out, in 5 parts
a reflection on 10 years being visible
i. at a grocery store, spring 2013
we were snaking our way through every aisle of the grocery store, surveying every product they had on display. we made “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” at every new snack we noticed and even tossed a few into the basket, just to try.
this wasn’t a usual trip to the market. normally, dad and i did the shopping—and he never would have stood for such frivolity or time spent meandering.
but this time, it was just me and mom. and we liked to linger.
we stopped in front of the frozen meal section, debating whether or not to peruse their ice cream collection next or skip temptation altogether. i can’t remember what exactly went awry—but we were on the verge of a public display of annoyance, and she simply wouldn’t stand for that.
i walked away when she told me to stop being so emotional. i took a lap, and she waited for me to silently blow off some steam. as much as i wanted to run away from her in that moment, she and i both knew i’d come rounding back—and i did.
and that’s when i told her.
“what’s gotten into you, misao? why are you acting like this?” she asked.
i looked down at my feet, knowing what i wanted to say, just not how to say it. how could i tell her what i wanted her to know without also having to divulge what i didn’t want to admit?
the walls were closing in, and summer was just around the corner. rumors made a habit of taking bloom once school was out of session—after all, lies are easier to believe when there’s no one around to defend themselves.
but this wasn’t a lie completely. and i knew it would spread like wildfire. so i gave her the only definitive statement i could; so she could hear it from me before she had to hear it from anyone else—
“other people at school don’t think i’m straight. and i’m not sure i am either.”
ii. in an airport, summer 2013
it wasn’t my first time flying alone, but it was my first time having to navigate dulles international airport. i’d never taken a shuttle to get to my next gate before—and with so many moving parts, i was scared of getting lost and missing my next flight.
i studied the airport map on the plane as my seatmate regaled me with horror stories about the army and basic training. he seemed happy to talk about himself, even when he apologized for twitching in his sleep.
“sorry,” he said. “must be the ptsd.”
when he asked me where my next gate was, he offered to escort me there himself. he boasted knowing dulles like the back of his hand—but would i mind having lunch with him first?
i studied my surroundings, made note of every mental escape plan i could. it was a calculated risk to go off with a stranger, but i turned back to him and i agreed.
he asked me how old i was as he bit into a burger at five guys. i told him i was sixteen, hoping to scare him out of thinking he might pull any shit against a minor. he said i looked pretty for a sixteen-year-old, and i silently cursed myself for telling him my real age.
after watching him sop up wet fries in an anthill made out of ketchup, i thanked him for lunch and said i knew where my gate was now. still, he followed me close behind and sat next to me when i put my bag down.
i pulled out a book in hopes of stifling any conversation. but he just laughed and said i looked cute when i got mad. he made it clear he was staying his ground. but so was i.
a political ad came on the television screen—a call to action in advocacy of lgbtq+ rights and same-sex adoption.
“fucking homos—i can’t believe this shit is being played in an airport,” he huffed. “i don’t care what you do in the privacy of your own home, but don’t put that shit in front of kids, you know?”
i kept my head down in my book, making it clear i wanted no part in this melee. but my reticence wasn’t to his liking, so he pushed and he prodded—“i guess you’re okay with gays then?”
only then did i look up and stare directly back into his eyes.
“if you have a problem with gay people, then why have you been actively flirting with one for the last four hours?”
iii. in my childhood living room, fall 2013
he was visiting for a weekend—or maybe longer, i could never tell. every time he’d come into town, it was for a gig or to meet up with friends, so i knew my time with him was limited.
we sat on the couch in our childhood living room, not looking ahead at the tv but, for some reason, directing our attention to the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard.
i could hear mom talking on the phone in the front room behind us. dad was probably smoking in the garage. it was evening, and he didn’t have anywhere else to be that night. so i figured this was my chance to catch up and try my hand at sibling repartee—something our seven-year age gap couldn’t quite keep up with once he left for school.
