It’s June/July. Pride Month. International Pride Month.

Yes, Pride marches happen all year round—in different cities, in different months—but the original OG Pride Month is June.

Wait, what is Pride Month, again?

It is the time when we, the queer community, collectively reflect on the theme of acceptance.
We’ve dedicated a month (which is NOT AT ALL enough—we all have so much to unpack, btw) to talk about our repressed self-expression (and also about the corporate performative ‘Inclusion’ webinars with zero ground-level impact that emerge every June and disappear under mysterious circumstances for the rest of the year—but more on that in another article).

So we dedicate June to talking about our pride in being authentic.
Our challenges.
Our desire for representation. Accurate representation.
The repercussions of being seen.
The bullying that comes with being seen.

During Pride Month, we talk about embracing ourselves.
We can say that Pride Month is a lot about having pride in being visible. In being seen. In feeling seen.
But when I think about my queerness, I often also end up thinking about hiding.
And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only queer who spirals there.

After all, it was this very art of hiding that kept you safe so far.
The hiding that protected you from bullies.
The hiding that protected you from your family.
The hiding that helped you secure your first job.
The hiding that let you escape yourself for a while—until you were ready to accept yourself.

But it’s never been possible to be completely hidden, and neither was it possible to be fully seen. I know it took me forever to go from saying “I’m gay” to saying “I’m a lesbian.”
The latter is somehow harder on the tongue.
Maybe because it makes me feel more exposed than when I say “I’m gay.”
Or maybe it’s just easier to say a three-letter word.

In all fairness, sometimes it’s easier to say three words instead of one.
(Mind your business.)

So maybe it’s not about the number of letters at all.
When I started asking myself, “Why do I keep saying I’m gay and never ‘I’m a lesbian’?” I slowly made the switch to “queer.”
In fact, even saying “homosexual” was easier than saying “lesbian.”

This could be a very personal thing, not some generalizable theory.
I am aware language has a complex relationship with identity and different labels hold different significance for each individual.
But for me, the root reason for avoiding the ‘L’ word  was the urge to hide in plain sight.

Now, even when I wholeheartedly say “I’m a lesbian, I know I still hide. Old habits die hard.

Growing up gay—yes, I said it again—one of the things I mastered was the art of hide and seek.

You realize you’re gay—and you hide from yourself first.
Then you get brave. You see yourself.
Then you hide from your loved ones.
Then—maybe—you feel safe (or tired). You let yourself be seen.
Then you hide again. Bits and pieces.
From them. From yourself. From the world.

And yet, you still want to be seen.
Desperately.

You try to be visible by adopting queer aesthetics you found online.
But you tuck them away for corporate meetings.
You wear ‘that kurta’ at the family wedding.
Then you hide when the question of marriage comes up.
You talk about your first girlfriend.
You talk about her to anyone who would lend an ear.
You talk about her to anyone who you see as a safe ally.
 But you don’t talk about the abuse. Yet.

You want to be seen.
But you also want to be selectively seen, right?
Seen for the purpose of being accepted.
Seen for inclusion.
Seen to explain that you’re happy with who you are—just as much as the next-door hetero.
Seen for being worthy of being seen.
Seen, but a little curated.

After all, don’t we all clean our homes just before the guest arrives?
And when time is short, don’t we tuck the dirt under the sofa, and slam the closet shut instead of neatly folding the overstuffed pile?
Don’t we all want our house to be seen as put together?
To be seen as worthy of staying?
To represent our potential?

Don’t we want the guests to admire our pretty little home?
How can we explain that the stains in the house don’t mean it was the wrong choice of house—
just that we made some mistakes in there?

Oh well. Maybe it’s not that bizarre a concept to explain, but who’s really listening?
They can just see and decide for themselves, right?

Quick!!!!
Hide the dirt—no one needs to know about the flaws. Yet.
Let it get worse and surface only when you can no longer hide it.
You know… the way it’s meant to be revealed.
So hide it while you still can.
Like you did as a kid—terrified,
hiding the mess before anyone could see.

Because if they see it now,
it might confuse the allies.

There’s already enough stigma as it is.
We can’t risk messing with the minds of the few who stood by us—who believed in our choices, all the way through.

It’ll confuse the ones still trying to support you.

So you show your happiness.
You show that it was worth it.
Prove that it was right to believe in you, to believe in your choices.
Hide when it’s convenient.
Hide what’s confusing.
Show the merry. Show the potential.

We need more supporters first.
Am I running for elections? Maybe.

Hide from yourself too. It’s easy.
Hide that the ‘lesbian’ relationship you swore would unlock happiness
turned out to be just as toxic as the hetero abuse tropes you grew up with.
Hide that your loneliness is tangled up in your queerness now.
Show that you love how you dress now. How liberated you feel now.
Show that you’ve discovered yourself.
Show that it’s all roses outside the closet…
because if it’s not—how do you explain to yourself that it was worth it?
(It was. But it gets harder to remember when you don’t carefully hide.)
And who likes it harder? (pun intended).

So, hide from yourself, again.
Because too much exposure throws everything off.
It ruins the balance, the delicate rhythm of hide and seek.
You don’t need to always know the whole truth all the time, right?
And when you hide, you forget too… right?
And this way, you can also have an inside joke with yourself—
every time someone applauds your bravery to be out,
to be unapologetically you.
Isn’t it smoother to be seen just enough to be included,
and hidden just enough to avoid the explanation of it all?

I am sure, gay or not, is it possible to not hide at all?
Unless you have a death wish.
Don’t the straights hide behind marriage, kids, grandkids, great grandkids too?
Can I hide behind a massive three piece suit too?