KEN & HARVEY’S

Harvey and I met at Leo and Joben’s wedding in Bohol on June 8th, 2024.

At the after party, a common friend Gina Tumlos introduced us.

And lay the foundations we did.

As the drag queen lipsynched to Beyoncé and the music boomed, Harvey told me about his dreams to reform our country’s criminal justice system. I also talked about the movements we’re building in WeSolve.

I was enamored by his intelligence and passion.

He added me on social media right after the party. I couldn’t add him back on Facebook, so I messaged him on Instagram.

We had breakfast together the next day with some of his officemates.

We’ve spoken every day since.

For those of you who are looking: I hope you meet someone, too, during our wedding. Among our best friends will be there. Our Singles Relations Officers will take care of you.

*** The 8Cs are now 10Cs: Since then I’ve added two more Cs which Harvey also possesses: canal (kanal humor) and cuddle-loving. (Ateneo 4Cs whomstdve?!)

Harvey and I decided to date exclusively in August, and to be boyfriends in September 2024.

I wanted him to be my plus one to my brother Cedie and Marianne’s wedding, so I knew I had to introduce him to my family before then.

Because of Harvey’s love, I mustered the courage to come out to my parents and extended family.

Since my philosophy about coming out is that it should not be a big event or a heavy conversation, I sent a message introducing Harvey to our family group chat:

My siblings and cousins were nothing but supportive. In our Abante cousins’ chat group:

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Mama and Papa did not reply for a few days, but they fetched Harvey and me from the bus terminal when we arrived for the Peñafrancia Fiesta.

I knew it was going to be okay when they started to ask Harvey for legal advice on the ride home.

At first, Mama wanted us to sleep in separate rooms in our house in Canaman, but Papa gave us two pillows and sent us both to one room.

We watched Lavender Fields, a telenovela starring Jodi Sta. Maria, enjoyed the Peñafrancia Fluvial Procession with Ma’am Leni. We also hung out with my Kapz best friends.

After spending a year together, traveling together around South Africa and India, and living in each other’s condos and spending time with each other’s families, I realized I am ready for married life with Harvey. I affirmed this decision in my silent retreat in 2024.

I counted the ways in which Harvey and I are a good match:

1. We both want a simple life. We both believe we have enough: we may not be the richest materially, but we are satisfied with modest comforts and value our time with family and friends.

2. We are both kanal and get each other’s humor. We grew up scholars to families of modest means. We get Pinoy pop culture references. He specializes in Marian Rivera memes (Quisiera empezar con tapas), and I in Salbakuta (Ayoko ng Ganitong Life, an iconic album that encapsulates true Filipino culture in 2003. Encapsulates?!)
3. We are both nerds. We never run out of things to talk about: volleyball, the power and limits of social movements, faith, the good and evil in humanity, the latest Twitter bardagulan, bubududu memes. We sit in each other’s classes—though I like his classes more than he likes mine. Harvey just taught his dream class: a criminal justice elective that goes beyond the formulaic way it is taught in law school, and critiques the systems of mass incarceration of the poor in our society. He talks about theories of punishment, wrongful convictions, and the idea of abolition. On the last day of his class, I got to give him a bouquet of sunflowers that Mama and I had made in the morning. I was so happy to see him happy, and his students so grateful that he is their teacher.

4. We both want and work towards a better country, though we differ in approaches and temperaments. We support each other in our public service work: I am helping Harvey organize his criminal justice reform study group and connecting him with the broader justice reform movement to help with his Congressional testimonies on the Revised Penal Code, last revised 1932. Harvey edits and proofreads my opinion editorials so I don’t get into any legal trouble in my public engagements; he gives me lots of advice about the constitutional and criminal law dimensions of our social movement work.

