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Joanne Dioso, 52, was only in his 20s when he moved to Makati City.

Just as he finished his third year in high school, “nag-aral ako ng (I studied) cosmetology,” he recalled, which led him to a career as a hairdresser. Then someone he knew asked if he wanted to go to Metro Manila; and – as the cliché goes – the rest (as far as his becoming a Metro Manilan is concerned) is history.

Things weren’t always easy, Joanne recalled – e.g. he didn’t know anyone here. But he soon learned to adjust. He thinks he is so well-adjusted now, in fact, that he can’t think of a life outside Makati City.

But for Joanne, who is – basically – alone in Makati City (notwithstanding his social circles), this is proving to be a challenge as he grows older as a gay guy…

REVISITING THE PAST

Joanne said he always identified as a gay man, “hindi (not as) transgender.”

He was still young – “Siguro nasa Grade 4 ako (Maybe when I was in Grade 4 in primary school)” – when he said he must have realized he’s gay. At that time, he said, he liked playing with toys usually given to girls, and “mga kaibigan ko, babae lahat (all my friends were girls).”

Both his parents were okay with him being gay.

Sinabihan ako ng father ko na… huwag masyadong maglandi-landi na bakla (My father told me not to be too flamboyant),” he recalled. His father died when he was young, though, so “hindi niya na nasilayan ang pagka-dalaga ko (he didn’t really see me blossom into what I am now).”

READ:  Love heralds self-identity…

Baptized as Nemecio Dioso Jr., he was eventually called Joanne, a name – he said – that played on “Junior”.

They never really had the capacity to send all five kids to school, and so Joanne said he had to start working early.

And yes, this is also why – when the chance to go to Metro Manila came in the 1990s – he moved to the proverbial greener pastures.

LOOKING FORWARD

Joanne said he felt “old” when he turned 40.

At that point, “hindi na masyadong naglalandi (I wasn’t as flirtatious and playful in life),” he said. Then, he added: “May mga nararamdaman na rin (My body started to feel aged, too).”

Technically, he doesn’t qualify as a senior yet; in the Philippines, the senior age is 60.

But Joanne said he can’t help thinking of a future as an older gay man.

Dami ko iniisip pag-tanda ko (I think of aging a lot),” he said. “Saan ba ako (Where do I go)? Hihiga na lang siguro ako sa kalsada (Maybe I’ll just live on the streets).”

Of course, Joanne can choose to return to his hometown, but he is worried that – when he is older and is already “invalid” – people there may think badly of him. That “andito na naman ito, palamunin (this person is inutile).”

LEARNING LESSONS

He admitted that there were times when he felt jealous with those who were able to find relationships.

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But of course, in his era, gay men did not necessarily have relationships with other gay me, but only dated hetero-identifying men who ended up leaving them to marry women.

So his belief now is to just have flings. Relationships, he smiled, are expensive, unlike “flings na magbigay ka lang tapos wala na (flings wherein you just pay money, and that’s that).” If the partner wants to return, “okay lang (then it’s okay).”

The young, he said, doesn’t realize that they need to plan for their future. “Na sana ang pera ko… inipon ko (That perhaps I should have saved some of my earnings),” he said, so that when one is older, “meron ako makuha-kuha (I’d have something to use).” One only really realizes the fickleness of having fun when one is already older, he said.

Not that he regrets his life as a whole.

Wala akong pagsisisi (I don’t regret anything),” Joanne said. “I am proud to be gay.”

The founder of Outrage Magazine, Michael David dela Cruz Tan is a graduate of Bachelor of Arts (Communication Studies) of the University of Newcastle in New South Wales, Australia. Though he grew up in Mindanao (particularly Kidapawan and Cotabato City in Maguindanao), even attending Roman Catholic schools there, he "really, really came out in Sydney," he says, so that "I sort of know what it's like to be gay in a developing and a developed world". Mick can: photograph, do artworks with mixed media, write (DUH!), shoot flicks, community organize, facilitate, lecture, research (with pioneering studies under his belt)... this one's a multi-tasker, who is even conversant in Filipino Sign Language (FSL). Among others, Mick received the Catholic Mass Media Awards (CMMA) in 2006 for Best Investigative Journalism. Cross his path is the dare (read: It won't be boring).

