Invisible Minorities is a series where we delve into the complexities, joys, and pains of being a person of colour in the gay community. These are the stories we don’t hear often enough that shine a light on what it means to be at the intersection of race and sexuality.
Lawrence is a Filipino-born gay man who moved to Canada at the age of 7. He enjoys playing tennis with the Toronto Lesbian & Gay Tennis Association and traveling the world.
I became aware of my sexuality at around 4. I would watch episodes of Magnum PI with my grandmother in our living room and drool over Tom Selleck’s hairy chest. I even went so far as to draw nude pictures of him in my doodle book that would give me a sense of arousal. That gorgeous man in the Hawaiian shirt and tuft of chest hair was my first gay crush.
When I was 16, I stayed up late to watch the premiere of the UK Series of Queer as Folk. It had been advertised on Showcase with flashy lights and lots of butt sex and it was, for me, the first depiction of « gay culture » I was exposed to. In fact, it was the first « gay » centered programming that I ever watched and I experienced all sorts of things watching it: fascination, exhilaration, validation. It came to me at a pivotal point in my understanding of myself as a gay man.
Added to these experiences, I grew up on films like: Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Billy’s First Hollywood Screen Kiss, Lillies, and The Birdcage that continued to inform my identity, one that in retrospect, was based on a very limiting and white-centric gay male experience.
As a gay Filipino immigrant to Canada in 1989, race and sexuality shared an intersectionality that formed the basis of my entire experience as a gay man. Fitting in and being accepted by my Italian best friend meant telling my Mom to not pack « palabok » because Jason thought it smelled. In the same way, being accepted as a gay man meant adopting attitudes and perspectives about what it meant to be gay based on the dominantly white, stories that were made mainstream at the time.
Truth be told, it starts to really anger me when I see the same kinds of white stories told through movie and film. Fuck Dear Simon where’s Dear Sandeep?
Even when it came to my sexual experiences, the only points of reference I had as a horny teenager jerking off in my living room was waiting for my dial up to reveal the white, glistening, muscular bodies, of white models and porn stars on my computer screen.
As a 37 year old man, I am only now beginning to really do the work and delve in to how these formative experiences have shaped my own myopic attitudes toward what it means to be gay. Truth be told, it starts to really anger me when I see the same kinds of white stories told through movie and film. Fuck Dear Simon where’s Dear Sandeep? And if I’m being completely candid, though I respect this blog’s platform, the images and written content I have seen represented of what gay men are interested in are precisely the same types of stories and images diffused on that same old white, party and sex-centered television program from 1999.
Yes, different stories have to be voiced, heard, and most importantly celebrated.
The reason why we have a rainbow flag to represent our community is because we truly live a diverse panoply of experiences.
This thread is a great start and I’m glad you’re taking up a responsibility to be more aware of the impact your writing has on the audience you’re reaching.
Lawrence
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Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash
