Coming out – Step 1: To myself

Coming out – Step 1: To myself.

Ok, that was the easiest step.
As easy as rain falling from the sky. Didn’t have an umbrella, and even if I had one, I’m not sure I would have pulled it out.

Tomboy from 2 to say.. 17. Two older brothers, a sister who’s 4 years younger. A kid’s got to play, and I didn’t want to be left apart, so I was the goalkeeper of all the improvised football (soccer) games in the backyard. Loved being with boys. Girls annoyed me: I always looked hyper-energetic with girls around, when I could easily blend in with boys – well at least as long as my body didn’t get his feminine bells ringing yet. Boys were fun, athletic, I had a blast being with boys when I was a kid, loved to argue with them, sometimes fight, play, run around, or just sit around reading or doing nothing. Pretty hard to hang out with boys in a Muslim country, when you have 2 older brothers. But well, when I was a kid, I guess they believed it was cool, and innocent. Matter of fact, it was, so everybody was happy about it.

High school, still tomboy-ish. Felt in love with hip-hop, that certainly didn’t help my girly side to come out, but love doesn’t care about what people say, my wardrobe was packed with baggy jeans, Timberland boots, Nike Air Force Ones and hoodies, while my eardrums couldn't find enough time to listen to all the records I was piling up in my room. Wearing large clothes does help with the entering into the boys club. I was dressed like a boy, almost talked like one, and beside my “BFF”, avoided as much as possible the girls in my class, in the school yard, during gym classes… If I had to pick a gym mate or a physics class mate, it had to be a boy. No boring giggling about boys, no boring never ending talks about make up or clothes, but instead, music, action movies, how girls can be stupid and of course my favorite of all time talks with boys back then: football.

Later, college. Left home and my country to study overseas: welcome to France. You grow up really fast when not where you belong. Kept wearing my baggy jeans for college classes, but had to switch them for a more feminine appearance when started to work to pay for my studies. Well, “had to” is a bit unfair: loved it actually. I felt comfortable in street urban wear, but classy feminine clothes just felt so natural. The trouble with such clothes – and might’ve been why I avoided them for so long – is they get men’s attention. I was straight, so why would I mind? Well, for starter because I didn’t like being hit on. Nine times out of ten, it’s just embarrassing, and sometimes, even more for you than for the hitter. Any girl can tell, put a skirt on and walk around, and hits will fly by just like in a Barry Bonds game of the year. Quiet enjoyable when the slugger’s a good player, but when it’s your average wannabe-home runner, you don’t really want to watch the game anymore. And I minded because I had better things to do than waste time with guys that didn’t impress me that much: studies, work, studies, studies… Oh, I should add that I’ve been hit on a couple of times (or maybe a bit more) by girls. Mostly at parties, on the bus, in the subway, and at first I thought it was the baggy jeans, but then that happened twice or so when I was in what I liked to call my “Woman disguise”. Hmm. That certainly grabbed my attention a few seconds. First to acknowledge that a girl hitting on you is oh boy so much smarter and smoother and classy-er in her moves than most of the boys, and secondly, to wonder if really, girly girls could be attracted to girly girls. Yes, I’m not really good with shades of grey, so to me, in a girls couple, there had to be a butch. And they say ignorance is blessed… Anyway, didn’t give it much thoughts at the time, didn’t even make my brains flinch about my “straightness”. Which by the way came across my future ex-husband, on that very cold, very unforgettable, very lovely, September morning?

Spent around 6 years together. Great years. Very difficult years. So different one from another, yet so much in common. Let’s keep the details to myself, suffice to say it was a struggle to get married. Here enters the play, my nightmare of the century, divorce. Went through it like a bullet through a beating heart. Fast, hard, bloody and probably killing something on the way.

