Life can also be great!

Hello, everyone! I hope that the last few days of the semester are going well for you. As you know, I had decided to come out to my parents right after Thanksgiving Break. My reasons for doing so are many, but two of the biggest are the fact that I’m a terrible liar (so it was getting harder and harder to hide things from them), and my desire to tell them about my wonderful girlfriend. Well, I wrote them a letter and left it on my bed, with instructions to open it no earlier than 12PM, the morning that they took me back to the airport. I knew my flight would land at RDU around 10AM, so I wanted to have a bit of a time buffer before the call came – because, if you know my parents, they ALWAYS call when they want to talk to you, and they keep calling if you don’t answer. In case you’re curious, here’s the letter:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Maybe you’ll think that it’s strange for me to have written you a letter so soon after seeing you over my Thanksgiving Break. You would be right – it is strange. But it’s also necessary for me to write it instead of trying to say what I’m about to say out loud to you. Please know that I’m not trying to hurt you.

I’m queer: I like women and men and transpeople and people who don’t identify as anything at all. I don’t know how aware you have been of the fact that I’m not straight, but I wanted to tell you myself. I’m actually really scared of your reactions to this news, because I love you and I don’t want you to stop loving me. You’ve said some things in the past about gay people that have made me think that you hate us, that we’re dirty or criminals or subnormal. It hurts me when you say stuff like that, or agree with others who do.

In case you’re wondering, I’ve known for a long time. It was hard in middle and high school, because I felt as though I couldn’t talk to anyone about it without being hated or derided, and I didn’t even have the words to explain it anyway. I even hated myself for awhile. It took until I came to college to realize that I wasn’t alone, and that there were people in the world who wouldn’t judge me based on who I love. I am finally my whole self, and I am so much happier now than I ever was before. My one fear is that the real Jennifer will disappoint you, and that you will be angry or hurt.

I hope that you will take some time to consider what I’ve told you, and I want you to know that I’m no different from the person I was before. I just got tired of hiding the whole of that person from you. If you want to talk about it, we can. If you don’t, that’s okay too.

In closing, I want to say again that I love you. I hope you still love me and are proud of me.

Jennifer

So, my flight landed right on time, and Mandy (my girlfriend) picked me up from the airport. I knew I wanted her to be with me when the call came, so that I could have someone with whom I could either celebrate or cry. We hung out for several hours while I kept glancing fearfully at my cellphone. At around 3:30 in the afternoon, my phone rang; it was my parents. I answered it tentatively. Both of my parents were there, probably standing in the kitchen with the speakerphone on. My dad did most of the talking, but the gist of what they both said was that they love me, they’re so proud of me, they’re glad I told them, and they want to be part of my life. I was so happy that I couldn’t do much but smile and say “Thank you,” and Mandy (who was sitting nearby) was crying with joy for me. My parents and I talked for a little while longer about things (I didn’t tell them about Mandy that day, although I did so last week and they said they want to meet her, so yay!), such as who else in the family I could tell (my dad’s older brother). The whole call felt surreal in a wonderful way – I never expected such a response from my parents. There was no yelling or crying or sadness, and I’m so, so happy about it.

Coming out to parents isn’t an option for everyone. I had a back-up plan just in case things went horribly wrong, but that isn’t always a possibility. Furthermore, I was emotionally ready to tell them, which is something that nobody can decide for you. I wish all of you who are still waiting to tell your families the best of luck when (if) you finally decide to come out to them. Please feel free to talk to me about this if you like – jenn.morgan23@gmail.com.

Integrity

Campus culture.

We're all a part of it. Most of us live here. Those of us who don't live here spend a great amount of our time here. We go to class,
we eat meals, we interact with faculty, and we attend parties. We're involved in countless organizations, we conduct groundbreaking research, and we push athletic limits.

We drink until we vomit. We'll never be as good as our peers. We reject others based on their position (or lack thereof) in the Greek system. We hurt collective groups of others and hide behind what we think is humor. We discriminate.