First-date hangouts with all our friends:

5. We try our best to be kind and understanding to each other. We feel welcome in each other’s spaces. We also consistently ask each other if we need space and alone time.
6. We generally have no problems with house chores or with money: we do laundry and taxes, iron each other’s clothes, clean the house, wash the dishes, make each other coffee and tea, take turns treating each other to meals and trips, take care of each other when we’re sick, visit each other’s loved ones, and make time for each other’s friends.
7. We handle conflicts well. We are outspoken about how we feel, and talk through our differences well. Our previous fights were about the necessity of violence in social movements in South Africa. Each time we say sorry to each other freely and sincerely when we make mistakes. There is very little ego in our relationship.
8. We do not put each other on a pedestal. We challenge each other’s views and actions. Our rose-colored glasses have shattered, and it makes our vision clearer and truer.
9. We are direct about how we feel and ask each other how we can help.
10. We both love each other. We try to accept each other, flaws and all, without judgment. In many ways we are opposites. He is as introverted as I am extraverted. He is as pessimistic as I am optimistic. He helps me express my unexpressed anger about what is, which I sometimes gloss over because I am too idealistic and focused on what can be and what should be. Yet it’s like God allowed us to meet so we could achieve a healthy balance.
11. We are both out to our family and friends and the world. It feels liberating not to hide: to hold hands and kiss each other freely in public.
12. We feel safe to be our childlike selves to each other. We’ve called each other many names, variations of bebi: mbebi, bebimon, bubu dudu, dudubear–and his latest: “sweet brown-colored dudu king”.

When we were in Istanbul, when I narrated all these reasons why I am choosing to marry him, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

We reflected on how hard it is to be queer in our country. We looked back at our journey as queer boys growing up in deeply religious Christian communities.

We smarted from the pain of not being immediately accepted by some friends and loved ones. We wanted to receive not just tolerance and well-meaning admonitions, but the same joy and pride and love we feel about each other.

In our therapy sessions and retreats, we each tried to work to transcend our fear and shame into gratitude to God for making us who we are. We tried to reconcile our faith in Christ who loves us, with our lived experience of religion that has at times hurt us.

We imagined our engagement to be an experience of pure joy, but in truth, it was stained with all sorts of unearthed hurt:

Why are people proud of what we do, but ashamed of who we are?

Why do people celebrate our straight friends’ open declarations of love, but we are asked to be quiet and discreet?

Why do our laws not recognize the partnership we want to build?

Why are some members of our church and fellow Filipinos so cruel to us?

Why do we need to work twice as hard to hurdle people’s biases?

And yet, despite all the challenges thrown at us, we marked our engagement on September 9th, 2025 with tears of joy washing bit by bit these histories of hurt. In Istanbul, as we walked by the Hagia Sofia, Blue Mosque, and the Sultanahmet; as we ate testi lamb cooked in clay pots at a restaurant crowned with flying seagulls; as we munched on heavenly katmer topped with Turkish ice cream under the cool shade of a great old tree; as we rode the trams and trains, got lost in bus stops, and haggled with rude taxi drivers; as we sailed through the Bosphorus by the sunset; as we hiked on thousand year old cobblestone streets; I knew, deep down in my thirty-three year old bones:

I am already living my dream. I never thought this love would find me. I never thought this love could happen in my country.

Right before we boarded our respective plane rides home, we bought rings at an Atasay at the Istanbul international airport. In true Harvey-Ken fashion, we rejected glittery gold rings and diamonds. We chose simple silver rings that match our personalities (and budgets, haha!) We even got a discount for buying two, and an invitation to drink coffee again when we return to Istanbul. My hand now feels empty when I don’t wear my ring.

If you had asked six-year old Ken who was shoved inside the closet in fear of the church saying he’s a mistake, and started hating himself because queer folk were called a waste (“sayang siya!”), he would not believe this was possible.

For a long time, he feared he would never be happy. And, asked to choose between love of country and love of self, he would always choose to shrink himself for he thought these two loves were never compatible in this country.

Well, six-year-old Ken: I hope you see that nothing is impossible with God. You can tell hateful churchgoers and homophobic bullies: coming out has made God’s love come forth to you. This love with your partner Harvey has made you closer to God. I’m going to admit: it is still messy. But it is a miracle that even in our country, our love can flourish.

I am happy to live life with Harvey—and to share our joy with you.

I am happy God created us. I am happy God created us queer.

I am happy to be alive.

I hope to see you in our commitment ceremony this June in Naga City :)