#gayasapelikulaep07

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In light of Gaya sa Pelikula EP07, my immediate desire is to tell anyone who may chance upon this and need to know. To reiterate what the show has just shown us:

You are valid, and so are your fears. It is okay to bide your own time. Even when the world rushes you, forces you, the choice must remain yours. The fight has only begun.

It will take time to heal, and at times the wounds are far too deep. But you will lick your own wounds, and that shall be your victory.

I cannot emphasize enough just how important shows like Gaya sa Pelikula are. I would like to talk about eoisode 7 more in another post. But I just need to let this out.

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coming out, like in the movies.

There are far too many reasons, wide-ranging and on varied degrees, for why coming out is That One Thing all queer people share in suffering. Yet, in the end, all of these boil down to that one overarching fear: that society will reject us. 

Those who soften the blows of this reality will hold our hands, like Anna does (I love her so much, I fucking do), or will offer a safe space and let us cry it all out, like Ate Judit does. Others simply know and will let us come out of our own accord, like Tito Santi does. 

These are warm instances of comfort, but ultimately they are mere consolations to help us come to terms with our mad realization that we had been ‘different’ all along. That we were unnatural. Sinful. A fraud. A phase. An illness. A mistake. An abomination. A wrong. The elements of horror that society has instilled upon us cast a looming shadow, that which would follow us even as we try our damned hardest to step out into the light. The truly laudable thing about Gaya sa Pelikula is how the show willingly offers an opportunity for introspection, a clearance for one to delve into the trajectory of their own stories.

I myself have never come out. Imagine that. A hundred gay-themed movies, one massive crush on Chris Evans, and a desire to be TayNew’s personal bodyguard later, and I still have not said the word out loud. I know because I keep track. My friends know I like boys, and I have never hidden it to those that truly matter, but the reality is that I have never admitted it either. For good measure, I would often create buffers, perhaps in an attempt to make things more palatable: I talk about boys, in all their chiseled glory, but from time to time I make sure to let someone hear, whoever has an ear, that I too had been in love with a girl ‘back then, when I was a teen, back in high school, I guess’ - which is true anyway. I will not discount that experience. But then here comes the shameful part: ‘So maybe I’m not totally gay,’ I would rationalize. ‘And why not? I could very well be bisexual.’ Or perhaps fluid. Or perhaps I was simply too afraid of a label.

Back then, I had probably already guessed this One Thing about myself, but perhaps as a defense mechanism, I had subconsciously ignored it. To friends now, my official story is that I had been in love with a girl - had expressed so myself and had written things about her and had bought her gifts - but then, eventually realized that I was also capable of liking a boy. This narrative is only partly true. What I leave out is the very real possibility that liking a girl could have very well only been part of this overall journey, one that had just been all too complex to understand for my nascent, horrified self. I was only what, 15, when I was first confronted with the reality that loving a boy was possible. 

(One day I had found myself walking with a boy and realized butterflies had been swarming in my stomach. One day I was much too filled with a desire to message him that maybe things were feeling different. One day my mom caught me with that very message, saved as a draft on the phone, and my desperation may have betrayed my concocted excuse that it was just a joke, mommy, really. Didn’t matter what I said; it was what she said that had stuck with me anyway: In tones of pleas, she said, son, please, don’t. One day my mother and I agreed never to talk about it, but I knew better. There was no joke about all this: not what I felt for that one boy, but what I felt within myself. And a more brutal reality: That there was no way in hell my mother would ever except my truth.) 

I had no one to help me understand. Things did not look the way they were over half a decade ago. Liking a boy seemed so wrong. 

Which is why, I know exactly what Karl felt. Vlad had asked him, “Ano ka (What are you)?” and immediately told Karl that he should not be scared of the word. But the truth is, gay is a scary word. As much as we hate to admit it, being gay means being shunned, facing the worst of the world without any armor. It feels as though walking bare naked, unsheltered, with simple questions otherwise borne out of genuine concern feeling like sharp daggers thrown from all directions. 

