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.”

“Para sa akin po, ang attraction ng pagsali ko po ng pageants, pakiramdam ko po kasi sa sarili ko na parang doon ko lang nailalabas lahat ng kasiyahan ko (Beauty pageants are appealing to me because they allow me to express my happiness),” Bella Abac, 24, said. “Feel ko po na hindi makukumpleto ang pagka-trans ko kung hindi sumasali ng pageant ng mga trans kasi po (dito ay) napapatunayan ko sa mga tao na karapat-dapat pa ring respectuhin, na kahit bakla ka, may talino at talent kang maipapakita sa kanila (I feel incomplete as a trans woman if I don’t join a pageant. It allows me to show to people that I still merit respect).”

Bella is, obviously, one of the now-regular trans “beauconeras (regular beauty pageant competitors/contestants)”, a staple – if you must – in a beauty pageant crazy country like the Philippines.

GROWING UP TRANS

Bella always identified as a woman. “Since nung nagkaisip na ako, nalama kong babae pala ako. Puso (ko ay) babae (For as long as I can remember, I always identified as a woman; in my heart, I am a woman),” she said.

But it was only in high school when she came out. “Nung bata pa ako may komportable po akong makipaglaro sa mga babae. Kaya masasabi ko po na naramdaman ko na trans ako dahil sa mga nakakahalubilo ko, nakakasalamuha na mga barkada (As a kid, I was more comfortable hanging out with girls. I’d say I knew I’m transgender because of the company I kept),” she said.

At the start, Bella tried to hide her true self from her family, particularly since she was the firstborn male child and grandchild. But when she deemed she already looked feminine enough, she then started living as a trans woman.

“Nung nag-out po ako… siguro nabigla din sila (When I came out, perhaps they were also surprised),” Bella said. “Pero never naman po nila akong pinagbuhatan ng kamay (But they never hurt me).”

Pastora Raquel, Bella’s grandmother (who raised her) said she noted that when Bella was in high school, she had all-female friends. And so, even then, she already suspected Bella is trans.

“Minsan… parang tinatanong ko ang sarili ko, bakit nagkaganito ang apo kong ito (Sometimes I ask myself why my grandchild is like this),” Nanay Paz said, “pero wala naman ako magagawa kundi tanggapin (But there’s nothing I can do but accept her).”

It is also acceptance that Nanay Paz wants other parents/guardians to learn; to “learn to love your children instead of driving them away.” It’s a choice, she said, of accepting them as they are, or losing them if they are not accepted. And for her, “I’ve learned to just accept it without reservations.”

Now and then, Nanay Paz worries for Bella, “particularly in these times” when people can get in trouble even if they did nothing wrong. But she said “sinabi ko lang sa kanya, mag-ingat siya… Baka ako ang unang manigas diyan (kung may nangyari sa kanya) (I just tell her to be careful… If something happened to her, I don’t think I can bear that. Perhaps I’d die myself).”

Having grown in a generally welcoming family, Bella said family acceptance is important because this will have affect particularly the minds of young LGBTQIA people. “Maaring mag-rebelde po sila o maaring maglayas. At baka maging against pa sila sa pamilya nila (They may rebel or run away if they are not accepted. They may even think badly and be against their own families).”

After coming out and openly hanging out with other trans women, Bella was introduced by a close friend to beauty pageants; this friend encouraged her to join, and she, herself, wanted to manage Bella.

PART OF THE INFORMAL SECTOR

Based in Bacoor, Cavite, Bella now works as a hairdresser.

Right after high school, Bella’s aunt helped her study hairdressing in a vocational school. By the time she was 19, she was already working.

“Masasabi ko po na sapat ang kinikita ko sa salon. Sa isang araw po, kahit P100 lang po; then pinaka-maximum po, P1,000 (I can say I earn enough while working in a salon. In a day I can earn at least P100, reaching to P1,000),” she said.

Bella doesn’t get regular salary; instead, she gets a cut of the day’s profit of the salon where she works at. She is, therefore, further driven to entice people to avail of the services that they offer, since having more customers means possibly earning more.

Having work helps Bella in joining pageants since she has (some) money to spent.

BEAUCONERA’S LIFE

Bella “only” joins pageants as a hobby; it’s just for fun for her, and only when she has spare time.

She learned that in this industry, “hindi siya ganun kabigat (it isn’t financially burdensome),” she said; at least just give some money to the handler/s for them to be able to travel to the venue of the pageant, and then while there, at least feed them.

Usually, a candidate spends from P100 per pageant, though this obviously goes up to thousands, depending on one’s entourage and on where the pageant is being held. A big chunk of the expenses goes to the “handlers”.

In Bella’s case, “mahigit kumulang P500 din nagagastos ko per pageant (personally, I spend approximately P500 per pageant).”

