If You Were Gay and Catholic

J.Neil C. Garcia in his essay titled “Why am I a Catholic?” wrote, “I continue to be a practicing Catholic because to the best of my knowledge, in our country, Catholicism is really the most desirable religion to belong to when one happens to be gay.  Officially, the church condemns my very being.  And yet, who really understands the doctrines of the Catholic faith hereabout?”

The statement above expresses the writer’s reason why he and so many other Catholic gays in our culture have found it extremely difficult to practice religion alongside homosexuality.  Since the church is divided in their beliefs when it comes to homosexual practices and behaviors, it becomes a burden to gays, especially in expressing themselves.  Thus, this paper dubbed “If You were Gay and Catholic”* deals with the obligation of church authorities in the church and state towards homosexuals.  In particular, it focuses upon the nature and the reprehensibility of the prejudices against homosexuals in our society, and the need to combat such prejudices by policy measures in both the church and state.  The paper does not attempt to rethink or to develop substantially the Catholic position on the morality of homosexuality, however, much such rethinking and development are needed in this and all the other areas of the church’s tradition.   Rather, it presents the current official position as a given for its limited purposes.

At the outset, we need to define briefly a few terms.  Orientation refers to a habitual state of being which inclines one toward certain attitudes and actions.  A homosexual orientation inclines one to prefer as a sexual partner a person of one’s own sex.  Thus, one is attracted to persons of the same sex and is more desirous of having genital sex with such persons than with persons of the opposite sex.  If such a person engages in genital activity with a person of the same sex, s/he is said to be acting out homosexuality.  This acting out is perhaps better called homogenital activity.  Finally, a homosexual is one who is homosexually oriented, whether s/he acts out or not.  A gay is a male homosexual, as lesbian is a female homosexual; a straight person is one who is heterosexual (Catholic Northwest Progress, 1983).

The fact that a person is lesbian, gay, or bisexual does not change the fact that s/he has been raised with the same socializing agents as a person who is heterosexual.  Parental influences, schooling,  media, and peers all tend to deliver the same messages about appropriate gender role behaviors.  Notions of gender are developed at a very early age and have a profound effect upon one’s attitudes, behaviors, and sense of identity (Hancock, 2000).

In identifying homosexual behaviors, report shows that the process of coming out for males appears more abrupt and more likely to be associated with psychiatric symptoms, whereas the process for women are characterized by greater fluidity and ambiguity.   The reasons for the differences are related to gender-role socialization differences.  Boys receive more intense socialization pressure to behave in gender-appropriate ways than girls with more punishment for not doing so.  Homoerotic feelings and behaviors are also attributed since the process of coming out especially for men tends to be more abrupt, manifesting in sexual behavior without the emotional intimacy that characterizes female relationship.  Similarly, men are then apt to repress or doing the significance of this behavior.

Furthermore, J. Neil Garcia in his essay “Philippine Gay Culture: reflections on a study” says that,

Filipino gays in the Philippines are better off than their Western counterparts for simple reason that herabout they can actually become famous couturiers and beauticians, if only they are talented or gutsy enough.  Likewise, gays don’t really get discriminated against in this country as proven by the fact that our streets are crawling – or rather, swishing – with so many of them, who, one oughtn’t to forget to note, hardly ever get bashed.  The prettier ones can even become beauty queens in the countless pageants sponsored especially for them by the many different towns and districts of the city (150).

WORKS CITED:

Garcia, J. Neil C.  “Why Am I a Catholic?” Slip/pages.  Pasig City: Anvil Publishing, 2000. pp. 167-172.

Garcia, J. Neil C. “Philippine gay culture: reflections on a study.” Slip/pages. Pasig City: Anvil Publishing, 2000. pp. 150-154.

Hancock, Kristin A. “Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Lives.” Educational Research and Practice in Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Psychology: a resource manual. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications, 2000. pp. 91-123.

Moral Dilemmas: readings in ethics and social philosophy. California: Wadsworth Publishing, Co., 1985. pp. 226-233.

www.catholic.net

www.religioustolerance.net

Tiff of Fate: A Very Short Story

It has always been like that. In the movies: girls breaking up with boys, blurting out those cliché lines “We are not meant for each other,” “I need space.”  But these are all crap.  Movies treat guys like douchebags, trash worthy of a bin.  And so Elan thought.

http://vi.sualize.us/li0nman/umbrella/

                In between nibbles of Burger McDo and sips of Coca-cola in the cafeteria one drizzly morning, Elan and Meg hurled out tiff as the latter, with her eyes glinting with ardor, couched her dismay over her bestfriend who was jilted by a guy the moment she fell in love with him.  Elan idly reclined his back on the plastic chair, stirring the straw on a half-empty cup, while his eyes nailed on Meg’s face as if on a trance.  Why, her eyelashes sway like a peacock’s tail; her eyes, enraged like that of a sorceress, can lure a thousand warriors inside her lair.  And as words escape from her lips, Elan surmised, linnet birds start to tweet.

