🧢Rhob🏹

Hey… I don’t even know where to start, but I guess I just need to get it out. A few days ago in Boracay, I finally told Mum and Dad. I said the words I’ve been carrying for years—who I really am, who I love, the life I want to live without hiding anymore. I thought maybe the beach, the sun, the family time would soften it somehow. It didn’t. Mum went straight into denial. Like, she heard me, but her face just… froze, and then she started talking about other things as if I hadn’t spoken. Dad didn’t yell or anything dramatic—he just went quiet. Really quiet and then walked out. We left the island, flew to Hong Kong, and he still hasn’t said a single word to me about it. Not one. That silence hurts more than any argument ever could. My heart feels so heavy right now, like someone parked a jeepney on my chest. I keep trying to cheer myself up—scrolling funny videos, forcing smiles in mirrors, telling myself “it’s only been a few days, give them time”—but every time I let my guard down even a little, the tears just come. I cry in the hotel bathroom, on the MTR, in random corners where no one’s looking. I’m homesick for a home that doesn’t quite feel safe anymore, and I miss the version of us that existed before I opened my mouth. And yet… there’s this other part of me that won’t shut up. The part that’s quietly proud. I did it. I said the truth out loud to the two people whose opinion has shaped my whole life. I didn’t wait until it was “safe” or “perfect.” I chose to stop lying to them, and in doing that, I stopped lying to myself too. My head feels clearer than it has in years. There’s space where the secret used to live. It’s bittersweet as hell—maluwang ang utak ko, pero mabigat pa rin ang puso. I have regrets, sure. I wish it hadn’t blindsided them during what was supposed to be a happy trip. I wish Dad would at least look at me. I wish Mum could let herself feel whatever she’s feeling instead of pretending it didn’t happen. But I don’t regret being honest. Not really. I keep telling myself they just need time. That love doesn’t vanish overnight, even when it’s confused or scared or disappointed. I hope—the universe, I hope—they’ll get there. That one day the silence turns into questions, then conversations, then maybe even acceptance. I know it doesn’t always happen that way, but I have to believe it can for us. For now I’m just… here. Not okay, but moving. Crying when I need to, breathing when I can. Trying to remember that I’m allowed to feel both things at once: devastated that they’re struggling with this, and still proud that I finally let myself be seen. If you’re reading this and you’ve been there, or you’re there right now—hug. We’ll make it. One messy, teary, hopeful day at a time.

Hey… I don’t even know where to start, but I guess I just need to get it out. A few days ago in Boracay, I finally told Mum and Dad. I said the words I’ve been carrying for years—who I really am, who I love, the life I want to live without hiding anymore. I thought maybe the beach, the sun, the family time would soften it somehow. It didn’t. Mum went straight into denial. Like, she heard me, but her face just… froze, and then she started talking about other things as if I hadn’t spoken. Dad didn’t yell or anything dramatic—he just went quiet. Really quiet and then walked out. We left the island, flew to Hong Kong, and he still hasn’t said a single word to me about it. Not one. That silence hurts more than any argument ever could. My heart feels so heavy right now, like someone parked a jeepney on my chest. I keep trying to cheer myself up—scrolling funny videos, forcing smiles in mirrors, telling myself “it’s only been a few days, give them time”—but every time I let my guard down even a little, the tears just come. I cry in the hotel bathroom, on the MTR, in random corners where no one’s looking. I’m homesick for a home that doesn’t quite feel safe anymore, and I miss the version of us that existed before I opened my mouth. And yet… there’s this other part of me that won’t shut up. The part that’s quietly proud. I did it. I said the truth out loud to the two people whose opinion has shaped my whole life. I didn’t wait until it was “safe” or “perfect.” I chose to stop lying to them, and in doing that, I stopped lying to myself too. My head feels clearer than it has in years. There’s space where the secret used to live. It’s bittersweet as hell—maluwang ang utak ko, pero mabigat pa rin ang puso. I have regrets, sure. I wish it hadn’t blindsided them during what was supposed to be a happy trip. I wish Dad would at least look at me. I wish Mum could let herself feel whatever she’s feeling instead of pretending it didn’t happen. But I don’t regret being honest. Not really. I keep telling myself they just need time. That love doesn’t vanish overnight, even when it’s confused or scared or disappointed. I hope—the universe, I hope—they’ll get there. That one day the silence turns into questions, then conversations, then maybe even acceptance. I know it doesn’t always happen that way, but I have to believe it can for us. For now I’m just… here. Not okay, but moving. Crying when I need to, breathing when I can. Trying to remember that I’m allowed to feel both things at once: devastated that they’re struggling with this, and still proud that I finally let myself be seen. If you’re reading this and you’ve been there, or you’re there right now—hug. We’ll make it. One messy, teary, hopeful day at a time.

I think I'm ready now to tell Ma and Pa that I am gay. 🥹