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To live a life in service

Meet Carla Culaste, the trans houseparent of a halfway house for people living with HIV in the City of Manila. It’s a challenging – and yet fulfilling – job, he said, as he stressed to others to learn more about HIV to promote non-discrimination.

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This is part of #KaraniwangLGBT, which Outrage Magazine officially launched on July 26, 2015 to offer vignettes of LGBT people/living, particularly in the Philippines, to give so-called “everyday people” – in this case, the common LGBT people – that chance to share their stories.
As Outrage Magazine editor Michael David C. Tan says: “All our stories are valid – not just the stories of the ‘big shots’. And it’s high time we start telling all our stories.”

Carla Culaste, now 26, was around 12 years old when he first visited the Positive Action Foundation Philippines Inc. (PAFPI). His sister worked for the non-government organization that was founded by his gay uncle, Joshua Formentera. Even then, he said that he was always “impressed” with how it was able to touch the lives of Filipino PLHIVs, providing them a “safe space” when even their own homes failed to do so.

Little did he know that – by the time he’d turn 22 – he’d be working as the houseparent of the NGO’s Abot Kamay Center, a halfway house for PLHIVs who are in need of a helping hand to get back on their feet.

DAILY ROUTINE

From Monday to Friday, Carla sleeps at the center. On weekends, he heads home (in Parañaque, where his family lives). But even if his work is actually supposedly only from 8:00AM to 5:00PM, “as a houseparent, 27/7 ka nakabantay (I watch after them 24/7).”

Part of Carla’s job is to “always check on the clients” – from checking if they have supplies of their medicines, if they actually take their medicines on time, if they eat properly, et cetera. This is particularly true when dealing with new clients who may still have physical limitations and need help in their day-to-day living in the shelter.

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Aside from this, Carla also helps manage clients who may need to be rushed to the hospital, particularly when “wala silang pamilya na willing tumulong sa kanila (if they don’t have family willing to help them).” By extension, therefore, Carla becomes an alternative family member.

Iniisip ko kasi, bilang houseparent, hindi lang ako nanay o tatay sa kanila (As a houseparent, I do not only see myself as a father or a mother to them), Carla said. “Ano rin ako sa kanila… kapatid, kaibigan na puwede nilang takbuhan pag kailangan nila ng makakausap (I am also a sibling, a friend to them; someone they can go to if they need to talk to someone).”

But it is a fulfilling job, particularly when he sees people he helped do well in life. “Nakakasaya rin (It makes one happy),” he said.

GROWING UP TRANS

Carla didn’t finish high school; though if given a chance, he’d like to study again.

As a trans man, his life was not always easy.

The youngest of six kids, he always identified as a trans man.

“Before, hindi nila ako matanggap (In the past, my family couldn’t accept me),” he said. “Against sa religion nila (Being LGBTQIA was against their religion).”

As a child, two of his borther also bullied him; they hurt him verbally, as well as physically.

When he told his parents about it, they just dismissed the bullying, telling Carla that perhaps “naglalambing lang sila (they were just being affectionate)”.

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But Carla said he still chose to be what he is because this is what makes him happy.

By the time Carla had his first partner, “wala na rin sila nagawa (there was nothing they could do but accept me).”

In hindsight, that experience taught Carla an important lesson in life: To be accepting.

Kung paano mo i-treat ang tao… ipakita mo sa kanila na kaya mo silang intindihin kahit magkaiba kayo (In treating people, show them that you can understand them even if you’re different from each other),” Carla said.

EVERYONE’S ISSUE

With her exposure to the HIV community, Carla wants PLHIVs to learn to care for themselves. For instance, not to do things (e.g.vices) that will – in the end – just be bad on/for them. “Huwag matigas ang ulo (Don’t be hardheaded),” he said.

To everyone, he said “huwag kayong matakot sa PLHIVs (don’t be afraid of PLHIVs).” In fact, “matuto tayong sumuporta (sa PLHIVs) hindi lang sa kamag-anak natin (na may HIV). Maging concern din tayo sa iba. Iwasan natin ang discrimination (We should learn to support PLHIVs, not just relatives who may have it. We should show our concern to everyone. We should avoid discrimination).”

