Being Gay and Loving God

I was away all this past week, nearly, and thus I'm not only a bit delayed ;osting this (still Monday!), but I have nothing written. Thank the Lord I have this essay to share with you. Now, don't be afraid of it; it is an essay and it is lengthy, but it is one of the few coherent, intelligent arguments that support homosexuality in a Christian context. Just give it a look. If you're Chrisitan, it may give you what you need, and if you aren't, you can still use it to debate homosexuality with the terms being used against you.

http://www.gaychristian.net/justins_view.php#5

Again, sorry about not writing. I'll do something for Wednesday. I can't safely write in secret for Wednesday (no worries) so it might be a while. Surely by Monday, though.

When You Love the Wrong Person

While I had romantic notions ever since realizing my sexuality halfway through eighth grade (and probably further back but never noticed), my first real crush started my first day of high school. I was an advanced freshman, and so I ended up in Algebra II with the sophomores and juniors. After my initial terror, it soon became apparent that no one was going to pay me any mind, so I was free to watch them. While the teacher was droning on about the syllabus, I looked around me. 

My world stopped when I saw him. He had beautiful brown eyes and dark brown hair that swept gently over them. His nose was just, slightly upturned which, coupled with his beautiful grin, gave him the cutest mischievous look imaginable. His skin was the color of caramel, darkened by what I later learned was his native american heritage. His laugh was practically musical.

Of course, that laugh was only being brought on by notes from his girlfriend. Because he was straight. Because they're always straight. 

I pined for months, trying to never stare, and always trying to see him more. I was hopelessly in love, and I didn't know his name for weeks. And in the end, I finally stopped feeling those feelings that wouldn't get me anywhere (and then I fell for another straight boy). 

I made it so much worse for myself than I needed to. Yes, I ended up, through no fault of anyone's, liking the wrong person, and so was guaranteed a special hell until the love left (which it never does fully, it seems). But the thing is, I obsessed over it. Sure, I thought about him when we were in the same room or (joy of joys!) speaking, but did I have to lie awake thinking about him, constructing elaborate scenarios that would lead to him coming out to me (girlfriend or not)? 

I let it grow even worse. Liking the wrong person is hell, but it's stupid to make it worse by your own hand. I couldn't change that I saw him and heard him, but I shouldn't have nurtured every errant thought about him that drifted into my head. It couldn't be, and no excuse on my part could make that better. 

It's a hell, but all you can do is live it and wait for it to die. 

It will.

The Bright Side of the Rainbow (Mid-Week Mini Post!)

Being gay is hard. It is an awfully, dreadfully, terrifyingly hard thing. I've read of even atheists trying to pray the gay away, because who wants to live in the ire of so many people? It isn't always rainbows and unicorns.

But sometimes it is.

One of the best things, I think, about being gay is the music. And, no, I don't mean Born This Way, necessarily, nor that ever-popular classic Dancing Queen, nor my new favorite Andrew in Drag (which also supports last weeks post). I mean every single popular song since the dawn of time can be read (heard?) as gay. 

Y'see, if being gay is so scary, so lonely, it follows that any song about/addressed to any angsty teenager applies perfectly to the rainbow demographic. Firework is a recent addition to the list of gay anthems on Wikipedia (I love that site). It works, because of course we've all felt 'like a plastic bag drifting through the wind'.  Everyone has, but being gay (or bi or trans or whatever you happen to be) gives us all something we can always be deliciously sad about to be able to be reminded that we are a firework. 

I realize that my example, being on the gay anthem list, isn't the best, so  let's look at something else. From pop to punk, we go to 21 Guns. Any GLBTWhatever person knows exactly what is 'worth fighting for but not worth dying for'. Or maybe it is worth dying for. Your choice. However, it exactly catches what we all feel sometimes.

Of course, with American Idiot now on Broadway, Green Day is now an officially gay band, right? Let's try again with the World Cup Anthem, Waka Waka (the real version, not the English). It's really a battle song, right? But it, like everything, matches our problems. Being reminded that we need to start from zero to touch the sky gives a ring of hope to us all. What if we lose something because of whom we love? We'll start from there and touch that cielo, no?

Of course, South Africa is the most gay-friendly African state, so maybe its world cup's song shouldn't count. So, continuing in the theme of the odd (as far as the American readers are concerned), what about the winner of the 2011 Eurovision Song Contest, Running Scared? This poorly lip-synched song from Azerbaijan juxtaposes love and fear. Isn't that the heart of all gay angst (gayngst, maybe)? Even in East Europe, the music is pretty darn gay.

So even though life is hard, even with all the pointless fighting, there's always something that will apply directly to you on the radio, even in Azerbaijan.

Oh, and this.

Standing up for the Right

If you're at all like me, you have grand, grand plans. You've gone through far too many scenarios in your head for when something unjust is being done, whether to you or in front of your eyes. There's a secret part of you that almost wants to be outed so that someone will call you a fag and you can just say "Yes," and walk away, leaving them wondering why they didn't hurt you. 

Maybe a year ago, I was utterly infatuated with the only other gay guy in school. He's closeted, but it's an open secret to the point that I've overheard girls debating if he's really gay or not. In that darkest, bravest part of my heart, I dreamed that one day some bigots would begin to bully him when (conveniently) I was the only one around, and I, in my 125 pound glory, would step in and save him and he would love me and we'd end up married in Paris.

That's how we view our coming actions, right? We plan our crusades, and we know that when the time comes we will be the hero the world needs. First we'll stop a bigot, then save a life, and then cure AIDS, cancer, and unhappiness, and then bioengineer unicorns, because gays deserve unicorns, dang it!

It all seems so possible when you're lying in bed awake at night. 

I, at least, am useless in person right now. Sure, I write a gay blog on the internet, and I have a novel-in-progress about equality, and I have a secret love story (not romance) I want to pen called Adam and Steve, and and and. Most of these things aren't done, and what I do do is so little.

Then I get to school and someone calls something gay. I just keep walking. In Conservative Christian County here, even teachers say it. And what do I do? Nothing. Sometimes I want to write an email to the counselor under a pseudonym telling her that there are gay students who could be hurt by comments. But then I worry she could trace it to me, both by the fact that I have a relatively unique writing voice in the school and because I'm as flaming as a closet case can be.

So I don't do that.

Then I think I'll write the email when I come out in the future. But that won't be for a long time. My plan is to let my parents know sometime after I no longer depend upon them at all financially and sometime before I get engaged. Which will be a while.

So I can't do that.

So I don't do anything.

My best friend is much, much better. You really ought to see her. I remember clearly when some idiot freshman made a comment that all gays go to hell, and she became a beautifully terrifying Valkyrie. She flew at him with both scripture and science, and he actually changed his view somewhat and apologized a few days later. It was glorious.

I did nothing, of course.

Maybe it isn't bad that I do nothing sometimes. I mean it really is best to hold your tongue when the other option could actually place you in physical danger. But I've certainly done less than I should. It isn't that we all need to champion gay rights, but we all ought to champion peace and love and tolerance. And I don't. As wonderful as my plans are, I don't.

The point is, we don't always do what we can. But we need to try something. My friend is a beacon of tolerance. I try through this blog, and I hope to succeed in my novels. One day, I will write that email to the counselor.

I don't always do what I should. But that doesn't mean I can stop trying.