Bi the Way, I Don’t Really Belong

I guess being a part of some community was always a big deal to me because I grew up as a complete outsider. I was heavily bullied for 9 years, and it certainly impacted my life in not so great ways.

I must have realized that I was bisexual around the age of thirteen or fourteen. It was around the time when Lady GaGa had released ‘Born this way’, and I found true solace in her fandom. Most of the people were members of the LGBTQ+ community, and even though I wasn’t out of the closet to anyone yet, I felt like one of them.

You see, most of my friends are straight and monogamous. It’s quite simple for them. They find a man that they like and date him (one at a time!). For me… well, it’s been quite a chaotic journey from one dating app to another, then rinse and repeat.

But this is not what I want to talk about today.

At the age of twenty-three, I finally moved back to my home country, after living in the UK for almost 4 years. Of course, I was hesitant when it came to seeking out potential love interests on dating apps, because Latvia is still quite homophobic compared to many other countries. However, when I found out about all the Pride events, I was excited. I was about to meet my people, make friends, maybe even find a potential partner or a few… Well, that didn’t go as planned at all. I didn’t feel welcome in this clique, in the community where everyone knew everyone already and there seemed to be no space for newcomers.

While I am proudly out-of-the-closet bisexual, I struggle to identify with the people in my local queer community. I don’t shout my sexuality from the rooftops, it’s just a natural, integrated part of me that I share with people if and when it comes up in the conversation.

I don’t try to be quirky in an off-putting way by making poop jokes on stage or making animal noises during the Pride march. And I simply don’t relate to people who always seem to be hiding behind their exaggerated queer persona and not showing any genuine part of themselves. Maybe this is simply the thing that queer people, mainly between the ages of 18 and 21 (sometimes up to 25) love to do. I don’t know. All I know is that I didn’t feel like I belonged. Not in the queer open mic event, not in the march itself. I was there, but I didn’t feel like a part of it.

I think, the biggest disappointment comes from expecting that the local LGBTQ+ community will be warm and welcoming, only to see that it was more like a clique. Perhaps, my introverted nature was not in my favor either. I struggle to get out of my comfort zone and get to know new people. But, I feel like I did what I could. It just… wasn’t enough.

After the open mic event, I thought that maybe I was jumping to conclusions and the Pride March itself would be better. While it was okay, I would not have attended it without my friends. Because feeling lonely and alone in an event that is supposed to celebrate unity would fucking suck.

So why the hell did I feel so different from them? For a while, I struggled to find the term that would describe the local queer community, until a friend of mine pointed out that probably the right word is camp.

Camp — ostentatious, exaggerated, affected, theatrical.

That’s it. That’s the best way to describe it. People didn’t seem to be genuine at all. Instead, most of them were hiding behind their exaggerated queer persona masks. And, as you might imagine, people who wear these masks all the time, are hard to approach or to connect to.

So where does this leave me? Well… I might risk sounding bitter as I say this, but I’m not really interested in attending any LGBTQ+ events in Latvia in the future. I have come to a conclusion that being bisexual does not automatically include me in a particular LGBTQ+ community. Do I feel hurt? Yes. Is there anything I can do to be included? I don’t think so. In conclusion, it simply is what it is.