Rolling on

My apologies for the lack of posts; I’ve been spending most of my spare time with Janek lately, so I haven’t had a lot of time to blog, and most of the things we’ve been doing I can’t really blog about anyway. But, nonetheless, here I am.

Uni started this week. My first lecture was on Monday at midday, on the other side of campus from where I live. I woke at 7 am: first strike against the day. Janek was going to drop in to pick up something he left here so I sent him a text, telling him he could come over early. He arrived at about 8.30 am: first tick for the day. He had to leave soon after, however, to get to a meeting at 11: second strike. By a quarter to midday, I was ready for the lecture—ready to absorb information and engage in the intellectual life of university. I walked towards the university, crossed the footbridge, and then stopped. The whole area was cordoned off. I couldn’t get into the uni: third strike. I was freezing: fourth strike.

I asked some questions of the person who appeared to be in charge. She told me that some very corrosive chemicals had been discovered in the Pharmacy Building, so four of the surrounding buildings had been evacuated, and Science Rd had been closed. This meant that to get to my lecture I would have to walk around the boundary of the university to get in through another entrance: fifth strike.

First day—five strikes and two ticks. I went home, back to bed.

Feline acrobatics

In my experience, there is no other domestic animal that conducts itself with grace, poise and dignity like a cat does. A cat demands attention when it enters a room; it saunters gracefully as it moves and then has the uncanny ability to look into a human’s eyes and express such total disdain with just its facial expression. Cats seem to be in control at all times, conducting themselves with precision and elegance. They seem to think themselves better than the rest of the mere mortals that inhabit this earth.

Last night I was sitting up in bed watching TV while The Midnight Cat lay curled up in a ball at the foot of my bed, snoozing. As I sat watching, I started absent-mindedly stroking her with my left foot. I slowly stroked her outstretched legs and her tummy. After about five minutes she stirred and looked up at me from her slumber, shooting me the trademark disdainful look that only a cat can pull off. I realised that my absent-minded foot rubbing had crossed the line from appropriate cat patting to an invasive sleep-depriving violation.

Suddenly, with no warning at all, she attacked my foot with her four paws; she grabbed my foot with her front paws and dug the claws into my skin while she kangaroo kicked my heel with her back paws. The action of the kicking forced her body to be propelled backwards across the bed. She was on the edge of the bed. It was at this point that her dignity and grace went out the window as she realised she was going to fall off the edge. Cats can jump effortlessly, leaping from heights that are comparatively huge distances, with that same sophistication they always exhibit; this was not like that. I could see her face when she realised she was going to fall, watching the horror as she dug her front claws into my foot and tried to use her back legs to grab onto the mattress.

I laughed as this graceful little creature, formerly so poised and commanding, fell from the bed and back down to earth where us mere mortals walk so humbly.

Meeting the new boyfriend

On Sunday I journeyed to the coast to stay with Lala and Cal for a week. Luckily, I scored a lift with Janek, and we went out to lunch with most of The Beach Crew: Lala, Tia, Bee, Bin and Alex.

It’s hard to say who was more nervous as Janek and I drove to the coast... When we got into the car after lunch, Janek clutched his heart dramatically and declared his heart was beating a mile a minute, so it’s safe to assume that he was as nervous as I was. For my part, I discovered that my nerves were misplaced as I saw Janek and my family get on like a house on fire.

As in all good Meeting-The-New-Partner scenarios, as soon as The Partner was out of earshot, The Presenter asked the timeless question: “So what do you think?” The response was, without exception, “I love Janek! He’s so lovely!” Another yay.

Awkward

Janek met Mum the other day, briefly, as we all met in a Maccas carpark halfway between Mum and Dad’s and the city.

A few days before hand I said to Mum, “Please don’t embarrass me!” The night before the meeting took place, she told me she had two questions to ask me. “Firstly,” she demanded, “why do you think that I’d embarrass you in front of Janek!?” “I dunno...” I said, “I guess I’m just covering my bases.” Mum grumbled in that way that Marge Simpson does when she’s not entirely satisfied with an answer.

At this point in the conversation, I got up and walked into the next room, my bedroom, to get my glasses. She continued talking to me as I rifled through bags in my room: “The other thing...” she started, then stopped to choose her words. “Now I’m not going to ask if you and Janek are doing it, but...” she faltered, “well I need to know you’re being careful.”

I died standing up.

“Yes Mum. There’s a box of condoms in my bedroom, you have nothing to fear.” Her reply: “Oh good.”

I continued searching in silence for the elusive glasses. After five minutes I couldn’t restrain myself from declaring “I cannot believe you asked me that, Mum.” “Well, you know, sometimes teenagers get carried away and don’t think of this kind of things.” “But I’m not a teenager, Mum, I’m nearly twenty-five.” “I know, I know, but I had to say it.” I continued searching in silence.

