Late to the Party

Kumusta ka! And for all you non-Pinoys, howdy and hello! For those unfamiliar with me, you’ve reached the blog of Rod Pulido. (Please take off your shoes before entering.) I am Filipino American, an aspiring YA author, a proud father, and a happily married husband of twenty years to an amazing, loving wife. 

Oh, yeah. I’m also bisexual. 

Welcome to my coming out party! (In lieu of gifts, please donate to an LGBTQ+ non-profit of your choice.)

So, how did I arrive here? Let’s rewind five years.   

During a February, 2016 interview, the legendary boxer Manny Pacquiao made homophobic statements, saying that queer people were “worse than animals.” His comments set off a firestorm of controversy and divided the Filipino community worldwide. As a long-time Pacquiao fan, I was angered by his ignorance, and being a fierce queer ally, I felt betrayed by his homophobia. Pacquiao had been my hero, but I could no longer support him.

Prior to the Pacquiao incident, I’d been mulling over a story idea about a bullied teenager who learns to defend himself by studying the boxing matches of Manny Pacquiao. Finding the premise a bit too Karate Kid-ish, I set it aside for the time being. After Pacquiao made his infamous comments, I realized that my story idea would be much more compelling and timely with a queer protagonist. I imagined a bullied gay teen who learns to fight because of Pacquiao, only to be shattered when he discovers that his hero is homophobic. The premise was poignant and had the potential to be groundbreaking. The story needed to be told, but I wondered if I was the one to tell it. Around that time, the discussion concerning Ownvoices in publishing had begun to address issues involving authenticity and underrepresented points of view. Ownvoices serves to promote stories written by authors with the same marginalized background as their lead characters. I was a big proponent of Ownvoices, but I knew that very few Filipino American authors were breaking into the industry—straight or queer. If I didn’t take it upon myself to write this very Fil-Am story, who would?  

Despite my reservations, I dove into the research. I studied Pacquiao’s matches, I read up on boxing technique, I visited boxing gyms, and even allowed myself to get punched in the face a couple of times to remember exactly what it feels like to get, well, punched in the face. (Spoiler alert: It hurts like hell.) All the while, I interviewed queer friends about their experiences and their views on Pacquiao’s comments. I began to write, and the story poured out of me. I wrote about a pair of comic book geek protagonists, the excitement and innocence of finding your first love, and how unchecked bigotry can lead to violence—themes that intimately spoke to my life experience. To my astonishment, I started to have thoughts and memories that forced me to struggle with my own sexual identity. I recalled awkward boy crushes I’d had when I was younger and romantic infatuations with athletes that I’d long ago forgotten. It’s a bit disconcerting when you realize that as a kid, you admired a certain baseball player more for his cute smile than for his play in the field. Maybe this explained why I’d blush and feel flattered whenever a hot queer guy made his interest in me known.  

I was excited yet shaken by these thoughts. I’d met and started dating my future wife in the 9th grade. She’s the only person I’ve ever been in love with and our relationship is the only serious one that I’ve been in. What would these self-discoveries mean for our marriage? Not much, I decided. I was in love with my wife as deeply as I’d ever been, and nothing could change my feelings for her. So, was I bi? If so, was I now in the closet? I wasn’t sure, but maybe completing the writing would help me figure things out. Spurred on by self-discovery, I set my concerns aside and finished my manuscript, which I titled, Chasing Pacquiao.

Fast forward a year later. On the strength of Chasing Pacquiao, I was able to finally sign with a literary agency. Representation and it feels so good! To my delight, there were a few interested parties. Each praised my emotional and timely storytelling, and a couple of them were even surprised that I identified as a straight cisgender man. I eventually signed with the intrepid Jim McCarthy of Dystel, Goderich & Bourret. After a short period of rewrites, my new agent and I set about finding a publisher for Pacquiao.

During the first round of submissions, we received much positive feedback. Editors loved the boxing storyline, the quirky queer characters exploring their first romance, and the authentic portrayal of Filipino American culture. But a few had reservations about publishing a queer story written by a straight man. All of them ended up passing. I was disappointed and a bit concerned, but still optimistic.

In the second round, we found hope in a young editor who was excited about Chasing Pacquiao, but had a few story issues. She said that if I were open to making revisions based on her notes, she’d love to read a future draft. I enthusiastically agreed and set to work implementing her ideas. She helped me focus the main storyline by suggesting I cut an extraneous subplot and pointed out a few scenes where I could make the dialogue more character revealing. I was grateful to work with her and thrilled about my growing prospects of becoming published.

