Looking Queer

After Common Ground, I realized just how visible and heavy my identities are.  I wear them on my chest, like buffers between me and other people.  When I take them off, I feel empty.


I can never step out of my skin as a woman of color.  I could pretend to have money, but I quit that phase after Sophomore year.  What has been bothering me lately is the idea that one of my identities is not clearly marked.

I can step in and out of being gay.  I can "pass".  And furthermore, most people assume that I'm straight.  I'm not really okay with that.

So I pierced my lip.  I told a friend that I wanted to look more "queer".  I don't know if this metal in my skin makes that much of a difference to the outside world, but to me, it's a stop sign.

It's a well-known and perpetually lived fact that as people, we evaluate one another based on physical characteristics.  We then place people into boxes according to what we see.  This is my small and personal way of checking my own box.  

Just in Time for V-Day

Things I love about being with a(n) (incredible) woman:

• soft lips (both sets)
• general softness
• having our periods together (and not freaking out about it)
• passionately singing sappy country love songs
• doing our hair/makeup together
• drankin games with the boys
• holding hands on Main Street
• dancing at The Bar
• queer friends
• "duke standard of beauty"
• hi-top sneakers and hoodies
• orchids
• clit action
• uh-maayyyyzannn sex
• despite girls/guys' advances, she's coming home with me ; )
• random creeper: "so, do you have a man?" me: "nope. better" =)
• sugary sweetness
• home cookin
• thoughtfulness
• physical/emotional/intellectual stimulation
• nips
• sharing clothes (that actually fit)
• guys and girls complimenting how beautiful she is
• awesome journal entry material
• curves
• spooning
• squirting
• cuddling
• the L word references
• her lower back
• gender roles
• raising my hand in class when someone makes a heteronormative comment
• making the rules as we go
• healthy love
• peace
• sanity
• communication
• loving deliberately

How I Told My Mom

Remember that last post about me trying to figure out how to tell my mom about my girl? Well I did it. =)

Babygirl bought me flowers the day before I went home for winter break (for no particular reason, might I add – she’s just sweet like that). I thought they were beautiful and didn’t want them to die while I was gone, so I packed them up in wine bottles and drove home with them riding shotgun in two console cupholders.

“What are you gonna say when your mom asks you where you got the flowers?” she asked.

“I’m gonna say you gave them to me.”

She was pretty proud of herself for creating the centerpiece for the conversation that was about to go down. She also seemed just as anxious/excited/nervous as I was, and kept telling me to call her “when it happens”.

When I got home, no one was there. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to rehearse “the script” while I arranged my flowers on the desk in my bedroom.

Mom, I’m with a girl. I want you to know because I love you and I want us to be close. Pause. Stop thinking about it. You’ll freak yourself out. Just do it. And then the front door opened.

My mom and I always greet each other like old friends who haven’t seen one another in years. Maybe that’s because I really don’t come home often, even though home is only about an hour away from Duke. Maybe it’s because we’re just dramatic. We hugged and shrieked and she made some comment about how I looked (standard), and then we went our separate ways – she to her bedroom and I to the refrigerator (also standard). It wasn’t long before I was sitting at the table, snack in hand, watching her head toward my own bedroom. I sucked in my breath.

“Hey where’d you get your flowers?!”

Shit. It’s go-time. Ok act like you didn’t hear her. Buy some time.

“Amber! Where’d you get your flowers?! They’re so pretty!” This time, she was back and looking at me expectantly.

"Well,” I said, with my hands in my pockets and an anxious grin teetering across my lips, “Jess gave them to me.”

“Ohhh….wait, is she gay?”

“Um, I don’t know…”

“Well what does that make you…?”

“Um…well, she and I are … seeing each other.” Awkward smile.

Gasp. Cue word vomit: “Oh my God, Amber! You just got home! Soon as you walk in the door?! You couldn’t give me ONE good day?! Oh my God. You know what? I’m gonna clean. I have to clean. This house is gonna be SPOTLESS!”

Laughter. “Oh as if this is a bad thing!”

“Well!....” She grew silent. Her eyes were both incredulous and tired at the same time. She had been mending a broken marriage for the past five years and was finally seeing the fruit of her efforts during this Holiday season. Shame that “this” had to happen when things were finally looking up… But then things took a turn for the hilarious.

“Look, I know that you’re in college and that in our society it’s more acceptable for two girls to do this sort of thing than two guys…” Haha Mama, that’s irrelevant.

“You know, it’s probably just temporary. It’s just a phase…” Nope, I’ve done it before, Mom. As early as middle school. And plenty of times after that.

“I mean I know why you’re doing it, I’ve seen girl on girl videos. I’ve had ‘experiences’, but I won’t tell you about them because you’d look at me differently” … 0___0 . T.M.I., Mom. That’s a little bit more bonding than I’m trying to do right now.

“Well you know what I’m gonna ask…” Laughter. “So you have! You’ve BEEN with her!” Yeah Mom! Want me to tell you about it? Sit down, I’ll tell you everything you want to know! “No, I don’t need details!!!”

And then she laughed. We both did. That’s something that our family is good for – taking an awkward situation and turning it into pure entertainment. The whole scene had been like something on TV. I kept thinking Man, I should really record this. This is GREAT! But when it was all over and we’d had our chance to laugh at each other during what was supposed to be an intense moment, she hugged me.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Mama.”

And we laughed again.

Telling Mom

I’m going home today. Normally, the only thing that would be on my mind is escaping the Duke bubble and eating real food. This time it’s different. I have a mission. I have about five days to tell my mom that I’m in love with a girl.

