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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)”.

READ:  Gay man in the street

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).”

READ:  Stephen Christian Quilacio: Giving face to HIV in Northern Mindanao

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.

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).

#KaraniwangLGBT

Gay man in the street

Originally from Negros Occidental, Jorie Salvano Garnado now sells ‘kakanin (snacks)’ in the streets of Manila and Makati, with his earnings sustaining him and his family in the province. He wants LGBTQIA people to learn to “choose your family”, who he hopes will “always be there for you.”

Published

on

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).”

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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)?”

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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.

“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 Garnado: “Lalaki lang yan (He’s just another man).”

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

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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).”

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Queen Bhee

Bhee Garcia, a trans woman hairdresser in Makati City, believes LGBTQIA people can be empowered by not focusing on negativities thrown their way. Once derided as “bakla (gay)”, she even reclaimed this reference to her identity to show she can turn it into something unique and empowering.

Published

on

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).”

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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.

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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.”

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‘We’ll just keep rising up’

Khandie Segovia, a trans mother figure in Pasay City, has been through a lot in life, with her experiences shaping her somewhat contrarian beliefs. But through it all, she continues to say that people who hate LGBTQIA people may continue the hating, but ‘we’ll just keep rising up to prove we’re fighters’.

Published

on

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.

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Khandie Segovia 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.

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).”

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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.”

Khandie Segovia 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.

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).”

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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 ukayukay (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…

Khandie Segovia 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?

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Lesbian Lumad

What is it like to be a lesbian and also a part of an indigenous group? For Teng Calimpang, the Tagbawa ethnic group of people at the foot of Mt. Apo accepted her, so she hopes other lesbian Lumads live good lives both as LGBTQIA community members and as Lumads.

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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.”

Dili lisod mag-lesbian ka diri kay tanan diri murag paryente lang nako, mga pinsan lang (It isn’t hard to be a lesbian here because everyone here is just like a relative, just like my cousins),” Teng Calimpang, who is from Meohao at the foot of Mt. Apo, said. “Tanan pud mga tawo nakabalo kung kinsa ko ug unsa ko (People here also know who I am and what I am).”

Teng’s family is from the Tagbawa Manobo ethic group of people. Originally from Bansalan, her mother met her father in Meohao, where they decided to eventually settle. Also because of being based here, Teng is fluent in Bagobo Diangan, spoken by another ethnic group of people particularly at the foot of Mt. Apo.

At least in her experience, being a lesbian is a non-issue for her people (Tagbawa Manobo), as well as for her “adopted” Bagobo Diangan family.

Teng was 10 when she recognized her “otherness”; she did not like wearing girls’ clothes, and she preferred doing things that boys do. At 15, “diha na nako napansin nga… na-feel na nako nga dili gyud nako ma-love ang boy (I noticed that I was not attracted to members of the opposite sex).” Teng said that “babae ang mugawas sa akoang heart ba (I was attracted also to women).”

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Teng told her family about “ang tinuod (the truth).” And “okay lang sa ilaha. Tanggap gyud ko nila (it’s fine with them. They accepted me as a lesbian).”

Now 48, Teng works for Dole Phils. (Stanfilco Division). After work, she is also a local healer, giving “hilot (traditional massage)” to those who seek her out for the same.

Teng credits her “lolo (grandfather)” for her gift to heal.

She was 15 when she was “taught” how to “help people”; she dreamt her then-deceased grandfather show her how to do so, serving as a passing-of-the-torch to heal others.

Teng said that there are two kinds of people who help – one who expects to be grandly paid for the effort, and one who doesn’t. “Donation, okay lang sa ako-a (I’m okay with just receiving donations),” she said, adding that it already makes her happy that “nakatabang ko sa ilahang kinahanglan sa lawas (at least I’ve helped people with their needs).”

Teng had a heterosexual-identifying GF in the past; but that relationship didn’t last. She noted that there are some women who just want to be financially supported; they leave their partners when they have gotten what they wanted, or if their partner can’t offer them what they really want (i.e. wealth). “Pait kaayo ba (This makes being lesbian hard).”

Now single, Teng has other lesbian friends, and not all of them from Lumad communities. But her friends are now based overseas, where they work. She admitted that it can be lonely at times, but that technology (e.g. social networking sites) help alleviate the loneliness since she can at least chat with them even if they’re apart.

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Teng also has an adopted child, given to her when the child was only a month old. She is now 18.

Lisud gyud (sa sinugdanan) kay syempre ang acting nimo is as a boy, so nalisdan ko pagpa-dako niya (It was hard for me to raise her at first because I am masculine/not stereotypically motherly),” Teng said. “But I gradually learned how to properly raise her.”

To other lesbians who may also belong to Lumad communities, Teng said: “Kung unsa gyud sila sa ilang panginabuhi, ipadayun na nila (Continue living your true selves in living a good life).”

And in the end, “learn from me as I say that you can be good people as lesbians.”

