Here’s the thing okay? I’ve known I was gay since I was six years old. But growing up in a first generation biracial immigrant household with its fair share of poverty, alcohol, drug, domestic violence and undiagnosed mental issues meant I didn’t get two extras seconds to think about being gay. There were too many fires going on at once to focus on the fact that yes I was in fact gay as fuck.
Much less focus on what exactly gay meant to me.
So I didn’t get a closet. I got a house.
And inside each room there were incidents and stories and people who I would get to eventually.
When I had time. When my dad got sober. When my parents got a divorce. When the Dream Act Passed. When I wasn’t running my moms household. When I wasn’t helping raise my brothers. When I got sober. When I stopped having flashbacks. When I wasn’t working corporate. When I wasn’t relapsing. When I got diagnosed. When I got therapy. When I no longer wanted to kill myself. When.
So without realizing that I was, in fact, doing it; I became someone who put on a disguise everyday of my life in order to survive. Now I am becoming a person who knows that in order to live I have to take it off.
Pride Month is a lot of things for many different people. It’s a time to be as flamboyant, colorful, extra and LOUD. Loud as a resistance to those that want to shut up and disappear the community. Loud for those that can’t be and those that passed on before they could be.
Pride is a tangled mess of opinions and crossed wires and capitalism and raw human emotion.
For me Pride is simple. It’s one less room in an already emptying house. Pride is when.