Learning also helps, he said, “at bigyan natin ng kaalaman sarili natin tungkol sa HIV kasi dagdag impormasyon yan para sa atin (and for us to add to our knowledge everything about HIV since this is good to our lifelong learning).”

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For more information on Positive Action Foundation Philippines Inc. (PAFPI), visit Abot Kamay Center at 2613 Dian St., Malate, City of Manila, 1004 Philippines.
They may also be reached at (+632) 4042911; or email pafpiorg@gmail.com.

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The young believer

For Ian Jaurigue, it is nice to know that there are already a lot of people who support the LGBTQI community these days. “But as long as there is still inequality on the basis of one’s SOGIE, our call and our fight should be stronger,” he said.

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“As long as there are LGBT advocates who will fight tirelessly for the advancement of our advocacy, things will get better.”

So said 19-year-old Ian Jaurigue, a self-identified “gender advocate”.

And Ian believes that “(the older generation) did a good job when it comes to working for the advocacy, and we need to learn from their experiences and be grateful for it. If they did not start it, the advocacy would not have had moved forward.”

According to Ian, the young advocates today still have a lot to do; and for Ian, this is “not just talk and rant about (the issues).”

But while recognizing the efforts of those who helped start the movement, Ian also recognizes that there are gaps. And these gaps are not helped by the “disconnect” between his generation and the one before it.

“The struggles may have evolved and revolutionized, but we, the younger generation, still need to reflect and learn from what they have accomplished,” he said. Only “by doing this (will we be helped to) have a stronger grasp of our advocacy.”

Also, even if the LGBTQI movement has reached new heights, according to Ian, the young advocates today still have a lot to do; and for Ian, this is “not just talk and rant about (the issues).”

“It is nice to know that there are already a lot of people who support us. But it does not mean that we should settle for these little triumphs. As long as there is still inequality on the basis of one’s SOGIE, our call and our fight should be stronger,” Ian said.

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Incidentally, Ian is also a freelance makeup artist, theater and indie actor, dancer, a student at U.P. Diliman, and… a drag artist. He is known in the drag community as – plainly – Mrs Tan.

“My style is a mixture of dance, comedy, and theater,” Ian said.

Though he is still new in the world of drag, Ian believes that the way he carries himself and how he performs onstage prove that “age is nothing but a number”.

Ian merges his advocacy with his performances, making sure that “every performance brings a certain message and not just a spectacle. I like the feeling when I’m able to give a deeper message to the audience while I’m performing,” he said.

His first foray into the world of drag was when he joined U.P. Samaskom’s Live AIDS. Ian took on the role of a drag queen. But he felt, during that time, that “drag should be more than what I did in Live AIDS; there should be meaning to it.”

Whenever he performs, “I feel a sense of fulfillment and liberation. I’m not just entertaining people, I’m also giving them something to think about. There is pride to it.”

For someone as young as Ian, “Pride is both a celebration and a revolution.”

On the one hand, it is a celebration of the LGBT community’s diversity, accomplishments, and ongoing contributions. But on the other hand, “Pride is also a protest for the members who are not able to take advantage and enjoy their basic human rights, and for those who have died because they are members of the LGBTQI community,” Ian ended.

“It is nice to know that there are already a lot of people who support us. But it does not mean that we should settle for these little triumphs. As long as there is still inequality on the basis of one’s SOGIE, our call and our fight should be stronger,” Ian said.

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All hail the beauty queen

A glimpse into the life of a trans woman beauty pageant enthusiast, Ms Mandy Madrigal of Transpinay of Antipolo Organization.

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This is part of #KaraniwangLGBT, which Outrage Magazine officially launched on July 26, 2015 to offer vignettes of LGBT people/living, particularly in the Philippines, to give so-called “everyday people” – in this case, the common LGBT people – that chance to share their stories.
As Outrage Magazine editor Michael David C. Tan says: “All our stories are valid – not just the stories of the ‘big shots’. And it’s high time we start telling all our stories.”

“I feel accepted.”

