Last week I wrote about how my family gave me trust issues. I briefly wrote about how my experience in brown (or Surinamese-Hindustani) spaces wasn’t a safe one for me. In part because of my messed up Family and the destabilizing formative years. But there’s another layer to it:
I’m bisexual.
I didn’t know any queer people when I was growing up, aside from the occasional gossip by Family on someone’s (not our) Family member being that way or what I learned in mostly white spaces. But I knew I wasn’t straight.
For a while, my father would bring me these Veronica CD’s with top-40 pop music. On the cover of those CD’s were scarcely clothed women, and when you removed the CD, they’d be wearing even less. Clearly, I was not the target audience for this, but my parents had no problem with it… and neither did I. That was my bi awakening, if you will, because the way I looked at those women made me question whether that was “normal.”
Once, when I was feeling very brave, I asked a cousin I sorta trusted whether it made me a lesbian if I thought women were beautiful. I worded it ambiguously enough so she wouldn’t actually think anything more, just a general appreciator of feminine beauty, and I was relieved when she didn’t. She laughed and said no, and I decided to just let it be.
I didn’t trust for my truth to be accepted and respected within the Family. Not when I’d already been told all the things that were wrong with queer people. Many, many hurtful comments that I won’t repeat here.
I couldn’t speak my truth, but I could stand up to that bullshit. I could tell them that they were wrong for thinking those awful things. I could try to make them see reason, so they would see queer(/black/muslim—because bullshit ideas go hand in hand) people like normal people. My naïveté. I’d gotten so used to fighting back verbally, to having endless discussions. I had more energy for those when I was a teenager and that felt like my only form of resistance that would still ensure my personal and some emotional safety.
As I got older, I realized they enjoyed it. They certainly believed what they were saying, but they also enjoyed that I engaged with them. It’s a special kind of dehuminization when you’re closeted and having those discussions. Then, a Family member gets this amused look on their face… coz they’ve said a thing that they know I will react to. Ha ha! A sparring partner. Natasja will definitely say something about that. You should be a lawyer! You should be a politician! Very amusing! Much fun!
Not for me.
Fortunately, I could be myself around my friends. The people I chose to be with. I dared to open myself up to them, and as a teenager I told all my closest friends (brown and white) about my sexuality. With them I felt safe enough. I embraced them, and rejected my extended Family. If I could, I avoided Family gatherings. It caused a lot of conflict between my parents and I. Despite their trauma at the hands of the same Family, they still wanted to be on good terms with them. I get it. They were the only people they had in foreign land. And Family was everything.
But I didn’t feel safe, and I didn’t agree with their (traditional, racist, sexist, Islamophobic, and homophobic) way of thinking, and I didn’t always feel like dealing with that.
I couldn’t exactly communicate that to my parents. Definitely not the queer part. It’s not like they were any better when it came to that mindset. (There’s been a learning curve for them, and they’ve definitely improved, but there’s still a long way to go.)
So I remained as distant as I could be from Family, physically wasn’t always within my control, but mentally—hard yes. Even at gatherings, if I could I would separate myself. I’d just hang back by myself or with maybe one other person, and I’d entertain myself. I must’ve seemed like quite the disinterested loner. I was. On rare occasions I’d have myself a good time.
A recurring comment I’d get from relatives was: “Ah, there she is. No longer glued to her computer.” A device that connected me to friends all around the world, friends who understood, friends with whom I could talk about whatever.
Friends I felt safe with.
I’m fortunate that I at least had this experience in my late teens. It opened up my world a bit, and I learned more about queer people. And with the rise of social media it’s gotten even better! The online community, especially the brown community, or Indo-Caribbean community, is so connected and supportive and outspoken. I’m so glad kids today have that. I’m glad I have it now too! I’m meeting new people, with similar experiences, and I hope to keep on learning, growing, and sharing.
I’m so grateful for that. I love the solidarity amongst brown people, amongst immigrants. And I’m all for solidarity within the community, but we also need to be real about a lot of the pain coming from inside the community. For women. For queer people. For those who don’t (want to) conform. It’s not safe for us. I was never able to bond with Family, and the community in extension, not when so much of myself had to remain hidden so I could have conditional love and an illusion of safety.
And I know I’m not alone in that. I know that’s still a reality for many out there.
As a matter of fact, it’s still for me.
Despite what the Western narrative demands, I’m 31 and I haven’t come out to my parents. The amount of pressure that I’ve felt to meet the expectations my parents put on me, especially after all the hardship they endured for me (the guilt that stems from that, fair or not), in a culture where Family is everything, and continuously being dismissed for my wants and needs, for my individuality—all these things have made it extremely complicated for me to open up to my parents. On many levels, not just about my sexuality. It’s been a long journey, and being closeted has definitely contributed to my depression and anxiety (that’s a major understatement), but like many things right now… I’m working on it. One day, and one thing, at a time.
I’ll get there.
On a more hopeful note, I told my younger sister about my sexuality last year. She is, without a doubt, the one person in our Family that I've come to trust wholeheartedly. So, yes, I’ve got trust issues, but I also know she’s got my back. And I’ve got hers.