"The first time I saw gay people on TV, it was during an ABC news package about Sydney's Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. My Egyptian parents were chomping through a bag of dried pumpkin seeds when the assault on our eyeballs took place. Muscle bears in backless chaps, shirtless lifesavers in tiny budgie smugglers, chunky women with buzzcuts and saucer-plate nipples revving their Harley-Davidsons down the strip."
"It was too much for my father, who announced: Atstaghfurallah: they should not show such things. Mum just sucked her teeth in dismay. But the sight of all the handsome, gleaming men sent a hot flush of excitement up my 12-year-old cheeks. For the next 20 years, deep in my closet of internalised homophobia, I would struggle with these competing forces of faith, family and community, in silence."
"Early on, I promised myself I would never be gay like that, never be so unashamed as those men on the screen. I would be dignified, respectful. A working gay in a collared shirt and sensible trousers. When I landed in Tokyo with my boyfriend for our first overseas holiday last year, I was still dogged by this lingering sense of caution."
A childhood television encounter with Sydney's Mardi Gras triggers both excitement and familial religious disapproval. The spectacle initiates two decades of internalised homophobia and tension between faith, family and community. A personal vow to remain dignified and restrained shapes public comportment. Years later, travel to Tokyo with a boyfriend revives caution around perceived cultural rules about public affection. Excessive self-monitoring creates tension in the relationship. Arrival in Shinjuku's gay district produces surprise and challenges preconceptions about expressions of gay identity and public behaviour.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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