The next day, about fifteen minutes after the appointed hour, Mum and I drove into the carpark at Maccas and parked the car next to Janek (who had been there for half an hour, for fear of arriving late and making a bad first impression on my mother). The way Janek tells it, I leapt out of the car as soon as it stopped moving, bounded over to him and kissed him. In reality there was no leaping or bounding; however I did kiss him, though there was no tongue. This shocked him for two reasons: it was in front of my mother and it was in a Maccas carpark in the middle of Western Sydney. They met and talked briefly, but as Mum and I were (fashionably) late, we had to leave quite quickly.

There was no embarrassment, no awkward questions and she was very impressed with Janek. Yay.

Lo que os voy a decir

My speech from tonight:

I only have a few minutes to squish in ten years worth of history and experience... So what I’m going to do is tell you a little of my story and give you some of my thoughts on life as a gay Catholic man and on how GLBT Catholics fit into the church. I’m not a theologian; I don’t know much about theology and I’m not that well versed in the Bible. And to be honest, a lot of what I believe originally comes from the minds of others that I’ve taken on board myself... But what I do know is God. And God is love; it’s as simple as that.

Growing up, we didn’t go to Mass regularly and I went to public school so it’s not like I had the whole Catholic School upbringing thing. But my mother’s parents are both European immigrants and we have the fairly stereotypical Catholic immigrant family, so we were taught about the Church and God, Jesus and the Pope, Mary and the Saints and all those wonderful people. So I have always believed in God since the cradle pretty much... I had a very happy childhood, my parents were (and are) wonderful parents, and although sometimes it was like World War III with my sister, we did get on most of the time.

So there was nothing remarkable about my childhood. Except that from a very young age, I started to look at other boys. When I was five, I had a crush on the male school captain of my primary school, though it was very innocent at the time, and I thought nothing of it because I figured everyone else had the same feelings. But as I got older I realised—as clichéd as it sounds—that I wasn’t like the other boys. I started to look at the other boys in the same way that the other boys looked at girls. At home, I was taught that homosexuality isn’t normal, though my parents have thankfully changed their tune on that one, so I pretty much denied my feelings even existed for all of my childhood and my teenage years.

I went to a Catholic youth group when I was 15 and it was then that I started a real faith in God, as distinct from a belief in Him. My faith deepened, and so did my preoccupation with being abnormal. I was hearing things like “being gay isn’t normal, you’ll never be happy, it’s wrong and it’s not good for you” in one ear, yet I still thought that guy looked hot in his swimming suit. I didn’t acknowledge I was gay at all—in fact I didn’t even use the word “gay” in reference to myself until in my twenties—but I used to pray for hours on end that I would be normal because I felt so dirty. They was something like “God, don’t let me be... ‘like that’... I just want to be normal”. I even tried to deny God for a while; I guess I figured that if I had to be gay, it would be much easier without God breathing down my back. But neither worked because in the back of mind I always knew the truth.

Nonetheless, while I still believed in the existence of God, I tried to put as much distance between him and me as I could, since I felt so dirty and sinful, so I stopped going to Mass when I was 18 and did my best to forget about the whole thing. After a long time I realised that my teenage prayers were answered: I’d prayed to be normal and I was normal. If I’d ever prayed not to be gay, and I don’t remember using that word but you never know, then the answer I got was a “no”. God will always answer your prayers, doesn’t mean you’ll like the answer. I was pissed off at this for a while... I had to get my head around it, I had to learn that it was ok to be myself ... to be gay.

I finally admitted being gay when I was 21, though I didn’t really tell anyone until I was 22, when I told some close friends and a few of my cousins. The first person I told was a close friend. She said “I know”. So I said “Well why didn’t you say anything then!?” “How do you start that conversation?” she asked. Slowly I started telling people in my life, and eventually I told my parents in March last year. It was your typical “Mum, Dad, sit down, I have something to tell you, I’m gay” kind of scenario. Dad said, almost immediately, “I don’t give a shit if you’re gay. You’re my son and I love you.” Mum took a little time to get used to the idea but they’ve both really supportive now. I told my sister in May last year. That didn’t go so well; we didn’t really speak about it for nine months but after a long night conversation we’ve reached a point where we can agree to disagree.

Anyway, last year some time, long after the whole coming out journey had begun, I reached a really interesting point... I had spent the previous ten or so years coming to terms with being gay and now I was ok with it and then suddenly I found myself in a spot where I had to come to terms with being Catholic. I started going to Mass again, because I really felt a yearning to go back, and although I didn’t feel dirty or sinful anymore, I wasn’t quite sure how I fit in, or how it all fit together. I started reading up on a few things, a few websites and books whose names I have now forgotten, and I started to piece things together

Friends often ask me why I keep going to Mass and participating in Church life, given the Church’s teachings on homosexuality... I don’t need to go over them too much, you all know what I’m talking about I’m sure. But the reason is this: I can separate my faith in God from the Church’s mistakes. I do believe the Church to be the representative of Christ on Earth, but being human-made, it’s flawed. It is, however, the best we’ve got. I guess I have a pretty simple way of looking at things. For me, religion isn’t about the rituals or the hierarchy. For me, it’s more spiritual: a connection between your deepest self and your Creator, not a bunch of rigid rules... “The Church” isn’t so much the hierarchy... the Pope, Bishops, Priests—who all have an important role to play don’t get me wrong—but “the Church” is the people who form the body of Christ... I go to Mass and participate in the Church to connect with God and with Christ, and with fellow believers.