After reading the new draft, the editor was impressed with the changes and wanted to discuss my project in more detail. I was beyond ecstatic! After years of hard work, the end zone was in sight. Soon, I would no longer have to refer to myself with the dreaded qualifier of “aspiring” author.

The day before her staff meeting, the editor and I chatted on the phone to get to know each other better and discuss the possibility of her representing my project. We shared our pandemic quarantine stories and talked about the manuscript and my inspiration behind it. I felt we were connecting. She was personable and insightful, and I imagined working with her for the long term.

And then she asked me about my home life.

I proudly told her about my lovely wife and how we were high school sweethearts, plus our precocious, yet incredibly messy, son. “Oh,” she replied, “I didn’t realize you weren’t queer.” Her tone had shifted from engaged to uncertain. I began to worry. She expressed concerns that the story wasn’t truly Ownvoices because of my sexuality. I wanted to reply, “It is Ownvoices because not only am I Filipino, but I’m probably bisexual!” I wanted to confess to her about my boyhood crushes and all the times a playground bully had tormented me with a gay slur. How those experiences informed my writing and made it true and real. But how could I? I was still in the process of re-evaluating my sexuality. I hadn’t even broached these very personal issues with my wife, how could I reveal them to a stranger? Even if I did admit my feelings, it would only appear as a desperate stab at credibility. So, I kept my thoughts private, and we cut our talk short.

The next day, my agent sadly informed me that the editor had passed on Chasing Pacquiao. I was crushed and confused and more than a little angry. She’d been so enthusiastic about my writing—up until she found out I had a wife. As the pandemic months passed, I fell into a depression, and the realization set in that my novel might never find its intended readership.

Then one day, during an animated discussion about my manuscript, my wife jokingly said, “Maybe you’re bisexual, sweetie.” That one throwaway comment led to some lengthy, heartfelt, sometimes awkward discussions with her about everything I’d been processing for the past two years. With the help of my wife and another dear friend, I was able to come to terms with being bi. I came out to my family, my agent, and now I’m coming out to you who are reading this. (Okay, if you want, send me gifts! Anything ube related, please.) 

The Ownvoices movement has done much good within publishing. Authors of color and LGBTQ+ writers are getting their books into the hands of readers who are starved to see themselves on the page. But there is also a rarely talked about downside. Closeted writers are getting passed over for publication and are being pressured to come out before they’re truly ready. Marginalized authors with fresh, vibrant voices are being shunted aside, all in the name of a hashtag that was supposed to help them get their stories told in the first place. Who has the right to tell a particular story, and who gets to decide this? These are questions that need discussing, although the answers are rarely as clear cut as publishing’s gatekeepers—the majority of who are straight and white—tend to make them. 

After time and reflection, I have no hard feelings toward the editor. She helped me improve my manuscript, for which I’m thankful, and I enjoyed communicating with her. She was only doing what she believed to be right based on what label I identified with at the time. But therein lies the problem. A label can never tell the full story, never sum up a person’s life experience, and a label should never be the determining factor in evaluating a writer’s work. Chasing Pacquiao is the exact same work now as it was then. Is it more authentic now that I’ve come out? Is it somehow a better story now? The publishing world is at war with itself over these issues, and the casualties are the very same marginalized writers that Ownvoices is supposed to uplift and protect.    

I still have hopes that Chasing Pacquiao will one day see publication. And even if it never does, I feel fortunate to have written it. The creative process helped me come to terms with who I truly am. I now see why I’ve always been such a strident defender of LGBTQ+ rights and why I was so determined to tell the story of a queer teen whose hero lets him down. Still, I can’t help but think about what might have been—for both my manuscript and the Filipinx community as a whole.

Salamat for making it through to the end—and a new beginning. This is such a huge step for me, and quite honestly, I’m afraid for what comes next. There are those who will try to scrutinize my happy marriage, question my decision to come out, or jump on the old fashioned hate pile. I can’t control how others will react. I can only tell my truth. I’ve always been a big believer in truth—both in my writing and how I live my life. 

My journey to reach this point has been filled with struggle and heartbreak, but also self-discovery, understanding, and love.

So this is me. Rod Pulido. Brown, bi, and proud.  

And for the first time in my life, I feel truly free.