I Had A Deep Crush On A Girl Yet I’ve Never Been Gay

This singular experience remains as one of the most unexpected happenings in my life that defies explanation. Because if there was anything in me that would remain unquestionable, it could only be my delicate heart that embodies hard-core femininity.

It was in an all-girl Catholic convent school where I spent my secondary education, which meant the presence of lesbians was a given – albeit there had been only a few in our school at the time. To spice things up due to our drab existence of not having boys around, some girls would even fake their sexuality and couple up with another girl just to “be different” or be talked about, or to experience what it’s like. Other than my innocent curiosity on how genuine girl to girl romantic unions express their ardent feelings for each other, I wasn’t interested. I’ve gotten along well with members of the third sex my whole life –they’re interesting and fun to hang around with – yet I’ve unequivocally preferred swooning for the virile gender.

In high school, the tougher your moniker sounds, the cooler and more popular you get. My friends playfully jumbled the letters of my name and had thought of calling me “Majo” or “Jomar” – until we finally settled with the nickname “Ojie.”

I was in third-year high school. She was called Tesong. Short for her full name Theresa Ong (Not to worry, thousands and thousands here possess such name).

It all began when the two of us played lovers in a classroom theatrical project. A mini-movie. Rehearsals and the actual shooting of the drama required her and me looking deeply in each others’ eyes, doing some sundry sweet motions – minus the usual intimate contact. Kissing not included, thank God.

The girl is not gay. But for unknowable reasons, her moves are not ultra feminine. That could explain why she played the Romeo, and I, the Juliet in the love drama. She has got masculine aura. Or at least that was what I had come to perceive. I did feel it – although I couldn’t explain it. No, it was not sexual at all. I was only 14 years of age. I wouldn’t even conceive of touching lips with her. Nor hold her hand. Unimaginable.

She had shoulder-length shiny hair she was always fond of smoothing with her hairbrush each break-time. An average-looking girl – who was nice and smart – with a complexion slightly darker than mine, she was well-liked by everyone, too. What I found most compelling about her was her gaze. Her somewhat chinky eyes – caused by her Chinese descent – had this ability to pierce through the very insides of one’s soul. My soul, for that matter. She could give an intense look that would go right through my heart and my core making me ask myself in the aftermath, “What was that?”

Repeated photo shoots to promote our minuscule movie served as the germination and perpetuation of my, er, secret sensations. From then on, I got tongue-tied whenever she’d come near me, made all the more convoluted by my pounding heartbeat. I kept on thinking, “No, no. This can’t be possible.” I possess too much of an effeminate heart to fall for my kind. Proof of which: my lengthy list of male crushes – photos of guys, both local and international, with killer looks and handsome faces that graced the cover of my writing notebooks and bedroom walls.

I couldn’t tell if she sensed how I felt about her. How could I let her know – or embrace what I’d been feeling when I was infallible of the fact I am so not gay? It became a difficult period instead because my deep infatuation for her was bringing me external discomfort and slight inner mayhem. Nonetheless, there was no uncertainty as to the young lady chromosomes that run through my body. I kept my silence without telling a soul at school and at home.

My uneasiness lasted for the whole school year. When I reached my 4^th year, we weren’t classmates anymore. How I thanked the heavens above.

There are things in life we just can’t explain.

I met her accidentally inside a restaurant several years after our high school graduation. We were already in our early 20s. I was with a boyfriend then and she was about to have lunch with a bunch of her male colleagues. Still possessing of that shiny smooth hair and penetrating gaze, she seemed to have changed. Like she became more feminine. She even looked quite demure and giddy in the company of her debonair workmates. She truly was a girl after all. We had a little talk – then said goodbye. It had been my total closure. And I was glad.

 

May Babe Musings (and My Few Remaining Reasons for Blogging)

Unfortunately, I lost my “free wifi” more than a couple of weeks back. I knew it would end someday somehow. Losing it though wasn’t as meaningful as the repercussions it created that had me stumped. Something more precious got lost in the aftermath and it opened my eyes to a few certain truths I had not wanted to face. It’s like kissing a lovely illusion goodbye for the last time..