The handlers actually do just about everything for the candidate (aside from competing), from providing the clothes to be worn, providing hair and make-up, and even training (e.g. walking, answering questions, et cetera) as needed.

The arrangements with handlers vary (e.g. some take a bigger cut of the earning, some charge fees outright whether a contestant wins or loses, and still some do it for free). And in Bella’s case at least, “it’s your call how to divide the prize money.”

The biggest cash prize Bella won totaled P4,000, after she placed first runner-up in pageants in Batangas and Nueva Ecija. “Yung kalahati po, para na po sa akin, pang-suporta po sa bahay para sa… pagkain po, unang-una po sa bigas (I kept half of that amount to myself, spending it for expenses at home… for food, to buy rice),” Bella said.

The other half, she gave to her handler. “Para fair po (To be fair),” she said, as well as to avoid possible grumblings from people who may complain that it was them who helped her clinch a title.

In total, Bella already joined around 20 beauty pageants.

And she plans to be a beauconera for as long as she is able to compete, perhaps until she reaches 40.

CONFRONTING, YET ENDING UP PROMOTING THE STATUS QUO?

A handful of trans beauconeras actually believe in “separate but equal”.

‘We’ll just keep rising up’

In Bella’s case, “if you ask me if trans women should be allowed to join beauty pageants like Miss Universe, I’d say: ‘No’.”

Bella’s belief is anchored in recognizing segregation; that “may mga inilaan naman pong patimpalak para sa mga kabaklaan… kaya hindi natin kailangan pang panghimasukan ang pageant na para lang sa kababaihan (There are pageants just for us. So we shouldn’t impose upon them to accept us to join pageants just for them).”

But this belief is also anchored in the continuing dominant belief of sex/gender binary that, obviously displaces members of the LGBTQIA community.

“Dapat pa rin po nating irespecto ang kanilang pagka-babae (We should respect their womanhood),” Bella said.

Being a woman, for Bella, means being able to nurse a child. “Para sa akin po, ang babae ay isang ina na handing kumalinga sa kanyang anak. Kaya dapat irespeto ang kababaihan (For me, to be a woman is to be a mother who cares for her child. So women should be respected).”

The words “hindi ‘tunay’ na babae (not a ‘real’ woman)”, “purong babae (pure woman)” and “pusong babae (literally, woman’s heart; though also weaker heart/cowardly disposition)” also easily get thrown around in trans beauty pageants, referring to the personhood of the candidates themselves, thereby – knowingly or not – pushing for the anti-trans (and anti-LGBTQIA) narratives.

LIFE LESSONS

Bella already had three boyfriends; none lasted. But she’s saying that “I’m not saying that trans relationships don’t last long because there are relationships that involve us that work out.” For Bella, it always “depends on the people involved”, since relationships can help develop people.

And being developed, said Bella, also happens in pageants. Which is why she recommends joining them (particularly to younger members of the LGBTQIA community). “Malay natin yung mga batang trans may kakayahan na maaring mahasa sa pamamagitan ng pagsali ng mga pageants (It’s a way for us to know if they have skills that can be developed through these pageants).”

Pageants remain relevant, said Bella, as they allow people to voice out their opinions on particular issues; thereby, they allow the promotion of these issues that – hopefully in the long run – promote equality. “Pageants can help solve a lot of problems facing different countries,” she quipped.

The world of beauty pageants is “round” – one day you win, one day you won’t. So Bella said not winning may be disappointing, but it isn’t everything. “Masaya (na rin ako) na nag-enjoy ako, at may sumusuporta pa rin sa akin kahit papaano (At least I enjoyed myself. And there are people who supported me somehow).”

To people who continue to look down on LGBTQIA people, Bella said that “kahit ano pang pangyuyurak sa aming pagkatao ang inyong gawin, kahit na kami ay inyong laitin, naniniwala pa rin ako na karapat-dapat pa rin kaing respetuhin (no matter how many times you step on us, and even if you belittle us, I believe that we deserve to be respected).”

But turning inwards, she added: “Sa kapuwa ko (LGBTQIA), gumawa muna tayo ng tamas a kapuw nang sa ganun ay wala silang masabi (To my fellow LGBTQIA people, let’s do something good so people won’t have anything bad to say about us).”

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.”

“Sana yung mga baklang kabataan, kung may kabutihang matutulong sila, tumulong talaga sa magulang (For young gay people, if they can do good, they should do good particularly to help their parents),” said Jorie Salvano Garnado, 39. “Gipalaki sila sa magulang nila para makatulong. Huwag muna unahin ang lalaki; unahin muna ang mga magulang (Their parents raised them so they can be of use/they can help. Don’t prioritize your BFs; focus on your parents first).”

