What I remember is for days, weeks after that, I feared that in my sleep I would be sent away to some freaky conversion camp or something. It got better over some time. But after a few months, the news was filled with reports of a bisexual girl in India who committed suicide after she ran away from a conversion camp her family forcibly sent her to after she came out to them.
Over time, I somehow came to the conclusion that the presence or absence of body hair connoted specific values; the absence of body hair was representative of a concern with cleanliness, hygiene and fragrance whereas the presence or abundance of body hair meant being stinky, dirty and unhygienic.
It is a new morning.
You know you will have to do this over and over and over.
Everytime, you get a little bit stronger. Not because it gets easy, but because you know the
battleground so well.
My dad said, " You are my brave boy, you don't need a mask to help you shine."
But little did they know, the mask was now my identity,
Some people knew me with the mask and they loved me.
The teasing started, and that was followed by bullying. Things got worse. I changed schools hoping that the problem would vanish but it seems like the problem was never attached to the school, it was attached to me.
Society ensures you believe that your individual identity is a privilege and standing out is a sin. These quarrelling and kissing bunch of queers unwittingly so ensured that I had my own semblance of a family despite often having been denied one themselves.
Puberty hit at 13. I began noticing boys. I learnt about the male and female sex organs and how babies were born. I also continued looking at the athletic girls with flat chests and pixie cut. When you are young, you don’t have the critical faculties to understand that stereotyping based on someone’s appearance is wrong. But something about these sporty girls was fascinating.
I met a man, and he forced me have bareback sex. I knew about HIV precautions but he was adamant enough and I was ignorant and gullible, indeed a guy from the hills who believes and trusts people easily.
It has been almost two years since then, and a lot has changed for me. I have since been on dates with women, made a lot of queer friends, completed my Master’s degree which focused on queer literature, and came out to my parents. And yet here I am, trying to write this piece, not feeling at all like these were victories – my victories, our victories, or any victories at all. I think my queerness was theoretical up to that point in my life, and so my struggles were too.
So here’s the tale!
Here’s to the violet when I was bullied for not being ladylike and pushed against the last
bench of the classroom.
The blood cloth as if showed the first colour of the flag on my skin.
I was in sixth standard when I accepted my homosexual self. Sometime later, I felt the need to feel the male sex and eventually that for a romantic emotional partner. But this need had to be ignored because I was quick to realise the non-existence of queerness/queer dating in my social landscape, a realisation that let my mind perpetuate the absence more generally and universally.
In our conversations, we also realized that we converged in our likeness for the same boys. These boys were out of our reach and with whom we could only dream conversations. I tried to show that I was jealous of us liking the same guys, but I don’t think I cared for them anymore.
I am a pansexual woman and I am in a relationship with a straight cis-man for the past two years. He is an amazing person, and he accepts and embraces my identity. However, people no longer see me as a queer person anymore, I have become another straight woman to them.
You were like the grill of a window and me, a mere droplet of water trying to hold on but ultimately falling to the cold hard ground. Letting go was better, lest we should have amalgamated into one rusted being.
I know this is anonymous, I know this might never reach you, but just to throw this out in the universe, I am saying this, I saw you crying in the corner on the day of our cultural festival, and I hope whatever is troubling you, ease up soon.
I’m not at all unsure, I look at her and I know.
She’s the kind of girl
I want to wrap myself around,
Press my lips against, and slam into the door.
I got really tired of being a woman who had to be “perfect” at every turn. I could not have a many days where I could sit and do nothing because I was depressed. It was frowned upon. Depression is frowned upon.
I can't kiss my love on the street, because she might notice the bruises on my heart from beating too loud,
might notice I tremble too much,
night notice I'm bringing an earthquake on the pavement.
The journey we’re leading will always be riddled with hurdles and more often than not, we’re going to find ourselves at odds with our own thoughts. So today, I write to you solely with the intention of letting you know that it’s okay, everything you’re feeling is okay.
As someone who had been the new kid too many times and didn’t have a close group of friends, I longed to fit in somewhere. I desperately wanted to be a part of the queer community. I took so many “Am I Gay?” and “Where are you on the Kinsey Scale” quizzes, modifying my answers to get the result I wanted.