Embracing the inevitability of change has always been a struggle for me. As the realization that hit me broke my heart, I couldn’t help but weep silently and curl up in bed in the stillness of some nights.

At this stage in my life when my foremost wish is to make peace both with my past and the people who have mattered to me, I’ve got to be magnanimous in my losses, enough to relent and ask that pardon be granted upon me. The slate has to be wiped clean once more to pave the path for new beginnings.  

Have I revealed too much about my past here? Has this blog reflected more than it should on the secrets of my soul? Perhaps so. I knew I’d run the risk of being judged for failing to mince my words. And that I’d be considered as another flawed human being who has been carrying around certain unwanted baggage. I could have lost my virtual friends and readers alike in the process. Nonetheless, I want to remain true to what this blog stands for. Mythical prose has hardly been my aim which means I won’t in any case compromise the authenticity of what I put in here.., where my anonymity my only remaining shield.., no matter what it takes.

I never pretended to be anything I’m not in my whole life and that has always been essential for my survival. In the same vein, I’ve wanted this blog to be the place where I can be totally myself. A place where I can laugh and dance when in high spirits, or fall on my knees and sob during despondent moments.

More than twice in my life, I’ve been told it isn’t easy to comprehend the complexities that comprise the layers of my core. But for me, after all has been said and done, it’s the simplicity of my mind and my life’s desires that sustain me when I can’t seem to find purpose and clarity in the crucial fragments of my existence.

I’m trudging my way around this time so I might not have to keep skating on the edges of sentimental rains. But I’d still keep coming back here anyway, hoping for a glimpse of another dawn. Or a rainbow perhaps.

Someday when I reach the limits of my life’s journey, I hope I may give a fresh try to light upon a place in the timeless benevolence of your hearts and minds.

 

Solitude On My Own Terms

Warm on the heels of famous women and their recent breakdowns, Demi  and Heather were the “It” girls of my generation who were both destined to become eternally cute and popular. Having been casualties of humiliating divorces, they’re also now both enduring the ruthless passage of time. Recently pegged as poor little rich women who’ve somehow lost their way, many have slammed them for being spoiled by their wealth and fame that they couldn’t deal with their current mid-life crisis like the rest of us.

How good can people get sometimes at creating a smokescreen that obscures their true feelings and plights?

The inclination of these hapless celebrities to succumb to drugs and alcohol has puzzled me for too long. What really drives them to give in to such pernicious temptations? Has their pain become unbearable, resulting to their inevitable free fall into the abyss that culminated in their self-destruction?

I’m in no position to cast stones at anyone this time as I have a gentle understanding of what these people have gone through. Melodramatic as it may sound, I too know what real pain feels like. The sickening ache that I’m sure can overwhelm even the strongest of hearts. How many times have I skirted on the very edges of despair when this soul of mine felt like crying out loud in the rain?

More than I’m willing to admit, I guess.

I don’t remember ever inviting drama into my life and yet it has come like a cat that has sprung unbidden onto my lap. Then there had been moments when certain kinds of melancholy or some sense of emptiness would creep in like a mysterious stranger in the middle of the night, and the only sensible way out was for me to relearn how to sail through the rough seas.

Growing up and even now that I’m an adult, I’ve always felt like an outcast. Exactly much the same as the eternal wallflower that prides itself on contemplating the paradigms of its existence, while possessing a pleasant awareness of an alternative route to an imagined realm at liberty from all things mundane.

Music, movies, literature, art, nature… They’re the outlines that characterize the wonderful breadth of my solitary world. The best friends I’ve had for so long. Even the stark beauty I find in the heart of loneliness has not shown any signs of fading.

Alone with my thoughts, I could conjure up happiness every now and then, muse on some lonesome episodes from my past, and in all its glory bring back the dead and gone..

Worlds might have come crashing down and prayers remained unanswered. I, who have gone off the deep end in certain unrelenting personal winters of my life, am still determined to tough it out.

As we’ve no choice but to soldier on.

I remember how my father, who had sensed my predicaments in his earlier ailing years, had told me these exact words with a smile, “Even if I want to, I can’t get too worried about you. You’re the true-blooded daughter of mine who can easily discern the correct path and decide on the right thing to do. You’ve always been strong.”

Oh dear father… if you only knew…