It seems to be in my blood. To write, to note down things that occur. To get to pen and paper when distressed, or down, or high. To note down the vagaries of day to day life, when they occur. Once I complained about reading to my sister. She laughed, told me that I love reading. Maybe I do.
Is it ok to write about my day to day life and post it on a blog? Maybe. And maybe not. On the one hand I would not consider myself exhibitionistic. I am a retiring type of person. At least that is what I deceive myself that I am. But I hide under a thin cloak of anonymity and expose the working of my thoughts. Weird stuff indeed.
Once I had to ask my mate. I needed his permission because my life is so entwined with his that we cannot be separate. What happens to him happens to me. What affects me affects me. He gave his permission, though, (knowing me), he expected a few thrilling details of his sex life splashed on the web!
My mate.
Great terminology. According to the current constitution, we cannot get married. He would love it. Interesting thought, two gay Ugandans thinking of walking down the aisle together. Revolutionary. I have been talking to my dad who was commenting on the captive audience preaching that occurs at funerals and clan gatherings. It would be anathema for me to be a gay man in a relationship, flauting my gayness before all the world, the clan. Yet my dad knows now. And he knows my mate. Crazy, crazy, crazy world. I actually fear to broach the subject with him. I know he knows, and he knows I know, and life goes on! And he is a clan elder.
We had some differences yesterday, me and my man. Money issues. The pay cheque does not stretch as far as we would want, and differences about our priorities. We had raised voices. Yet I held him in my arms through the night. In the morning, I felt the urge to go and bathe him. Just rub my hands all over his body, soaping him and rinsing him, and patting him down to dry. I did. And at breakfast, I hugged him, telling him that I wished I could give him all that he wanted. 'Pluck the moon from the skies for him to wear around his neck' if it would please him.
He was silent.
I love him. God help me but I do love him.
GayUganda
2 comments:
Hmm ... so, your Dad knows. Also, your Mum knows, your sisters know ...
Essentially, you've come out of your closet.
Maybe you can avoid causing a scene with your Dad by just keeping it at that - him knowing (and knowing that you know that he knows) and no farther.
I wonder how I'd react, if I found that my son was gay. I'd not hate him, even though I'd definitely suffer some initial disappointment. In the end, anyway, it is one's child. We make amazing compromises for our kids.
Yes, somehow, I am more out of my closet than in. Especially after the dear Red Pepper on Sunday.
Funny thing about Daddy, just now, he told me that he was waiting for my kid. His grandchild. We will have to discuss things, sooner or later!
If your son ever tells you that he is gay, try to understand him. And to accept him.
Its not easy doing so. I never planned to tell my Dad, fearing his reaction. If he trusts you enough to tell you that, respond by trying to understand. Its like discovering as he grows up that he favours using his left hand, to his right.
But there are parents who would hate them. Not all parents are that understanding.
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