Hello I am sitting here at my computer at 6:23 am. Another night I couldn’t sleep well and feeling more alone than any soul on earth should feel. I turn to the presence of my cats for company and my new found shamanism beliefs in nature as I slowly look at the devastaing effect traditional religion has had on my brain in not accepting myself.

I once was a lesbian as if I once was a child, but I grew up and went back to being the kind of woman society accepts, that men find attractive, and that my son would admire. Sad thing is I didn’t admire me. Not only did I not admire me, I chose men who would hit me, use me, cheat on me, and worst of all not make me feel a thing in bed. I always thought if I could just find the right man, my body will respond like theirs does to mine. But no no no, year after year after year I defaced my own emotions with endless numbness offering my body to a man as if it was my only ticket to being straight. I had to pick despicable men for the cruel and endless punishment for really being a lesbian!

54 years later, 5 years of being unattached to anybody or anything, I realize the lie I have been living has cost me my life.

No I didn’t killl myself like so many gay and lesbians have from the 1950’s in the small town where I grew up. But I slowly have been committing suicide by trying to be something I am not. I even have found religious counselors telling me when I heal over the hurt my 2 fathers put me through, that I will naturally want to be with a man once more. As they flaunted their “straightness” in my face like their lifestyle was the only one worth living, I fought countless vain attempts to fit in with their image of me instead of being the person I really am to myself.

This is a guest article by moonflower.

We met almost purely by chance, I think. What were the odds you would stumble on my Fridae profile when we weren't remotely connected, and actually take time to read through it? Or that you would message me and tell me how you found me interesting.You know, I didn't even think you were pretty. I was already thinking of how to say no to you.

And then I heard your voice, your words. I felt the chemistry, the connection forming between two people over the phone. It was instant, precipitating out of everything we said to each other, and more importantly, what we didn't say.

I thought I was finally getting my turn, finally meeting someone I could love, after years of solitude. What did it matter, that you were plumper than I would have liked, or had a fashion sense I would otherwise bitch like hell about? We had a chemistry I never had with anyone else, man or woman. You were beautiful to me.

You were child-like, often immature. Your arguments didn't make sense, for someone who was an ex-debater. You were not remotely interested in activism, the gay community or anything related to it. You were everything that I said I didn't want in a woman, and everything my past loves and dates were not.

And yet, I fell for you.

I was off cycling with Mum at the beach because she wanted my company. The weather was wonderful- neither sunny nor rainy. So we went on two separate bikes, much to my consternation. For she’s a slow cyclist. And i had to keep going at her snail pace. [Which i did. Mums get away with almost everything- in my case.]

The pleasant trip was tainted somewhat when she made a remark about how lesbians won t last in relationships  and cited how some of the tomboys she knew in her teenage years were later married to men. I happily told her that some of the lesbians i now know were married to men. It goes both ways. And they come with children from the straight marriage they had.

This whole conversation started when i told her of my secondary school good friend, Clarise. She s from China but brought up in Singapore. As a result, she had to contend with parents of a passe mentality. Her parents were stubbornly against her current boyfriend because she hadn t asked for their approval before falling for him. [Please don t tell me how dumb that is  i feel it in my little toes.] So, Mum was going, ‘I don t understand Clarise’s parents. At least her daughter isn’t lesbian!...’

‘Ya Ma, i am the worst daughter.’

And she lapsed into this verbal fit. ‘You don’t cherish your family like you should.’
To which i retorted immediately, ‘Mum, we are at the beach cycling! I have other things i can do.’ That did it. Because i am the only one that would go to the beach without complaints with her in the family. My sister hated bugs of all sorts. I have an intense disdain for mosquito bites but that risk is worth taking for Mum’s happiness. [I was bitten by vicious mosquitoes four times during the trip and i am still scratching!] And i certainly ain t into slow cycling. I speed.

I had lunch with my aunt and uncle on Good Friday. This was different from the usual family lunch because there were only the three of us. After we ate, my uncle left first to go play golf, so my aunt and I continued chatting. Soon, and without warning, she turned the conversation to my Lesbianism. I breathed slowly and wondered where it was going. This uncle and aunt (my mother’s brother, and his wife) are the ones I am closest to because my sister and I used to live with them for a period of time. I came out to them just over a year ago. The way that they have reacted is that they still love me and treat me no different than they did before, but only now they pray for me more. They still think that being gay is a sin, but they continue to “Love the Sinner”. So, with this background, I was wondering how the conversation would go.

She began by relating her experience at the Mardi Gras parade in Sydney this year. She and my uncle had gone to Sydney to visit my cousin who is in university there. Their visit had coincided with the Mardi Gras weekend, and because my uncle and another friend of theirs had never seen such a parade, they decided to watch it. My aunt then told me that she had once watched the Mardi Gras parade in Perth. At this point I was thinking “Wow, my aunt has been to more Mardi Gras parades than I have!” A few years ago, she was on holiday with her mother, visiting my sister who was then studying in Perth, and coincidentally their trip had been on the Mardi Gras weekend too. The three of them were having dinner in a restaurant which happened to be along the parade route and when it started they thought “Hey, let’s go see what it’s all about.” My aunt and my sister soon figured out it was a gay parade, but anyway they enjoyed the bright colours and decorated floats and lively atmosphere. Even my aunt’s mother had a good time, now and then she would ask my aunt in Cantonese why 'the people were dressed so oddly'.