oh, now you want to get personal?

i went to a friend’s birthday party on saturday.

in the back corner of the apartment, i talk to a drunk french man. there’s someone else with us, too, an australian who recently moved to new york. three people trying to mingle, trying to chat, learning who’s who in this party. my eyes are a bit tired. i can feel the strain of my dry contacts. the gin i’m drinking makes me loose but sleepy. i woke up early that day. i made a dessert for the occasion. the cup feels warm against my fingers as i hold it all night. the lemon slice joe placed in my first drink still floating in my second go. the australian asks a question. my memory is foggy now. i don’t remember what it was exactly or how we got onto the subject. the french man exclaims: oh, now you want to get personal? his eyes half shut, he falls back against the counter. he laughs. he begins to tell us about himself. how he came to be and understand himself and his sexuality. he talks of an ex girlfriend. he talks of the misery of a misalignment of a self. the australian does not fully understand: but you were in a large city, did you not feel safe coming out? the french man replies that it was not a matter of being safe. all the conditioning from his youth, the small french town he grew up in, the judgment he had internalized. it held him back. he struggled. his misery radiated off of him. i could not fully imagine what that was like. i understood him though. it was not just a matter of the acceptance externally, of being in a big city that’s more supportive, but more so the true inner acceptance of the self. the ability for your mind and your soul and your body to align. your soul beckons and yearns to be let out, to be expressed, no matter how deep and darkly it is buried.

he continues on. he mentions the most surprising aspect of coming out was the increased closeness to his family. his openness and vulnerability allowed his family to love and accept him more. the authenticity that he finally stepped into was what brought them all closer, there was no more hiding. there was only growth, and steady acceptance, and appreciation. we watch his exuberance, the unburdening. as he talks he reaches a hand out, brushes my arm. we connect. i talk of my own coming out. i paint the picture: a cold winter upon my return to america. a grandiose plan to come out to my parents, introduce them to the long distance japanese boyfriend at the time. i tell the two that for weeks my anxiety spiked, i grew scared. the years that i spent free and open abroad were a fever dream to me at that point—i had reentered the closet in the same house i initially built it in. i was not free yet. i could not do it. i was not ready. but my boyfriend was still coming. he had purchased tickets, he planned to stay for weeks, he wanted to be in a safe environment. i talk to the men about the dinner the night before, my mother uncharacteristically sitting to my left, my father diagonally from me. i don’t remember what we were eating at the time. at one point, i must have gotten the courage—courage used lightly here—to just say that someone was visiting us in america and they were staying for weeks and that they’ll be arriving tomorrow. my mother, stunned, looked at me and unable to believe what i was saying. i say to the frenchman and the australian: what was seared in my memory is my mother crying how come you didn’t say anything why would you do this i will never forget this. a moment that had the potential to open a rift between us. i tell the group that my mother’s main concerns were the state of the house, whether it was cleaned or not. i go on to tell them that he came the next day and within a few more my mother realized we were sleeping in the same bed. we laugh together in the kitchen. it’s an open secret now, i say. music starts playing. our conversation winds down.

i leave the party after the candles are blown out and the everyone begins to move to the next location. i hug the australian and the french man goodbye. i take an uber home. i sit in silence in the back of the car as it crisscrosses the streets of bedstuy. the french man’s story lingers in my mind. i think about how sometimes within ourselves there’s a true self that can be buried, that our trajectories are not always linear, that circumstances or environment can help or hinder us into bringing that true self to the surface. i think about the smile on the french man’s face as he talks about his own realization, how happy he seems to be now and how much misery he must have had. i think about the others i’ve known who have struggled, whose journeys were not as early as mine or whose journeys were more difficult than mine. i wonder if i even really know myself. i consider whether there is true alignment in my soul, whether i really am happy or just endlessly looping through my days, whether the mistakes i’ve made in the past still define me today. i arrive at my destination. i exit the uber, climb the stairs to my apartment, head towards my bed.

i fall asleep, thoughts rooted deeply in the past.