I grew up with my fair share of insecurities. Insecurities over my complexion, my writing, parts of my anatomy, my personality and eventually, my sexual orientation. However, unlike most acquaintances I’ve made who spoke of the demons they fought over their sexualities, torments that pushed them to extremes like fasting and attempting suicide, I never once let the fact that I was different bring that much darkness inside me. I had bouts of depression, yes. But I was basically still a child, loved, pampered and blissfully unaware that my difference could pose a real problem in my adulthood.
However, I got older, and became more aware of the world around me. I began to realize the extent of society’s disdain for my kind of person. I fell prey to a homophobic opportunist; I was kito-ed. I heard the stories. I shuddered at other people’s experiences. I began to know the fear. Depression threatened ever so often. Questions about the future began to plague me: Do I want to be this person? What about my family? Do I want to risk alienation from them by staying true to myself? What about marriage? Can I stand marital eternity with a human being I feel no sexual attraction for? Can I live that lie? Do I want to? Shouldn’t I want to? Does not getting married mean I’ll lack companionship as I age? What about children? What about old age? What about the continuation of my legacy? Continue reading