National Coming Out Month: Noel Alumit Writes to His Teen Self

Gay.com’s “Writes of Passage” project is a part of their work for National Coming Out month. With the recent spate of gay suicides in the news, Noel Alumit — American novelist, actor, and activist and one of the Top 100 Influential Gay People according to Out Magazine — wrote the following letter to his teenage self. Oh, and yeah, that’s is a pic of him in high school (with a perm). [Reprinted with permission.]

by Noel Alumit

Dear Noel at 17,

I’m writing you this letter in a hotel room in Orlando. The hotel is packed with gay men. I have a view of trees and a lake, and I’m sitting on a queen size bed with big fluffy pillows, wearing a comfy bathrobe. I’m going to be living at this hotel for a whole week, doing some much needed work. All expenses paid.

You might be wondering how we ended up here? How did a gay Filipino kid, ashamed of being who he is, end up in Florida surrounded by homosexuals? Well, you made some interesting choices, young man. But more on that later.

I’m writing you because I know you need a friend. I know you’ve just gotten off the number 10 bus, leaving the inner city of Los Angeles to stand on a corner in West Hollywood.

I’m writing you because I know you’re sad and lonely, incredibly so. Sometimes these feelings get so bad, you just want to crawl into a dark cave and die. Hold on. There are a few things that I want you to know:

Someday, you’ll dance. Like those guys you see in the bars. You see them— gay men, dancing. Someday that will be you. Head thrown back, filled with glee. This may sound hard to believe, because you don’t understand how those men, afflicted with homosexuality, could be so happy. Well, they are. You will, too. This loneliness, sadness you feel is temporary. I promise.

You’ll laugh. With other gay Asian men. I know you feel like you’re the only one. It’s 1985 and you don’t see other Asian people around in West Hollywood. Almost everyone you see is white. By 1995, there will seem to have been a burst of color in that gay mecca. By 2005, there will be an explosion. Gay people from everywhere, from all over the world, will be walking that same boulevard where you stand hiding, watching with curious eyes. I promise.

You’ll make love. I don’t want to tell you too much about this, because part of the wonder is your own personal discovery. However, may I suggest that you be a little more giving, not so selfish. I know you were raised to believe gay sex is bad, something dirty. There will be times when you have sex quickly, almost out of fear of being caught. Or worse, you wanted to get it over with, treating sex like some ghastly medicine you must digest: you know it’s good for you but you want to do it quickly. It’s not bad to be intimate with another man. It can be quite lovely. Kiss for long periods of time, before unbuttoning.

You’ll sigh. Every time you test negative for HIV.

You’ll cry. Because others tested positive. Then died.

You’ll sing. Sing their praises, those who died. It will be a tough time, I won’t lie. However, some of the greatest songs were inspired through heartbreak.

Which leads me to why I’m at this hotel in Florida. The US Conference on AIDS is being held here in Orlando. I’ve been doing AIDS work for 20 years now. It is packed with gay people, the leaders in the AIDS fight. It’s filled with straight people as well, trying to grapple with this AIDS thing that has carried into the new century.

One of the reasons I’m here is because I remember what it felt like to feel so lonely and sad. In other words, I remember being you. And what you’re feeling now will actually spur you on. You’ll perform and write books, exploring what it means to be gay and Asian. You’ll do decades of AIDS work all because you know incredible sadness and loneliness and how terrible it felt and how no one should feel that way and how maybe you can help alleviate that for just a little while.

This may seem hard to believe, but your sorrow will serve as a good foundation someday. I promise. I promise.

Sincerely,
Noel at 42

Noel Alumit is the author of Letters to Montgomery Clift and Talking to the Moon. He is currently working on a collection of short stories.

He is also on the Steering Committee of API Equality-LA.