                Suddenly, a heavy tap on Elan’s shoulder ended the trance.  Elan caught Meg, still with ardor-filled eyes, staring straight at him. “So gay, right?” Meg asked.

                Elan straightened his back and cleared his throat.  “Who’s gay?” He asked and turned his eyes around.  The cafeteria was already filled with students dodging against one another in a rush to take their snacks, or even lunch.  Eleven o’clock struck.  And as Elan noticed, he and Meg were the only faculty members amid the crowd of students.

                “The guy who left my friend,” Meg answered.  “I mean, that jerk who said that only destiny can decide whether they are really meant for each other.  What man, in his very straight and sane mind can utter that?”

                “What’s the big deal with that?”

                Meg’s back drooped.  Her eyes rolled.  “Duh.  It’s a big deal for us girl.  Guys who have that kind of disposition don’t have the balls to face reality.  Love should not be dependent on fate.  Aren’t you listening to my story, sir?”

                “Well, I do, Meg.  In fact, I strongly oppose that believing in destiny is gay.  I think that the guy who jilted your bestfriend, as you said, just made the right decision,” answered Elan while glancing at the sweet couple munching strawberry-filled waffle on the table next to them.  The girl, noticing his teacher with somebody beside him, teasingly smiled and waved at Elan.  Elan winked back.

                “What?” Meg uttered, as the air blew her empty cup, and it fell on the floor. “But she loved him.  You know, sir, she even risked everything.”

                “But did she risk enough?  It seemed to me, according to your story, Ma’am, that the guy is just an alternative.  Your bestfriend has not settled the issue with her ex yet and she is afraid of her parents not accepting the guy.  She even refused to go out with him for fear that other people might see them both, while no closure has happened yet between her and the ex.”

                Meg pouted her lips and nodded her head.  For a minute, silence reigned between the two while the drizzle continued to pour above the roof, around the verdant lawn outside the cafeteria.  “I guess, you’re right, sir.  My bestfriend told me some instances that the guy proved how gentleman he was.  And he even promised that they will continue to be friends.”

                Elan shrugged his shoulder.  I wish you and your boyfriend break up, he said to himself.  And he made a quick sign of the cross, trying to erase that fiendish fancy from his mind.  Silence shrouded the two teachers again.  Then, Meg looked at his watch.  “Oh gosh, it’s already twelve.”

                “Time flies so fast, right?”  Elan said.  “But you know, you’re right.  Love is indeed a risk. And putting myself on the guy’s shoes, I would do the same.  Not keeping in touch with the girl for some time, giving her space is still the right thing to do.  And if the girl is now ready, that’s the only time…”

                Meg smiled.  She stood.  Elan followed.  The students still crowded the cafeteria.  The two teachers dodged against them.  Drizzle turned into heavy rain. Upon reaching the door, Elan stopped while trying to take out something from his bag.  “Oh, shit.  I forgot my umbrella.”

               Meg sweetly laughed as she opened her red umbrella.  “You always forget to bring your umbrella whenever it rains.  And when it’s not raining, you bring your umbrella.  What’s up with that, sir?”  They both laughed.

                Elan and Meg treaded back Rada Hall and braved the heavy rain.  Elan held the handle while Meg hugged her Chanel bag.  Both their bodies almost tightly squeezed to each other.  Amid the heavy rain, Elan could smell the floral perfume from Meg’s neck and hair.  He wished Rada Hall were miles away from the cafeteria.  But unfortunately, it was just twenty steps away and the moment with Meg under one umbrella was considered a work of fate.  Elan himself believed in Fate, or Destiny as others would call it.  And there’s nothing wrong with believing in it.  For him, it’s always worth a try.

                As the two reached Rada Hall, Meg whispered to Elan before entering the Faculty Room.

                “I am single.”

END

The Confession of a Wallflower

www.c4gallery.com

When I was seven, I nearly stabbed my Mom with a knife because she did not want to take me with her to the hospital.  When I was seven, I tried breaking my father's motorcycle because he would not take me to the town with him. When I was a child, I wanted all of them to be dead.  All these thoughts and actions happened out of the emotions--anger, hate, resentment--which surged out because of unexplained reasons. Just  because I felt like it.  Because by doing that, I would be satiated.  Needless to say, my family considered me the black sheep. One simple reprimand would break me into tears and tantrums. I was a handful.  Much worst, my sexual urges developed when I was still very little.  I had my first experience at the age of six. 

 As I grew older, I have become self-effacing, trying to conceal myself to the whole world, repressing my emotions, out of fear anyone who discovers the real me would shudder at my laconic demeanor.  For almost twenty two years, I tried to live a very normal life. A life people want me to live, things people want me to achieve. But deep inside, there is a child who seriously needs help. Acceptance. A child who manages to control himself despite doubts and fears. A child who tries to understand himself despite the darkness that adumbrates his psyche.

