【英語エッセイ】The Sound Inside the Closet(クローゼットの中で)
On my 25th birthday, I randomly came out for the first time to my then newfound friend, Jill. Finally, I felt like I had freed myself from being in the closet. It was an unexpected dinner invite, because she pitied me for not celebrating. It turned out to be a life-changing moment, the beginning of me finally knowing myself more for who I am. Before then, I didn’t fully comprehend what I was (or at least at that point I still didn’t want to accept the truth).
Don’t get me wrong, I did understand that my feelings and preferences screamed gay. There it was, my attraction to other boys: the itchy feeling in my toes every time my best friend, Adrian, would have his arm over my shoulder, the buzz of my seatmate’s thigh brushing against mine in music class. I was 12, a shy kid whose favorite color was blue, but lights up when he sees Pink Ranger and Cardcaptor Sakura.
I thought being gay was a choice. I also thought that taking that path would mean my friends would think I was a perv. I would probably be ostracized at Sunday school. And if Mom and Dad found out? My mind could not fathom what might happen then. That was how I defined being gay: a problem. I thought that there was no happiness to be found in being gay. “It’s just a phase,” I told myself. I took a detour and shut myself in the closet, a decision I made since time immemorial.
I thought that curling up inside the realm I created, however dark, would give me solace. That I could simply traipse through streets hiding behind button-up shirts, a clean haircut, and straight A’s; the boy everyone I loved wanted. By choosing to be straight, life would be easier. Except that, because I was keeping so many things from everyone, the anxiety was always at bay, pouncing at the most critical times. I was always so cautious not to be accidentally outed through my actions. This meant that I had to be mindful of the way I walk, because in disapproving eyes, one sway of the hip could give it all away. Every move I make and word I say must be precise, rehearsed, ready to be performed in front of an audience. Hands in the pocket, deep voice, it’s always an act. It was exhausting.
I remember that if there’s one place I dreaded the most growing up, it was the dinner table at family reunions. There was the nosy aunt with her unending questions, the religious conversations, and the unsolicited opinions and advice from people who only showed up once in a blue moon yet they suddenly felt that it was their job to be concerned about your life choices, as if feeding on your fears and uneasiness. The main course that they wanted to dig in was my long luscious curly hair. “Why did you grow it that long?” “When are you going to get a haircut?” “It’s cool but you look like a girl. It doesn’t suit you.”
There’s not enough training and acting skills that would make someone ready to be placed in that position. I was just trying to enjoy my meal but I always felt ambushed, shaken, and crushed.
It’s not an uncommon scene for me. For as long as I could remember, it was instilled in me that being gay is wrong. Brought up in a family of devout fundamentalists, it’s very common for me to listen to the stories of Sodom and Gomorra and how it is a sin to be gay, that God only made an Adam and an Eve, and the Caitlins and the Elliots should not exist. I grew up believing that choosing to be queer would only make you end up in the burning pits of hell. And, while living, you become a laughingstock, a walking variety show, deprived of love and respect.
And I didn’t want to be like that at all.
It has been more than six years since I first spoke my truth to Jill, currently one of my best friends. It hasn’t even been that long but numerous defining moments already altered the course of my life. Many have shown me support and love and it is an inexplicable feeling to be free, yet I still have not gathered enough strength to come out to my family. As most of them say, do it when you’re ready. But the truth is, I don’t think I will ever be ready. The thought of disappointing my family and the risk of losing them always extinguishes my courage. Perhaps, in time, the sound inside the closet will become too much, and there’s nothing to do but to let it all out.
******
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