It might get better. "Duke isn't the real world."

Was Duke not the real world for the student who was assaulted after an on-campus party? Was Duke not the real world for someone who was rejected time after time for a major factor of identity or for just being themselves? Does all of that pain just go away after four years?

Our actions at Duke matter. The world after Duke is not identical to this university setting, but the effects last.

Those of us who went on Common Ground aren't innocent. Those of us who haven't gone aren't always guilty, either. We're all at fault, but we all have the capacity to change, to grow.

We can all use this time in which so much discussion and debate is developing between communities as well as within communities to learn and to express. We can use this time to take a stand for that which we wish social life at Duke could be. It's time to act on what we say we want to do in the comment sections of this blog, the Chronicle, and Develle Dish.

What do you value? What is it that you want? What do you think others want from you?

Whatever that may be:

Dear Duke guys world,

It's time for you to live in integrity.

Queersgiving.

This Thanksgiving, I was DETERMINED to make sweet potato pies. Armed with a glass of Riesling in one hand and my phone wedged between my neck and my shoulder (thanks Mom for leaving your recipe on voicemail….), I had somehow turned making pie into a Thanksgiving themed balancing act. By 4pm, everything within a 2-foot radius of the mixing bowl had become a victim of my endeavor.

You see, I've fallen in love with the peachfuzz that has managed to amass under my chin and over my lip. This love affair was sparked after an unfortunate incident involving curry remaining stuck to my face long after I had finished eating it. Until my unlucky run in with dinner that night, I was completely ignorant of anything growing on my face. Needless to say, I soon became the target of my friends' massive side eye (“How did you not know something was growing on your face?”) for the rest of the evening.

Because of this love (cue the Marvin Gaye y'all), I couldn't bring myself to utter the word shave. So, I made the decision to choose the 300 little hairs on my face over Thanksgiving at home, and the would-be concerned faces of family members that I haven't come out to yet. To this very second, I have no regrets over my decision.

So this Thanksgiving, there were no 8AM church services, no slow singing gospel choirs, no smell of the heavily perfumed bodies of the older women in my family. Instead, there was Queersgiving; 5 good (Queer!) friends and my sweet potato covered self, stuffing our faces to a menu that I still can't wrap my head around. Though the scenery of Thanksgiving had changed for me, the menu was pretty close to what I'd eat at home: pineapple and brown sugar glazed ham, mac and cheese, stuffing, and kale were all present and accounted for. 3 sweet potato pies were the result of my destructive cooking. To top it off, 2 apple pies and a tray of delicious enchiladas had also made their way to my friends' kitchen table. By 10PM, I was knocked out.

What began as a week of uncertainty over my absence from an annual family gathering, ended in a Thanksgiving I probably won't stop talking about for quite some time. I didn't have to go home and spend my break creating excuses and justifications for my identity, something that should never have to be justified in the first place. I didn't have to create an excuse for my flattened chest, for the sudden change in the pitch of my voice, or for anything, really. I got the chance to celebrate turkey day the way it should be celebrated- doubled over laughing, stuffed, mildly tipsy from my culinary adventure, and surrounded by people that I care greatly about, and who've gone out of their way to express that they care just as much about me.

How I would deal with holidays was never a part of my deciding to transition. I assumed that the holidays would be an extremely unpleasant 24 hour period of CSI style interrogation and questioning about my life and my body. Thank goodness I have friends who have shown me that it doesn't have to be that way.

Trying Out

[Editor's note: Please welcome Cameron T to the blog!]

Author’s note: I am by no means condoning the playing of/listening to Hannah Montana by referencing one of her songs in this post. I want to make that very clear.

Since my arrival at Duke, I feel as though I’ve been trying out. No, dear reader, I don’t mean I’ve been gallivanting around attempting to join every group on campus in a desperate attempt to satiate my need for social stimulation. I mean trying out for acceptance – both within and without the LGBT community. I came to Duke with many unresolved questions in mind – Should I come out immediately? If so, how 'gay' should I be? If not, then when should I come out? Was it possible to have the *ahem* beeeeest of both worlds – being open with my LGBT friends and yet maintaining some privacy with the rest of the world? #ThanksHannah. In retrospect, I see that those questions were downright silly. Since I wasn’t out in high school, I felt as though my transition into college life would be a defining moment for how I would live for the next four years.

