I’m Straight and Other Lies I Tell on Sundays
I’m a lesbian but my boyfriend disagrees. I make a lot of jokes about my sexuality. I’ve been told it stems from a deeper sense of self-loathing, but honestly, I’m just funny.
For a very long time, I was afraid to tell people of my deep, dark, horrible secret. Now, look at me writing a blog post about it. The first person I came out to, looked at me, and without skipping a beat, said, ‘I know’. Imagine how awkward that must’ve been.
I’ve explained the term LGBTQ+ to several people, so much so, that I myself, tend to forget what it means. It’s like I’m in a trance. ”L is for lesbian, G is for gay, B is for bisexual, no Susan, I don’t want to have a threesome with you and your boyfriend, T is for Trans…” I’ve begun to recite it like it’s poetry; beautiful and in the portion for an upcoming English examination.
People think being part of the community gives them a special status in society. The sheer number of str8s™️ that have said to me that I was lucky for being gay, is staggering. We’re not just the elite, who have high tea and watch RuPaul’s. We’re the ones on the street, holding placards, and screaming for fundamental rights. We’re the ones who are closed off, shunned, and forgotten.
The funniest thing about Indians is that we don’t like to address sexuality at all. Bisexual? You aren’t even allowed to be sexual, especially if you’re a woman. There’s a very jarring moment in every generic TV show where this extremely attractive and sexual being walks into the shot. She’s beautiful, wearing a sleeveless blouse, a chiffon saree, and basically the exact opposite of the coy female lead. Commonly known as the ‘sautan’ Komolika is villainised, only because she’s attracted to the unattractive male lead, and tries to get what she wants.
I used to introduce myself as a lesbian even though what I am is bisexual because somehow, I’d been convinced that there was no such thing as being attracted to both genders. From a young age, I had very different perspectives on sexuality. This just heightened the dilemma I was facing.
On one hand, I had been forced to conform to the heteronormative ways of society, and in the other everyone kept telling me to be unique. I didn’t realise was, I could only be the unique that was accepted. The unique that wrote or got an extra piercing, not the unique that loved someone of the same gender.
My classmate keeps asking me to go to Sunday mass as if it’ll somehow cure my disease. So I’ll head into church and hope I don’t spontaneously combust.