the mere thought of it. Nevertheless, it’s true.
As a matter of fact, I sometimes balk at starting conversations with some of my former blockmates in biology. And these are the guys that have seen me claim to be able to walk straight and climb trees to prove that n liters of “lambanog” are insufficient to inebriate me. I admit that the frequency and intensity of shared drinking sessions aren’t really accurate yardsticks for friendship but at least it should have taken away my discomfort. Up to this day, I even practice the Eyes Game with some of them. You know, that social game where the two parties are aware of each other’s presence but still persist in averting each other’s eyes so as to avoid greeting each other.
I don’t recall having this kind of problem in high school. Or even if I did it was much much milder compared to the present. Maybe because before I wasn’t exactly the traipsing tramp that I am now (I exaggerate. I don’t really traipse around now. Actually it’s more like “blipping sporadically in the seismograph”). Back then, I still had the keys to my closet. Hence, I feel more secure. Now, although I keep telling myself and others that I’m out of the closet, I feel that it’s not the whole truth.
I’m not out of the closet. Far from it. I’m just peeking through the cracks. I open it a bit sometimes to let more of me be seen but I also slam it shut whenever I feel vulnerable.
I just hope that someday soon I’ll be strong enough to open its doors and step out. I will climb upon a pedestal and all eyes will be on me. It would be a cool afternoon–the soft yellow light kissing the contours of my face. My cheeks will be all flushed and my lips ruby-red. My posture will bear no traces of its former slouch. I will be regal. I will be proud.
I will be me.
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