On Being Gay
April 3, 2001

Usually, a person’s room is a mirror of their life. Pictures of friends, dusty nick-nacks, the every growing CD collection, and even the shirt tucked away at the back
of the closet are reflections of who a person is, was, and will be.  I look around my room to see if perhaps I can see who I am from the items I have meticulously collected over the years. From various books, to the painting created and given to me by a dear friend, from a globe that I received as a present from my first boyfriend, to the dried roses lovingly given to me by my current, I am constantly surrounded by reminders if who I am. There is even a physical relief map of the my home state, New Mexico, gracing my wall. And further down the wall hangs a golden cross that once belonged to my now deceased father.

This is who I am. I am the Godspell CD sitting in the rack along side the numerous Christian artists’ CDs, musicals, movie soundtracks, and classical albums. Five large maps sit upon the top of my desk, another reminder of a time in high school when I would watch the Persian Gulf War unfold on television, and track our movements
on my Rand McNally map in the comfort of my Eastern New Mexico home. Even my pen holder is unable to escape the touch of my hand. It holds a Marvin the Martian pen, a short-term collecting hobby I had while in college. Every detail. Every nuance. Right down to the Dr. Pepper can half full on my desk, tells the world who and what Brandon is. However, is the message accurate?

A rainbow flag isn’t draped over my bed, and nude male photographs are not plastered on the wall and ceiling. Apart from the Madonna and Cher music and the few books with titles such as “Jesus Acted Up” and “Rainbow Family Values”, you may never know I am a homosexual by entering my room. You may never know I prefer to sleep with men by looking at my nick-nacks. You may walk in and leave my room, and never see that Brandon is gay. But I am.

So, if it’s true that a room is the mirror of who I am, then you would simply need to look a little closer to find out that I am attracted to the same sex. I don’t announce it to the world, and I don’t announce it in my room. Where would you need to look to find out? In the night stand drawers? Sure, you might find a magazine or a video. On my computer? Yeah, you might find an erotic tale or love letter to a crush. In the boxes stored in my closet? While there you might come across cards and photos given to me my past loves, mixed in with the random exotic piece of clothing.

By noticing the positioning of these articles, you would soon discover something I believe many gay men want the world to know. You would notice that being gay is not the sum of who I am. However, it is still a large part of my existence. My experiences as a gay man have caused me to see other situations in life from a very different angle, which in turn shapes my mind to think differently than others not associated with or deeply involved within the gay culture. Likewise, my experiences disable me from viewing various events of which I am not accustomed. I constantly have to remind myself, that in order to grow as a person, gay or straight, bisexual or other, I must try to position myself in situations where that can occur. That has not been the case as of late, and it is something I am longing for.

My camera sits in the corner of my room as another testmament to who I am and the hobbies I enjoy. On the side of my desk is a journal where I log my life’s
events--events so personal I have never allowed anyone to view the journal’s contents. Next to the journal rests a dusty Bible. Within it’s covers, pages are marked and text is underlined. This is who I am. I am a multi-dimensional person. My constant amorphic
state-of-being remains in flux as I boldly march forward to the beat of a my own drum.

I believe Walt Whitman was on target when he stated within his poem “Song of Myself”:

I tramp a perpetual journey,
My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a
    staff cut from the woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, nor church nor philosophy;
I lead no man to a dinner-table or library or exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a
    knoll,
My left hand hooks you ‘round the waist,
My right hand points to landscapes of continents, and
    a plain public road.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

In my room, as in my life and in my heart, are treasures I have gathered along my journey. I have seen many point the way down small roads and alleys, but it is me who has to choose to wake up each morning and walk it once more. May my bag never grow to full, nor my heart too empty, to collect my experiences in order to pass them to the next willing soul. Because, this is who I am. Simple, meek, and humble. I am Brandon.