That, said Mandy Madrigal, is the main appeal of joining beauty pageants.

“I feel so loved when I join pageants. Especially when people clap for us, cheer for us. And when you win… it (just) feels different.”

FINDING ACCEPTANCE

Assigned male at birth, Mandy was in primary school when her father asked her if “I was a boy or a girl”. That question scared her, she admitted, because – as the only boy among six kids – she thought she did not really have “any choice”. “So I answered my father, ‘I am a boy’.”

But Mandy’s father asked her the same question again; and this time, “I said, yes, I am gay.”

No, Mandy is NOT gay; she is a transpinay, and a straight one at that. But the misconceptions about the binary remains – i.e. in this case, she is associated with being gay mainly because she did not identify with the sex assigned her at birth.

In a way, Mandy said she’s lucky because “I believe he (my father) accepted (me) with his whole heart.”

The rest of her family did, too.

Though – speaking realistically – Mandy said this may be abetted by her “contributions” to the family. “Hindi naman aka basta naging bakla lang (I’m not a ’typical’ gay person),” she said, “na naglalandi lang o sumasali lang ng pageant (who just flirts, or just joins beauty pageants). Instead, Mandy provides financial support to her family by – among others – selling RTW clothes and beauty products. In fact, some of her winnings also go to the family’s coffers. By helping provide them with what they need, “it’s easy for them to accept me as a transgender woman.”

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Growing up, Mandy realized that while “makakapagsinungaling ka sa ibang tao, pero sarili mo, hindi mo maloloko. Kaya mas magandang tanggapin mo ang sarili mo para matanggap ka ng ibang tao (you may be able to lie to others about who you really are, but you can’t lie to yourself. So it’s better to accept your true self so that others will be able to accept you too).”

Mandy was “introduced” to beauty pageants when she was 13 or 14. At that time, a friend asked her to join a pageant; and “I won first runner up.” She never looked backed since, even – at one time – earning as much as P20,000 after winning a title. Like many regular beauconeras (beauty pageant participants), she also heads to distant provinces to compete, largely because – according to her – prizes in provincial competitions tend to be higher. The prize money earned helps one buy more paraphernalia for the next pageants, and – in Mandy’s case – also helps support her family.

Generally speaking, Mandy Madrigal said that “ang tunay na queen ay may malaking puso (a real queen has a big heart).”

FORMING A FAMILY

Beauty pageants are competitions, yes; but for Mandy, pageants also allow the candidates to form bonds as they get close to each other. Pageants, she said, can be a way “na maging close kami, magkaroon ng magagandang bonding… at magkakilala kami (for us to be close, to bond and get to know the others better).”

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Pageants can be costly, Mandy admitted – for instance, “you have to invest,” she said, adding that a candidate needs to be able to provide for herself (instead of just always renting) costumes, swimsuits, casual wear, gowns, and so on.

In a way, therefore, having people who believe in you helps. In Mandy’s case, for instance, a lot of people helped (by providing necessities she needs) because “naniniwala sila na I am a queen inside and out,” she smiled.

But this support can also rack the nerves, particularly when people expect one to win (particularly because of the support given).

One will not always win, of course; and this doesn’t always give one good feelings. In 2017, for instance, Mandy joined Queen of Antipolo, and – after failing to win a crown – she said many people told her she should have won the title, or at least placed among the runners-up. “naguluhan ang utak ko (That confused me),” she said. “‘Bakit ako ang gusto ninyong manalo?’ But that’s when I realized na marami ako na-i-inspire na tao dahil marami nagtitiwala sa akin (I ask, ‘Why do you want me to win?’ But that’s when I realized that I inspire a lot of people, which is why they count on me).”

This gives her confidence; enough to deal with the nervousness that will also allow her to just enjoy any pageant she joins.

A TIME TO SHINE

Mandy believes pageants can help LGBTQI people by providing them a platform to showcase to non-LGBTQI people why “hindi tayo dapat husgahan (we should not be judged).”

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Generally speaking, Mandy said that “ang tunay na queen ay may malaking puso (a real queen has a big heart).”

