Through a Glass Darkly

                                           

It is almost twenty years since I left my wife and children. I married (twice) knowing all along that I was gay. Why are some of us gay and some not? People make fortunes proposing various theories ranging from genetic differences to overbearing parents. There is some evidence that random genetic factors do play a part in determining our sexuality in the same way as they play a part in determining, for example, if we will be left handed.

No one chooses their sexuality. Most of my gay friends, like me, knew they were different, if not gay, from childhood days. To this day, most people assume that everyone wants to be ‘normal’, i.e., heterosexual. Many people, particularly in religious circles, believe that sexuality is a choice and that those who feel that they are ‘gay’ can be helped to see the error of their ways and accept the social desirability of heterosexuality.

This assumption and the influence it forces on young people creates a dilemma for those of us who become aware that we are gay. The dilemma? Do we hide our sexuality or do we come out and face what fear: that if we ‘confess’, we will be ostracised? We find it hard to understand that once people know we are gay, we are accepted. I have gay friends who still hide their sexuality. They live in hell.

When I was wrestling with my unhappiness, and trying to work out how I could live with my children and be a part of their lives, it came down to a selfish fear.  Would I be ostracised? In the end, I was accepted.

Of course, having lived the lie for so long, some did get hurt, and hurt. I refer of course to my wife and children. It makes no difference to them if I argue that as a gay adolescent I faced anxiety and fear. It matters not to them that I look back on that part of my life with regret.

What do they care that when I grew up I had no gay role models? I knew of gay people, but they were the butt of rejection and disdain tinged with self-righteousness fueled by religious bigotry. I grew up amongst open hostility towards gay people. I did not want my loved ones to treat me like that.

As a teenager, I avoided contact. I was a lonely figure: the piano player in a school where people played Rugby League. I read library books when my peers played cricket. I tried to be a part of it, but I could not. I hid my true feelings and acted as others wanted me to for fear of being rejected by loved ones and friends.

Why did I get married? I did not become sexually active with men till I was twenty-eight. I persisted in affairs and flings with women, none of which made me happy.  Nonetheless, I knew that I could make my girlfriends ‘happy’ and I hoped that if I married my gay feelings might disappear.

That did not happen. I continued to store up stress and anxiety. I became irrational and tense, and was unable to set up a relaxed, loving rapport with my wife, or, it must be said, with my children. It was not that I did not love them, in my way, or in any way. I just ‘acted’ the role expected, but badly.

My wife knew something was wrong. When, after six years of marriage, I told her what the problem was, I do not think it was a total surprise. No. It was a horrendous shock and one that knocked her into an almost comatose state for days while she wrestled with the implications of what I finally had the guts to tell her.

Coming out as a gay parent is in no way an easy thing. I had two children whom I loved and a wife who to whom I owed so much for simply being my wife. She made me a much better person in many ways, but being with her seemed impossible for us both.

 Someone once told me that breaking out of the parental and spousal role must have taken real courage and strength. It was true, but that is no defense. The conflict between my relationship with my wife and my children and my need to be myself was enormous.

Others tell me that I followed my hedonistic desires and chose the easy way out, by running away from my responsibilities. The fact is that there is some truth in that. But nothing is that simple. Certainly, it is not just a matter of seeking sex. Put at its simplest, it as a matter of being happy.

‘To thine own self be true, and then it shall follow, as the night follows the day that you will not be false to anyone’.

How true. Having refused to be honest with myself for so long made the eventual decision to come out many times more difficult. And of course, the impact on those I should have loved was terrible beyond measure. That is what I regret. Pain is inescapable. Avoiding pain is not an option.

Choosing how we respond is what makes all the difference.

 In my situation, I could not ask my wife and children to respond in any way that suited me, any way that made me feel ‘better’. I had no moral right to ask anything.

From my first memories of being aware of matters sexual, matters not helped by parents who never broached the subject, I knew that I was attracted to men. It is as simple as that. I fought against it. I suppressed it. I lay awake at night tossing and turning and trying to work out why.

Did that make me evil? Did that make me a sinner as the church then implied?

Not at all! The real weakness and failing was the way I squashed it. It was my dishonesty. What dishonesty? Not being honest enough to accept what I knew that I was. Trying to live a life based on pretence, all the while hiding behind a smokescreen of outspoken homophobia.

When I confessed to my wife in 1982, Robin was starting school. My wife forced herself to act normally for the children. I remember once going to the school to be there as Robin started. I also wanted to at least say something to Noreen.

Were the children aware of the tension between us? Damn right they were.

When Noreen made her decision, it was that we should stay together for the sake of the children. I agreed! But what right did I have? None!

We managed to stay together for a few years, but the stress became too great, for all of us, including the children.

We had good times. My musical output was at its best during the tension, which led me to believe that creativity arises from some kind of moral imbalance. Cantata Buka, Segaropa, Ikhlas, Golekana – my first and still major works were written during those years. My recitals on the organ took on a creative edge. Most were well received.

It is strange that since we separated and I began my ‘normal’ life, my output decreased, and certainly, musically, lacks some of the passion that no doubt arose from those dark days of torment.

The decision to live together for the children’s sake was doomed. We went to church. We sought counseling. Nothing worked. I ask myself did I want it to? I cannot answer that question one way or another. Ultimately I could not cope with it any more. In my work I traveled a lot and I used that opportunity to satisfy my desires.

I decided to leave my family. I sat the children down in our house in Jakarta and told them I was leaving, but not why.  I still chickened out of the challenge to tell the real truth. I remember saying that I was leaving because ‘mummy and I cannot get along’. I recall Robin commenting, ‘do tell!’ with sarcasm that cut me to the quick.

The two children stood up even before I had finished and went to their bedrooms, slamming the doors with a force that spoke volumes. The devastating impact of it all on my wife and children can never be erased. Now my son is dead, and I cannot know for sure if he ever really forgave me. I do not think so.

I have the utmost admiration for those who have realised that were gay and stood by that knowledge openly.

To hide it out of fear of being ‘discovered’ and to carry on, often with overtly homophobic behavior, is the real sin. When some years later I finally ‘came out’ to the rest of my family, most were understanding and accepting.

Some cousins refuse to talk to me anymore because of my ‘sinful attributes’. Most of my friends are fine with things. Some of my colleagues shun me. But now, I am ‘true to myself’.

As I said, the tragedy is that my happiness came at the cost of the happiness and stability of my wife and children. You can argue all you like about ‘it taking two to tango’. That misses the point. The point is the pretence. That is what I shall regret till the day I die.

Not that I travel the world saying: ‘hey, look, I am gay!’ If people ask, I tell them. Simple as that! I worried about whether to include the issue in this memoir, and decided yes, against the advice of many friends. Why? Because it is what I am and it is what I am that is behind many of the good and bad things that have happened to me.

At least now I can hold my head high and be myself. Just do not ask me to defend my dishonesty. I cannot.