Needless to say, I chose to rip off the proverbial Band-Aid and enter college as an openly gay man. My reception and continuing integration into the community has been interesting to say the least.

Community is a curious word. The dictionary defines it as a social, religious, occupational, or other group sharing common characteristics or interests and perceived or perceiving itself as distinct in some respect from the larger society within which it exists. The LGBT community at Duke is (or should be) about more than the mere fact that its members all identify as LGBT. Isn’t it supposed to be about supporting and loving each other?

One of the things I’ve noticed most about our community is a seemingly ever-present sense of comparison of between individuals’ ‘levels of gayness.’ I’ve heard of people being ‘too gay, ‘not even counting [as gay],’ and being ‘not gay enough.’ During a bus ride a few weeks ago, a member of our community glanced at me, turned to his female friend, and unabashedly stated, “If I ever get that gay, shoot me.” Another member of our community once told me that he reads the BDU blog just to laugh at it. When a community which claims to value diversity mocks its own, it has far-reaching implications. I would even go so far as to say that it gives tacit consent to be mocked by those outside of the community.

So why then is there such factionalism within our little community? If being part of the community is all about what makes us alike, then why do we tend to focus so much on what’s different? Yes, I understand that there is a need for everyone to be an individual, but I am unsure why (completely unmerited and ridiculously contrived) varying ‘degrees’ of homosexuality seem to be so heavily emphasized.

I have to reject the notion that gender expression and sexuality are synonymous. Actions (watching football or liking to shop for example) are not gendered, and do not, in and of themselves, say anything about one's sexual preference. The fact that we think of certain actions as being more masculine or feminine than others is a mere reflection of societal constraints on gender. We need to rethink our notions of what it means to be ‘gay’ – in a community that strives to be as inclusive as possible there’s no room for such internal bias and exclusivity.

Anonymous Posts (11.28.11-12.4.11)

Every week, we collect anonymous entries sent in using the link on our sidebar and post them all on Monday. We post anything as long as it doesn't contain personal attacks, hate speech, or express or insinuate that one is at risk for hurting themselves or someone else. Please read this for an explanation of this policy and seek help if your or a friend find yourself in that position. With those exceptions aside, please feel free to submit your thoughts and questions. :)

Wow. What a weekend. Women's soccer took us on an incredible ride to the national championship game, and, though we didn't pull out the final 'W,' I couldn't be more proud of the team or the way this campus supported them.

The Bar...Durham got pretty crowded Saturday night, thanks to one community member's efforts, so props to him and thanks! If you didn't get any action, have no fear--Sara (#i'mbitter) and I (Girl Crushes) teamed up to make sure at least the blog got some. :-P So check out the posts!

Happy December and good luck as we embark on Fall LWOC! The Center and BDU have a bunch of events (first year dinner tonight, Spectrum Tuesday, Our Lives Discussion Group Wednesday, Women Loving Women Sunday) to keep you on your toes, so check out the sidebar. And be sure to come out to the last Blue Devils United meeting of the semester, Wednesday, 5:30pm.

Now, notes from OC!

#1
Over the last week a few people have made jokes about my being gay or being closeted and I just go right ahead and laughingly agree with them. It's funny because I am (I think right?)! But it's surprising how natural it is to hear myself referred to as gay... I guess it's just an outward expression of how I tend to think of myself anyways. Anywho I'm just chillin in the closet until I figure out exactly how I feel... what do you guys think the chances are that that will happen (I know you don't know me, but best bets)? I'm not stressed or anything, because I don't know how much it matters if I "know" how I feel, but I do feel like I wouldn't want to come out as questioning or come out at all unless I was sure.