And she knows that not every pageant is good for every contestant. There will be pageants where you will be crowned the queen, she said, just as there will be pageants where you will lose. But over and above the winning and losing, note “what’s most important: that there’s a lot of people who supported you in a (certain) pageant.”

At the end of the day, “sa lahat ng patimpalak, pagkatandaan natin na merong nananalo at may natatalo. Depende na lang yan sa araw mo. Kung ikaw ay nakatadhanang manalo ay mananalo ka; kung nakatadhanang matalo ay matatalo ka talaga. Yun lang yun. Isipin mo na lang na meron pang araw na darating na mas maganda para sa iyo (in all competitions, remember that there will always be a winner and a loser. It all depends on your luck for the day. If you are fated to win, you will win; if you are fated to lose, you will lose. That’s that. But still remember – even when you lose – that there will always come a day that will be great for you).”

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Monique de la Rue: ‘See yourself for who you really are’

Meet Monique de la Rue (a.k.a. Mon Busa), who helms the Home for the Golden Gays. He hopes to “help senior LGBTQI Filipinos see that, even as they age, they remain beautiful. And – maybe, just maybe – young LGBTQI Filipinos can learn from us on how we can age gracefully and, yes, beautifully.”

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This is part of #KaraniwangLGBT, which Outrage Magazine officially launched on July 26, 2015 to offer vignettes of LGBT people/living, particularly in the Philippines, to give so-called “everyday people” – in this case, the common LGBT people – that chance to share their stories.
As Outrage Magazine editor Michael David C. Tan says: “All our stories are valid – not just the stories of the ‘big shots’. And it’s high time we start telling all our stories.”

It wasn’t even 9:00AM yet on March 19, 2014, but Monique de la Rue (a.k.a. Mon Busa), now 67, was already busy getting ready. He was prepping himself for the Miss Golden Gay 2014, a pageant for senior gay and trans Filipinos; many of them residents of the Home for the Golden Gays (HGG) in Pasay City.

“That was the first time I ever ‘cross-dressed’,” Mon said. This was because – while he may have always known he’s gay – growing up, “I was always old to dress ‘aptly’.” And by that, people meant he had to present himself only by using clothes that society deemed appropriate for a specific gender. While looking at himself at the mirror, it was the first time that Mon said he saw that “maganda rin pala ako (I actually also look nice) as a woman,” he said with a laugh.

Mon didn’t win the crown that day. But – considering that he dresses up now and then since that day – he said he may have won something bigger. And “that is this ability to see beauty in yourself no matter what you are,” he said. “I suppose this should strike us LGBTQI people even more…”

And it is this that now motivates him as he helms HGG: “To help senior LGBTQI Filipinos see that, even as they age, they remain beautiful. And – maybe, just maybe – young LGBTQI Filipinos can learn from us on how we can age gracefully and, yes, beautifully.”

When all is said and done, Mon Busa said he wants to be remembered as Monique de la Rue, “the one who saw himself for who he really is and lived his life following that mantra,” he said. “We should all aim for this.”

DIFFERENT TIMES

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Though his family originated from Borongan in Samar, Mon is – by and large – a Manilan, growing in Malate. “You know where Aristocrat Restaurant is now (along Roxas Blvd.)? That used to be Fernando Ma. Guerrero Elementary School; I went there,” he smiled.

There were 10 of them; he was the seventh. “Actually, 14 talaga kami (there were 14 of us). But four died during WWII.”

Mon recalled that “seven years old pa lang ako, nagtitili na ako (I was only seven, yet I was already flamboyant).” But it was the 1950s, “so being gay was largely a taboo.”

He could remember his mom reprimanding him particularly when he started acting feminine while playing, for example. “So people like us had to also act ‘formal’ or nabubugbog sa bahay (we get abused at home).” This made him realize that, truly, “discrimination starts at home.”

But expressing one’s true identity always happened, Mon said. When with friends for instance, “‘yung papel de Hapon, binabasa namin yun, tapos ginagawang pang-lipstick at pang-kulay sa pisngi (we wet Japanese paper so we can use its coloring as lipstick and to color our cheeks).”

