Happy National Coming Out Day!

Happy National Coming Out Day!

Some may argue that my coming out wasn't entirely necessary (See Picture above)

I was seventeen and barely an idea of man. Bambi legged, I was still figuring out who I was and experimenting with hair color was a big part of that. I just finished my H.S.C. and was waiting for the results. Relieved and also anxious, I kept myself busy working and volunteering at the Cabramatta community centre. An aspiring artist and activist, the community was a big part of my identity. I had a love-hate relationship with the village gossip culture and surveillance aunties who seemed to be everywhere and knew everything. While it felt claustrophobic, it was also all I knew. The world outside those suburbs was often unwelcoming to people who looked like me so those hand full of suburbs the world called West was home.

A current affairs program “60 Minutes” got in touch about a story they wanted to make about young people. It’d be an optimistic piece about the future of Australian youth. Where are you from, what are you doing now and where do you want to go? I jumped at the opportunity. It was a chance to represent my community and be on TV for the first time. The interview went well. I talked about growing up in the western suburbs and how that diversity shaped me to make meaningful change in the world. Being different was my super power. I spoke well. The interview ended and she thanked me for my time. We talked a little afterwards about other things. Over the next week I tell anyone who’ll listen I'm going to be on TV being interviewed about my studies. A week later the show came out and they led with my smiling face and the words coming out of my mouth “ Yes I’m gay” The rest of the interview is a blur. I don’t know how much of my story was told.  Those three words muted everything that came after. I stayed with friends in the city, too much of a coward to go home. Suddenly I was out. Everyone knows I'm gay.

When I did return to Cabramatta it wasn't the hero’s welcome I expected when I shot my mouth off about being on TV. In the streets I was met with a mix of disappointment, shame and rejection. The suburb I once rode the train home to, I was now an unwelcome guest. I stood outside my parent’s grocery store looking in. Mum was in her usual plaid shirt and capri pants behind the counter serving customers at the check out while dad was in the aisles restocking the shelves. He’d push up the glasses that were always falling down his face. They looked like they always did. Busy. For a brief moment I went back in time. To a time before I came out on TV. A time they would proudly tell people I'm their son.

I sauntered in as casually I could.  My hands were shaking inside my pockets.  I said hi to mum and she nodded as she was busy with customers. I find Dad in the canned food aisles working away. I can hear the price label gun clacks away before I see him. I pick up the cans and silently helped dad stack the shelves. We don't talk. I can't meet his eyes.  

The shame, recriminations and anger I thought I’d have to deal with never came. Instead there was a silence that was almost worse. There would be a black hole between us after that, swallowing thoughts, words and feeling. Things we want to say might never be able cross that void ever again. I knew that they knew. The whole suburb was talking about it. People I didn't even know were now describing me as the “gay guy”. It was clear that they didn't want to talk about it. For years we lived in that limbo of things we can't and won’t say. My friends gave me the advice that they needed their own time to come to terms with it. So I spent years omitting joy, success, heartbreak and love from our talks. 

They took their sweet time, but they have mostly come to terms with who I am. While we now holiday with my partners and spend christmases and birthdays together they still hold onto their own ideas and values. A few years ago they voted against marriage equality. Our relationship is fragile. For now I’m choosing to be optimistic. Speaking in half truth may perhaps mean that we can only share half love. Not being able to let them know about my struggles, joy and relationships sometimes weighs on me, but I’m lucky enough to have friends who are better than blood relatives.