Growing into maturity has been a wayward journey, an unending quest for answers. I turned to religion. I turned to magic. I turned to arts, which greatly plays an important role in understanding my self more. Without poetry, without music, without painting, I could have drowned myself into the pit of despair. I could have killed myself sundry times already.  And still, from time to time, the nightmare from my childhood keeps haunting me--the surge of emotions, the mood swings, the self-effacement--they are all coming back to me now, as the popular song goes.  

When I turned 29 last week, something had triggered this nightmare to return.  And again, this unexplained feeling that the world is turning against me, even my closest friends. There was this urge to hate everybody, to shut myself from the world, to let the world come into my control. I had been down in the dumps, and I was happy for a second, and at the end of the day, everything was just so crazy.   If this is what growing old means, then I will not have it for the world. Not ever. But I cannot stop myself from growing old and along with the growth entails, well. depression. 

Just to let everyone know, whether they care about it or not, I have a bipolar tendency. In layman's Hiligaynon term, "katok." There are deep reasons behind this display of disorder. I don't want people to understand me, and I'm not even apologizing.  Let me be.  I just want an assurance that despite all these, I have someone to turn to.  I have been dealing with this for a very long time.  I guess, being 29, I could handle myself better. There is still the child who still needs help. 

I have been taking BP self-tests and the results are quite alarming.  I am trying to deny it, but looking back, it would not be a surprise that I'm suffering from that disorder.  The tests though do not affirm my condition but they will serve as bases for psychological help.  But deep inside, I am really praying that this is just a phase that I could overcome. Because this is something not to be proud of.

People Like Rain

My co-teacher emailed this to me last night, as promised.  And reading this piece I just have to agree that, indeed, we display rain-like qualities.  To know more about what I'm talking about, read the essay and find out what kind of rain you are...

Rain and People
Kathryn Reynolds

To me, there are as many different kinds of rain as there are people. You may never have thought of it, or you may not agree, but I always feel a personality in the rain.

There is the miserable drizzle that come sometimes with for and seems to spread its depressing influence as freely as its dampness seeps through a watertight raincoat. This kind of rain reminds me of a poor itinerant beggar who brings a chilling reality to the animated happy being around him. Then, unexpected interrupting the calm pleasant weather at the point when we are preparing for some picnic or summer expedition, comes that blustery noisy rain with roaring thunder and flashing lightning. Haven’t you seen people like that, noisy boastful people who come breaking in on your dearly loved solitude without warning and sometimes frighten you with their noise and wildness? But often the rain is quiet and gentle as it falls on the roof on a hushes patter. At such time it is like a mother, soothing, hushing, comforting. Do you know anyone brisk, businesslike and always right? I do. There is a kind of rain to match just such people; that steady downpour which is useful to growing things and which rather coldly and heartlessly pelts down on the tender growing, green things of the earth. Finally, there are those gay sparkling drops that dance fitfully before the breeze and can never be depended on for any real use because they usually end in a lovely rainbow. These are like lively gay people who are not practical or useful, but who are often the most dearly loved.

Perhaps you can see now what I mean when I say there are as many kinds of rain as there are people.

Nothing Opens at the Close, Bitch

It ends here.

What I thought is extraordinary
has become less
ordinary

and I'm not even talking
about Harry Potter.

Nothing opens at the
Close.

In reality
in my own fictional
non-verisimilitudinary realm--
Goodbye means
fare...

Well, your eyes
I thought
are hazelnut. Alas!
Your lips smudged
with pigment of what
I thought was love.
Only to discover
when you talk
a drop of saliva
spatters from
your mouth.

I loathe
how this petty mishap
misshaped the heart
pretty much
like a Cruciatus curse.

It sucks
When magic
is nothing like
your deafening
shrills that,
for strange reasons,
draw me to you like
the Imperius curse.

Aye, bitch.
Nothing is so extra-
ordinary. Love exists
not in my own fictional
non-verisimilitudinary realm--

Nothing opens at the
Close.

And I'm not even talking
about Harry Potter.

Fare...well.

 (for Jane)

Hallam Foe and My Fascination for Jamie Bell

I never expected to have encountered Jamie Bell again. I first saw him in Billy Elliot when he was like eleven years old and I got fascinated with him through his penchant in dancing, and of course his superb acting in that movie, which earned him a BAFTA acting award for Best Actor.

Eleven  years after Billy Elliot landed on big screen and then later on adapted into a Broadway musical, I took interest in watching the movie again.  And thus triggered my interest to even download not only Billy, but some of his films 'coz I find Jamie Bell so endearing.

 Now, I 'm done watching Hallam Foe.