Mon said he always knew he was “different”, but his attraction with another man happened in his fourth year in high school. “We had a 28-year-old transferee,” he recalled, “and he took me with him to the toilet. That was the first time I saw an adult male’s genitalia, and I was surprised at nanginig (I started shaking). I thought, ‘May ganyan pala ka-laking nota (There’s a penis as big as that)?’.”

In 1967, Mon finished high school; and “I already started working then.”

Looking back, he said he was never once pressured to already marry (as men his age then started doing at that age). “My dad, for example, had no comment about me being gay; he was always busy anyway,” he said. But he remembered that both parents told him to “act formal.”

LIVING GAY

This acting “formal” – perhaps akin to being cisgender and availing of the privileges of being non-feminine – served Mon well.

Mon eventually left the Philippines to work in the Middle East in 1981.

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And even while there as a gay guy, he said “di talaga ako nakaranas ng discrimination (I never experienced discriminatory acts).” For him, “I maintained my being ‘formal’; I suppose society is more tolerant of this.”

Mon considers himself “somewhat of a late bloomer”. He was 24 when he said he was devirginized by his first-ever BF (a Lebanese guy) while he was in the Middle East. But “marami akong naging BF doon. Gumihit ang pangalan ko doon (I had lots of BFs there. I made a mark there).”

Mon can recall how the Filipino gay community in KSA (where he specifically went) “looked after each other,” he said. It was from those who came before him, for instance, that he learned how to “labatiba (douching)”.

At that time, he said, he sent money to send relatives to school. On occasion, he set aside money for his boys – and on this, he can now say with bitter laughter: “Kung hindi ako nagmahal may naipundar na sana ako (If I didn’t love anyone, I’d have saved money for myself).”

With a sigh, Mon said that “sa panahon namin, bawal ang gay to gay. Bawal ang aswang sa aswang. Malalason ka (two gay men don’t fall for each other. If you did, you’d be ‘poisoned’),” he said. And so “falling in love with someone who is bound to leave you was, sadly, normalized.”

For Mon Busa, having an actual space can also help them develop livelihood programs since “maraming (a lot of) senior LGBTQI Filipinos still have skills and talents but can no longer find good employment. And so nasasayang lang (we’re just wasted).”

FINDING A HOME

The late Justo Justo (JJ), who founded the HGG, was “an old friend,” Mon said.

Though the two knew each other even before the 1980s, “naghiwalay kami ng landas (our paths separated).” JJ became a local politician, while Mon went to work in the Middle East.

And then “when I retired, I was able to get in touch with JJ again,” Mon recalled. “That was when he was sickly already. So I started doing the admin work for HGG; I fulfilled the tasks he couldn’t anymore.”

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Mon said that it was also then when “JJ said to me, ‘Ituloy ang legacy ng HGG (To continue HGG’s legacy)’.”

In 2012, JJ passed away, and HGG was left under Mon’s care.

“I always felt other (LGBT people) also experienced what I did in life,” he said. “It was colorful; it IS colorful.”

And this is why, now, as he steers HGG forward, “I want the members to feel this very thing now even in their sunset years.”

AGELESS PAGEANTRY

Holding pageants is one of the more popular way to gather the members of HGG.

To date, there are 48 members (including support staff), with 25 of them “active members”. The idea – originally – was to have an actual “home” for displaced senior LGBTQI Filipinos (thus the name), but even now, this hasn’t really been realized. Instead, HGG has an office that also serves as the home only of select members, while the rest still live elsewhere (e.g. on their own, or with families).

And then “when we gather, for example when we have pageants, everything becomes fun,” Mon said. He thinks this “stops the aging process” for many, as it allows them to remember the joys of the past and to look forward to living a life that – yes – still has beauty.

Mon recognizes that this is “non-lasting efforts”, stressing that HGG needs to get funds so “we can have a real home to call our own”. Having an actual space can also help them develop livelihood programs since “maraming (a lot of) senior LGBTQI Filipinos still have skills and talents but can no longer find good employment. And so nasasayang lang (we’re just wasted).”

STILL LOOKING FORWARD

If there’s an observation that Mon can give about the younger LGBTQI people now, it’s the “lack of compassion with older LGBTQI people,” he said. “You need to understand one thing: Tatanda rin kayo (You will also grow old).”