Things like these, one does not really get used to. They’re not ones that are suddenly okay, just because another person professes that they accept us. The bravest souls in the community will attest that they, too, fight to have the courage every single day. I recall the coming out video of Dan Howell, who had so perfectly articulated why the word ‘gay’ feels so uncomfortable. To me, ironically, the word seems like a label that, once uttered, would permanently seal me in a box, devoid of any guarantee of an out. What if things changed and I suddenly found myself liking a girl (though I doubt that anymore)? The answer to this is one I already know: that only I hold this decision. Would society then, as I have been so predisposed to believe, think that I had lied, that I had failed to be honest? Even when the honest truth of it all is that doubt and fear are two sides of one coin? To my mind, the word ‘gay’ already seems like a conclusion, and henceforth any acts that I do, the word would hinge itself. What if there’s no eject button? That is the truly horrifying thing.

This is an experience all too common, which is why it resonated with every viewer. Similarly, the experience comes with more aggravating instances: Throughout the whole episode, there was the atmosphere of great unrest, which we all know had been a directorial intention. From the cold open, we are shown a slow motion that signifies how overly conscious Karl was to everything; we are shown the way Karl’s voice had been muted when he was trying to talk to Tito Santi; we are shown just how problems are kept hidden and in secret, as when Ate Judit and Tito Santi were talking over them and Karl just being quiet, silenced, until it was he who had been put on the hot seat, ever so suddenly. 

These people who are supposed to be allies have talked over Karl, drowning out his voice. Only at their own signal did they let Karl talk, and by then, it was to answer the question Karl had dreaded all along. We know they want the best for the boys, but this is important to note just the same: No one must be forced out of the closet. It will only harbor more pains. As expected, this unsettling atmosphere has paved the way for the confrontation we had long known was coming. 

The heartbreaking part is that Vlad understands, so much so that he has been patient. Karl needs to find his own self, just like Vlad did. Just like everyone does. The montage of their own perfect life, lived in a large box that is their apartment, was but a sweet escape, and Vlad knows that. This was their shelter from harm. But a time must come when this has to end and they must come out. What has happened there so far - the dance, the hugs, the kisses, and all the memories - it was all real, but it was also hidden. And if one of you denies it happened, how would you trust your own truth? Vlad had taken the lead, because he had the pass to come in and out of this large box, sharing this precious space with Karl. Yet, it was understandable that Vlad had also been itching to help Karl come out on his own. To Karl, that is the most terrifying thing. When he said, we’re okay, Vlad, okay? he was desperately looking for normalcy, to abort this mission and go back and just - just stop. 

Vlad has been through that, and was all over it. No longer.

Neither of them is to blame. On one hand, you own your truth; and on the other, you can never force one to live a lie and go back into the closet, just so that they may be at your own pace. 

The bold truth about Gaya sa Pelikula’s penultimate episode is this: Neither Karl nor Vlad is wrong. It is they who have been wronged. By a society that has forced each one of us to hide, to man up, to woman up, to believe that the only way of seeing people was on the basis of what's between their legs and not what 's inside their heads. And Ate Judit, Anna, or Tito Santi may try their best, but they can do no more than to assuage the horror that comes with living your own truth.

I cannot stress enough how important shows like Gaya sa Pelikula are. For those who are only in the first laps of this journey of coming out, it can be their console. To me, this is a way of understanding why things came out the way they were. To others, this is a welcome respite. An embrace.

This is the magnificence of Juan Miguel Severo’s love letter to the LGBTQI+ community. This was just masterfully done. I find comfort in Vlad’s own love letter to Karl. I’ll bid goodbye for now, go into a corner of this box, and mull over the choices I've made thus far. (Reader, to be honest: I’m now writing this in my dormitory, in my own box I suppose. For the past six episodes I had been watching the show at home, but now I had to stay in the dorms. I guess, this was fate, too, to help me process my own feelings, alone.) Anyway, for those who have not seen it:

God, I am just overwhelmed with emotions. Just gonna cry now.