A minority report: Not living on the straight and narrow

Andi Bahagia, Contributor, Jakarta

Merry was upset. "I'd kill Taufik if he turns out to be that way," she blustered.

She was probably mentally listing all the potential future problems that lay ahead for her son if he became the dreaded you- know-what: a life on his lonesome save for a perky Pomeranian, the whispers of the neighbors gradually building into a cacophony, all those huge cosmetics, clothing and phone bills as he entered adolescence.

Heaven forbid little Taufik, not even in double digits, would turn out to be light in his loafers, as queer as a concrete parachute, a switch hitter, a latter-day descendant of Socrates, etc.

I heard the story secondhand, and, of course, could not help but take it to heart. These were comments from someone I regarded as a friend, but who was saying that if I were in her son's place, she would take a knife to me.

Of course, her point was probably that while it may be OK for the lady down the road to have a son or daughter who is "that way" -- OK, gay -- it just would not do for her family.

I had dealt with a parent who set about changing my orientation through her own brand of shock therapy -- from being cut out of the family will, told not to come home from college because my parents did not want me to be a "bad" influence on my younger brother, having posters for STDS stuck on my bedroom door and warned, "That's your future" -- so trying to take that mitigating factor into account was little comfort.

Now in my mid-30s, I usually feel like I have put my angst and internalized shame behind me. But Merry's statement brought me back to reality with a thud. It's at times like these that one suddenly feels once again like the confused, scared adolescent trying to deal with one's feelings while realizing that the ultimate epithet toward another man applies to you.

One also quickly remembers one's status as a full-fledged but certainly not chosen minority, those with the responsibility to keep their heads down and cover up the "other side" of their life.

When I watched the notorious gay kissing scene in Arisan -- the one which engendered gasps, groans and screams despite being pretty chaste compared to the Madonna-Britney kissfest -- I felt like sinking into my chair amid the heterosexual onslaught of disapproval.

To me, the shot of Ria Irawan cleaning up after performing oral sex on her boyfriend in the toilet in the same movie was much more shocking.

For I dutifully follow the heterosexual majority rules most of the time, careful to use the term "friend" when referring to my partner, keeping my untoward "lifestyle" under wraps (no public displays of affection, most definitely). I would not want to bring my partner to any office gatherings, so I am sure I have kept the Merrys of the world breathing a little easier.

In a way, I have had one foot in and one foot out of the proverbial closet, choosing to share aspects of my life with those I trust and not going down that path with others. Of course, word gets around, especially when it comes to the juicy subject of sexual orientation.

Luckily, through most of my life, I have encountered folk who have seen me for my abilities, not who I live with, even if homosexuality is something odd or event aberrant to them.

But then the Merrys do get around, too.

I have had to clench my teeth through perhaps well-intentioned "I'm fine with gay people, really I am" comments ("Gay men are so smart and so fashionable, and all the pretty girls want to spend time with them," one man once said). I have dealt with the sanctimonious busybody who complained that I refused to answer "some day" every time someone asked me when I would get married -- simply because I did not want to -- even though she knew about my life.

The ultimate moral finger-wagging was done by someone I liked and respected, and still do, as he talked about my "lifestyle" being a problem.

And what, pray tell, is that lifestyle? Munching on Big Macs late on a Saturday night watching a Survivor rerun, or pushing a shopping cart around Hero on a Sunday morning? No, my fun-filled life is not so gay, and certainly does not live up to the shot of leather queens gyrating in some dimly lit bar, as shown on the Christian TV Family channel in defining the evil of homosexuality.

Oh, he meant who I sleep with.

Now, I am not asking for everybody to run around screaming they are glad that I am gay. I am not going to argue the religious points of the issue. And I am not someone who thinks gay marriage is the way to acceptance (although I do not fault those who do).

To me, marriage is a fundamentally heterosexual institution, but I also want to have some kind of legal commitment to my partner, so that he is considered more than just my roommate (and would get whatever little I leave behind if I go to meet my maker before him).

Today, I most enjoy sitting down for dinner with an older friend, who tells of the days when gay men really knew that discretion was the best part of valor, not only for their sakes, but for their families. "I was born too young," he will sigh, noting the changes that have occurred in the last few years.

That is why it still irks me that I can be so rattled by the holier-than-thou who believe they have the call on what is right or wrong in life. I'm a friend of Dorothy's, and of Merry's, but I hope the latter will learn to keep her moral judgments to herself, and try to live and let live. Or pity the child.