Miss Revolution and the Party Animals

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I really don’t remember how my life was before I met Miss Revolution. I guess it was empty, lame, useless. I was always craving something I didn’t have a name for. But since I met her, she’s been going to bed with me every night. She’s my Number 1 dream and the canvas on which I draw all my thoughts. My canvas has been carrying the revolution for so long I can’t imagine what might replace it if it weren’t there, except the climax of actually achieving it.

Throughout all these years of gay activism, I was and still am one of those people who waits for protests to hold a sign that declares my existence and pride. And why not? I have nothing to lose. Do I risk being seen at a gay protest by someone who might tell my mom? Well, she already knows!

And throughout all these years, I’ve been to so many gay parties and celebrations that can fill up Facebook with hundreds of gigabytes. And I’ve met so many people who are out like me, proud to be gay, living the lifestyle to the extreme and are never afraid to actually declare in public that they are gay, enacting a lesbian kiss, wearing t-shirts that scream they’re gay, or bar hopping every single night.

And yet the irony is that in the protests, I don’t see any of those Party Animals who openly rock it every night. Some say it’s a matter of freedom, of choice. Well, I agree, but when you choose a certain lifestyle, there’s a price you have to pay, especially when you are in this country. And I find it really selfish to take advantage of every step forward taken in the history of our gay struggle and use this freedom to party when a lot of people are fighting hard for it while others are sleeping off one mean hangover.

I’m not angry because people party. I party myself almost every night; my whole life is a party.  But it really makes me angry when a little hint of revolution is thrown here and there in the form of small protests, those Party Animals don’t show up. I know, we the out people are not so many, but those who are suffocating in their closets need us, because the thought of freedom one day, and dreams of revolution are their only oxygen.

I will be very subjective here because I don’t understand how anyone can take for granted the bliss of not having to live a double life, of not having to hide even from their own selves, of not having to lie everyday, of not having to pretend that they are straight. I think it’s a responsibility that comes with the package of being out. No wonder the revolution is so heavy. It’s being carried on a few shoulders, while the rest are out there dancing and drinking.

I can’t blame the closeted people, the ones whose lives could be in danger if they got outed, or the ones who might lose their homes, families, jobs and so much more. But I give myself the full right to be angry at those who have nothing to lose, but don’t invest in furthering this revolution.

So if you are one of those who are out and partying every night, while ignoring those twice-a-year protests that are defending your human right to exist, come join us in our fight. I don’t even understand why I’ve to ask you to. I believe it’s a given to be part of it. And when you do, I promise I’ll even share with you Miss Revolution. I will let her sleep by your side, and let her fill up your life with this rush of blood that goes all the way up to your head, giving a new meaning to your entire existence.

Every inch of my body screams revolution from head to toe. Trust me you should try it.

Contributed by Crimson Curls

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