Originally from Negros Occidental, Jorie’s parents are actually separated, though not after having seven kids (two eventually died at a younger age). His mom now has four other kids with a different husband; and his dad, another kid with another wife.

In 2016, Jorie moved to Manila, joining an auntie who told him he could look for a job in the big city.

“Nagtitinda ako kakanin para makatulong ako sa magulang ko (I sell snack foods to earn to help my parents),” he said. “Kasi mahirap po ang buhay sa probinsiya (Life is hard in the province).”

Jorie wakes up before 4AM, and is on the street immediately after then. By 10AM, he is done with selling the breakfast goodies. He takes a breather from 10AM to 12PM, and then heads out to the streets again after 12PM to sell the snack fares. He usually heads home around 6PM.

On a good day, he could earn as much as P1,000 per day; he divides this into two, sending the P500 to the province, and using the other P500 to pay for his living here (e.g. rent, food, his personal loans, and his BF). He actually earns more than enough, saying “nakaluwag na kami (my earnings have made things easier/lighter for everyone)”. Aside from some savings, he was able to help those in the province start a livelihood (“babuyan”/piggery), as well as built a better house.

“At least di ako nag-perwisyo sa iba, naghingi kahit saan (At least I don’t pester others, or ask others for support),” he said.

Also because he’s a main source of money for them, Jorie said he never encountered being bullied by family members. “Hindi ko naranasan na bugbugin ng mga kapatid ko (My siblings never hurt me),” he said, “kay lahat naman ng gusto nila binibigay ko sa kanila (because I always give them what they ask from me).”

Looking back, Jorie said he knew he’s gay at around 12 years of age. “Tanggap naman ako ng magulang ko na ganito ako (My parents accepted me as a gay person),” he said, because “yung bakla pala, yun pala ang makatulong sa kanila (who’d have thought it’s the gay person who would end up helping/supporting them)?”

There were times – he recalled – when he was verbally abused (by community members) for being gay, taunted as “bakla, bakla (faggot, faggot)!”. “Okay lang po, tanggap ko po. Wala ako magawa eh ang Panginoon nagbigay sa akin na ganito ako (I’m fine with it; I accept it. I can’t do anything about this; God made me like this).”

Jorie’s “boss” now, someone called Ate Tisay, was the one to persuade him to become a street vendor. She told him not to work a regular job; instead, be his own boss by selling on the streets. His only capital: His saliva (for calling out to people). “Kung gusto mo kumita, mabilisan (If you want to earn fast, this is it),” he said. “Kung mangamuhan ka, isang buwan bago ka makakain (If you work a regular job, it’d take you a month before you can earn).”

Not that this line of work is easy, Jorie said. He has to walk all day, basically; chase people’s break times (if he misses the break time of regular clients, then they won’t buy from him anymore for that day, so it’s loss earnings for him); and it can also be dangerous at times (if there are “bad people who choose to do something bad with you”).

Now, “days off” for him include the weekends, though having a special someone (and spending on him) is a “necessity” as it helps him relax.

Jorie met his BF from Facebook; and just after a day of chatting, they moved in together. They’re still together after five years.

“Nagtatrabaho din siya para makatulong siya sa akin, sa housekeeping (He also works – in housekeeping – to be able to help out),” he said.

Their relationship, Jorie said, is based on being able to help each other. “Kung may problema siya, tulungan ko siya. Kung ako may problema, tulungan niya rin ako. Wala naman ibang tao makatulong sa akin, siya lang (If he has problems, I help him. And if I have issues, he helps me. No one else helps me out but him).”

Despite this, “kung iiwanan ako ng jowa ko… okay lang na iwanan niya ako sa ere basta mga magulang ko mga kapatid ko andiyan lang (if he decides to leave me hanging, that’s fine, so long as my parents and my siblings are there for/with me).” For Jorie: “Lalaki lang yan (He’s just another man).”

Jorie intends to continue doing what he’s doing until he turns 50; and then he wants to go back to the province. There, he said, things are easier (e.g. there’s no rent to pay). He also acknowledged that in the province, “basta todo kayud ka lang, basta may lakas ka pa, mapakinabangan ka pa (so long as you work hard, for as long as you still have strength, then you’re still of use to the world/to people).” For younger LGBTQIA Filipinos, Jorie said they should aim for something higher in life. But that “dapat magtrabaho sila sa kabutihan; huwag sa kasamaan (they should do so doing good things, not doing bad things).”

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.”

Bhee Garcia – a 23-year-old transgender woman from Makati City – grew up being called “bakla (gay)”. But she did not shy away from the (derogatory) term; instead, “pinalandi ko (contextually: I glamorized it/I made it work)”. And so – while she was also called, among others, Barbie, Amanda, Miranda and Nica – it was this name that stayed with her. “Bhee – it was used to mock me before, but I made it beautiful and my own.”

