“Bulalo ka pala? Hindi ba kayo nandidiri?” When the hairstylist aske
d me this question, I did not get offended. I used to. I have been asked this question several times at different salons by different gay stylists. The first time I was asked this question, I turned maroon, scrambling for words but nothing seemed to come to mind except “no” paired with a cold shrug and a meeting of the eyebrows.
I already knew then that by referring to me as bulalo, they didn’t mean it in the literal sense of the word - the marrow in the bone of the beef shank boiled and mixed with vegetables to come up with a Bone Marrow Stew. They meant it as an offensive - to refer to gay men who have sexual and romantic relations with other gay men. Pretty old-school homosexual notions actually. Growing up, I had a gay uncle who had boyfriends who were straight. His friends too were like that.
When I came
out to my mom, she asked me if I was bulalo, and I said yes. That stirred her curiosity since the kind of homosexuality she knows is that of my uncle’s. After telling her that her notion of my sexuality is much different than what I am and that there gay men, like any ordinary heterosexual male or female, also have different tastes in men and have different approaches to love, sex, and morality. I had to go explain to her tops, bottoms, versatile, oral and anal sex - the whole package. But let’s reserve that coming out story for another entry.
“To each his own, I guess,” I curtly answered the stylist. Then I was barraged with questions like “Who plays boy and who plays girl?” So I had to explain to him and the other salon staff (who invited themselves to the conversation) the other kinds of gay relationships - something which they have heard of but were not really well-informed about.
Before I came out to my folks, I had a hidden case of homophobia, one of the probable reasons why I always ended up with a bad haircut since I opted to go to a barber or cut my own hair, lest our parlorista friends smell my homosexuality.
It’s different now. I walk in, talk to the recep, get a stylist, sit down and start talking to them. Most of the time, they get surprised when I tell them I’m gay (oh god, I can be extremely butch and suplado when I’m by myself).  Other times, after smelling my gayness, we immediately hit it off with conversations about showbiz, politics, and Men.
Oh how wonderful this gay world is!