This is also a driver on why Mon said there is a need to have HGG; so that “when LGBTQI Filipinos get older – and we all will – meron tayong mapupuntahan (there’d be a place where we can go to).”

And in this sense, HGG is “an alternative home for a sector in the LGBTQI community that is often ignored.”

When all is said and done, Mon said he wants to be remembered as Monique de la Rue, “the one who saw himself for who he really is and lived his life following that mantra,” he said. “We should all aim for this.” – With Aaron Moises Bonette

For more information on the Home for the Golden Gays, coordinate with Mon Busa at (+63) 9476930516.

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The one and only Virgin of P.U.P.

Virgin, a trans vendor at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, originated from the Visayas, where she used to earn P800 per day. She moved to Manila to make a living; she now sends two relatives to school, aside from looking after her family in the province. “Be okay with starting small,” she now says, “as it could help better your life.”

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This is part of #KaraniwangLGBT, which Outrage Magazine officially launched on July 26, 2015 to offer vignettes of LGBT people/living, particularly in the Philippines, to give so-called “everyday people” – in this case, the common LGBT people – that chance to share their stories.
As Outrage Magazine editor Michael David C. Tan says: “All our stories are valid – not just the stories of the ‘big shots’. And it’s high time we start telling all our stories.”

Hindi talaga ako ang tunay na ‘Virgin’ (I wasn’t the original ‘Virgin’),” she said. It was “Glyza”.

But over 10 years ago, “nakipagsapalaran ako sa Manila (I tried my luck in Manila),” said Virgin. That was because at that time, “kumikita ako ng P800 kada isang buwan (I was earning P800 per month),” and this wasn’t enough to help her family in the Visayas.

A relative made her work in a stall at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines (PUP). This relative was the “original ‘Virgin’,” she recalled. And their “pa-kulo (gimmick)” was to “tawagin lahat ng virgin (refer to everyone as ‘virgin’).” It worked, so that eventually, “naging ‘Virgin’ na rin ako (I also became known as Virgin).”

There was no sense of losing her identity; “inari ko na lang (I just owned it).”

To be clear, “sa pangalan lang ako virgin; sa pagkatao, di na ako virgin (I am only a virgin in name; in practice, I am no longer a virgin),” she laughed.

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Virgin admitted that her playful nature helped popularize their business. In fact, she said, before she joined the business, PUP already had stalls selling what they were selling. But she was a “maharot na tindera (coquettish vendor),” and this left a mark, thus their stall’s fame in PUP now. “You can’t claim to be from PUP if di mo ako kilala (you don’t know me),” she said.

Virgin’s success helped her help her family in the Visayas. She used to send three relatives to school, though after one got pregnant, “dalawa pinag-aaral ko ngayon (I send two to school now),” she said.

No, she said, she was never asked to help out. She just did it.

Looking back, “11 (years old) ako nagdadamit babae na ako. Wala ako narinig sa (parents ko),” she said. But she recognizes that this may be so because “ang laki ng tulong ko sa kanila (I have helped them a lot).”

Aside from sending relatives to school, she also sends money back home to care for her relatives there, “at pagpapaayos ng bahay (and to have our house fixed).”

Helping out meant that Virgin had to set aside her own dreams.

Naisip ko rin noon magtapos ng eskuwela (In the past, I also considered finishing school),” Virgin – a high school graduate – said. “Pero ngayon, hindi na. Sila na lang (But not anymore. They’re the priority now).”

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She used to dream of finding love, she said; but after a difficult break-up with her last boyfriend, “huwag na muna (perhaps not now).”

When the ex-BF left him, “di ako nasaktan (that didn’t hurt me),” Virgin said. Instead, what pained her was “nung sinabi niya sa akin na parehas kami lalaki (when he told me he can’t continue with our relationship because we’re both men).” According to Virgin, “sinabi ko sa kanya, alam mo pala parehas tayong ganito eh bakit pumasok ka pa sa relasyong ito (you already knew you didn’t want to be in a relationship with another person assigned male at birth, then why did you enter into a relationship with me)?”