THE STORY: The seventeen year-old Hallam Foe is a weird teenager that misses his mother, who committed suicide, drowning in a lake nearby their house in Edinburgh after an overdose of sleeping pills. Hallam spends his spare time peeping at the locals and blames his stepmother Verity Foe, accusing her of killing his mother. After a discussion with his father Julius Foe, Hallam sneaks out from his house and travels to Edinburgh, where he sees Kate Breck and becomes obsessed with her because of her resemblance to his mother. Kate hires Hallam to work in the kitchen of the hotel where she works and they have a strange romance, while Hallam reaches his maturity the hardest way (www.IMDb.com).





METHINKS: The synopsis and the YouTube comments on the movie compelled me to download this indie flick. Plots with troubled teenagers and coming-of-age stories are so cathartic to me.  This one? Damn, Jamie Bell should do more indie films and expose his ass and his willy.


I'm gonna pick up on the last statement of the synopsis. Indeeed, "Hallam reaches his maturity the hardest way."  Sure, the movie presents a cliche issue most teenagers are going through: revolt against their families and their angst against the world.  What makes Hallam reach his maturity the hardest way? His oedipal demeanor. His spy-like tendencies which brought about by his suspicion of his stepmother being the culprit of his mom's death. But despite his distresses, Hallam still gains his humanity.  I actually love the scene where he drowns his stepmother in the loch but was still able to save her as his conscience gets in its way over his gnawing desire to avenge his mother.


I think Jamie Bell donned the character pretty well.  The disturbing disposition and the subtle twitches of arcaneness is all over Bell's character. Oh, well, he really deserved the award when he won Best Actor (again) at the 2007 Scotland BAFTA Award. But I still love him as Billy Elliot though.


Another Jamie Bell movie to watch: The Eagle

Acrylic Attempt

Elsed S. Togonon. Deity. Acrylic on canvas. 9x12

Honestly, I have never tried painting on a real canvas. I quit right before I supposed to learn painting when I was still studying Fine Arts in Bacolod. I must say, rendering colors is not really my forte. I do well in handling pen and ink.

My interest in painting using acrylic started when  I discovered that small-sized canvases are available in National Bookstore. I also thought acrylic paint is more sophisticated that oil paint, only to realize that I have been using the former already, but not in canvas.  

This painting titled Deity is one of my first few masterpieces using acrylic painting as medium.

What makes this painting special is that, the Creative Writing Institute of the University of San Agustin will use it as a book cover for the SanAg Literary Journal. How cool is that?

DON'T BE A WHORE: 25 Things Writers Should Know About Social Media by Chuck Wendig

1. THE DEVIL’S TRIDENT

Social media has three essential prongs of activity: broadcast, rebroadcast, conversation. This is true for everybody, not just writers, but it’s worth noting just the same. I say something or repeat something someone else said (broadcast/rebroadcast), and from that social seed-bed, conversation may arise.

2. BE THE BEST VERSION OF YOURSELF

Writers and other creative-types often seem to believe that they need to become someone different online, that they cannot be themselves lest they not find a publisher, not get work, not sell their book, not collect sexy groupies, etc. To that I say, bullshit! And cock-waffle! And piddling piss-wafers! Be yourself. That’s who we want. We just want the best version of you. Scrape the barnacles off. Sit up straight. Smile once in a while. But you can still be you. Uhh, unless “you” just so happen to be some kind of Nazi-sympathizing donkey-molester. In which case, please back slowly away from the social media.

3. PUT “BRAND” AND “PLATFORM” OUT OF YOUR FOOL HEAD

You are not a brand. Social media is not your platform. The world has enough brands. You are not a logo, a marketing agenda, a mouthpiece, a Spam-Bot. Approach social media not as a writer-specific tool (keyword: tool) catered only toward your penmonkey self and see it instead as a place where you can bring all the crazy and compelling facets of your personality to bear on an unsuspecting populace your audience. People want to follow other people. People don’t want to follow brands.

La Vie Boheme!

THIS IS IT!

I promised myself that when I turn 30, I would reactivate my blog. And I forgot, I’m still 29 (I owe my sister for reminding me as always).  Not that I hasten myself to grow older. I just can’t wait to reach that age despite the knowledge that being thirtysomething SUCKS.

This blog gives tribute to my art and my bipolarity. This blog springs out of deepshit when, right after my birthday, I got bombarded by sundry issues which knocked the hell out of me. Normally, I don’t express myself through words, that is, by voicing it out on somebody else’s face. I turn to my Art: painting, poetry, music, and, hell yeah, jackopt.

All right, I’ll shut up now. This defeats the purpose of my being laconic. I’ll just let my so-called artistic passion speak for myself.

Welcome, bitches! Browse at your own risk!


Oh wait! I'll be updating this blog very soon. Bear with me.