Bhee added that “di naman big deal sa akin (ang pangalan) as long as may respect ang pagtawag sa akin (What name people use to refer to me is not a big deal as long as they address me with respect)”.

Bhee knew she was transgender since high school. “Alam ko na sa sarili ko na babae ako… simula nung makihalubilo ako sa mga babae at alam ko na belong ako sa kanila (I knew I’m trans when I started mingling with girls and I felt I belonged).”

As the youngest of eight siblings (and the only member of the LGBTQIA community), Bhee’s family didn’t have negative reactions when she came out. “Prinoprotektahan nila ako (They even protect me),” she said. “May mga nakakasalamuha ako na… matatalim ang mata, ayaw nila makita na bakla ang anak mo o kapatid mo, so pinoprotektahan nila ako (You come across people who do not want to be with LGBTQIA people, and my family protects me from them).”

Not that this spared Bhee from bullying. For instance, in high school, when she already started wearing make-up, people used to taunt her. But Bhee said that though this may have also made her shed some tears, she also learned not to give people power over her personhood; “I just try to see the positive in life’s experience.”

She studied cosmetology, and eventually ended up working as a hairdresser in a beauty salon/parlor.

Her job isn’t always easy; one time, a client yelled at her, doubting her skills. But she learned that – aside from being adept at her work – people skills can also make her succeed. And the latter is helped being developed by a good working environment. “Sa salon kasi, masaya pag marami kayo (Working in a salon is fun if there are many of you),” she said.

Earning is “okay lang (just okay)” when working in a salon, Bhee said, though this is always – and obviously – dependent on the customers.

Actually, “mas mataas ang pangarap ko kesa ini-expect ng iba (my dreams are bigger than people expect my dreams to be),” she said. Lie when she was younger, she wanted to be a “supermodel, a beauty queen”; but “di ko pinush sarili ko (I didn’t push myself to be this). I just pushed myself to have an income, to have money and be able to help my family.”

Bhee had a four-year relationship before. And while it didn’t last, she said that even if there are people who say that relationships with transgender women do not last, it doesn’t mean “you don’t deserve to be loved,” she said.

Bhee wants younger LGBTQIA people to just “go lang nang go (persevere).” “Ako, nararamdaman ko kayo bilang trans sister; nararamdaman nyo sana na ako, lumalaban din sa buhay (I feel you as your transgender sister; I hope you know that I, too, fight to live),” she said.

She wants LGBTQIA people to not focus on the negative hurled our way. “Kailangan natin isaisip na tayo, tinatanggap dapat ng lipunan (We need to realize that society should accept us),” Bhee said. So “hindi (natin) dapat isipin ang mga negatibo na sinasabi ng mga tao (We souldn’t think of the negative things people say about us).” But at the same time, for non-LGBTQIA people to “change your way of looking at us. See us as equals; not as less-than-human that you can step on.”

Glenn Ricaroz has no coming out story. “Simula bata pa lang (ako), ramdam ko na (Even when I was young, I already felt my being part of the LGBTQIA community),” he said.

He was fortunate that, to start, “hindi pinag-usapan ang pag-a-out (sa karanasan ko), naramdaman na lang ng parents ko ‘yun. Walang: ‘Mommy, daddy, mag-a-out po ako’ (this was never discussed at home since my parents just felt it. For me, there wasn’t a situation where I had to say, ‘Mom, dad, I’m coming out gay’).”

His grandmothers were also teachers, and “lagi nila akong ifo-front. Gusto nila kasali ako palagi sa school presentations. Gusto nilang sumali ako rito, sumali ako riyan (they wanted me to join all the presentations in school. They made me join this and that).”

That they let him be who he is without discrimination, and that they allowed him to express himself even made Glenn realize “na malandi ka, na maarte ka (that you’re flirtatious, you’re fussy).”

Not surprisingly, Glenn believes that “kung pinanganak kang ganyan, ganyan ka talaga (if you’re born LGBTQIA, you’d be LGBTQIA).”

But since – particularly nowadays – much weight seems to be given on coming out, even if “ngayon na lang ‘yang coming out (coming out is just ‘normalized’ these days)” – Glenn believes that nearly every day involves coming out. That is, one’s identity is expressed in layers to different people; and these – by themselves – are coming out processes. Thus, “coming out and being out are continuous process.”

Growing up, Glenn was exposed to Diwata ng Muntinlupa – an LGBTQIA organization established in 1977 in Muntinlupa City. Particularly every summer, he recalled watching volleyball games and seeing members of the organization.

Eventually, he became a member (in 2003).

The initiation for new members was to dance in public. Glenn hosted.

His belonging to the LGBTQIA organization pushed him to advocate for LGBTQIA issues.

