Gender is Fluid

It’s the middle of my second semester in my sophomore year of college, and I am currently taking an interpersonal communication class. This class is a major course, and like my other majors, it contains mostly theories and abstract ideas. So far, we have discussed the idea of self-concept, and how it is only one part of our personality. Another component of our personality is gender. However, one thing my professor said about gender really struck me: gender is fluid.

By fluid, she meant it could change over time. I doubted this at first. I acknowledge that people change. Sometimes, these changes are made actively. They decide to stop smoking, or going to tanning salons. Sometimes, these changes happen for no obvious reason.  They start drinking tea instead of coffee. They start listening to an entirely different genre of music. Keeping this in mind, I realized that such changes are choices. Choices that people make, whether consciously or subconsciously. And gender is like a choice we make when it comes to our sexual preference. If a man says he is more attracted to boys than girls, that’s his choice. But at the same time, it defines his gender. That’s that.

But a question later crossed my mind. Would it be possible for my gender to change? As a bisexual male teenager, is there a chance I would eventually realize that I’m actually straight? Or maybe I was just gay, and whatever “attraction” I felt for girls was just part of my pretending to be straight for my family and friends.

Based on the preceding discussion, the answer would be yes.  There is still a possibility that all traces of bisexuality would disappear from me and I would turn out to be a brusque heterosexual man.

The next question is whether I would like to be straight. Well, it would definitely be a hell of a lot easier if I was. I wouldn’t need to hide, or lie, or pretend. I wouldn’t need to fear society’s closed minds and harsh judgments.

But I decided that no matter who I really am, be it straight, gay, or bisexual, I would learn how to love myself. I will.

Cheers.

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In the Closet

There are a lot of things bloggers usually write about on Christmas Day. This probably isn’t one of those things.

I have existed in this world for 17 years now, and I still don’t know what my sexual orientation is. Since I was a boy, I’ve always been attracted to other boys. But I’ve still been attracted to girls, too. There’s this girl that I was classmates with from kindergarten until our fourth year in high school. Let’s call her Cello, like the musical instrument. And that entire time, I had a crush on Cello. Of course when we were younger and innocent, I didn’t know it was a crush. I just felt happy seeing her happy and being with her and making her laugh. In the first two years of high school, our friendship was put on the back burner because we ended up in different sections. But in third year, that spark came back. For me, at least. I’ve always known she never loved me back the way I loved her. She loved me as a friend. She looked at me and saw a tall, nerdy, funny friend who happened to be a guy. Not a boyfriend.

In second year, I developed a crush on this other girl. We’ll call her Raven. She had just transferred into our school that year, so she didn’t have any friends yet. She wasn’t exactly my type when it came to girls. She was morena (dark skinned), short, and not particularly intelligent. But she was fun. And I enjoyed being with her.

On Valentine’s Day, I got her a rose and tried to (stupidly) give it to her in front of the rest of our class. Suffice to say, she wasn’t very comfortable. So to save our friendship and minimize the awkwardness of the whole situation, I took the rose back and gave it to our teacher instead. It was what a pussy would do, but I was a pussy then. Hell, I’m still a pussy now.

Through four years of high school, I had also crushed on quite a few boys. Some of them from my batch, some of them from lower batches. But the first time I felt anything stronger or deeper than a crush for another male human being was in college. Let’s just call him Gecko. Gecko was a photographer, graphic designer, singer, and a decent dancer. More importantly, he was an all-around popular guy. I don’t know when it started or how, but I just started thinking about him more and more. Staring at him. Hoping he felt good.

I posted on his Ask.fm account once. (For those of you who are miraculously unaware of this website, you can send questions in anonymously to random people) I didn’t send a question though. I sent a confession. I told him how much I liked him, for his smile, his eyes, his voice, his charm, and his work. I told him how much better he was than most guys and how much I felt I loved him, but that he could never love me back.

You see, Gecko’s straight. A lot of people who meet him think he’s gay, but he’s always claimed he’s straight. And even if there’s still that little voice at the back of my head that tells me he’s secretly gay or bisexual, as long as he says he’s straight, there’s no point in letting him know about how I feel.

The point of this whole post is to say to someone out there that I’m bisexual. It’s not exactly coming out of the closet, but it just feels comforting putting this out in the world. And right now, I’m at a point in my life where I feel I will be accepted by most (hopefully all) of my friends and acquaintances should I come out as bisexual. Actually, I think most of them already think I’m gay. The only problem is my parents. As their only son, coming out would ruin any dreams they have of me becoming the perfect husband for the perfect wife who would raise their perfect grandchildren.

It’s an incredibly heavy burden hiding who you really are and how you really feel. Even if I’m not the kind of bisexual man who wants to talk like a girl and wear makeup, society will still judge me. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle that, but this long-ass blog post is a sure start.

I consider this my Christmas gift to myself. After a few (2 to be exact) posts, I now realize why some bloggers consider their blogs a refuge. A place where they can say what they want and be who they really want to be.

I hope you gave yourself a good gift today. I know I did.