The line between two lives
We’re familiar with the stories of queer people who are closeted and those who are out, those with little to no support and those with an abundance of it. We don’t always hear from those living in the middle. For example—I am queer and I am out to literally everyone except my family.
Lately, my family keeps talking about the queer community at dinner. As in most Filipino households, any “bakla” can be a point of discussion at any given moment. I’m just glad it hasn’t been me this past 24 years.
I remember my mother saying, “There’s no problem with being gay, but I might not be able to take it if it were my child.” She said this, triggered when she saw a sapphic couple in line at Gateway Food Express, as I sat across from her at the dinner table—her daughter in high school, who was closeted only to them and who actually had a girlfriend at the time. Honestly, 10/10 experience, very relatable.
Despite this, I have no reason to resent my family about my being gay, aside from the casual homophobia Gen Xers tend to have. They’re not really the type of Catholics to spread hate speech or condone hate crimes on Facebook, just the type to say, “Handsome, but too bad he’s gay.” It’s actually a privilege to behave the way I do (very obviously gay) and only have my parents think I’m quirky and creative instead of throwing me out on the streets or verbally abusing me until I’m scared straight. It’s a privilege to have siblings who have my back, who knew from the get-go, and chose to laugh at my predicament with me instead of at me.
I remember when I tried to casually mention to my sister that I was queer. We went to the very first Harry Styles concert here in Manila, and I told her, “You know, Ate, I am supposed to ‘come out’ to you today.” She only said, “I’ve known for a long time,” and we laughed it off as we sang our hearts out to Harry’s “Sign of the Times.”
Coming out to my friends went a little differently. The very second I stepped into high school, I made it known to my classmates that I am, in fact, bisexual. It was the first and only time I “formally” came out to anyone. Now, I just let my whole me speak for itself. With my collection of Converse shoes, the obligatory emo phase, and being a Top 1-percent listener of Chappell Roan—it doesn’t exactly take an advanced “gaydar” to clock me.
I was less conspicuous back then, but that didn’t matter. I actually like to think that I was a pioneer of the LGBTQ+ community in my high school, encouraging my other gay classmates to embrace their gayness and become a beacon of the gay agenda in our hallways. We decorated our rooms inside and out with rainbows, featured the queer members of the class on the walls (some of whom I personally guided out of their shells), and screamed about pride and gay rights as we slowly radicalized ourselves into the socially-aware young queer adults that we are now.
Despite this, and many years from then, I am still not out to my family. That’s the kicker, isn’t it? It’s so easy to shout to the rest of the world “I’m queer!” but it’s the hardest thing to even whisper it to the ones closest to me.
In a perfect world, my family wouldn’t bat an eye if I were to ever bring a girlfriend home. Perhaps they would even celebrate knowing their kid isn’t going to end up a “matandang dalaga” (old maid) after all. In reality, I remember the time my grandmother rejoiced when her daughter “finally” broke off her 10-year relationship with a woman because she wouldn’t be a lesbian anymore. I remember that and forgive myself a little for fumbling my own romantic relationships.
So, to anyone struggling with being in the middle—my semi-closeted friends, here’s my sage advice: have support where you need it from people willing to give it. Your family will support you any way they can, your friends can be there for everything else. To my family, I am a good Catholic daughter who’s just a bit quirky. To my friends, I am the equivalent of whoever threw the first rock at Stonewall.
This essay is not me coming out, and it’s certainly not me encouraging anyone to come out before they’re ready. It’s a tough line to walk down, being in between two lives at all times. But if that’s the price to pay for safety, it’s one worth paying. Not everyone would understand this choice, but for those who do, I hope you find comfort knowing you’re not alone. I’m with you.
Besides, it’s not like I’m hiding anything anyway! My family knows half the truth, while my friends know the other. Together, they know the whole, authentic me. Having a community to share my life with is a triumph enough; having two is a blessing.
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Aly Acosta, 24, is a Filipino queer writer and artist, wishing everyone well, and hoping for the stars to look at us kindly.
