I know this is the worst and most unwelcomed topic I could share with gay kingdom/world. The martyrdom of gays is something we don't wanna hear. From being persecuted to being condemned to being burned at the stake to being imprisoned (and being segreggated in prisons - just ask Oscar Wilde), to being gassed in gas chambers during holocaust to being discriminated - these are things we'd rather forget. We prefer these confined in hush-hush; that's perhaps why we wanna call ourselves gay, because our history is nothing but. We certainly don't want to be reminded of our martyrdom.
Lets not be unfair to ourselves though, each and every homosexual I know in this world has been a martyr one way or another. Otherwise we will not be this insistent in protecting and demanding our rights. We've all been deprived of rights in our lives.
So let me share with you my tale about a myth named Samuel Bilibit - the name alone conjures up an image my mother described to me as a kid. According to her, Samuel Bilibit is tasked to carry the burden of the world, and he will carry this burden for all eternity because he was condemned by God with physical immortality.
She described him as an old ugly man, in rags, smelly and shackled in metal chains, moaning and groaning as he passes by, asking for help to unburden his load. The image would make me scamper like a dog, go straight into my room and hide under the sheets.
In growing up, I began to understand what Samuel Bilibit was all about. It is martyrdom, a life of carrying the burdens of the world and living forever in the memory of those whose burdens were lifted.
Now about my friend, whose real name is Bernardo Santos but nicknamed Samuel Bilibit (after the myth because he grew up to be homosexual). This story is about him. He was called worse names than Samuel Bilibit, his people weren't exactly respectful to his gay kind so he grew up in the world of verbal abuse and harrassment. Everyday he would avoid getting out of their house because the boys will use him for amusement; they called him names as he succumbed quietly. He had no protector. His family considered being gay a shame.
By highschool he just wanted to escape the world. He thought of becoming a monk, retreat into a solitary place where no one would see him but God. He lived saintly. He hated himself. He hated the desires surging in him. He punished himself by taking all hard tasks he could take.
Yet the more he subjected himself to hardship the better he became. He became the strongest, the smartest, even the most handsome young man in his part of town.
It was a big surprise when he announced, after highshool graduation, that he'd enter the seminary. And it was no big surprise either, and probably just about right, that he was refused. His goal to priesthood and monastic existence was pretty much an escape from his sexual orientation.
When he realized he could not escape his homosexuality via the enclaves of the Catholic Church, he went as far away from his town to the city of Manila where a rural young man like him can easily be ignored and can pass unnoticed.
Samuel Bilibit did not find Manila a city of fulfillment. In Manila, one needs to work hard for his dream, and if he gets close to the side of the devil, he can be evil indeed.
Between the struggle to survive and the lust of youth, Samuel Bilibit dragged himself, so many times wishing to just die. As the years got longer his family got poorer. Until it became apparent he was the only last hope, the last potential savior of his family from its dire straits.
This expectation from him was the only thing he brought with him in coming to America and for the past ten years, that's what he's been driving him to go on living.
He hates himself for beng too martyr, too long-suffering. People hate him for being too confined, too isolated, too fucking hard-working...(becasue his family needs help)...even gays must have fun, they say.
But he can't rest, especially when his country and his family is in such agonizing poverty. He prays everyday that his country will get well economically, he hopes to be told one day that his country and his people are now self sufficient, they all have jobs and don't need help anymore. That's the only time he can escape to Europe and have good time.
But that seems to be something he wont see in his lifetime. He tries to express his wishes every night through his writing on his notes, but the more he wishes for a Filipino better life, the worse it seems to become.
The reason I am recalling Samuel Bilibit tonight is becasue I just finished watching Les Miserables on Fox Channel. I don't know why I still cry every time I re-encounter the life of Jean Valjean. Pardon my character interpretation but my friends, to me, Jeam Valjean is a most honorable gay man. He's a gay martyr.
Why?
Jean Valjean lived in hiding all his life while protecting and nurturing Cosette, his only family. When he slowly got well off, he didn't think twice in helping those neeing help even those who made his past life miserable.
And the most intriguing relationship to me in Les Miserables is the relationship between Valjean and Javert. What type of obsession will drive a man after another? Why would one man of law spend his entire life pursuing a criminal?
Is it love? Friendship? Or merely....as Hugo puts it, defense of justice? Well, if it's defense of justice, why would this same pursuer kill himself when his pursuit is finally won?
Only a gay person would understand this feeling, this obsession by Javert.
This is the same questioning I wanted to get answered in Mice and Men and Don Quixote.
I am not talking here abour sex between men, no, my readers, don't get me wrong. I am not that shallow to interpret every literary character's motive based on Freud's thinking. I am talking here about the beauty of man - the beauty of his soul.
When Jean Valjean is described to me, I see an image of rotten man, strong but rotten dirty and perhaps ugly. Yet, I see him the most beautiful person I've ever encountered.
Why do I cry in encountering his soul and spirit? Why do I fall in love with what Valjean stood for?
Why do I want to be in the company of Don Quixote no matter how despicable his looks were? Why do I want to be with him even in his imaginary world?
I know I'm gay but I must tell you I see a beautiful man in a different way.
That's why, right now, I am talking about my friend Bernardo Santos nicknamed Samuel Bilibit (after the myth because he turned to be homosexual). I wonder what makes him capable of going on like this, struggling to protect his family, fighting to improve the lot of his nation, spending his night alone typing on his computer. There were so many love affairs offered him but he declined them all, afraid of losing his ability to provide for his family and ability to think about his country. Eventually those who thought they loved him found happiness in the arms of other men. Until Samuel Bilibit lost his youth.
Samuel Bilibit got more and more isolated. I asked him one time how he manages the nights of darkness and loneliness. I ask him if this is worth it.
Samuel Bilibit tells me, "I never understood, cannot understand, will probably never understand why I became gay, why I lived in such poverty that I was terrorized by it, why I keep on praying and hoping for the success of my nation. I will never understand why as years pass by I see more clearly the ugliness of the Filipino in the faces of his rulers who'd rather see their nation and people die and suffer than sacrifice for its good. I will never understand why I keep writing like as if my life depended on it, and working, like as if my entire existence depended on it. I will never understand why I never liked the gay lifestyle I see around me, why I'd rather stay in the darkness of my room than be part of it.
"When I was young I wanted to get away from this cruel world by becoming a recluse. The Church refused me but still I chose to be a recluse. No matter what - I will be a recluse, religious or not. I love the idea of heroism and idealism and the beauty of man in ways I can never explain. I see beauty in a man who is fighting for what is right and attuned to his world, noble and virtuous. I see beauty in a man who doesn't care about anything but what he thinks is Right in his heart.
"So I sleep reaching out to the darkness in front of me. I try to feel the warmth of the fingers of Jean Valjean, and let his fingers gently rub against my face; in the darkness of my room, I peer through the window and see Don Quixote astride his horse, raising his head to face the moon and dream of knights and honor and justice and everything good. I see Jose Rizal and the nobility of his soul in the Last Night of his life. I find Andres Bonifacio the plebe who refused his poverty to block his spirit of saving his nation. Oh I see them all in the darkness.
"I will never understand what I'm after, the reason why I'm reaching out to these dead men. But I will not stop no matter how bad you'd think of me. Even gays have the right to become as beautiful as the heroes and martyrs."
What do you expect? The guy didn't have sex for weeks for chirssakes!