Before she joined her relative’s business, PUP already had stalls selling what they were selling. But she was a “maharot na tindera (coquettish vendor),” and this left a mark, thus their stall’s fame in PUP now. “You can’t claim to be from PUP if di mo ako kilala (you don’t know me),” Virgin said with a naughty smile.

Virgin knows life isn’t always rosy; but she said “masakit lang kung di mo tatanggapin (it’s just difficult if you don’t accept it),” she said, adding that this more optimistic way of looking at her life has given her “mas magaan (lighter)” approach to it.

She knows she was luckier than others. But she also knows that others may not find the luck she found. In the end, Virgin said: “Napakahirap magsimula; pero napakasarap magsimula (Starting can be hard; but that’s fun).” She started as “just” a vendor, for instance, but she now owns her own stall. And so in life as a whole, “magsimula (just start).”

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#KaraniwangLGBT

Educate LGBTQI people so they can help themselves – Richelle Mae De Luna

Richelle Mae De Luna believes that the LGBTQI community, to start, needs to strengthen its ranks; but she also believes that the LGBTQI struggle should be broadened so it doesn’t only focus on identity politics, but “the issues of other Filipinos because the issues of other Filipinos are also issues of LGBTQI Filipinos.”

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Richelle Mae De Luna – who hails from Naga City – never had it easy in her life.

Her late father, who happened to be gay himself, was against his children being LGBTQI – particularly her brother, Ralph, who is gay, and Richelle, who is bisexual. There were even times, Richelle recalled, when she was a physically violated by her gay father.

Her mother – a high school teacher in a remote area – was no help, too. “Ayaw niya na nakikipagkita, usap o magkaroon ng relationship sa kapwa ko babae (She does not want me talking, seeing or having a relationship with another woman),” Richelle said. “She wanted for me to be straight.”

Richelle admitted that there was a time when – after she realized she’s bi – “I told myself to ‘stop it’, I eventually realized that I can’t. It isn’t a choice. I just had to be me.”

Interestingly, even with acceptance, the challenges continue. And this time, it came from within the LGBTQI community itself.

There were times, for instance, when she was told “I am too unfair dahil pwede daw na dalawa sa akin. I hate that after they know na bi ako, sinasabi nila na gusto ko lang daw ng threesome (In am too unfair because I can be attracted to two sexes. I hate that after they know my bisexuality, they tell me I am so because I just want to have threesome).”

This is interlinked with the limited representation of bisexuality including in the LGBTQI community, Richelle said. “Isn’t it ironic!? We continue to fight for the right to be heard but some utter in disbelief with bisexuality.”

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Richelle helped establish an LGBTQI organization in Ateneo De Naga University, ADNU Bahaghari, which she hopes for the school to officially recognize.

Richelle lamented that “sa amin, so far, in my observation, masyadong apolitical ang mga LGBTQI people (where I come from, in my observation, LGBTQI people remain apolitical),” she said.

And so for Richelle, “kailangan ng (they need) awareness through education. But this is the same for the whole Philippines.”

For Richelle, the lack of education is also problematic because there are times when LGBTQI people actually want to do something, but “sila mismo hindi nila alam ang dapat gawin dahil konti lang alam nila (they do not know what to do because of limited knowledge).” With this, “they believe that someone will do it (fight for human rights) for them.”

Richelle believes that the LGBTQI community, to start, needs to strengthen its ranks.

Kailangan natin ng unity para maging successful ang gusto natin, ang ipinaglalaban natin (We need unity in order to succeed in fighting for what we want and need),” she said.

But she also believes that the LGBTQI struggle should be broadened so it doesn’t only focus on identity politics, but “sa kalagayan ng iba pang Pilipino (the issues/status of other Filipinos),” she said. “Ang problema ng Pilipino ay problema rin ng LGBTQI na Pilipino (The issues of other Filipinos are also issues of LGBTQI Filipinos).”

To attain change, Richelle said that “we need to even have critical judgment on the smallest forms of discrimination and have the wisest responses (to these).” And here, “it starts with “joining the struggle; continuing the fight even in small ways. If we die doing this, there’s no regret because it isn’t only for oneself but for the good of the people.”

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