The Big Leap
Coming Out Stories
By Michael David C. Tan


Case No. 3:

When my mother gave birth to her eighth son – that’s me – she had some complications, which forced those attending her to remove something in her that disabled her to stop having children ever again.  So dad and mom had to settle with all the sons they ended up having for all their efforts.  ‘No rose among the thorns,’ was how mom described us.  And she wasn’t very happy about it.  Dad wasn’t, either, because he wanted to make mom happy.  Besides, he said having no girl meant not having anyone to baby – not to mention having an incomplete family.  A typical family, after all, has a dad, a mom, an older brother, and a younger sister – throw in a dog and a cat.  They’ve got seven other sons, instead, for keeping on trying to complete the picture after having the gender of the first child right.

As if to complete the picture, I was brought up as the one to be babied.  The closest to the daughter my parents never had, and the sister my brothers never will have. 

I was the male sister.

Oh, no, I wasn’t allowed to dress up as a girl, or to act as one, either.  There were eight of us – so seven were always hanging around to watch for any slip up of this kind, and do some good beatings to straighten up the erring one.  But I was the only one trained to do as girls are said to do – clean up after the boys’ mess, iron the uniforms, sew those that were torn for whatever reason, do the laundry, go with mom to buy the groceries in the market, prepare the meals, wash the dishes, and repeat the cycle again.

Every now and then, dad would urge the others to take me with them so I’d start acting like the rest of them.  His strapping young boys, the pride of his life, his guarantees of continuing his family line.  And they would, sometimes. 
But sooner than later, nobody but mom’s left at home, doing all the chores I don’t know who assigned for her to do.  And the boys, including dad, would feel bad – though wouldn’t help, anyway.  So I am returned to where I was placed to be.  And everybody is supposed to end up happy.

With me, mom found some happiness for the fulfillment of her having a girl – in a weird way, but a fulfillment all the same.  She found an ally as she never would have with one of her other boys – ‘All images of their father,’ she told me.  ‘Always in trouble, picking fights, crying over girls who don’t like them, lazy in house chores, all good for nothing.’  Then she’d add: ‘Unlike you.  So lovely, so homely.’

I don’t know when I actually had a transition being comfy not being like all the boys – or if I had any such transition, at all.  But I knew I was an anti-stereotypical male, and actually savored every moment of being one.  I could do what any girls could – and ended up, as my brothers later taunted me, no different from any girl. 

I don’t know if that’s such a bad thing.  Because if it is, then I don’t know of any other way to be me.


Case No. 4:

‘What else can we do?’ Dad said.  ‘That’s already there!’

And so it was.  I am as gay as can be. 

We did try to talk about it, with me promising to change, though just hours after the man-to-man talk, he’d find me hanging out with my other gay friends, discussing this or that, while watching the boys in the neighborhood sweat it out in our village’s basketball court.  He hit me once, too, in between claims of not wanting violence to be the answer to the problem bugging him, but then he discovered that the fear of getting hurt just limited my effeminacy when he’s around, and I was still just as gay in his absence.  He tried to ignore me for weeks, though that only gave me more space to be even more gay without intervention, aside from the fact that I was too loud to be ignored for far too long.

So came the tolerance, if not the acceptance. 

‘Just don’t force it,’ Mom said.  ‘Give us time to adjust.’ 

And that was really cool.  Even when having to act clean when they’re around – walking straight when in their company, no swaying of hips, talking with a deep voice, no girly clothes, nothing to remind them I was what they didn’t want me to be.  Not until they get used to the idea.  Which, I guess, was still cool.

And then the expectations came.

‘What happened to your grades?’ Dad asked when he got my report card.

‘This semester’s been really hard,’ I reasoned.  Besides, it’s not as if all my grades went down – just two of eight, and just a point and two points at that.

‘If you focus less on your flirting and pay more attention to your studies, then this wouldn’t happen!’ he said.

So I had to double my efforts.

And then, ‘You are quitting your volleyball team?’

‘It’s starting to affect my studies – the irregular practices, the out of town competitions, and all that,’ I reasoned.

‘Well, you shouldn’t.  Not when that’s one where you excel at.’

So I didn’t quit.

	1 | 2 | 3