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Coming-of-age is a Vantage column where Ateneans share their opinions on a specific beat. From in-depth analyses of TV series to miscellaneous musings in music (and everything in between), this column is an avenue to spread and inspire thought-provoking ideas.
In this column, an anonymous Atenean opens up about his experiences being in a closeted relationship and how public perception affects him this Valentine’s.
AS ACCEPTING and inclusive the Ateneo aims to be, anxiety still fills my heart whenever I open up about topics on sexual orientation. After every accidental outing and amid questions of whether such labels matter in a friendship, what remains may only be a sigh of relief or a bitter acceptance that such a connection will eventually die off.
Hindi naman kasi halata. Envious is an understatement of how I feel whenever I see non-heterosexual couples who are not afraid to openly express themselves in public. While my friends brag about their dates with their significant others, I continue to have a life where I segregate those who care and those who simply should never know. As the only living male bearer of my family name, expectations for how my life would turn out have been set the very moment I was introduced to the world.
Being surrounded by these unaccepting eyes—from my conservative family to my homophobic high school friends—has trained me to suppress and be secretive about these feelings that every human being should be entitled to feel. I learned to accept that in the general public, I wasn’t normal and that eventually, I may just have to conform to societal expectations and take this secret to the grave.
Yet love wins all, maybe now more than ever, as the boy who is burdened with conservative familial expectations continually chooses to live a double life and hold the hands of another boy.
For people like us, expressing love may be something we have to do discreetly, far away from the prying public. It forced me to accept that love doesn’t always have to be posted on social media or bragged about like a chapter of an open book.
Life may now very well be about realizing that love is no longer about the glamorous bouquets of roses nor the waltzes we rehearse. Love now manifests in the mundanest of things—the recipes we follow and the dishes we choose not to clean—mundane enough to be dismissible by condemnatory eyes but significant enough to be considered an act of love.
Perhaps this is the life of laundry and taxes that we so desperately were looking for. Perhaps in another life, such love will no longer have to be kept a secret.
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Editor’s Note: The author has chosen to keep their identity anonymous due to privacy concerns. The views and opinions expressed by the opinion writer do not necessarily state or reflect those of the publication.
