The Loneliest Time

The Vancouver streets lit up with the colours red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, purple, and every shade in between this past weekend during the pride celebrations and events. Needless to say, it’s one of my most treasured weekends of the year every year. And I would like to sum it up with more than just this word: exhausting.

I went to my first Pride Parade exactly five years ago, in 2010. I was just coming out then – a wee baby dyke, you could say, and I felt like my experience* was more freeing than a prisoner released from confinement after serving a 10 year sentence. It was mind-blowingly liberating even though I navigated the entire event by myself. I didn’t want to go home afterwards!

Now, fast forward five years: pride has become an annual event in my life. I look forward to it every summer. The mere thought of being able to deck myself out in rainbows without getting strange looks from people is exciting enough to celebrate, let alone being able to be who you are without giving a fuck.

I have been volunteering as the ASM for both the Davie St Block Party and the main stage at the pride sunset festival for the past two prides. It is one way I could get involved with the community, but it’s also a way I could get myself to participate in this annual celebration. Otherwise I honestly don’t know if I’d have enough courage and energy to go by myself. Yes, it’s been five years since I’ve come out; yes, I have queer friends or friends that identify as LGBTQ; yes, I have friends who are allies; and yes, I have friends who will gladly bear the rainbow at any given time of the year. But for the life of me, I have no friends when it comes to pride season.

Okay, there may be a couple of friends that I’ll see over the weekend or say hi to when they’re enjoying the festivities, but for the most part, a lot of my friends choose not to participate in what has now turned into one big gay propaganda (so to speak). A lot of people think pride is one big political debate and gimmick. Nothing’s without its bureaucracies, right? One friend posted on facebook the night before festivities began: “and the social pressure weekend begins”.

I never understood why it’s such a stressful weekend for the very people this celebration is for. I’ve always had a blast because not only do I see how unique people are, it’s the one time of the year where I feel the world is colourful and alive. The population is suddenly so diverse and interesting that you kind of get lost in the world you’re in. Not that the city isn’t already so on a regular basis – pride adds glitter and helps make everyone shine! It lets you see the diversity in everyone beyond skin colours and orientation (or at least that’s the feeling I get).

Perhaps there are deeper incoherencies within the organization and its event, and politics between groups of individuals that make other people feel very differently about pride. Maybe I’m glorifying the event. Maybe I’m exaggerating how it affects me personally. But I know it is still an important event, and it would be nice, for once, if everyone could forget or look beyond the political agenda and just celebrate.

*password: purple

As Straight as a Wheel

One day in the computer lab, my friend said hi and came to sit beside me. We were making small talk when, all of a sudden, he turned to me and asked, “are you a lesbian?” I stuttered. I was dumbfounded at his straight-forward question. (He was also the person who asked Jack* if he was my boyfriend when I had this hope of us being something, and created this awkward tension until Jack and I had “the talk” later that night – turned out Jack valued our friendship too much to be anything more than friends with me. Anyway, this example was to illustrate how on-the-nose, or wrongly-timed sensitive questions this friend can have.)

I didn’t know how to answer the question. “Uh….” was all I could fathom. He could tell that he’s touched a sensitive subject, and I’m at a loss for a clear answer. “Mmm… sure, if that’s what you think,” I said some time later, as he was waiting patiently. “I don’t like labels, so I wouldn’t call it that,” I gave him an explanation, hoping he would understand. “Oh, okay, I see.” He turned back to his screen and said nothing else.

I went back to my work and pondered about my answer. I don’t know why I’ve been having such a hard time admitting who I am to other people. Coming out of the closet isn’t an easy process, I know. But I can’t even admit to myself that yes, if I like women, that technically makes me a lesbian (in the general public’s eyes). So if I’m having a hard time admitting to myself who I am, am I still who I think I am? Perhaps I don’t like labels. I’m not comfortable when someone tries to categorize me with the terms bisexual or lesbian. I would even have a hard time saying the word “lesbian” to my friends when I go out dancing at special events hosted and catered towards lesbians in the lower mainland during long weekends. Coming from a Christian background, there’s still some sort of shame that accompanies the term “lesbian” or “gay” -basically anything other than “straight” was taboo or incomprehensible, and they were words to be avoided and issues to be kept silent about if you don’t want a controversy at your hands.

I know, however, that I am definitely NOT straight. It’s okay when they assume or keep their notion of my orientation to themselves, but when they ask, I really don’t know what to say. I much prefer the term “queer”, mostly because it’s very broad and general. It doesn’t limit me to just either or options… and it kind of makes me sound eccentric. Hah. I like being eccentric!

*names have been changed to protect the individual’s identity

Policy 5.45

(post drafted in May and published on July 23rd, 2011; re-edited and re-blogged today)

Last night before I headed to bed, I went downstairs to say goodnight to mom and was caught by the TV program she was watching. It was a current events talk show in Mandarin where they featured 3 panellists to have a discussion about the Burnaby school board’s newest proposed policy 5.45.

This draft policy is to hopefully “change the attitude” towards the LGBTQ community in schools and support youth who identifies as queer (I guess they caught on the numbers of suicides due to hate crimes or bullying towards homosexuals and wanted to do something about it). Basically, if this policy passes, the school board will include a section in the elementary school curriculum where teachers are required by law to teach kids what each of L, G, B, T, and Q means.

I knew it was a dangerous thin line I was treading when I stayed and watched the whole debate with her. There I was, sitting less than 3 feet away from her and holding a very different opinion and view on gays than her own. In a Christian household, homosexuality is something that we should unanimously agree on: “wrong”. Little does she know that her precious little daughter is hiding in the closet. Well, sort of. It’s a little complicated. Regardless, the topic is incredibly sensitive. During the entire show I was desperately hoping she doesn’t ask what I think. She would nod and agree vocally with the host, panelist, and the audience calling-in to the show.

How do I tell her that I disagree with the majority of conservative Asian parents in her generation? How do I tell her that I play on the same team? She’s already mad enough as it is when she found out I voted NDP in the latest election that won Harper a majority government.

The next morning, after church service, I was reluctantly pushed to a table covered in petition forms against the policy. They had been printed by the church and signed by several dozens of people in the congregation. An Elder of the church watched over me and my brother’s shoulders, aggressively urging us to put our names down on the form. I stood there, feeling nothing but panic. I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. As more urging came from behind me, I picked up a pen slowly. It was as if I was going to sign my life away. I stared at the paper and started to read the statements opposing the policy. I looked at my brother, and he seemed hesitant as much as I am reluctant. I lowered my pen at the lines in slow motion and waited desperately for something to take me away from the table.

I was lucky to have escaped the signing when my mom called for us. I immediately dropped the pen and pretended I had already signed the petition when I walked away. My brother followed. The Elder was hustling more people –who may or may not even have heard of the policy– to the table. I was relieved, but was the scolded by my mom when she found out that I didn’t actually sign the petition. I couldn’t! I wanted to shout. But I just kept quiet and walked in silence. Everything that happened made me despise the church more. If I didn’t before, I did now.

Eventually the policy was passed (though not before several protests against and rallies for it occurred). I had wanted to show my support by going out to the rallies, but the thought of my mom realizing I’m on the other side of the fence was too risky. I will have to continue my hiding… for now. The thing that saddens me the most is that church and home are the most suffocating places of all shelters. I can be who I want to be when I’m working on shows or involved in theatre. I can be who I am when I’m with my friends.

The theme at the Vancouver Pride this year is “Celebrate”. I wish I could…