Silence. Not a sound around me, everything was just too quiet. I could explain all too well the reasons of this relationship ending. But still. Something was wrong. Wrong, maybe not, but it was bothering me. It’s like hearing a sound and not being able to say what side it comes from. Or looking for a name you know but can’t remember. Tried to talk myself out of it “Come on now girl… don’t worry, it’s just the break up, it’s hard, you’re just still struggling with it, don’t worry, everything’s gonna be fine..”. But I couldn’t listen to myself. See, I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t struggling. I WAS fine. So what was that ? That something crawling up its way in my head, to float on its surface with the magnificent lightness of a feather on a quiet sea? I floated too, swimming slowly in the quiet ocean of singlehood that I was enjoying for its calm and its soft breeze. Then suddenly, this wave appeared. Huge wave. Very soft, very quiet. Not a sound, yet large as an entire beach shore.

Scared the shit out of me. How did this wave arrive here ? Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move anyway. the wave was beautiful, so powerful yet so…humble. Crossing its way through the surface, convinced yet very smooth. My brains were racing. Hello hyper-thinking. Hello diggin’ into the far corners of my head to find a steady reasonable explanation. Of course, couldn’t find one. None other than the melody my heart kept echoing in my brain, that sounds so familiar, so natural, so obvious, so comfortable, it was like a forgotten lullaby I remembered and recognized. Strange. Very strange.

And that’s when her face popped into my mind, and everything got in place.

Rain.

Easy, simple, obvious, unbeatable, made sense like a truth.

Inside conversation between me and myself:

- Ok. What the…?!
- Hush. I’m enjoying this. *looking at the face in my mind*
- What the…hey, wake up, hey, I need you to focus here !
- Shhhh… *wide smile* – OK I’m SO screwed. This can’t be.
- Well, you and me know what it is, pretty un-miss-able, hun ?
- Can’t be… can’t be.. – Slow down, heart’s gonna pop out of its aorta…
- Can’t be. How did I miss it, I know her for 1 year and a half now !
- Yup. *smiling again, starting to watch slideshow of the past year and a half..*
- Hey. *snaps fingers* Back with me please, com’on, this can’t be, she ain’t even..
- even what? gay? Let’s ask her! Wow. Ok, so I’m gay? Gay. Gay. G-G-G-Gay. Sounds funny.
- Ok that’s it. It's official. I'm insane.
- Am I gay? I mean, how can people tell? Not that I care actually… *back to the slideshow*
- OK. That’s it. Reason, get in here, let’s sort this out with logic. 1. I’ve always been straight, not an ounce of lesbian inclination in my entire life..
- Objection: There’s the L Word.
- Oh shut up, there’s a ton of straight girls who watch the L word, just remember who told me about the show, the straighter queen of straight land !
- well okay, but there’s also those girls hitting on me ..remember? That one on the bus ? The ones at parties…? *grins*
- How come suddenly that’s not a detail and it becomes an argument?! Like I said, 1. I’ve always been straight. And 2, and that’s not up to discussion, 2. I’m Muslim.
- hey, you’re talking to yourself here..can’t lie to me, you know as well as I do that being gay and a Muslim is certainly not impossible, and certainly not wrong. And you don’t have to look it up to know you’re convinced of it so let’s not make an excuse out of it, and don’t even try and go all lectury on me, it won’t work.
- …
- Yup, So screwed.
- ok then, 3.it’s just the separation. It was hard, I’m in a phase or something…
- Like you are the “phase” type. Miss all or nothing. Miss binary. Miss 1 or 0. Miss love is not enough. Miss control freak. Miss let’s have a plan, and a backup one, and another backup one just in case. Just a phase, yeah right. Pffffff…
- …
- … *Goes back to the mental pictures and videos*

By that time, I had already come out to myself. Even before the monologue had started, I knew that was real. It was me. Felt so natural, so simple, and so true.

( Do I need to elaborate on the “her” part ? I guess I don’t, most of you certainly know what I’m talking about. )

That was around mid-august I think. Can’t remember the precise day or night I realized it. Took me more than a month to sit myself in front of the girl and talk to her about it. But even before doing so, I was already ok with myself and with what I call “my big discovery”. Can’t fully understand how this can take 30 years to show itself, but I guess my cultural background and lifestyle, the society and entourage , all play a part in it. And can’t help but think about girls who “discovered” this at a younger age, how it must be harder to deal with.

Coming out. One down, the rest of the world to go.