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‘Tao rin kami’

Trans community leader from Caloocan City, Jenica Madridazon, may have been accepted by her family, but she knows this is not always true for every LGBTQIA person. So – as she calls for LGBTQIA people to show their true selves – she says that society should already recognize that LGBTQIA people are no different from them, just wanting to be loved.

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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.”

Jenica Madridazon was seven years old when she realized she’s transgender. “Nung bata pa ako, may tita po akong transgender din (While growing up, I also had a transgender auntie),” she recalled. “Mga damit niya po… sinusuot ko po kung wala po siya. Ayun, na-feel ko po, I am a girl (I used to put on her clothes when she wasn’t around. And it made me feel that I am a girl).”

Her family – originally from Malabon, and which only moved to Caloocan in 2000 when her mother moved there to be with her new partner – accepted her. “Wala po akong naging problema (I didn’t have problems),” Jenica said. “Tinanggap po nila ako nang buong puso (They accepted me wholeheartedly).”

This may be because her family believes they have members who are predisposed to being LGBTQIA since there are already a number of them.

Jenica is proud to also stress that even her elder brother, a policeman – who is in a profession that is stereotypically anti-LGBTQIA – is accepting of her. “Wala po (siyang) pag-alinlangan na tanggapin ako kung ano ako (He never had misgivings accepting me as me).”

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Now 31 years old, Jenica helps a relative manage a boutique shop in Malabon. This is her main source of income now.

She’s also in a six-year relationship, and she lives with her male partner. “A lot of people say that heterosexual men only have sex with gay men or transgender women in exchange for money,” Jenica said, “but not all men are like this.”

Jenica believes that there are men “na mahal mo talaga at ang ibibigay sa iyo ay tunay na pagmamahal (who you love and will return that love).”

To other LGBTQIA people, Jenica said: “Hindi tayo isang sakit… para itago natin (We are not an illness that should be hidden).”

She recognizes that there are a growing number of LGBTQIA organizations “that can help us; so huwag na kayo matakot mag-out (don’t be afraid to come out).”

In the end, people need to wake up, she said, and realize the need to stop bullying LGBTQIA people. “Gusto po nating imulat ang (mata ng) mga tao na bata pa lang po (ang mga LGBTQIA), tanggapin na natin. Huwag po silang kutyain… dahil tatanim sa isipan nila kung paano niyo sila nilait (We want people to start accepting LGBTQIA people, even when they’re still young. Stop bullying them because they will never forget how you belittled them).”

For Jenica, “tao rin po kami na nagmamahal, nasasaktan… Sana isipin nyo rin po na tao rin po kami na kailangan ng tunay na pagmamahal. Yakapin nyo rin po kami na bilang isang tao (we’re also human beings who love, who get hurt… People should see us as just human beings also looking to be loved. Embrace us as human beings).”

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Be who you are

Lars Velasquez, a trans community leader in Barangay Sangandaan in Caloocan City, wasn’t always openly accepted by members of her family. They eventually warmed to her; and she now says that society should accept LGBTQIA people because one’s SOGIE does not make one bad, just human.

Published

on

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.”

While growing up, Lars Velasquez realized it’s really hard to be trans “because hindi naman talaga maiintindihan kung ano ka, at matatanggap kung ano ba talaga and isang transgender o LGBT (many people do not comprehend what you are, or accept your being transgender or being part of the LGBTQIA community).”

But Lars – a community leader in Caloocan City – is somewhat forgiving of this because at least for her, “hindi naman po makukuha natin agad ang simpatiya ng isang tao, or yung acceptance po para sa isang katulad natin (we really can’t expect people to immediately sympathize with us, or immediately accept people like us).”

Lars, 34, was originally from Dagupan City. She realized she’s trans when she was seven years old, even if she transitioned (only) when she was 21. She said that her mom always knew she’s part of the LGBTQIA community, so she was more accepting. Her father, however, had a harder time accepting her, so “inunti-unti niya na lang po ako tanggapin (he had to learn to accept me little by little),” she said. Her female siblings followed after her mom, immediately accepting her; but her male siblings followed after her dad, taking their time before accepting her.

READ:  Gay man in the street

Lars said life wasn’t always easy.

For instance, she is now taking up nursing. But earlier, in 2005, she actually had to stop going to school because “hindi nila allowed ang transgender na (magdamit-babae) (they used to not allow transgender people to dress according to their identity),” she said. “I just went back (to school) this year (when they changed the policy to allow transgender people to attend classes while dressed according to their gender identity).”

Lars is now an “ate (elder sister)” for many young gay and transgender people in Barangay Sangandaan. And as such, she tries to help make the “trans-nene (colloquially: young transgender Filipinos)” have a more enjoyable life. She helped organized a beauty pageant for them, for one, to “help them showcase themselves.” For Lars, seeing the younger ones happy “inspires me.”

To other LGBTQIA people, Lars said “it’s okay to be (such) so long as you are a good person. Be who you are. Huwag mag-alipusta or gumawa ng nakakasama sa ibang tao (Don’t belittle other people, or do them harm).”

To non-LGBTQIA people, she said that it’s high time that they realize not to bully or “put down LGBTQIA people because (our SOGIE) does not make us bad.”

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