I Never Asked To Be Born This Way.

In the past 4 months, I’ve been to three weddings. Each one of them unfailingly sent me spiralling into a personal crisis of sorts and left me on the verge of completely breaking down. In spite of being amongst hundreds of people, I’ve never felt this left out and so very alone. And each time, I was filled with this sadness and utter dejection because the potential of being rejected by everyone close to me became very real very quickly.

I know that this is just a society approved ritual. I don’t particularly care about it. If I were to get married, I know it will be for love and not because it’s the right age to marry, or because society demands that I do. That’s not what bothers me. What bothers me is that there’s a very good chance that when I tell them who I love, they will make me feel like I don’t belong. That feeling right there is more than enough to break me. I know, I know. The ones who love you will get around to accepting you, you don’t need someone else’s approval to live your life and all that. But when you are watching hundreds of people standing there and sending out their well wishes to the couple, you realize you want them for yourself too. This…good will. And love. Given from the bottom of their hearts, without questioning your choice.

I’m not afraid of telling people I’m queer. I’ve slowly made my peace with that. But god, the thought of disappointing my parents is something I just cannot take. I look at their faces during these weddings and I can see the hope they have, that this day might come for me as well. I see unhappiness too, that I’m putting this day off. And whenever I picture myself coming out to them, I want to cry. Because I can see shame on their faces. I can feel their inability to face the rest of the family. I can sense their hurt and heartbreak. And that’s when I wonder if I’m better off dead. That’s when I wish I was straight.

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Lady Jughead lives and writes in the city she loves and hates, Bombay. Without meaning to and harbouring mixed feelings about it (You’ll see the irony in just a bit), she’s forever wandering in the murkiness that exists between straight and gay, clear and clueless, butch and femme, cute and hot, and genius and insane. All of which leave her with a question that often occupies a significant portion of her cognitive capacity – is she Just Perfect or is she falling fast into the deep chasm of obscurity called Just Average?
Lady Jughead

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