I was at Robinson’s Galleria on a date. I was meeting my date for the first time. I lived with my younger sister on a side street along Recto Avenue and I had to take the G Liner bus to get to the mall. It was summer and my mom was with us. I left her at home with my younger sister.
In the middle of my date, I received a text from my mom. She asked me where I was and who I was with. I told her I was at the mall with some friends. She told me to take care and that I should keep in mind that she loves me. It was weird for her to say that unexpectedly. I paid it no mind and just replied saying I love her too before turning my attention back to my date.
The date went well. We had lunch together and watched a movie. As soon as the cinema’s lights dimmed, we held hands, kissed and massaged each other’s hardness. After the movie, we promised to keep in touch and went our separate ways.
When I got home, my sister waited for me downstairs. Our room was at the second floor of the house and we had to pass a narrow hallway and climb a flight of stairs to get to it. She looked concerned. She told me that mom read my yellow notebook.
Tears immediately rolled down my cheeks. My heart felt like a drum on my chest, beating a noisy tune. A single thought was in my mind. I could not possibly face my mom. So I ran.
From San Sebastian Street, I ran along Recto until I reached Avenida Rizal. She must have rummaged through my clothes and found the notebook at the bottom of my underwear drawer.
I turned left and ran until I reached Carriedo. On that notebook, I wrote the names of the men I had sex with on the leftmost column of a page. Then there were columns for different sexual activities and I checked each activity I did with a particular guy.
I turned left and ran until I reached the Quiapo Church. I was no longer crying. Did we kiss? Check. Did he suck me? Check. Did I suck him? Check. Did I fuck him? Check.
I was panting so hard that I stopped running. I crossed the street through the underpass. I even wrote comments for each guy. Was he a good kisser? Was he good in bed? Did he have bad breath? Should I meet him again?
I walked along Hidalgo Street. San Sebastian Church was visible from where I walked. How could I have been so careless? I should not even have started that notebook. To have kept it in a place easily found was stupid of me.
I reached a decision when I reached my house. I was going to face mom and tell her I am gay.
I entered the room. Mom was at the window, hands were on the balustrade, looking at the street downstairs. She did not even turn to look at me when I came in.
“Gays are everywhere these days,” she said.
“Ma?” My voice faltered. “Is there something you want to ask?”
She turned and looked at me. “Why? Is there something you want to tell me?” she asked.
“Maaaaaaaa…,” was all I said before I started crying again. I wept furiously, my shoulders shrugged with each sniff. I sat on my bed.
Mom sat beside me.
“It’s okay son. It’s okay to be curious. You just want to find out what it feels like,” she said.
“No Ma. I’m not curious. I’m really sure,” I said.
“But what about all those girlfriends of yours?” she asked.
“I never really liked them,” I said.
“No. No. You cannot be gay. You have to fight it,” she said.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
She did not say anything to that so I continued to cry instead. She stood up and went out of the room. I was no longer crying when she came back. Two hours passed since she left.
She brought dinner. The three of us ate in silence. We avoided the topic that night and for succeeding nights, we acted as though everything was fine. She went back to the province without us talking about it.
Months later, she told me she wanted to meet my boyfriend. It was her way of saying she accepted me. I was happy that my mom finally came to terms with his son’s gayness.
Although mom knew, my dad, my older brother and my older sister did not. It was still months and years away before they too found out.
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