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Words and photos by Nika Roque
Design by Jessica Bartolome
Trigger warning: mentions of sexual abuse, self-harm, depression, trauma
A journal entry of mine from 2018 reads, “I never really understood what being a Catholic meant. I just knew that you should pull down your skirt so the boys won't see, but you are also only allowed to kiss just boys and only when you're married to them.
“Come to think of it, I'm just as delusional as those who preach to me, thinking they’ll be able to make me believe again. Believing will solve all your problems, they’d say.
“But hey, I wish all of my problems will be solved, too. I also wish to kiss a girl,” my 20-year-old self wrote.
That same year, I came out to my two younger brothers. It was my first time ever coming out. I went into their room, and told them I had something important to say.
I remember it vividly. I sat down on Joey’s bed. The three of us held hands. It got quiet for a bit.
“Queer ako,” I said.
Juan, a few weeks short of his 14th birthday at that time, didn’t fully know what the term meant. I simply told him that I’m attracted to everyone, and I guess he already understood.
They nodded and immediately showered me with big hugs.
Five years later, hugs would still mean so much to our family, and to an even wider community.
Those were my parents who gave out free hugs at the Metro Manila Pride March in Makati City last week.
Domingo (also called Jong or Joey) and Yvonne to their friends and family, are Tatay and Mama to Nika (whom they also call Dom), Joey, and Juan.
And now, they’re also Tatay and Mama to my fellow members of the LGBTQIA+ community.
My folks went viral for the best reason. Their loving hugs and smiles provided some much-needed comfort and nourishment to those who need it the most. Days later, they remain so thankful that they got to meet and interact with beautiful people.
To say that we have a perfect family and that I am the best daughter will be the biggest lie I will ever tell.
Before Pride March, we weren’t on proper speaking terms. Too many walls were built through the years. I can’t even remember the last time we had a serious conversation. I can’t even remember the last time we hugged. Even as I write this and look back on painful memories, I can’t. And that’s coming from someone with a good memory.
It's been close to a week of receiving the sweetest messages from strangers saying how lucky I am to have Tatay and Mama as parents. They have been thanking our family for sharing the love. That’s how they have always been. Tatay and Mama are everybody’s favorite friends, tito, and tita. They’ve always got so much love and light to give, and are the lives of every room they walk into.
I am incredibly grateful, but even saying that fills me with so much guilt.
It took coming out of the closet and messages from strangers for me to take a long, hard look at myself, my relationships, and my parents.
I wish I knew that coming out of the closet also meant coming out to myself.
The hugs from my brothers didn’t take place until June 2018, six months after I accepted to myself that I was queer.
I first had an inkling I had a rainbow heart in 2012, when I was a sophomore at a Catholic high school. Parang serious na ‘to, I thought to myself then. I spent years in denial after that.
When I finally accepted that I am queer, the reasons for my feelings and actions slowly started to make sense.
Why my body stiffens up whenever somebody—regardless of gender or sexuality—comes near me. Why fear washes over me whenever I catch myself getting attracted to them.
Why I felt the need to explain myself when I was forced out of the closet. Why I couldn’t stop the rumors.
Why isolation and loneliness were on a whole ‘nother level. Why I hurt myself instead of hurting others. Why physical pain was no longer painful.
Why I still very much feel like a child stuck in an adult’s body. Why I would dissociate often and leave my body and then come back later.
Why I get affected whenever I’m not girly enough, I’m not boyish enough. Why I always feel stuck in the in-betweens.
Why it’s hard to believe in love. Why romance makes me nervous. Why my teenage self was afraid of sex and intimacy right at a time when my sex drive should have been at its peak. Why my romantic relationships always end, and end badly. Why I would leave flings, or why I would get dumped. Why I find dating so confusing even after all this time.
Why my first sexual experience was a total mess that quickly got abusive. Why I said yes at first, but then I got scared, changed my mind, and said no right then and there. Why I spent so much time thinking about whether I did something wrong.
Why, at 24, I had only just been fully comfortable with physical touch, even friendly ones. Why, at 25, I now crave it.
Why there were so many parts of me that I tried my hardest to change, only for them to come crawling back to grab me by the shoulders and say, ‘Hey, this is you. You can never escape who you really are.’
And when those parts finally did sit me down, it was hard to breathe. I felt as if I had a dark, heavy weight hanging over me.
I broke. These parts break me, but they also make me whole.
Trust me when I say that I, too, believed all this was just a phase. Didn’t girls have “girl crushes?”
But mine were never a temporary attraction.
I always thought that girls are pretty, and not just in the way straight girls think they’re pretty. I want to get to know them, understand them in ways that go beyond friendship. I want to be in their world and see things through their unique eyes. I know in my heart of hearts that I see myself getting close and intimate with a woman. And never in my life have I thought that being with a woman in that way was wrong. It always felt normal to me.
I’ve never even dated a girl. The closest I’ve got was flirting on a dating app, making plans to get dinner later that night, and then canceling it..
