Growing up, I never really questioned my identity—it just came naturally. I was feminine and flamboyant, but I was also aware of the side-eye glances people gave me. I remember my Titos and Titas surrounding me, teaching me how to say “Lalaki ako” (“I’m a man”) in a strong, masculine way in front of everyone. I tried my hardest to say it the way they wanted, and I did—but something inside me felt wrong. It was like that feeling when someone tells you something about yourself that isn’t really true, and you suddenly realize that they don’t actually know you. It was unsettling to feel that the people who were supposed to know me best only saw me the way they wanted to perceive me. And as a child, that was an incredible amount of pressure.
As I got older, people started noticing that in secondary school, I was always surrounded by my girlfriends. I had been surrounded by women all my life—it just felt safer. There was less judgment. I didn’t have to put up walls or hide who I was. I remember one time we went to my friend’s house to play and watch Tinker Bell—the one where they go on a city adventure (I forgot the title). We were in the living room, and my friend’s mom was there. We were playing fairies, just having fun, but her mom apparently noticed how feminine I was. When I got home, I was scolded—Why was I acting that way? At the time, I wasn’t scared. I just felt betrayed. After that, I never really trusted anyone back home, except for a few people.
Going into high school, I became more experimental and much more comfortable in my own skin. I joined my school’s theatre program, where I explored more of myself and found people who supported me no matter what. During this time, I started wearing makeup—not even real makeup at first. I used Sharpies because I didn’t have enough allowance to buy actual makeup. It was too expensive for a teenager. But by the time I reached 10th grade, I had saved up enough to buy some—and you know how 2016 makeup looked—very in your face.
My school was Catholic, and every year, before graduating, students would go on a retreat at a convent. I spent a lot of time thinking and decided that maybe this was the right time for me to officially come out. Strangely enough, I came out to a priest first during our confessions. I remember feeling so relieved because he didn’t condemn me to hell or anything. He simply said, “It’s okay. God created everyone, and everyone is welcome in His house. You don’t have to be scared of being who you are.” That was a huge relief for me. But I was still scared because my parents were attending the final mass on the second night of the retreat.
As part of the retreat, we were tasked with writing a letter to our parents. That’s where I came out. During the mass, I prayed to Mother Mary the entire time, asking for strength and for my parents to be gentle with me. They read my letter and just smiled. Everyone around us was watching because they knew I was coming out. Then, one parent in the class actually started crying while looking at me.
After that, the parents gave letters to their children. That’s when I officially found out I was adopted. I mean, deep down, I had always known—they had given me hints throughout my life. But that moment was when they finally told me outright. Uno reverse card vibes.
Now, I’m still figuring things out. I’m just trying to be myself, doing the things I enjoy most—like music. It’s important to take care of the people who truly understand you, like my group of friends back in the Philippines. We’ve been friends for ten years, and they keep me sane, even though I’m here in Canada. They’re always just one voice memo away.
Now, I’m trying to meet new people and make friends. I don’t know… just knowing a lot of people makes me feel less alone in this world. Meeting people at Centennial, especially within the queer community, has been such a blessing. I never really had a lot of queer friends back home—maybe five in total. But now, knowing that there are people who have been through the same journey as me is incredibly comforting. I am entirely grateful for that.
To anyone reading this story of mine: Make your life revolve around love. Love the journey. Love the people. And most importantly, love yourself. Whether you’re a believer or a non-believer, love will always be constant.