Transwomen in the Philippines are classified locally as ‘gay’. The specific word used might be ‘bakla’, ‘beki’, ‘bayot’, ‘bading’ or any one of several others, depending on location and dialect.
Note that here, ‘gay’ does not mean what it does in the West. It means you are male but not a man; that you have ‘green blood’. In Luzon, the most popular local term is ‘bakla’. Their lifestyle is called ‘kabaklaan’.
Any man who willingly has sex with a woman is NOT homosexual. Period. That is because ‘homosexual’ means ‘someone exclusively attracted to same sex from childhood’. A man who willingly has sex with both men and women is bisexual, irrespective of how he describes himself. That applies also to those men who ‘discover’ they are ‘gay’ in later life, after years of marriage. They’re bisexual, not homosexual.
Homosexual male does not equal ‘gay’
Homosexual males are attracted to masculinity, because they have an inversion of sexuality. However, ‘gay’ is actually a lifestyle which comprises homosexual men but also bisexuals, ephebephiles and hebophiles (attracted to teenage boys, basically) non-trans autogynephiles whose fetish for ‘being a woman’ is being penetrated, super-masculine narcissistic homosexuals and even others. And these are all real things, not airhead genders. There is no one ‘homosexual’ lifestyle, despite the ongoing efforts of the New Gay Man thought police to ensure everyone (actually, everyone at all) is properly ensconced under their appropriate label in the LBTQalphabet permitted lifestyle and orientation set.
I’m at the local motorcycle repair shop where Sherwyn, a most competent mechanic and pleasant cove, is replacing a brake master cylinder on the Blaze. He first thought to replace only the seals, but he can’t find the right size. A new cylinder is 400 pesos, just under six quid, an unwell encephalopod. I just tell him to get on with it. Sherwyn works in the open space outside a motorcycle parts shop, where he seems to buy most of his stuff, although, as today, sometimes he has to go further afield. While I wait I sit on a wooden bench in the shade and observe the street life. Baklas soon begin to appear; it’s like they’re in the woodwork.