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A review by julenetrippweaver
High-Risk Homosexual by Edgar Gomez
5.0
High-Risk Homosexual: A Memoir, by Edgar Gomez is a strong-voiced, astute and direct story by a Latinx gay boy growing up in Florida. In FUCKING Florida where it is now illegal to say the word GAY; and where Pulse nightclub was blasted by a repressed gay man with a AK-45 in 2016; and where a true education is being repressed by a facist governor.
Gomez grew up in the wake of the AIDS war, in a homophobic society. But first he was in "...Nicaragua, where homosexuality was illegal until 2008," so how could his mother understand his gayness? In fact the book opens with his uncles taking him to a cock-fight and then to a bar where they set him up to have sex with a young woman. To man him up. He shows us this world of Latinx men. How does a young gay boy escape machismo? To live a true life one must escape. Will he? And he still get the family love he needs. His brother, distant when they meet in person, his mother because he is a mama's boy. We want to see him do well, to be loved, to escape, to become who he is. He shows the journey in rich detail.
Pulse was the nightclub he knew, but he wasn't there when it happened, he had moved away. On a family visit his brother drove past the club, with no words. The night of the shooting, far from his home in California, he hoped his brother would call him to ask how he was doing. He called his brother, left a message. "I don't know what I was thinking. Of course he didn't call. I'd never told him I was gay. It's one of the few things I assumed he knew about me without me having to say it. Him reaching out would have been a breach in our unspoken contract about not discussing my sexuality. Perhaps he though he was doing me a favor. I would have been as uncomfortable with it as him. Yet, in the hours between the shooting and my voicemail, I'd had complete strangers embrace me, acquaintances I hadn't spoken to in years offer their condolences. None of it meant anything if the person I knew the most and the longest couldn't be bothered. After Pulse, more than ever, I needed Hector to say the obvious thing out loud: I don't care that you're gay. I love you. Once would have been enough. I am a love camel. I would have made that last." A text came the next day: Sorry, dude, I thought you were okay. In the car he thought/hoped, his brother might be making up for that night? But no, they kept driving in silence past the club.
He examines the life of Omar and Seddique Mateen, the shooter at Pulse and his father, writing, "If at that age he was interested in men, he would never told his father. Like me he would have been terrified of telling anyone at all." A boy of Afghan descent, who was bullied, in a Muslin family, a father firmly against homosexuality, with high expectations for his only son. Any gay traits would have had severe penalties. Gomez writes, “I’m curious, knowing the way minorities are dehumanized in this country, what it means for an elementary school student to lack remorse. What would have been the appropriate response to terrorism for a child who must have understood that the images flashing onscreen would ruin the lives of so many in his community?”
The title "High-Risk Homosexual" comes from the wording on his PrEP prescription written by his doctor, Dr. Chen. "Will people think I’m one of the good ones? Careful? Sexless? Or that I’m reckless, and I’ll sleep with anyone who’ll have me? Because being perceived as good doesn’t feel nearly as important to me anymore as feeling good?" These stigmatizing beliefs still persist.
On the meds his liver tests come back abnormal, elevated. “HIV is treatable. It is, I’ve heard people say, no worse than a cold, when you consider all of the medical advancements that have been made. A very, very expensive cold. Nonfatal, so long as you have insurance. There is medicine, you know. There’s PrEP.” But the AIDS meds still have long term effects. And there is the other side of the coin, "For the uninsured, for those whose bodies reject the drug, in many parts of the world, fear is not irrational. I can’t shrug off the prudish, pre-PrEP version of myself and hide him somewhere deep in my closet like a gaudy old outfit I used to adore way back when."
This is an important book that examines the emotional cost of being one's true self in a society filled with hatred. He writes his own story. "Though I hated being reduced to a narrative of victimhood, my counselor wasn’t wrong to assume I needed help. The truth was that I couldn’t have afforded to go [to college] without aid, so I put my pride aside and applied. And it was this same truth that I was learning again years later: my story wasn’t just mine; who I was resided somewhere between how I saw myself and how everyone else—my counselor, the organizers of those scholarships, Dr. Chen—did."