Anyway this is how I see things... I believe we’re all created in God’s image. He made me exactly the way He wanted to make me. He made me gay. He also made me right-handed... and about a million other things. I believe that, since I was created this way, my sexuality is a gift, just like the other gifts I’ve been given. I don’t understand why God created me, or any of us, gay or why He created others straight, but who am I to question Him? I believe we all have the right to love and be loved in return, whether that’s a man or a woman or whoever. I believe that love is love, regardless of the gender of the people involved.

Being gay and Catholic is tricky... everyone seems to have an opinion... But ultimately, it doesn’t matter to me what anyone thinks of me or the way I live, the only thing that matters is what God thinks. My salvation, my hope, my life, my happiness—they don’t depend on any person but they’re all fully dependent on God. It isn’t anyone’s business what I do with my life, whether it’s who I’m attracted to, or who I sleep with; it’s between me and God... no one else.

I believe that God is a God of inclusion. Jesus ate with the tax collectors, He called the little children to Him, He said that “in my Father’s house are many rooms”. This is what tells me there is definitely a place in the Church for gay & lesbian, bisexual, transgender children of God. A priest joked in his homily once that God cannot count... because we are all number one in His eyes. He went on to say that Jesus told us that in Heaven, the last will be first and the first will be last. “Surely”, he said, “Jesus was talking about minority groups like us that are persecuted just for being ourselves, just for being different. This isn’t how it is supposed to be, we are all a part of this Church, flawed though it sometimes is.” I strongly believe that. It seems sometimes to me that “the Church” doesn’t want me or other queer Catholics around... but then I remember that God is a God of inclusion and of love... and I see that everyone has a place in the Church.

I believe that God is love. The Bible says that in black and white. So how could God possibly deny people who are, among a very long list of attributes, gay? Or lesbian? Or bi? Or transgender? That isn’t my God. God is love.

And love gives worth to all things... and it always wins in the end.

Except in bed...

I went to dinner with Eryn & Liz the other night at Eryn’s place (though it was Liz, Sue and I who did the cooking… work that one out…) and we had fortune cookies after dinner. For as long as I can remember, we’ve always got a laugh by adding “in bed” to the end of all the fortunes...

• Happy news is on its way to you in bed.
• Stop searching forever, happiness is just next to you in bed.
• An iota of practice is better than tons of teachings in bed.
• People will believe most anything that is whispered to another in bed.
• One thing you can give and still keep is your word in bed.
• Raise your sail one foot and get ten feet of wind in bed.

But as XKCD points out, these are further “improved” not by adding “in bed” but “EXCEPT in bed”...

Conservatives and doctrinal extremists need only apply

For the last three months I have been fighting an uphill battle to get the WYD sexuality forum happening. Cardinal Pell has done his level best to silence us and stop the forum. I’ve avoided venting about it on my blog because I didn’t want the two connected; I didn’t want to give Pell and his lackies any ammunition to use against us should the link be made. But now I don’t care. Now I’ve had enough of this theocratic censorship.

What has stuck out during all this is that it’s so sad that the church powers-that-be need to resort to such extreme measures to get its message across rather than letting them rest on their own merits.

First, the cardinal instructed our host to cancel the event, forcing us to find a new venue. Next, I started a group on the “official” networking site, www.xt3.com, for gay Catholic youth. Apparently it offended someone out there in xt3-land because in 48 hours it was deleted for being a “protest” group and anti-church with no warning and no explanation. I’m not that surprised, considering reports that the site has stifled debate on homosexuality in its forums. In one particular thread I read, every second post had been deleted so the entire “discussion” was just a one-sided anti-gay diatribe by the same few people.

What is the church afraid of? That its members have their own ideas? Make their own decisions? Have a grown-up discussion that might just contravene church doctrine? It seems to be the case that only conservatives and doctrinal extremists need try to participate in World Youth Day or the church. How sad is that?

One month

This week I’m spending the week at home with Mum & Dad. The plan is to relax and do nothing, except write my speech and catch up on some reading, but experience tells me this is not going to be the case. Anyway, this post is going to be very uneventful; it’s late and I’m tired, but I wanted to say hello and let you all know I’m alive and well.

Things with Janek are going well… I don’t want to jinx it by going into graphic details, so I guess you’ll have to use your collective imaginations. Grin. He’s incredibly sweet, charming and has made the last month fly by on a cloud of grins, double entendre and corny innuendo.

In other news, the Midnight Cat puked on my carpet the other day. So that’s that. More to come soon!