Metamorphosis
II.I.III
METAMORPHOSIS
2017… what a year. That year I learnt how to live. How to really live. That year, all those comfort zones holding me back went out the window. That year, the ball started rolling at hyper-speed, and I kept riding it like a pro.
Lemme backtrack a bit… One of the best things about studying medicine is the opportunity to go abroad for training. From summer schools and exchanges to electives and conferences, you get to experience all kinds of adventures whilst actually learning something. Plus, you get to see how medicine is practiced in other countries – different procedures, resources, and protocols.
My first of such experiences was a two-week course at the University of Manchester. It was right after the end of my second year in medicine, and I’d be traveling with Momma Bear (my best friend-slash-mother figure) and some other friends to a country I hadn’t been to before – so that alone was enough for me to join, not to mention that I’d be doing something that could potentially benefit my education and career. And so off we went.
The course was nothing short of incredible. We not only shared a classroom with some of the brightest med students in the world, but we also had the honour of being taught by world-class doctors. We got to practice things we wouldn’t have dreamed of doing at that stage, learn about some of the latest medical advances, and experience what it feels like to be on the forefront of medicine. It was exactly what I needed to reignite my passion after two years of going over theoretical aspects of medicine.
As amazing as the course was, it wasn’t really the highlight of my trip – not nearly. For once, the social aspect seemed to trump the academic one. It was my first time in the UK, so tha gang made sure to show me around as much as they could in as little time as possible.
On our first weekend there, we were gonna hit the clubs like all med students know how to. Whilst we might be all about the books and the cadavers, we still know how to party. Seriously. Seriously! You’ve never seen a med students’ dance-off or a beer-chugging competition! Anyways. Before heading to the bars, we stopped at our friend’s house for pre-drinks. Now this guy, let’s call him… Hugo… I had never met Hugo before. It’s kind of amazing how it’s usually the people I don’t know who leave such an indelible effect on me. Of course, I can only say this in hindsight. I knew nothing about him, although his appearance said a lot. Hugo was all dressed up in drag – lipstick, eye-shadow, mascara, a frilled blouse, wide-leg pants, heels. The whole shebang. Back then, I had never seen anyone dressed in drag before, except on TV or during carnival. Worse still, I had never even heard of RuPaul’s Drag Race at that point.
I guess it had kinda caught me off-guard. More than that, it made me feel uncomfortable – maybe a little awkward… hmm, maybe a bit… judgy? Me, a self-proclaimed liberal. Someone who always took pride in being on the side of the underdog. Someone for whom minorities were the majority, someone who had gay friends! Me – a supposedly pro-LGBT, pro-choice, pro-race, pro-whatever-it-is-that-ensures-equality-and-equity – judging someone simply for stepping outside of their gender norms.
In retrospect, it’s quite easy to understand. Back then, I had never been exposed to these things. Sure, I watched TV, read online blogs, and kept up with modern life, but that was it. I was still ignorant about many things (and I still am). Sex, sexual orientation, and gender were one and the same for me back then. Being faced with a new reality made me realise how sheltered I had been all my life. That, and the fact that no matter how open-minded you might think you are, there will always be some repressed, internalised phobias about things conventionally seen as ‘not normal.’
As the night unfolded and more drinks were downed, Hugo quickly became the life of the party. He piqued everyone’s interest – but he really piqued mine. This guy had balls. To make such a bold statement is no easy task. Back then, I thought I had balls. I had never felt the need to do such a thing, but if I had, would I have had the courage to go through with it?
To wear lipstick and heels in front of everyone? To expose myself to gossip and mockery? Maybe that was the whole point after all – to free yourself from all the norms that oppress us – not because you feel an urge to wear different clothes or put on make-up. Or maybe… maybe he wasn’t as confident as he appeared. Maybe this was all just a façade – someone hiding his own insecurities behind a layer of self-proclaimed uniqueness and individuality. More of these questions started popping into my head as I got more inebriated. All the while, we had gotten lost in a fervent discussion about politics, and suddenly, none of my quandaries mattered anymore.
All buzzed up and tipsy, we headed off to Canal Street, the centre of Manchester’s gay village. You don’t have to be a party connoisseur to know that gay parties are the best. It wasn’t my first time going to a gay club – in fact, I was actually looking forward to it. Gay parties are exhilarating – the music’s great, and it’s all about having fun. Everyone’s so disinhibited, so carefree, so glamorous!
But the first time going to one? I was such a mess! My friends had to practically drag me there. You see, my manhood was under threat. “What if they flirt with me and I’d have to decline? Would I look like a pompous prick? What if I’m seen by someone I know, and people just assume I’m gay?” And a million other questions that highlighted all my insecurities. Of course, I still had ‘liberalism’ under my ‘political views’ section of my Facebook profile. The audacity, huh?
Flash-forward to that night, and there I was – standing in line to get into one of the hottest clubs in the area, ready to dance and drink the night away. It was then, completely out of the blue, that I found myself thinking I wanted to experiment. To let go of my inhibitions, to be carefree, to have fun. It was always something I’d been open to.
It felt kinda like I never got around to it, like it’d be too much of a hassle to step out of my comfort zone. Not to mention, I liked girls – why would I want anything more? Also, it would come with a whole set of problems: having to rediscover myself, tell friends and family, be seen differently, be judged. I was perfectly happy being a boring, old hetero. But now that it had crossed my mind, I couldn’t live with the ‘what if?’. And so, by the time we finally got into the club, my mind was set. And soon enough, voila! I was experimenting. In a toilet stall. With a guy. A guy called Hugo.
Just like that, a new phase of my life had begun. I was too drunk to notice, but it had. Just like that, I was faced with another billion questions to mull over. “Am I gay now? Wait, does this mean I have to stop liking girls?! No, wait. That’s just stupid. When the hell did I become a dinosaur? Am I not hip n’ trendy anymore? And why the hell is yellow even a colour?”