Sometimes it’s actually super funny to watch acquaintances squirming to apologize after assuming we’re sisters, or to watch Mystery Method rejects stammer, searching for a cool-sounding answer to “we’re actually on a date with each other right now.”
The greatest love story is the story we, as gay men struggle with the most. It’s the one where we fall back in love with ourselves.
Love is my Christianity. Reaching out and hugging people, despite our differences, is my Christianity. Opening myself to new perspectives and beliefs and accepting them, even if they don’t coincide with my personal values, is my Christianity. Caring about other people and their hearts is my Christianity. Celebration is my Christianity.
I have been an “official” gay man for about four years now, and I’ve noticed a few things that don’t quite fly with me.
“With homosexuals, it’s the same. Out of compassion, let’s get rid of them now.”
I finally came to my own conclusion, my own acceptance: That if being gay was the “worst” thing I could do in life, then I fully surrender to proudly owning my sexuality.
Remembering is harder. Remembering means taking the good with the bad, the happy with the sad. It means living in shades of grey, rather than in the shade of certainty. It means living in complexities rather than generalizations.
From a young age into my early teens the message was clear: being gay is not acceptable. But this knowledge didn’t change how I felt. I was increasingly attracted to other females.
About a few months later the authority summoned me to enquiry and requested me to have the “treatment.” They forced me to recognize I was a homosexual before my parents and colleagues. They applied electroshock treatment on me. The electroshock treatment last for over half a year, which failed to “cure” my “disease.”