#2
I'd be curious to know the community's reaction to this. It's a rarely expressed viewpoint here, and I'm curious as to reactions. Shane

#3
[Author's note: this is directed to multiple gay men, although the letter is addressed singularly:]
Dear Gay male, Your comment last night was hurtful. I was in your room, and you said, "The Bar was so LESBIIIAAAANNNN tonight!" You know what? The Bar was about 50:50 women:men tonight. It really wasn't "that" lesbian-in fact it was almost equal, for once. We've been going to your events for years (read: BDU, Vespa, virtually any and every gay bar, etc.), and we never once told you that it was "so gay". Instead, we quietly tried to cultivate our own women's community and hoped maybe one day we'd get a space half as many women as we consistently see at your events and your gay bars. When I walk into the LGBT Center, I notice that you talk to the gay men. But never to me. I know you're not physically attracted to me-that's okay. But it's not okay to ignore me and pretend like I don't exist. Just because I'm not a prospect doesn't mean I suddenly don't matter. I speak with men when I enter the Center-not only is it common courtesy, but ignoring them doesn't even cross my mind. Why do you ignore the women in your own space? Is it because I'm any less sexually appealing than the men? (Would that rationale even make it okay?) You say you are "progressive". You then speak over me. You talk, and talk, and talk. I'm not sure if it's your white privilege or your male privilege or both that lead you to do this-but I feel like I can never get a word in. I wish you would realize that men, statistically, dominate conversation time. Women can never get a word in. Please don't tell me that "women are more expressive with their emotions" and so that makes it okay that you are being expressive now. Facts show that women's voices are routinely not heard-whether that is politically, economically, etc. You say you are a "progressive" gay. You're not being progressive if you don't ask the women what they think-and you're even less progressive if you simply don't care. Are you recognizing your own male privilege? If not, you're losing me as a friend, because your comments hurt, whether or not you can understand why. You can actively be my ally. You can ask me my thoughts, opinions-and you can be willing to be silent (not all the time, but yes, at times), and listen to my female voice. I hope you're willing to try.
-A Queer Woman (who is a member of your community, your "family", and just as much a part of this movement as you.)

#4
I told this girl I like her today...well I hinted at it and I'm pretty sure she got the picture. She seemed weirded out and the conversation ended shortly after. I thought she'd be cool with it because she's very open about one of her relatives being gay. I think it's somewhat funny that my first attempt at getting with another girl went so horribly. I feel really crappy. That is all.

#5
I just can’t help but wish that I was better at the whole gay bar scene/thing. I’m a girl who is pretty involved with BDU and the Center and I have a lot of lgbtq friends, but I still had a hard time figuring out who to go with to the bar on Saturday night. I’m not in any of the gay friend groups, and most of my lgbtq friends are guys. It’s hard to go out with them, because they, understandably, don’t want to have anything to do with me when they’re looking for a hook up (or even when they include me, I get left out once people decide to be sexy with each other). I’m not the biggest fan of Women Loving Women, which probably would have been the easy fix to all of this. Once I finally found my way to the bar, I just felt paralyzed. I didn’t know how to dance with anyone except my gay guy friends (a few of them have the same social anxieties as me, which means that dancing with each other is the safe alternative to having to find someone of our same gender). I like dancing with them. It’s fun! But I can only do that for so long…and it’s not why I went to the bar. But when it comes to other women, I don’t know how to do anything other than ‘circle dance’ in a group. And then it gets to the point where it’s just so hard to see everyone pairing up and being sexy with each other and not having anyone. I’m so at peace with being single until I go out to the bar, at which point I’m still fine with being single/not in a relationship, but I really want to partner up for the night, at least. But of course, I don’t want to partner up with someone who I know well from Duke—because what happens when I run into them on the quad or at the center later? This isn’t very coherent, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that going out is just all so complicated for me and by the end of the night I always experience frustration, disappointment, self-hate for not being ‘better’ at ‘this’, and am in a funk.

