Homophobia is not a phobia.
Don't be afraid to admit that you're not afraid of them, you hate them.
I was in sixth grade when I first met my gay friend. We weren’t like the best of best friends; we just felt comfortable with each other. He was my classmate—a hardworking one and a smart one in my class. At that time, I understood the presence of comfort more than cruelty, and my parents associated the latter word with men. Well, not that generalized, but as a kid, I was told that I should trust women more. But with him, comfort felt more familiar than different.
Everyone I knew has given me perspective on how to be properly treated as a child. It was marked on my mind that it’s supposed to be loving, caring, warm, gentle, and free from discrimination and hatred. It felt like being new to this world was a ticket to a colorful show, and I believed that every child knows it too.
We heard insults about his gender, and they were disguised as “jokes.” Sometimes, we laughed it off; sometimes, we rolled our eyes at whoever said anything about it; sometimes, we didn’t give a damn; sometimes, he stood up for himself; and sometimes, it was me who drove away his bullies. I remember being targeted too just because I believe that he’s not different from us at all. I stood by that, and I still do.
As a friend, I never made him feel that he has to change—it’s the attitude and mindset of everyone around him that has to change.
I remember seeing a trend on TikTok, mostly happening in a school setting. When you ask someone to check their elbow or their nails, and if they twist their arm or hold their hand flat with their palm down and stretch their fingers straight out to look at their nails, then it already hints that they’re gay. Very simple, right? Yes, it’s decided by that simple gesture alone.
They’re already judged; you will laugh at them; they will be teased, and all they could do was smile and shrug it off. Because unlike you, they’ll be having the entire night to themselves, thinking about how to turn back time and do the right actions in order to attain the standards this trend has to label it as “passed.”
And they’ll search it on the Internet. Why did you laugh at it? What’s so funny about it? How can they stop thinking about it? What kind of people are you? The homophobic ones. Someone who’s afraid of homosexuality or people who are attracted to the same sex. But you weren’t afraid of them, aren’t you? You hate them.
Don’t be afraid to admit to yourself that you see them below you, just like how you preach to everyone to never feel afraid to express their love.
The gay friend I knew in sixth grade changed himself as soon as we set foot in high school. He begged God in his prayers. He wished to be “normal” when he woke up, not because he couldn’t accept himself and his gender but because he thought that he wouldn’t be at peace if society kept on pushing him on the other side—so he surrendered.
He guided masculinity towards his system as if it were an antidote his body longed for. It was sudden. Perhaps everybody liked it—his parents, his new classmates, and his teachers. But after some time, it was his whole being that vomited it like poison. Obviously, the medicine he thought would work was the same drug that rotted his mind. I was there when he was looking for someone who would believe in him, but I knew that it would not be enough until he was the one who believed in himself.
You can’t take away the number of times someone knelt in numerous churches, hoping that they’ll be reset as soon as they open their eyes the next day. You can’t take away the guilt in their eyes for merely feeling that way. You can’t take away the seasons that have passed, and it kept them wondering when their urge would fade away. You can’t take away their determination to attain all the achievements in this world, in hopes that it will suffice for society to open its arms for their community with sincerity.
You can dim a color with hatred, but you can’t fully dismiss it, for it is fed with love.
Love and love alone.
Buy me a coffee!
I am Cloud and I write personal essays, poems, and reflections about life in general. This piece is published under a section named “Altostratus” under my publication, “To all the words I couldn’t utter,” This section gathers reflections on healing, resilience, and the quiet process of moving through pain toward wholeness.