I think that’s how I’ll say it. “Mom, I’m in love with a girl. I want to tell you because I love you and I want us to be close.” That’s my script. For those of you who happened to catch that “I Kissed a Girl” episode of Glee, I can promise you that I’m not stealing Santana’s lines. Instead, I’ve consulted friends that have had “the talk”, and the consensus is that this is a pretty effective way to approach it. I’ve rehearsed several times, but the words still don’t come naturally – not because what I’m telling my mom is unnatural, but because it feels unnatural for me to have to explain and justify something that does feel natural.

Of course I’m nervous. My parents have lived in the same small, close-minded town for most of their lives. In my entire 22 years, I’ve probably only known about 3 queer people from my home community, and none of them seemed to be particularly open about their sexuality. If they were, they were usually ostracized and ridiculed. I can actually remember being at a middle school party and hearing words like “dyke” and “nasty” to describe this bisexual girl who was there. There’s also the religion thing. Hollister is small, but not too small to house at least 5 Baptist churches in the core community. I’m prepared to hear that God doesn’t approve of what I’m doing, that the Bible says it’s wrong, and that I must not care about my soul or love God because I’m choosing to be gay. I’m prepared to counter that rhetoric – 1) God loves everyone and 2) Why would God send an entire group of people – some of the most enlightened and genuinely good people at that – to hell for something that isn’t a choice? My hope is that by telling my parents about my sexuality (I still think it’s SO weird that I’m even expected to discuss that with them), my parents will be able to ask questions that will open their minds and change the way they think about people who identify with the LGBTQ community. Even though I often called home last year to tell my mom about how Janie Long blew my mind in class, I’m certain that none of it will really seem relevant until she realizes how close to home some of those topics actually are.

On the flipside, I’m also really excited about all of this. Once my parents know, I’m solid. Anyone else can ask or talk about me to their heart’s content, and I will answer openly and honestly. I have these quotes and phrases swirling around in my head:

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

Be who you are, and don’t apologize for it.

You only get one shot; don’t be a coward.

In the past, I’ve allowed others’ perceptions of me to dictate my life, and during those times, I was never proud of my behavior or the person that I was. I’ve resolved that if what I’m doing at any point truly makes me happy, I will cling to and defend that happiness in any way necessary. I will be who I am, and I won’t apologize.

PDA and Powwows

[Editor's note: Please welcome our very newest blogger, Ye'tha'thne. We are thrilled to have her! Ye'tha'thne is the first Native American writer for this blog.]

I took her to my hometown and she met my family – as my friend, of course. We were careful to remember that our hands shouldn’t touch and that we shouldn’t stand too close to one another. I forced myself not to look at her for too long, thinking that this might help to temporarily weaken the natural pull between my body and hers. Anyway, everyone loved her. Every room she walked into got a little brighter and a tad warmer than before. She was a conversational artist able to talk to anyone about anything, and her smile… her smile was like an all-access pass to the best stories and funniest jokes we had to offer, and she drank them all in. I kept thinking, How would they feel about her if they knew?

It’s such a strange feeling to be elated about something that some people won’t want to hear about. The very thing that makes you ecstatic becomes a secret that you keep for someone else. Suddenly she was this beautiful spectacle that I could watch and hear, but only from an “appropriate” distance. It’s as if someone had taken everything I want and put it in a museum with a “Please do not touch” sign and guards standing watch. I literally had to clasp my hands together at times to keep from reaching out for hers, and I hated it. At times it felt like my heart was pounding out of my chest, and it probably was, just trying to get me to get closer to her.

This isn’t the first time this has happened, but I’m still not used to it and I don’t ever want to be. Everywhere we go, I wait for cues as to whether or not it’s a safe space. By safe, I mean a space where we both feel comfortable about being ourselves and being publicly affectionate. Neither one of us is big on PDA, but it’s more about this captive and weirdly instinctive feeling that you have to monitor your emotions and expressions in certain places. That feeling usually triggers a lot of other feelings and thoughts for me. For instance

Why am I playing this game? So what if some people are uncomfortable? I’m SO happy, and so is she. Why should we have to mute this amazing feeling to save someone else from their awkward moment? Why does discovering one of the most important, beautiful and liberating aspects of my identity automatically put me in a place that I have to “come out” of? It’s ironic that we both want to change the world, but we buy into its stupid unspoken rules depending on the situation. I get it though – sometimes it’s not easy and/or safe for someone to be “out” at a job or in a certain social arena. But you know what? She’s the kind of woman that makes you want to tell everybody what color really looks like and how music really sounds. She makes me want to sit down and have the talk I never thought I’d have with my small-town, sweet, southern Mama. She inspires me to be as strong as my Native name says I am. I’m not sure how much longer I can contain all of this...

We’re going to a powwow together this weekend, and a lot of people from my Native community will be there. Most of them don’t know that I’m attracted to women, and most of them probably wouldn’t be okay with that. I keep imagining what it will be like to introduce this beautiful, incredible woman to so many people as my “friend” when I really want to tell them how alive she makes me feel. I’m dreading that lonely distance that we’ll keep from each other, the inhibiting hand-clasping, the nervous eye aversions…

But what if I didn’t do any of that? I live by a lot of little sayings and mantras, but one of them has become especially salient as of late. Don’t apologize for how you feel. As humans, love and emotion are the most organic, genuine, worthwhile, and purposeful experiences we can have. Why would I apologize for actually being able to feel something that some people never feel in an entire lifetime? I only get one shot to live my life and do it the way I want to do it. And honestly, my happiness and her smile are most certainly worth a little discomfort.