It’s the eternal question that plagues thousands of people, decade after decade, especially those who still expect science to be the determining factor for the respect and dignity that every person deserves. Was I born, or was I made? Honestly, I think it’s a bit of both.
I have the enormous privilege of having grown up in a family that, from day one, embraced and accepted me as I am. While that spared me numerous traumas and wounds, it doesn’t mean it was easy. Beyond my parents and siblings, I grew up like any other working-class person, in a Mexican context characterized by machismo, homophobia, and violence. But mostly, I grew up and developed within the heteronorm.
I remember, at an early age, feeling something “different” from everyone else inside. From toys, television programs, and behaviors that seemed to attract me, but that made me feel guilty when the potential ridicule and rejection, broadcast in the media and in the school hallways, loomed like a horrible ghost outside the window. It was strange; I was scared, but also curious. Something was happening inside me, but there was definitely a lot going on outside as well.
Social structures and culture influence our behaviors, ways of thinking, and how we conduct ourselves. Pay close attention to what I say: all of this is learned, consciously or not, internalized and made our own, but it’s not imposed or incorruptible, because as individuals we can also negotiate with culture and everything that is put before us. What do we accept and what do we reject? All of this is what makes us.
What made me? Well, I knew I belonged to this wonderful community when, at seven years old, I discovered Carlos Rangel on YouTube with his character La Manigüis: a young man with long blond hair, colorful blouses, and mannerisms very much in keeping with the homosexual cliché, “poor thing, poor thing, poor thing.” A satire that, in reality, was intended to mock all homophobia and, on national television, say head-on, “Here we are, we are gay, and this is our space.”
But La Manigüis wasn’t the only character on that show that aired on Telehit back in 2002. “Desde Gayola,” produced by Horacio Villalobos, introduced me to Alejandra Bogue, with characters like Betty BO5, Teaurrina Fernández, and La Tesorito, and to Daniel Vives with his Super Mana. Regardless of how I was born, what came before made me, because I accepted it, internalized it, and made it my own. From that moment on, there was no content I liked more. “Jotería” has been with me ever since, and there’s no doubt that it made me who I am today.
However, there is something that, ultimately, made me recognize that I was born, not made. It’s something that, in due time, human beings experience. It’s something that can generate fear, sometimes trauma. That was the time it could have happened, but it didn’t. In reality, it happened in the healthiest way possible, in consensus, where we wanted to “try.” But it didn’t; the spark simply didn’t ignite. I understood, and so did she. We both understood.
But I understood it more because, unlike that moment, there were others, where the spark managed to ignite, where my body and hers responded almost as one. But this time it wasn’t about her, but about him. When people ask me if I was born or made, I always return to this memory and answer with another question: How could I have made myself, if my instincts were already formed from birth? There’s no way to create an impulse like that, much less force it. You either have it or you don’t.
On the other hand, there was a moment that, in my opinion, motivated me to think that there is a balance between being born and being made: the first live drag show I saw. It was something similar to falling in love, as an explosion occurred that leaped from my heart, descended through my stomach, and expanded through every vein in my body. It was as if the sparkle of their sequins, their metallic outfits, and their wavy wig fused with my blood. It was like a DNA that was activated when the lights went down and the music started.
This is something I continue to experience at every party, club, and LGBT event I attend. Because it gives me so much life when those entities full of light and joy appear on stage, under the spotlight, amidst the applause and the glamour of a diva. It’s a physical and spiritual experience. It’s as if birth and creation are linked, one from the other.
At 26, I’ve tried everything. I’ve let myself be and allowed myself to feel. But it wasn’t always this way. I confess that, at some point in my youth, I asked him, between tears and prayers, to change “that” inside me, if it was bad or harmful. But I felt nothing but love. His embrace and faith made me realize that there’s no way he could hate me for such a thing. And the only thing that changed inside me was the security and tranquility that accompany me and guide me to this day.
Was I born or made? A bit of both. I am one among thousands, with thousands of experiences that don’t represent each of us. I am a homosexual person who didn’t ask to be homosexual, but who is grateful every day to live in this body, in this mind, and in this changing world, because while there is still a long way to go, those left behind have built an insurmountable wall. To them, thank you for giving me the freedom to express myself, to have fun, and to celebrate myself.
And let it be clear, in case the eternal question persists: my respect and dignity do not depend on scientific explanations, experts, or my personal experiences. They depend on something that exists and transcends any ideology: my human quality.
Source: tribunademexico