the conversation must have dipped, because all i can remember is this pregnant pause. staring out at the dark sky, i figured i’d better tell him now, giving us both a moment of grace so our expressions might be reserved for some invisible audience rather than make us perform for each other.
i followed the script i had created with mom—but this time, without the caveat of others making this decision for me. stated simply, i said:
“i don’t think i’m straight.”
that’s when i felt the couch seize up.
i glanced at him peripherally to gauge his reaction. i saw his eyes flash wide and his face go slack. i could see him take his time trying to rearrange his expression, shuffle it back from honest surprise to considered politeness.
we sat there in silence, both of us catching our breath. and i couldn’t help but run through the myriad emotions he might possibly be feeling.
“so…” he finally managed. “what are you then?”
i paused. no one had ever asked me that before—not mom, not people at school. everyone else just assumed they already knew.
it took me a second to realize that this was my chance to finally give an honest answer, and i was grateful to be giving it to my brother.
i took a second to search my rolodex of terms, deciphering what i had been called from what i felt called out to me. and for the first time since this all started, i was finally able to tell someone the truth—
“i don’t actually know.”
iv. in a science lab, winter 2014
it had been awhile since i came to talk to him. but we fell easily into the routine of me waving at him through his office window, and him getting up to find a classroom for us to chat in.
he was one of the only adults i trusted at the time, though i was never sure why—i wasn’t particularly good at or interested in science, though i excelled in his class. but outside of physics, he knew how to listen and provide solace without coming across as patronizing or disingenuous.
we sat in the science lab, facing one another from across the table. things had gotten so bad but i didn’t know where to start. i had made the decision to keep him out of the loop, fearing how it might come across to others who sunk their claws into every action i made.
but this felt like the last time i could tell him honestly what was going on—before it got to the point where my word and my character became utterly worthless with disrepute.
we talked about the musical i was in. i glossed over details i knew he’d feel inclined to report. instead, i focused on how this was affecting me outside of rehearsal—what people were saying, and what people felt privileged to ask.
i must have been talking too much or pummeling out information too fast because he couldn’t seem to keep up—and that’s when i decided to just come out and say it.
“i guess you should probably know… that i’m gay.”
and then i went quiet.
for a moment, he looked shocked. then, he softened and slunk deeper into his seat.
those rumors hadn’t seemed to reach him yet. but he looked at me with kindness, and it was the only time in the last year that i felt like it was okay for me to just be.
somehow, we wrapped our conversation up, and i asked him not to tell anyone what i had just admitted. he didn’t seem particularly involved with the politics of the school, though he may have just done a good job of hiding it.
still, between the desks and beakers and whiteboards and walls, i felt safe for just that moment. and i didn’t shy away from the word others seemed to use as a weapon.
v. fin/début, summer 2015
at a grocery store.
in an airport.
in my childhood living room.
in a science lab.
these are all the places i once came out—in hushed tones, hoping that nobody else but the person in front of me could hear; with eyes darting back and forth to see who might be passing by. none of these moments were premeditated, but they all seemed to call for an admission of my truth.
as we reach the tenth anniversary of the supreme court’s decision to pass marriage equality across all 50 states, i wanted to take a moment to pay tribute to these places, people, and feelings that accompanied me on my coming out/being outed journey.
it’s been a decade since i officially declared to the world that i was gay—ten years of learning how to turn poison into medicine, and spin ash into gold.
being outed might have come close to taking my life.
but everyday since, queerness has saved me.
— misao
thank you so much for witnessing my writing!
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much love & hydration to you ~
happy end of pride month. You wrote a beautiful piece, on your coming out experiences. I especially enjoyed your quip in part three (at the airport 😉). I can't afford to subscribe monthly, but did want to tip you for your hard work and your clarity and the beauty of the images you chose to go along with your writing.
Keep up that creativity ✨🥳✨
You are such a lovely storyteller, there’s a way I was brought into each moment and time. So many emotions to juggle in this and so young. Makes me want an ode to this post