The obscurity of homophobia

There is a quote doing the rounds on the Web, wrongly attributed to Morgan Freeman, which goes: “I hate the word homophobia. It’s not a phobia. You are not scared. You are an asshole.” Rather than paste the quote unadulterated on tumblr, I thought I would expand on this fascinating topic.

Homophobia is, to me, like to so many others, a mystery. It is one of those inexplicable accounts of idiocy that now and again crop up in human history, like racism and witch-burning. Actually, no: people probably burnt ‘witches’ because they were afraid. But gays?

One Internet user put it admirably: Imagine you are queuing at McDonald’s, and you are really excited for the McNuggets you are about to order. And then the guy in front of you orders a Big Mac and suddenly you explode, enraged at the thought of him not ordering McNuggets. Such is the unfathomable irrationality of homophobia to everyone but homophobes.

To this date, I have never heard an objective argument in favour of homophobia. It is a concept impossible to defend, even by those whose life is possessed by it. The closest some come to an answer is, perhaps, in religion. However, sin is but a moral code which cannot (and should not) be made universal; therefore, if not irrational, it is at least subjective. On the other side of the spectrum, some biologists argue that homosexuality is not “natural”. Except it is. We are all the products of nature. And the goal of Life is not to reproduce. Because Life has no goals, nor does evolution.

Please write back to me if you believe some light can be shed on the obscurity of this ailment. I just want to know why? Oh, and another interesting question: why are all the World’s great homophobes male?


Ode to home

It’s a funny feeling, not being at home. A feeling I have always found difficult to analyse and therefore mistrusted. But the feeling of having a home, of knowing where home is… that is an entirely different kind of feeling. It is warm and powerful.

Having been born and raised in Spain, I cannot consider myself a true third culture kid. That is not to say I don’t have identity issues (read: belonging). There comes a point in one’s life, however, when identity stops being that much of a problem, and home is where one feels comfortable. By searching for comfort you can therefore make yourself at home wherever you go. And I find comfort in two things: stability and good company.

That is why the place where I come from calls to me strongly as “home”: it is full of comfort – full of things I know and people I love. But I now realise that there are more things to be known and people to be loved, so I can have more than one home. And that’s OK. It’s a warm and powerful feeling.

Before leaving Spain and coming to study in the UK I wrote a poem which my brother put to music. At the time it was a song about the courage to leave behind all that I knew and embrace all that I didn’t. Today it still holds true as an ode to home: that place of memories and comfort.