Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

It has been six years since my last confession. I am an undergraduate student at UP Diliman now. The people here are different, and the place, too. Students and professors are very alien to me; they act differently from what I am used to. My academics are challenging but good, and I am learning something new every day, about the world and myself.

And I am a pansexual now. Forgive me, Father, but is that a sin?

People say that you become braver each time you face danger. This is not true. I would know because my fear never got any less each time a person in scrubs pokes a needle into my spine, preparing me for intubation, or when I went for a CT scan. It was always scary, the threat at my bedside.

The fear only subsided when I finally had the chance to step out of the hospital and be raised in a normal home, with my parents attending to me. It was all thanks to you, Father. I only had the chance to live normally because your will is so, and for that, you have always had my devotion.

Yet I cannot remember the last time I prayed.

It feels like a lifetime ago, but I used to pace the church aisle on my knees. Clutching my rosary, I recited the vespers from the prayer book. I would always be present during Sunday mass, Bible studies, church camp, and charity drives. Faith is work, and it is one that I never got tired of. Believing and belonging are penances, but one that I will always be happy to pay for.

I did good things because it was the least I could do.

So, when I left the church—the community that housed my pain and suffering–six years ago, my gut wrenched, and I felt like an ungrateful child. I felt like I betrayed you, my savior and redeemer, because of a different pain inflicted upon me by my love for you.

I think people have a warped sense of my sexuality. I was born like this; I did not choose it. I would not have chosen a life that would only bear discrimination, because all I want is love that does not hurt.

Forgive me, Father, for leaving my creed but I was caught in the crossfire between my faith and yearning for an honest life.

I will give up meat. I will live a life in poverty and charity. I will give all my money to each beggar I see on the street. I will do anything, but I cannot live a lie. Please, Father, I beg of you, accept me for who I am.

Being a member of the LGBTQIA+ community is not a matter of praying and trying. I cannot—no matter how hard I try—remove this character that you say corrupts me and disrespects my church. I wish it was that easy. I used to lay in bed, wishing that I am heterosexual. Because then, I will be wholeheartedly accepted by my church, immune to discrimination from people.

Every single day, I miss the bliss of praying and meaning it. I miss having a figure to turn to when I am unsure and being part of something bigger than myself. But most of all, I miss being loved and not having to choose between you and my truth.

The underlying need to pray is from the fear of danger that still does not veer away from me. I am scared, Father, of you and your people. All these religious hate crimes are like the crusades–death to those who believe differently. How I wish you and your people would become our solace instead, because the truth is, we never turned our backs on you. We only ask for your understanding. And so, in our fight for safe spaces, we must be braver even if we stand alone–even if we stand on the doorstep of death.

I do not wish to be different, not anymore. You made me the way I am. I believe that you exist, that is why I chose to be an agnostic theist–someone who believes someone is out there, loving and guiding me for who I am.

Father, I will be a year older tomorrow. All I wish for is a space in your heart and a space on this earth.

I am tired of fighting, so when we meet, I hope you don’t turn me away. I wish that you will embrace me because I lived my truth, just like all the people from my community. But for now, I hope that the people on your earth do the same, because we are no different from them. We are all humans after all, capable of loving and being hurt.

One of these days, I hope to return to your arms and be accepted for what I am. Until that day, I will continue walking with the colorful flag draping from my arms.

Forgive me, Father, if my form of love is a fall from your grace. I love you, but for now, I think we will have to part ways. ●