In 2007, he worked for the local government as the Supervising Tourism Operations Officer for the City Tourism Office. And there, “I made sure na priority and Diwata ng Muntinlupa,” he said. “Binigyan ka ng pwesto para makatulong at para makapag-share (You were given a position to be able to help and share). So I made it sure I did that (particularly to other LGBTQIA people).”

Glenn also takes pride in drafting the local ordinance declaring the last Saturday of the month June of every year to be known as “Muntinlupa City LGBT Pride Day”. In a meeting in 2016, Councilor Lucio Constantino said that at least one of the activities for Muntinlupa Grand Centennial in 2017 should be for the LGBTQIA community; and this ordinance was what Glenn advocated for.

At that time, the “norm” was just to hold a Miss Gay beauty pageant, which Glenn saw as “off”. He just wanted for LGBTQIA people to be “recognized lang sana“. After almost six months, Ordinance no. 17-084 was signed (in May 2017).

Glenn eventually resigned in December 2018 and started working as a full-time freelance events host.

He was elected president of Diwata ng Muntinlupa also in 2018.

And after years of being in the LGBTQIA advocacy, he learned of perseverance in pushing for LGBTQIA issues.

When the pro-LGBTQIA ordinance was signed in Muntinlupa City, for instance, religious groups sent letters of protest to the City Council. “Pino-protesta nila ‘yung pagkakaron at pagde-declare ng LGBTQIA Day sa Muntinlupa (They were protesting the enshrining of an LGBTQIA Day in Muntinlupa City).”

But while the rejections from numerous groups in the society remain tragic, the circumstances can be improved, he said, until being LGBTQIA is no longer simply tolerated but becomes a non-issue.

In the 1980s, after attending LGBT Pride events in the US and in Paris in France, Nimes Alvarez was sure he became a “different person”. It is this that triggered him to want to be an LGBT human rights advocate, which came to fruition when he came back to the Philippines and then became a member of Diwata ng Muntinlupa in 1989.

“Becoming an advocate to fight for something you are passionate about (especially one’s rights) do not happen in a snap,” said Nimes.

Instead, it is something that has to be cultivated.

In Nimes’ case in particular, wanting to help his fellow LGBT Filipinos (particularly those in Muntinlupa) was “buried deep within (me) even before (I) decided to openly and loudly fight for (LGBT human rights).”

He added that the desire “just needs awakening” – and this is what he experienced during the LGBT Pride events he attended abroad: the awakening of his will to be an advocate.

Nimes is now the secretary of Diwata ng Muntinlupa.

Now as he helps push for the human rights particularly of Muntinlupa’s LGBT community as a member of Diwata ng Muntinlupa, Nimes believes that there are particular issues that need to be highlighted. For one, there’s the need to “focus on taking care of the elderly gays,” he said, adding that – for this to happen – perhaps reviving “Home for the Golden Gays”. For Nimes, every city should even have this kind of facility because “there are elderly gays who are alone (and) who have no one to take care of them.”

In a way, Nimes is “luckier” because “sa akin, wala namang problema sa akin kasi I have family (becoming homeless is not a problem for me because I have a family who will look after me/be with me),” he said, but “paano yung ibang less fortunate, you know, na ‘di ba walang pupuntahan? Parang nakakakurot (ng damdamin) ‘di ba (what about the less fortunate LGBT people who have nowhere to go to when they get older? It makes one sad, doesn’t it)?”

To change minds about LGBT Filipinos, Nimes believes that the most effective way to disseminate information and to educate is to go the barangays. For him, by going to every streets of barangays and explain SOGIE concepts, grassroots people can be educated, and (hopefully) start changing their minds re LGBT people. This – for him – is a “preferable kind of information dissemination than (people) just getting information from TV.”

And perhaps it’s by educating that Nimes believes change can happen for LGBT Filipinos.

For him, if the Philippine education system “can tackle issues like HIV, AIDS and gender-based discrimination and bullying, then (we can change the mindset of the people even in their earlier years),” Nimes ended.

For LGBTQIA Filipinos in Muntinlupa City who may want to join Diwata ng Muntinlupa, visit and coordinate with the officers via the organizations Facebook account.

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.”

The first time I met Khandie Segovia was sometime in December 2018; past midnight. A cousin needed to borrow something to wear to a costume party (for Christmas), and Khandie is known particularly among “beauconeras (those frequently joining beauty pageants)” to have some. So – keen to meet one of the supposed “sources” of “beaucon (beauty contest)” outfits – I joined the visit to Pasay City, carrying my cam and the hope to be allowed to also interview her.

Khandie’s place isn’t hard to find; people in her area know her (or of her), and they are more than willing to point the way to her place. They’re used to seeing people looking for her, too; going there emptyhanded, and then leaving with various costumes. This happens in reverse after a few days, when the same people go there with costumes on hand, and then leaving emptyhanded after returning what they borrowed.

