Flashback: My High School Life

Remembering high school life, now that I am old adult, made me realize and appreciate the struggle of adolescence. The need to define oneself amidst peer pressure. The desire to belong despite the lifestyle differences. The dream to love and be loved in return although queer and tabooed.

I am the third son of a farmer. When my father rested from driving, which I did not know for sure whether there was no more slot in the fleet he was once part of or he was finally resolved to go back to farming, we relocated to the farm he was entrusted to as peasant. We kept our house along the highway, but we basically live in the farm. He built a small nipa hut enough to accommodate the four of us: Papa, Mama, my younger sister, En, and me. My two older brothers were in Tacloban City; the eldest found the job in an automotive mechanic shop, and the second followed to study in college there.

Living in the farm was a struggle. My little sister and myself were at the age when we wanted to play with other children. It was different when we were in the bigger house along the highway and close to neighbors; it was easy to slip every afternoon to spend an hour or two playing with fellow children in the community. Spending a day in the middle of the rice fields, was all about school, study, and farm works. During school days, we donned our uniform and walk along the paddies to the main road and to school. Then back the same way in the afternoon. Sometimes, we spent weekends at the bigger house and got to play with friends and neighbors. But most of the time, I buried myself into studying with oil lamps because the electricity had only reached the highway.

I learned to be brave here. Whenever I heard the quacking sound at dusk, my father would bring me outside to see the birds which made the sound. It refuted my childhood fear of witch and other monsters. When I did the errands during sundown, crossing the farm to the main road to buy stuff, I could still goosebumps. I just sang loudly to ward off that tingling sensation, to keep my hairs on my nape from standing. This strategy had granted me plenty of chances to play with other kids before going straight home after classes.

The most exciting thing in the farm for me was the harvest time. It was the season where lands are dry, the rice fields turn yellow to brown, and sugared dough with iced candy were served. After the harvest, we filled our bigger house with rice grain. Then we dried them along the highway.

As adolescent, it was shameful already to be poor, and it was more embarrassing to be seen by classmates and friends spreading nets and mats along the road, hoisting bags of rice here and there to spread them to dry. Then shooing off intruding chickens and birds. Then whenever the sun was out, or rain was coming, I helped to keep the rice, bag them again, and lift them all back to the house. I was yet to define myself that time, I knew that I was different, queer! and lifting and hoisting bags of rice had deepened the uncertainty. On the other hand, acting like most boys, strong, and muscled had kept me in the closet.

In remote places, like my hometown, being gay is a curse, a demon inside, tabooed. At home, I was the second man in the house, I was my father's namesake, and expected to be like him. "There was no gaymen in the family," he always claimed. So I stayed in the closet my whole high school years. I joined the Reserved Officer Training Course (ROTC) and went to become one of the officers. But my queerness was obvious for some bullies. The painful thing was that I was teased and paired to one of the beautiful girls in our class but my eyes was set to one of the heartthrobs in my circle of friends. Only now that I can declare that "I love the girl but I like the boy!" Queer, right? 

Lovelife was not a priority. The boys in my class had girlfriends, either with girls from our class or higher or lower classes. I focused on my studies and busied myself with extra-curricular activities. I started in the Catholic Youth Ministry at that early age. It was in this community that I found my true self, not bullied, no prejudices, and no restrictions. I can express myself in every way, conferences, prayers, even dances. Although still a Closet Queen, but I found myself useful, appreciated, and liberated. 

My travel itch was triggered and got my first series of travels. Long before, the road to the nearest city was far. With several extra curricular activities, Surigao City has come closer and closer every time. Overnight gatherings and weeklong conventions were normally held in the city. Then I went to Siargao Island for more conventions. It made me honed my leadership skills, my interpersonal charisma, and showcased my full talents in speaking, singing, and dancing.

I finished my high school with colors, I should say. Every end of the 4 years, I made my parent proud to have them stand at centerstage to pin ribbon or don me medals. My high graduation was grander, I earned nine medals, making my father and mother come up the stage for several times.