Gomez shares his journey of growing into his true self. He got his degrees. He keeps his mother's love. Hopefully there will be more books coming from this emotionally wise and talented young man.
Gomez grew up in the wake of the AIDS war, in a homophobic society. But first he was in "...Nicaragua, where homosexuality was illegal until 2008," so how could his mother understand his gayness? In fact the book opens with his uncles taking him to a cock-fight and then to a bar where they set him up to have sex with a young woman. To man him up. He shows us this world of Latinx men. How does a young gay boy escape machismo? To live a true life one must escape. Will he? And he still get the family love he needs. His brother, distant when they meet in person, his mother because he is a mama's boy. We want to see him do well, to be loved, to escape, to become who he is. He shows the journey in rich detail.
Pulse was the nightclub he knew, but he wasn't there when it happened, he had moved away. On a family visit his brother drove past the club, with no words. The night of the shooting, far from his home in California, he hoped his brother would call him to ask how he was doing. He called his brother, left a message. "I don't know what I was thinking. Of course he didn't call. I'd never told him I was gay. It's one of the few things I assumed he knew about me without me having to say it. Him reaching out would have been a breach in our unspoken contract about not discussing my sexuality. Perhaps he though he was doing me a favor. I would have been as uncomfortable with it as him. Yet, in the hours between the shooting and my voicemail, I'd had complete strangers embrace me, acquaintances I hadn't spoken to in years offer their condolences. None of it meant anything if the person I knew the most and the longest couldn't be bothered. After Pulse, more than ever, I needed Hector to say the obvious thing out loud: I don't care that you're gay. I love you. Once would have been enough. I am a love camel. I would have made that last." A text came the next day: Sorry, dude, I thought you were okay. In the car he thought/hoped, his brother might be making up for that night? But no, they kept driving in silence past the club.
He examines the life of Omar and Seddique Mateen, the shooter at Pulse and his father, writing, "If at that age he was interested in men, he would never told his father. Like me he would have been terrified of telling anyone at all." A boy of Afghan descent, who was bullied, in a Muslin family, a father firmly against homosexuality, with high expectations for his only son. Any gay traits would have had severe penalties. Gomez writes, “I’m curious, knowing the way minorities are dehumanized in this country, what it means for an elementary school student to lack remorse. What would have been the appropriate response to terrorism for a child who must have understood that the images flashing onscreen would ruin the lives of so many in his community?”
The title "High-Risk Homosexual" comes from the wording on his PrEP prescription written by his doctor, Dr. Chen. "Will people think I’m one of the good ones? Careful? Sexless? Or that I’m reckless, and I’ll sleep with anyone who’ll have me? Because being perceived as good doesn’t feel nearly as important to me anymore as feeling good?" These stigmatizing beliefs still persist.
On the meds his liver tests come back abnormal, elevated. “HIV is treatable. It is, I’ve heard people say, no worse than a cold, when you consider all of the medical advancements that have been made. A very, very expensive cold. Nonfatal, so long as you have insurance. There is medicine, you know. There’s PrEP.” But the AIDS meds still have long term effects. And there is the other side of the coin, "For the uninsured, for those whose bodies reject the drug, in many parts of the world, fear is not irrational. I can’t shrug off the prudish, pre-PrEP version of myself and hide him somewhere deep in my closet like a gaudy old outfit I used to adore way back when."
This is an important book that examines the emotional cost of being one's true self in a society filled with hatred. He writes his own story. "Though I hated being reduced to a narrative of victimhood, my counselor wasn’t wrong to assume I needed help. The truth was that I couldn’t have afforded to go [to college] without aid, so I put my pride aside and applied. And it was this same truth that I was learning again years later: my story wasn’t just mine; who I was resided somewhere between how I saw myself and how everyone else—my counselor, the organizers of those scholarships, Dr. Chen—did."
Gomez shares his journey of growing into his true self. He got his degrees. He keeps his mother's love. Hopefully there will be more books coming from this emotionally wise and talented young man.