“Pasok lang (Just go in),” this long-haired guy (who was doing laundry in a dark front yard) told us when we entered the gate. It was dark; you had to slowly find your way inside, fearing you may step on something… or anything.

But Khandie wasn’t at home when we first got to her place. Some “trans nene (young transgender girls)” were there, instead, chatting while helping with the bead works on some gowns. They were in the one room that was well lit in the generally dark place; the one room that was apparently filled with people and their chatters.

Khandie, one of them said, just went outside; “She’s busy these days, you know. What with a nationally televised beauty pageant about to happen.”

And the, rushing, she arrived.

Shocked; perhaps even flabbergasted. That was how Khandie reacted when she saw the cam. “Keri lang (It’s okay),” she said when asked about a possible interview, wiping sweat forming on her forehead. But she immediately added: “Huwag ngayon sana; di ako naka-make up (But it’s okay if we don’t do it tonight as I didn’t fix myself)?”

All the same, Khandie toured me – us – around her “palace”: a two-floor house whose rooms are, basically, occupied by the stuff she made/makes and rents.

Her “office” (that well-lit room where the trans nene were) is at the first room at the left side of the ground floor; this is where her ideas are made and/or executed. The room beside this is where the costumes are kept; though – almost always – these costumes may also be found on the hallway leading to the second room, awaiting those who will rent them.

The right side of the house, accessible via more darkened hallway, has two other sections: the space where relatives sleep, and a room where the gowns are kept (some on them on hangers; others in plastic containers and/or on the floor).

The second floor was off-limits; but some trans nene said there are more clothes there.

“Makalat talaga (Everything’s a mess),” Khandie excused, picking a gown here and there, and then hanging (or more like stuffing) them here and there.

All the while I was shooting the B roll. And Khandie was “making chika (making small talks)” – about her endeavor (i.e. costume-making), and how it has allowed her to reach out to her biological and LGBTQIA families.

“Natulungang nakakatulong (It helped me help others),” she said.

And in so many ways – her contrarian beliefs notwithstanding – this is sort of how Khandie herself summarizes her role as a transgender nanay-nanayan (‘mother’) particularly for younger gay, bi and trans people in her area in Pasay City. That you help her so she can help you; and those who don’t necessarily agree with her be damned.

GROWING UP TRANS

Khandie – whose age remains a secret (she mumbles the number on-cam) – originally came from Hagonoy, where her father lived. It took over a month before the interview (this time with a dolled up Khandie) took place; still around midnight, when she said she “peaks”.

In her father’s place, she said she couldn’t live her true self because “may mga paniniwala silang ewan (they had their own beliefs).” But her mom took her in when she was eight years old, which was how she ended up living in Pasay City.

In Grade 1, Khandie said she remembered having girl crushes, so she can say she didn’t know herself yet then. It was only in high school when she realized her true self as a transgender woman.

No, she did not come out; “na-discover na lang nila, nahuli nila ako (they just discovered this for themselves; they ‘caught’ me in ‘action’).” Khandie joined a beauty pageant in a neighboring barangay (village), and people told her mom (and relatives) about it.

“Tanggap naman ako (They accepted me),” Khandie said, “so doon na nagsimula (and that’s how it started for me living openly as a transgender woman).”

Khandie has an elder brother, and he wasn’t accepting of her at first. “Paano ba nila ako natanggap? Nung nagkatrabaho na ako. Nung tumayo na ako sa sarili kong paa at natulungan ko na rin sila (How did everyone eventually accept me? When I started working. When I could already look after myself, and even helped support them).”

Even now, actually, Khandie looks after her mom and an aging grandmother; not to mention other relatives who may depend on her.

Khandie was 20 when she started transitioning; that was when “nagsimula akong kumita ng pera (I started earning money),” she said. She was working then as a make-up artist in a KTV bar, and from her earnings, she was able to help support her family, and save enough “para magpa-retoke (to undergo body modifications)” and have capital for a future business.

She takes pride in having done something with her life even if she didn’t finish high school (much more college). In fact, she believes education may be important, but people can still succeed without it; and here, she has herself as her own example.

MISSING INTERCONNECTIONS

Looking back, Khandie said her being trans may have affected her not finishing education.

On the one hand, she encountered anti-trans policies that made not going to school preferable – e.g. not being allowed to present herself befitting her gender identity (as a trans woman) when attending classes.

But on the other hand, or arguably perhaps because the school was not welcoming for people like her, she preferred hanging out with friends, and “naglandi at nag-party (flirt/fool around and party).”

Khandie, nonetheless, doesn’t see how the two are interconnected, and instead consider them as separate incidences.

Perhaps not surprisingly, when one of the trans nene who looks up to Khandie experienced the same discriminatory policy in her school in Pasay City, Khandie was more… “practical”. “Tiis (Put up with it),” she said, and “just graduate fast and then fly faster.”

