When I first stepped foot on campus, I knew this was the only realistic opportunity I had to declare my homosexuality and start embracing my gay identity for what it was. I would no longer have to come home from school and have to hide who I was around my mother, who is a Jamaican-born woman and has been instilled with her certain homophobic ideals embedded in Jamaican culture. At this point, I was just waiting to exhale.

Thoughts raced through my mind of how I would navigate this new world, not only the campus side of life but also the gay side. The Gay-Straight alliance seemed like a great place to start. I would meet like-minded individuals from all walks of life, and there was bound to be a connection with some of these people. After all, we were held together by our identities and struggles as members of the same disadvantaged group.

But inclusivity in the gay scene on campus was more of a dream than a reality because I soon learned that I didn't quite fit the part. My freshman year, people would casually ask me if I were gay, and I could finally, openly reply "Yes," without hesitation. This marked a milestone in my journey out of the closet. But when I started to see what the culture on campus was like, I had thoughts of running back in through that closet door and hiding there until I graduated. And that's what a lot of gay men in college encounter.

The culture is a mix of millennial ideologies and gay subjectivity. I was dealing with a set of behaviors that are common amongst college students and another set that was somewhat exclusive to gay men. But there was this insidious undercurrent of mistrust, betrayal, and facetiousness that would scare any newcomer away.

At my first on-campus Gay-Straight alliance meeting, I attended with another newly "out" friend, who was strange and eccentric in a myriad of ways. Aside from your stereotypical perception of the quintessential gay man, involving tons of flamboyant gesticulations and a love of pop female musicians, he was comically odd, wasn't the most fashionable person, and had quirky mannerisms. Then there was me, a skinny, Black kid who didn't make much of an impression.

But a quick survey of the room made me an envious mess. I saw attractive, well-groomed, fashionable, presumably homosexual men who had great smiles, seemed charismatic, and more importantly, garnered tons of attention. My friend and I were just not up to par. I would soon learn that there were graduates who would attend the meeting in hopes of finding "fresh meat". Over the years, it was apparent that despite what the president of the club said, the meeting was more about scoping out potential sexual and romantic partners, not about being gay activists or making a real difference in the surrounding gay community.

And surely enough, less and less people would attend. But those ignorant souls in search of companionship and camaraderie still flocked to the meetings every Wednesday night…for weekly ice-breakers? I mean, really. It was basically an hour-long, group speed-dating session. As the years went on, I would hear several people say how cliquey or exclusive the club seemed, how they would be given strange looks as soon as they walked through the door, or how they would virtually be ignored by everyone. The club was garnering a reputation for being more of a cult than a welcoming, all-inclusive organization.

I also noticed another factor that made my attendance limited. There were almost no people of color. Did they just not feel welcome? Did they not try to incite change and get more diverse people on board? I was not sure what was going on, but walking into a room with a bunch of White gay men was not exactly the most comfortable experience. I wanted to see other gay men of color, gay men who shared some of my more personal struggles, gay men from similar financial backgrounds, gay men who had to juggle both roles – a gay man and a Black man. It was just never there.

The Black gay men who were a part of the club seemed to "white-washed", in that they were in denial of their personal discrimination. They are the ones who don't blink an eye when the "N-word" is casually thrown in their direction, and they're the ones whose job it is to inform the White gays about the most up-to-date gay slang, most of which stems from Black, gay culture. Soon they would have all the White gays blurting out "Slay!" or using "Queen" to describe one another.

There's not an issue with that. They can pretend to claim our culture and use it accordingly, but the issue remains that the gay, Black men were being cast into a separate category and used for mere entertainment. Because, honestly, the face of the gay community is and always has been White. Aside from the infamous New York City drag balls or the Stonewall riots, we aren't mentioned otherwise, unless it deals with Black, Trans deaths or HIV and AIDS statistics. Our contributions to gay culture have been stolen and left unnamed, unrecognized. That was the same thing that would happen with the Black gay men at the meetings.

If my friend and I walked into the meeting wearing a full Express outfit and had blond hair, bright green eyes and biceps then everyone would make an effort to be our friend. It's a constant competition to be noticed. If you're not, you're irrelevant. You're forgettable.

As the years continued to drag on (no pun intended), I was trying to answer all of these questions about my place as a Gay man in college. Was I not trying hard enough? Well, in retrospect, they treated each other horribly. "Throwing shade" for them was just as banal as breathing, and it was often hurtful and discriminatory, and it seemed like there was this relentless competition to snag the hottest guy, regardless of whether he was gay or straight. And the straight ones, oh boy. They were the main targets. Just listening in on some of the drunk gays at a party revealed that they had intentions of preying on unknowing straight men in an attempt to "convert" them to our team.

There were just no boundaries. We were all in one apple orchard. Some would pick an apple, take a bite, and then toss it in the grass. What happens when all of the trees are left fruitless? Dating was just never an option, as I was not excited to have my relationship gossiped about by every queer-identifying individual on campus. Plus, when you're Black in a predominately White city, where everyone is in such close proximity and has had tons of exposure to White people their whole lives, you're not exactly what people are looking for. That's just the basic psychology behind a White man's "preference" for other White men. So you prefer racism?

I was average looking. Check. I wasn't attending meetings, so in their eyes, I didn't want to make gay friends. Check. I sort of frequented the only fun "gay" club in town. Check. Am I doing it right?

Now, in my fourth and final year, I realized there's no doing gay right. There's no doing its justice. The only thing gay about me was my "gay accent", sassy comments, and wardrobe, which went from relaxed and casual to slightly more androgynous, to more formal and chic my senior year. Other than that, I was just another gay dude at the school. And I'm okay with that. Because in this big, wide world you are destined to meet those who enjoy your company and those whose energies work toward making you a better individual.

My interests were just vastly different from theirs. My teapot was always empty, so sitting around and trash-talking every other gay man wasn't my idea of a Friday night with the "girls". I didn't walk around with a gay "army" by my side. I was just me – a guy who happens to like guys. I tried their approach. I went to the meetings, showed my face on the apps, went to the clubs and bars, and I was still left filling a void. I'm not demonizing the choices they make or how they choose to live their lives. But in college, not every gay man will rise to the top of the "homo-hierarchy". It's just not possible for some of us.

The retrogressive nature of the gays I've met here has shown me that in high school, they didn't measure up. Not for the same reasons many high schoolers don't, but because a lot of them didn't have the option to truly show people who they were. In college, they were allowed to be themselves, and it was encouraged…especially if they were White and attractive. Then they join cliques that do the same social injustices to other, less idealistic gay men that were done to them for various reasons in high school. Body-shaming, "straight-conversion" and date raping, sexual harassment, and bullying were the sinister forms some of the gays I've met in college have taken on.

Had I been dragged into their circles, had I attended every "kiki", had I dated one of them, who knows how my life in college would've turned out? But what I do know going forward is, I'm gay and that doesn't define me. It will not define me. I'm a filmmaker, I'm a writer, I'm an uncle, I'm an artist, and I'm a lover. I'm not a walking billboard for gay rights. I'm not a tall, White, "twunk." And I'm certainly not a sell-out. Before anything, you have to honor your personal values. Don't conform to the larger group in search of acceptance. Don't drink the Kool-Aid, no matter what color it is or if they offer it in rainbow shots. Learn to be gay the right way. Your way.

After graduation, I'll settle down in a new community. I'll be starting a career. There will be even larger opportunities to meet other, more mature gay men. Not "daddies", but possibly gay men who are more like me – gay men who don't conform to the standard that's been put in place by our own bigoted community. They say "it gets better", but it has to get worse first.