I’ve only ever been with guys, and I’ve genuinely enjoyed hanging out with them during our flings.
But I am queer. I will always be queer. I knew it since I was a kid.
Since I saw Uma Thurman as Poison Ivy in “Batman & Robin.” Since I couldn’t figure out who was more attractive: Richard Gutierrez as Captain Barbell or Rhian Ramos as Leah. Danny Phantom or Sam Manson.
It’s been hard to talk to my parents. We disagree on things more than we agree, and are never willing to compromise. It’s a different kind of pride.
It’s difficult to look at what they do as actions coming from places of love and good intentions, because in reality, I would feel caged and controlled. I thought that coming out of the closet would be a way for them to finally see and listen to me.
The concept of free hugs came during a conversation in the car. Tatay was driving me to the station for a night out and we were stuck in heavy traffic. At that time, we had just made up following yet another long but petty misunderstanding.
I was talking about Pride March—which was happening in two weeks—how excited I was to see my favorite people, and the costumes we planned on wearing. All of a sudden, Tatay said he wanted to go too—and this was before I came out.
Oh shit, they know, I thought to myself. My mind was in a frenzy.
Out of impulse, I told him about my previous Pride experiences, how parents would attend and how the community was always so happy to see them.
Tatay said, “Oo, kasi ‘yung ibang magulang, sila na mismo ayaw umunawa sa mga anak nila.”
Yup, they know, I thought.
I added, “‘Yung iba sa kanila, namimigay ng free hugs from mommy and daddy, ganyan. Para ma-feel nung LGBT ‘yung love ng magulang, lalo na ‘yung mga hindi naman out o kaya accepted.”
“Ang ganda, parang gusto ko rin gawin ‘yun ah,” my old man said.
Through the years, I’ve heard countless coming out stories. Some are easier to grasp than others, but they are never easy.
I planned my coming out with my brothers a few days before Pride March; they didn’t really have to do anything except dress up and flash some signs. What was important to me was that they were there.
I wanted to come out before Pride, and I pushed through with it on my last free day before the event. I did it at the last minute because yes there was fear, but I also wanted to give my parents at least a day to process everything. I wanted them to march with me.
I went about my day as usual. It was a Thursday, so we all had work and school. For some reason, I didn’t feel the need to pack my bags, but two of my favorite people were a call away.
In an effort to heal my relationship with my parents, and since coming out to them is literally a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I decided to go on a route that I knew they would understand: disco music.
It was my parents who introduced me to goodass music. I might as well show them how much this helped me.
I was both nervous and excited.
Nervous because Tatay and Mama value their faith and traditions, but most especially because I didn't want to hurt our already strained relationship. I’m not good at conversations with my parents, and I’m definitely not good at any form of vulnerability.
Excited because I finally had the chance to openly live in a house as someone who likes boys, girls, and everyone. I wanted to come out. I was raring to come out. I didn’t want to keep a secret anymore. Like what Carly Rae Jepsen sang in one of her anthems adopted by us queers, “I wanna cut to the feeling.”
I got all dressed up in a rainbow tie-dye shirt, denim shorts, and a pink cowboy hat with feathers on the rim. I recruited Joey and Juan and let them wear some of my rainbow attire.
For the first time in years, my parents went into my room that night. Again, I told them I had something important to say.
I turned on my speaker, played the iconic “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross, awkwardly grooved to the song, and yelled out, “Parents, queer ako! LGBT ako!” Joey and Juan danced with me held up signs on their phones that read, “Queer si Dom” and “LGBTQIA+ si Dom.”
Mama was teary-eyed. “I knew ever since that you were different,” she told me. “Pero—okay ka lang ba?”
Even after all that we’ve been through, even after dropping a huge secret, my mom’s first instinct was to make sure I was okay.
“Kayo ang iniisip ko, kung okay ba kayo,” I answered her.
Tatay, on the other hand, got quiet. The biggest extrovert I know was in a state of shock. Like my little brother, he couldn’t fully grasp what queer meant.
Similarly, I told him that I am attracted to everybody. “Nagkaka-crush ako sa lahat,” I recall myself saying.
“Ako nag-de-define kung sino ang gusto ko,” I emphasized.
I told them what has been on my mind. “Kaya ko sinabi ngayon kasi gusto kong mauna sa free hugs.”
And that’s what happened. After a few questions and doing my best to give answers in what has been our first proper conversation in a while, my parents and I finally hugged.
Still in my room, we ended the night with TikTok dances. Though incredibly awkward, it was the best coming out story I could ever imagine.
I didn't know it then, but things will get better.
A couple of Pride Marches were scheduled on June 24. It was a day I was really looking forward to. I quickly typed out signs on a mobile app days before. My parents went all out and got the signs printed on tarpaulins. I lent them two of my most colorful shirts.
Tatay and Mama, who had never been to anything close to Pride, were understandably overwhelmed.
Mama told me, “I felt lost, kind of out of place, asking myself bakit ba ako nandito.
“Mabilis naman ito nasagot—it was a place to celebrate life. Celebrate life with humanity—kung sino man, saan man, ano man ang circumstance ng buhay natin.”