‘NORMALIZING’ THE STRUGGLE

“Nakaranas ba ako ng pam-bu-bully? Siyempre lahat naman ng trans nakaranas niyan (Have I ever experienced bullying? Of course; all transgender people experience that),” Khandie said.

One of Khandie’s earlier memories of bullying was when she was in Grade 5, when a supposed friend refused to allow her to join a party because Khandie was “bakla (gay).”

Now more aware – and even feisty – Khandie said that some people may say that LGBTQIA people should just ignore bullies, but “para sa akin, hindi. Kailangan mong patunayan sa kanila na hindi ka deserving ng discrimination… Kailangan tayo (kumilos bilang) isang baklang matapang (for me, no. We need to show to them that we don’t deserve discrimination… We need to be feisty LGBTQIA people).”

Resilience served her well, too, so that “sa paningin ko hindi mahirap maging transgender kasi tayong mga transgender people, powerful. Pag sinabing powerful, in a way, magaling tayong dumiskarte. So hindi mahirap (maging transgender) (the way I see it, it isn’t difficult living as a transgender person because we, transgender people, are powerful. When I say powerful, I mean we’re resourceful. That makes being transgender easier).”

CONTRADICTIONS AT THE GRASSROOTS

In so many ways, Khandie is a walking contradiction – e.g. she believes in equal rights and yet is also calling for “separate but equal”/limited rights.

And here, Khandie may also be an exemplification of the “failures” of so-called LGBTQIA “leaders” and this “movement” – i.e. how existing “advanced” discourses on sexual orientation, gender identity and expression (SOGIE) and even LGBTQIA human rights do not necessarily reach the grassroots, or even the leaders of small(er) LGBTQIA communities. A reflection – for me – of the continuing selective progress/development, and of how many in the LGBTQIA community continue to be left behind.

“Kailangan natin magkaroon ng anti-discrimination bill… sa buong Pilipinas dahil hindi po natin dapat i-discriminate ang LGBTQIA dahil pantay-pantay po tayong dapat mabuhay sa mundong ibabaw (We should have an anti-discrimination policy for the whole country because LGBTQIA people should not be discriminated against because we are all equal while living in this world),” she said.

But Khandie holds strong beliefs contrary to those held (and advocated) by those pushing for LGBTQIA human rights.

For instance, she doesn’t believe trans women should be allowed to join pageants that were traditionally for those assigned female at birth (e.g. Miss Universe). “Bata pa lang ako Miss Universe (at) Miss World na yan eh. Ibig sabihin ng ‘miss’, babae. Ano ba ang babae? Nag-menstruate, a ‘real’ woman can bear a child, and a woman lactates (Even when I was young, those pageants were already for women. And what defines a woman? A woman menstruates, a woman can bear a child, a woman lactates).” And so she believes that trans women should just stick to their own pageants.

Khandie is somewhat aware that: others may not think the way she does (e.g. she mentioned Boy Abunda), and that she could get attacked/bashed for her way of thinking (“Bashers!” she’d say with a smirk). But she continues to firmly believe in gender binary, even if it disadvantages LGBTQIA people like her.

Khandie, by the way, has a live-in partner; they’ve been together for almost 20 years now. But she also doesn’t believe in marriage equality. “Tanggapin lang ng tao ang relasyon (natin) ay isang malaking bagay na. Pero pilitin pa natin sila na tanggapin ang pagpapakasal ay isang malaking bagay na hindi dapat binibigla (For people to tolerate our relationships is aready a big deal, so forcing them to accept same-sex marriage is a huge thing that shouldn’t be rushed).”

Her faith also affected her way of thinking so, as she believes “paglabag ito sa utos ng Diyos” – a reflection of religion’s eventual (harmful) effect on LGBTQIA people’s self-perceptions.

And yet again, Khandie said that her way of thinking may not be popular, but “that’s that” and her attackers/bashers be damned.

Khandie also doesn’t see the “practicality” of the “toilet war (wherein trans people are not allowed to use toilets befitting their gender identity).” Because for her, yes, changing the policies may be a long-term necessity, but if a transgender woman (for instance) isn’t allowed to use the female toilet, “just use the cubicle in a male toilet”. Doing so only takes minutes, she said, and this is better than not being able to use a toilet at all particularly when really needed.

Khandie admits being open to hearing opposing views; and “we start with that: talking.”

CARING BY WELCOMING

Terms (such as “trans” and “bakla”) used interchangeably, Khandie noted how some transgender people now prefer to have abs (not breasts), just as how some bi men are really “bakla (gays).”

But she also said “choice nila ‘yun; lahat naman welcome eh, go lang nang go, laban lang nang laban (that’s their choise; and everyone’s welcome, just go for it, live fighting for it).”

