Irreconcilable Differences

“I have always known that I was different. Instead of hiding it, I chose to celebrate it.”

That was my other gay boyfriend’s response when asked when he first realized that he was gay.

I have always been drawn to gay men. Since my first ever job as a Production Assistant for a fashion show, I have been surrounded by gay men, in one way or another. Their language, their brilliance, panache and sensitivity both fascinated me and endeared them to me. They were just so different. As proud non-conformists who refused to be subjected to the cookie-cutter standards of society, they always stood out, not as outsiders, but as unique individuals.

I have been joked as having a “golden touch” -- everything (or every man) I touch turns to gay. Considering that I am constantly on the guest list for coming out parties, there may be some truth to that.

As I acquired more and more gay friends, another title followed: “The Most Sought After Woman in the Gay Community”. (yeah, all two of them). The mushy “Love you” texts (or more accurately, “Labia!”) and the gift of candy colored thongs that let me know that they’re rooting for me in case I get lucky are testament to the kind of lovin’ that I enjoy in the hands of gay men.

It’s really a no-brainer when I think about why I love gay men. I’ve started to wonder, though, why they gravitate towards me. What gives me the privilege of being a faghag? Or is that simply my birthright?

Maybe it’s because in a lot of ways, I'm different, too. From the clothes, to the views on life in general, to the accent that is a by-product of American colonization, convent breeding, lumped together with the vernacular. Recently, I added “Fluent in Swardspeak” in my resume hoping that it would be recognized as my third language. Deliberately choosing to be a single parent in the face of a society that valued all that is traditional only seemed to underscore my oddball nature.

The choice to be different is not an easy one to make and is even harder to live out. Often, it is synonymous to being misunderstood. Presumptions are made. Labels are formed and efforts are made to break you up in parts that are more aligned to the norm.

I guess that’s why I have always felt at home with gay men. Like me, their life choices have made them different. Maybe it is this commonality that allows for the feeling of belonging. There is no need for posturing or pretending to be somebody that I’m not. No justification or apologies for the way I live my life are required. Their friendship has taught that outward manifestations of one's personality such as sexual orientation does not define one’s character. Neither is it indicative of one’s sense of humanity.

I could choose to conform. To reconcile the differences that set me apart from most people. Or I could choose to celebrate the different pieces of my being and relish in its raw honesty. Because it not only makes me different, it makes me who I am. And I am so much more than a tickbox beside civil status.

After all, it’s easy being like everyone else. It’s being yourself that’s the harder part.