Prayers for Bobby

This is the one one of two movies that have ever moved me to tears. For the synopsis you will have to consult ‘Uncle Google’. It takes me to place where rejection based on sexuality leaves me in a black hole. In Bobby’s case he was successful in ending it. I tried. My fat fingers are still on my live body, typing all the bullshit away. I still live in constant fear of my family finding out and banishing me to some semblance of ‘no mans land’ – a solitary confinement of sorts. Some relief, although minute, comes from the fantasy of not paying black tax.

I largely blame religion for the discomfort. I was a devout Christian and I know the good book quite well. What it does not prepare you for is lack of tolerance born of blind ignorance. People think that being gay in a simple choice. Radio and TV shows that perpetuate this always amuse me. Who in their right mind would wake up one fine morning and decide to just get hard for someone of the same gender in some half hearted attempt to piss the world off? The mahogany closet has been strong in my case. My cousin was not so fortunate. His lack of computer literacy sold him down the river in a leaky Moses basket. He didn’t know that there was a browsing history that needed to be cleared at some point. Needless to say, the owner of the computer told his whole family about his ‘perversion’ and the whole family was summoned for and all-night-prayer session to try exorcise him. If anything, it made him more brazen in his resolve.

The church boys don’t make it any easier to remove temptation. What with their fuckboi haircuts and dressing while they sensuously pluck and stroke the instruments. `They are always so polite and happy to meet up during the week to chill over coffee. I think there is a gay whisperer inspiring what they wear, how they sound and what they like. I am over them now, though. It is too much effort to try flirting with someone who is not aware of what they know or want. That is how people get stabbed with large knives, NOT a penis (It happened to another friend but that’s a story for another day).

This same religion made me treat people like shit. The guilt was overwhelming. After flirting, I would verbally abuse the intended. After a mutual wank, I would have to wash my hands more than someone suffering from OCD. Kissing would lead to incessant gargling and sex led to bathing with the violent scrubbing of a rape victim. I prayed and fasted for something to give. I believed in hope of a miracle. The lack of answers was more vivid than the tangible nothingness of a clear blue sky. They say God is love. How would someone who loves me create me with a flaw that HE has condemned? Out of this came the skeptic that is me. I make no apologies. King Julian, another TV reference, is my role model on this. I make no apologies for the elements of my character that I cannot change. He clearly states, ‘ Apologising is for the weak and wrong’, of which I am neither.

The small town I’m currently living in leaves me emotionally exhausted as I’m unable to be myself. Beyonce’s spirit that dwells within has to remain under lock and key. Every now and again it tries to escape. It also lives in fear. The last time it escaped, a friend failed to cope with that ‘reality’. To this day we do not acknowledge each others existence in any way other than a short Facebook ‘Happy Birthday’.

At the end of the day, we all want the same thing. We all want to belong. We all long to be loved and accepted. Love somebody…