When they wore their Free Hugs signs, I was once again the first to receive them, and it felt like the first step toward our healing. When I finally let go, I stood to the side and saw several people wandering near us, clearly wanting to receive those hugs.
I proudly watched as my parents did something I never expected from them. I kept my distance and gave my fellow queers their moment.
My parents, the loving beings they are, shed tears early on.
I saw the lines getting longer, hugs were being given left and right. I saw my fellow LGBTQIA+ siblings cry or get teary-eyed as they pulled away. Several didn’t even want to let go.
“‘Yung hugs, for as long as hindi sila mag-release, I kept on hugging too,” Mama told me later on.
I saw my parents whisper to them and embrace them with so much love and care. A part of me wants to believe that it was their way of giving me the hugs they couldn’t give for years.
Later that night, somebody treated them to drinks.
“Ang saya, ang dami kong natutunan,” Tatay said. We were in the car, on our drive home when he mentioned how the march helped them understand that LGBTQIA+ rights are human rights, and that they deserve all the healthy and good love.
He was genuinely happy and realized he wanted to give out more love, especially to those who need it the most.
“Kahit saglit, nakapagbigay kami ng panandaliang saya sa mga pusong naguguluhan—na meron silang puwang sa mundo at dapat silang tratuhin nang pantay pantay,” he said.
Mama said something similar.
“I felt deep joy that I am able to give some kind of respite to those who need; I felt they went to get a hug because it was exactly what they needed at that moment;” she said.
“My heart was filled with so much joy as the hugs got tighter and tighter… I said a silent prayer for each hug in thanksgiving for life and that all will be well, always in all ways!”
Tatay echoed it best.
“Kung mabibigyan pa ulit ng isa pang pagkakataon, yayakapin ko kayong muli nang mahigpit—mahigpit na mahigpit.”
Still high on adrenaline and unable to sleep, I posted on Instagram and caught up on messages. I got one from Mama that still fills me up.
“We will forever be here for you and all that you love.”
I will never forget that.
As they were turning viral, I took a long, hard look at my life and learned about Tatay and Mama.
These were the same people who encouraged my love for reading and bought me books, which then led to a lifetime of words. These were the people who introduced me to The Beatles, ABBA, Tears for Fears, and Michael Jackson, which also led to a lifetime of amazing music.
I saw how they supported me in pursuing a career in the arts instead of the corporate or legal routes the people around us were used to. I saw how they cried with me when I failed my university thesis. I saw how they would invite me for drinks on the weekends, wherein we’d just play loud disco and sneak in some talk about whatever was on our minds.
I saw some very difficult moments when I couldn’t even look them in the eyes, but they sat with me and tried their absolute hardest to understand.
I saw how these are the people who danced with and showered their only daughter with lots of hugs when she came out as LGBTQIA+.
And I saw that maybe, even after all the pain and arguments and words and actions that can never be taken back, it’s time I start looking at my glass half full.
In the process of coming out of the closet, I saw my parents for who they really are. That despite their age and experiences, they’re just humans, who still don’t have it all figured out, and probably never will, and are just doing their best every day.
It’s been a week since I came out, but I am getting to know my parents and they are getting to know me.
And that’s how healthy relationships should be, right? A give and take, and doing our best to listen and understand each other even when it’s hard.
We’re raising each other now.
This is hands down the hardest story I’ve ever had to write, but I hope that getting it all down will heal us as individuals, and our relationship.
I’m hoping this will continue helping us. We’ve been talking for a bit again, greeting each other in the house, and keeping a group chat with just the three of us. It’s currently filled with screenshots of the messages and comments we’ve been receiving.
We just needed time.
I’ll do my best to let Tatay and Mama understand the community and what we go through. I got it lucky, as thousands of strangers have been telling me.
Celebrating and expressing my sexuality in a safe way outside of the closet with a supportive family is a privilege that I will never take for granted. My family and I have a long way to go, but we’ve started. The hardest part is now over.
I’m also thankful to be surrounded by good people who help educate each other about issues and current situations.
I hope our family can be there for members of the LGBTQIA+ community by attending events, donating to causes, or just simply listening to them and providing hugs even when we’re far away.
I will forever be thankful for the queer Filipinos who paved the way for us throughout history and continue to do so today—the reason why we rally and make ourselves known. They have done everything to make us seen and heard. We are growing and getting more and more courageous, and we’re looking fabulous while at it.
I’ve still got a lot to learn and understand. I’ve got a long way to go, but with all that has happened, I can say that I no longer have a weight hanging over me.
I can’t wait to grow up. I can’t wait to be a kid but to also be an adult. I can’t wait to learn, relearn, and unlearn. For the first time in my life, I can do all of that with a rainbow heart on my sleeve.
The Philippines has various mental health hotlines such as the ones from the National Center for Mental Health: 0966-351-4518 (Globe/TM), 0917-899-8727 (Globe/TM), or 0908-639-2672 (Smart/Sun/TNT).