Please remember that there are a number of resources available on campus and in the local community. These resources are available over breaks and throughout the school year. If you or a friend are experiencing thoughts or urges to harm yourself or somebody else, please reach out to the following resources: In an emergency, please don't hesitate to call CAPS at any time, including "after hours" at (919) 966-3820. Ask to speak to the advice nurse and tell them you are a Duke student. You may also call the Trevor Project, a national hotline specifically for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer and questioning youth (college students included). Their number is 866-4-U-TREVOR (866-488-7386).

Girl Crushes

[Author's Note: I originally wrote this post in mid-June.]

Step 1. Tell someone I’m questioning my sexuality (see a future post on how this goes)
Step 2. That person asks if I have a crush on a girl
Step 3. Tell that person, “No.”
Step 4. That person asks if I have ever had a crush on a girl
Step 5. Tell that person, “I don’t know.”
Step 5½. Sound stupid.

The questioning process has raised well, a lot of questions for me. I’ve spent a lot of time examining past crushes (on boys) and past friendships (with girls). I’ve thought about my current friendships, with both boys and girls. I’ve wondered about the many (female) role models I had while growing up.

All of that said, I can’t actually tell you if I’ve ever had a crush on a girl. Maybe it sounds ridiculous for someone who has never had a crush on a girl to be questioning her sexuality. In fact, I remember the first time I told someone I was questioning and they asked me about my crush history. I knew it didn’t really add up. But not having crushes also doesn’t really add up.

So I thought that maybe I had crushes that I just didn’t recognize as crushes, for whatever reason. Maybe I experienced the same feelings that others experience when they’re crushing on someone, but don’t call it a crush. Maybe I had a crush on a guy at some point, but brushed it aside. Maybe I had a crush on a woman and didn’t know because I wasn’t open to feeling those things.

Well, I feel pretty confident that I haven’t recently had a crush on a guy. I have a little more experience with those, and think I’d recognize it as familiar (for instance, five year old Risa was pretty fond of her brother’s 3rd grade best friend, Kyle. And if you're wondering, recent facebook stalking has proven that five year old Risa had great tastes and a keen ability to project future looks).

On the other hand, all of my friends who are queer women have told me that after coming out they realized that they had a crush on such and such a person (or x, y, and z people). But I don’t really know how I’m supposed to know that. I don’t remember ever feeling sexual attraction for my childhood best friend(s) or any other woman in my life—but admittedly, I wasn’t super open to the idea when I was younger (since I thought I knew I was straight). I don’t know how I’m supposed to remember exactly what that friendship was like, so many years after it dissolved, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to know whether whatever those feelings were would constitute a “crush.”

What does it even mean to have a crush on someone? There are tons of people (both men and women) in my life about whom I am crazy. With all of these people, I am invested in their lives, they make me laugh and smile, I’m always excited to see them, I like talking with them, I trust them, I admire and respect them and I want them to have a role in my life for as long as I live. Would I make out with those people? Yeah, probably, sure, I guess; if they started it. But I don’t have any desire or need to do that with them. “Yeah, probably, sure, I guess; if they started it” isn’t exactly the kind of attitude I imagine someone having about a crush.

This exercise of reflecting and examining left me without many answers. And then I read this blog post by a woman who realized what all of her past relationships were missing: “The Ripping Off His Clothes Factor.” She dated a guy who she loved to be around, talk and laugh with, but with whom she didn’t have any sexual chemistry. Now that she is dating another man, one with whom she loves to be around, talk and laugh with, and for whom she has a desire to rip his clothes off, she understands that the personality characteristics aren’t enough on which to base a relationship. (Apparently) there is more to a crush than thinking someone is an amazing human being who compliments you in life. Her wisdom led me to conclude that all of these amazing women in my life are just that—wonderful women and fantastic friends—and that the few men in my life with whom I am close are some of the best friends I could ask for.

So, have I ever had a crush on a girl? Not that I know of.
Have I ever had a crush on a guy? Yes, but not in years.

Which, in short, is why I’m “questioning.”