Khandie sees internal homophobia/transphobia (the hate/discrimination given by other LGBTQIA people to other LGBTQIA people) as due to “insecurity.” She believes that “sana tayong LGBTQIA magtulungan na lang tayo, huwag na tayo manira ng kapuwa natin. Kasi sino rin ba yung magtutulong-tulong (kundi) tayo rin naman kapuwa LGBTQIA (LGBTQIA people should instead help each other, stop pulling each other down. Because who else will help LGBTQIA people but other LGBTQIA people)?”

Giving flesh to this belief, Khandie started being “nanay-nanayan ng mga Nenita or batang bakla when I was 30 (I became a ‘mother’ of some sort to younger LGBTQIA people when I was 30).”

At first, they only joined Khandie and assisted her when she joined pageants. Eventually, though, and when Khandie already stopped joining pageants, she started supporting the younger ones in joining pageants.

And “mas marami akong hinahawakang pa-mhinta kasi mas madaling bihisan, hindi kailangan ng (I manage candidates of male beauty pageants; they’re easier to dress and they don’t need to spend a lot on) hair and make-up,” she said, adding – as a joke – that “mas matatalino (they’re more intelligent).”

Khandie makes a living renting clothes and/or costumes, many of them she herself designed and/or made. She also (sort of) finances LGBTQIA people who help her in this endeavor (e.g. doing beadworks, sewing, et cetera).

“Hindi ito negosyo (This isn’t a business), she insisted. “Kasama ito sa libangan ko (This is just a hobby).”

In total, Khandie has over 100 gowns and over 85 costumes. She sources the outfits from “all over,” she said – some she made herself from scratch, others were given to her, others she bought from Divisoria, from Taytay (in Rizal Province), from ukay–ukay (secondhand shops), and from bazaars (particularly those where celebrity clothes are sold).

She said she spent a lot for her collection, but as a way to somewhat earn, she said investing is necessary. Spending big means possibly earning big, though it could also mean losing big, she said.

Going into this industry is also “hindi mahirap (not difficult),” Khandie said, because “sa dami ng naging trabaho ko, ito ang pinakagusto ko, pinakaminahal ko. Dito ako nag-enjoy at dito ako sumaya (among the many jobs I’ve held, this is what I like the most. I enjoy this and find happiness in doing this).”

She doesn’t give a specific price when she rents these outfits because “minsan, talo eh, kaya tulong na lang (at times they don’t win in the pageants, so giving them clothes to wear is my way of helping them).”

For Khandie, pageants will continue to be a big thing, arguably particularly among members of the LGBTQIA community. This may have to do with getting validation onstage, which is a source of happiness. And – as Khandie said – when it’s happiness that is at stake, people go to extra lengths to achieve this… including spending a lot on costumes/gowns even if there’s no guarantee that the expenses will be returned.

Looking forward, Khandie said she just wants to “maintain lahat – pera, lovelife, and health”, and that “hindi naman ako ambisyosa (I’m not ambitious).”

CONSERVATIVE EMPOWERMENT?

In so many ways, Khandie may be deemed “conservative”.

For trans nene, for instance, she said that “puwede namang maging bakla pero konting kontrol lang, huwag naman masyadong bakla kasi hindi tayo tatanggapin ng bigla-bigla (you can be LGBTQIA but be a decent LGBTQIA person because people won’t immediately warmly receive you),” she said. “Huwag yung baklang balasubas; bata ka pa lang nag-i-spaghetti ka na. Siguro yung baklang normal. Baklang tao para ituring tayong tao (Don’t be a swindling LGBTQIA person; present yourself properly like any ‘normal’ person. Act like any human would so you are treated as a human being).”

But at this point in her life, too, Khandie said she already realized the value of self-empowerment.

To people who continue to discriminate, Khandie said “bahala kayo patuloy kayong humusga (judge all you want).” This is because “marami na kaming napatunayan – hindi lang sa larangan ng siyensiya, sa pagkanta, sa pagiging artista, even sa politics, meron kaming napapatunayan. Bahala kayong manghusga; pero patuloy kaming tatayo at ipagpapatuloy na ipaglalaban ang karapatan namin (we have proven our worth, not just in science, in the entertainment industry, or even in politics. Judge all you want, but we’ll continue rising up and continue fighting for our human rights).”

The interview ended, but Khandie continued chatting, even giving an invite for a future catching up (sans cam). “There’s more in life – to experience, to know, to learn, et cetera,” she said. And then with a laugh, “parang beaucon lang na sagot no (and that’s just like a contestant’s answer in a beauty pageant, right)?”

We left; it was still dark, just after 2.00AM. The promise of dawn is there, yes, but still dark all the same. Much like the state of grassroots LGBTQIA struggle… and of my mind…