The words ‘malambot, binabae’ were used to belittle me. But I’ve accepted I’m unique and gay

Everyone’s journey to becoming unfolds differently.

My story might be beyond unusual to most of you, but I find comfort in knowing that I share my journey with the queer community.

I have always been different—the way I look, the way I talk, even the way I think. I’ve been that little boy choosing Barbie dolls over GI Joe live-action figures. People cannot put me in a box, and nothing about me fits society’s expectations.

My indifference has people staring at me. They try to figure me out. Some even dare look me in the eye and say I am too much, that I should try to fit into their standards.

With their constant bombarding, I grew questioning myself, too.

The questioning never stopped until I came out in 2011. I’ve always planned it in my mind, envisioning a dramatic scene from a coming-of-age film. But when I did it, there was no drama nor iconic dialogue.

I was a freshman at University of Santo Tomas and was still high from the festivities of the Freshmen Walk tradition. My high school friends, who became my college roommates, planned to celebrate the day with some drinks.

After a questionable number of Tanduay Ice and Red Horse, we were all buzzed. Our laughter and “wasak” moments turned to a heart-to-heart talk. I felt it was the perfect moment to reveal myself.

Half-drunk, I uttered the words: “Guys, bakla ako!”

There was a moment of point-blank silence. No one seemed to be surprised. Why are they not surprised?

Finally, someone broke the silence. “Okay lang, Alvin. Matagal na naming alam.”

After hearing those words, tears ran down my face. The rest of the night was a blur, but all that mattered was that I finally said it.

Apparently, they knew all along, and they had accepted me sooner than I could come to terms with myself. Had I known, I would have probably come out to them much earlier.

Growing up in a Catholic and religious environment, I had always been subjected to bullying. I’ve always been effeminate. The words “malambot” and “binabae” were commonly thrown at me as if they are supposed to belittle my existence.

People who didn’t know me called me names like “Diego, Ang Pambansang Bading.” They would even mock my femininity as if it’s something so laughable. I denied my sexuality every time they would corner me because I feared that my honesty would justify their hate.

It was not only my peers who spewed hate and voiced their concerns about my identity. A teacher from my high school once called me out and reprimanded me for being gay. “Bawas-bawasan mo ang pagiging malambot,” she said in front of the class.

My being “malambot” was an issue for others as well. For instance, I would try out for the cheerleading team every year. I finally got accepted in my senior year, only for the team to kick me out in less than a week because I was too “malambot.”

Being in a religious institution, I had my peers intervene with my gayness. My classmates tried to convince me that it was just a phase. Armed with their Bible verses, they tried to engrave in my mind that my gender identity is subject to society’s expectations. As if they have a say in who I am.

Once I got out of high school, I decided to leave my old self behind. I rebranded myself. Shedding my past, I introduced myself as James, my second name. It was hard. I may have been out of high school, but I was still trapped inside the box they’ve put me in. I concealed my true self and refrained from letting go of the façade I built. I was so careful with how I talk with the new people in my life. I didn't want them to notice that I am gay.

But the moment I let go of the fear and accepted the fact that I am unique, “James” became the true embodiment of the person I tried to hide for so long. I AM UNIQUE. I AM GAY.

After that drunk night of coming out, everything fell into its place. I let my humor lit up rooms and bridged new relationships. My “malambot” movement brought me to my college dance troupe. I eventually became a cheer dancer. I was able to serve my college organization as a student leader.

My college years were the best part of my life. It was my renaissance, my redemption era. I graduated from the university with nothing but pride in who I am. In my bold clothing pieces, fierce make-up, and iconic high-heeled boots, I was ready for the world to see me for who I am.

Alas, the real world wasn't ready for who I was. On my first job, my immediate head did not like how I dressed in one of our company events. Without hesitation, I walked out of the party and the company.

But it’s true what they say: You will find people who will appreciate and accept you for all things you are.

Today, I am grateful to be surrounded by people who let me express my identity and creativity. I got so lucky because my people celebrated my uniqueness. They even encouraged me to do photo shoots. Of course I didn't hesitate. 

I fixed my first real photo shoot back in 2019. I collaborated with Mycke Arcano, an esteemed celebrity hairstylist, talented make-up artist Albrenn Malinao, and the amazing photographer Miggy Brono.

This trio is a big deal—they’ve worked with celebrities like Kyline Alcantara and Andrea Torres just to name a few. It was definitely a lot of pressure, but I felt prepared for this—all the time that I’ve spent watching all the cycles of “America’s Next Top Model” will finally be put into use. I donned a turban, channeling my inner Patrick Starr. The photos turned out so good that I have decided to do it again, this time for my quarantine birthday.

All I had were my two “high fashion” outfits that I bought from an online thrift shop and a whole lot of confidence to power through. The output didn’t disappoint. In fact, seeing the photos for the first time made me cry. I never saw myself that fabulous. I never knew I could be that beautiful. My wildest dream is to be on a magazine cover or to be on one of the billboards in Guadalupe. Seeing those photos convinced me that I can be on that billboard.

I know not everyone will understand how empowering and validating those photos were to me and to my identity. But as I share them, all the hate, the doubts, and the discrimination I overcame did not matter anymore.

As we celebrate Pride Month, I want to remind everyone that there is so much power in accepting yourself. You are brave enough to reveal your true self to others.

It’s not easy to pull off—not everyone can and is wired to accept their uniqueness. But once you get over that fear, you’ll be surprised how much people will welcome that, will welcome YOU, with open arms.

Isang mahigpit na yakap sa lahat! – RC, GMA News

Alvin James Cariño is a 27-year-old full-time PR practitioner from a local telco company. He loves doing poses every time he’s in front of the mirror and dreams of having his billboard in EDSA Guadalupe.