Tell Me, How Do I Exist and Flourish?
The perspective of a queer / mixed young-adult, and how intersectional identities navigate the world.
Throughout my entire life, all I’ve been looking for is one thing: direction.
Looking east, I see the shadows of my mother’s culture. My converted catholic ancestors haunting my spirit; wishing it wasn’t men who I was born to feel attracted, but instead become the desirable masculine figure that births purpose in a woman. Their sighs of divine regret casting judgement on my being before their assumed God will “inevitably” bring.
Looking south, I see the shadow of myself. The shadow of a boy who chose to bask in places light could not find. The boy who wanted to head so far south, that he longed to feel the stillness of what lied under. A boy who drove to a cliff and decided he would end it all, for if it weren’t the shooting star flashing across the galaxy’s sky would he have chosen to leave this earth.
Looking west, I see the promise of a better life. I hear the song of the Village People reminding me of sunshine in winter and skies blue enough to grant me peace. The pangs of love that insure my life as something larger than I could ever imagine. The rallying cry that brings my community together, so that we will never feel the glare of resentment society timelessly inflicts.
Looking north, I see my hope in the sky. The star in the sky that shines brightly for only my eyes. Its light illuminating the path I’m meant to take, and bringing me to the tribe I’ve always searched for. The essence of love I yearned to receive in youth; the star so effortlessly providing warmth to my being and bringing purpose to my days.
The communities in which I “belong” are not communities that accept the self I present. My mother’s filipino heritage has casted me as an outcast due to my sexuality. Additionally, I am gated from her heritage by her assimilation to American culture. My father’s “whiteness” is an aspect that brings confusion to my exterior, for I’m unsure of whether or not people see this facet of myself upon initial impressions. The privileges of being white are one that I’m unsure I’m even granted. In terms of external factors, I cannot say where I exist.
Growing up queer and mixed has instilled a sense of disconnect between myself and my identity. A recurring theme of my life is questioning what makes me who I am, for it is not my race, ethnicity, or gender in which I feel validated as human. Instead, I find validation in my morals, actions, and words.
The home that I’ve built in my queerness is what’s allowed me to thrive. What I initially thought as a curse, I’ve found power in the people and community I’ve been blessed to find. The LGBT+ community is one that is far from perfect (there’s complex layers of racism and toxic masculinity), but having friends that are aware of these issues and work to combat them has granted me a fulfilling sense of purpose.
Being queer defines my life. There’s not a day that goes by in which I don’t give it thought.
It’s important for me to own this aspect of myself. It is the one aspect that I truly feel “proud” of. The people before me have fought long and hard to earn the rights we are privileged with today, and I choose my life to continue fighting for a better life for my community. I am blessed that I am able to walk along the street with a feminine strut in my stride and a freshly done manicure to cherry my nails. It is these minute victories that ensure better lives for our futures.
So, how do I exist? The way I exist is to bring justice for marginalized voices. Voices that have been erased in the records of history by eradication of representation. Although my voice is young, I choose to strive towards refining its ability so that I may create a feeling of hope for my shining community.
“Go west,” sing the Village People.
“Head north,” reassures my heart.
