What is there to know about them, really? It’s been discussed, analyzed, over analyzed and then analyzed some more. There is actually no story there. “All right people, move along, there’s nothing to see here”, the way that Officer Barbrady would put it.
They’re only a few variables: it’s either boy meets boy, boy falls in love with boy, boy harasses boy until boy says “yes” and they live happily ever after no matter what society has to say about it,
or girl meets girl, girl is confused because, as it turns out, she also likes boy because girl is bi-curious so she will give this a try, girl gets even more confused because she seems to like both girl and boy, girl prays for answers so she finds Jesus and becomes a nun (and she lives happily ever after),
or perhaps boy discovers at a very young age that boy is more into his mother’s high heels and dresses and that he’d rather feel pretty than play with cars and watch violent cartoons. Boy will soon find himself in a dillema when he notices how different boy is from the rest of them and that he feels like a girl trapped in a boy’s body (or so I’ve heard)
and there are so many more (two-spirited, intersex, asexual, pansexual, agender, bigender, gender variant etc.)
Again, nothing to discuss here. It should’t be. We are what we are and that’s that. But that’s where the other voices come up. People who must hear themselves talk. People who must have oppinions and not keep those to themselves. People who think they know better than anyone on different matters. People who point fingers. Angry people who sign petitions against other people, just because they have a different set of values. People who suddenly remember that there is a God and that – and they know this for a fact – He does under any circumstances approve of same sex couples, nor will He leave unpunished whatever it is that they’re doing there.
And don’t get me wrong: I, myself, still am a judgemental person, as much as I try not to be. I got this from my father who, too, is a judgemental person. It’s not entirely his fault, this is how he was raised. As Romanians, we come from a traditional society. Nah, this is bullshit.
We come from a rather superstitious society, with a very closed minded attitude, where God is scary and will hold it against us on our Judgement Day if we decide not to kiss holy mumified body parts whenever they come to town. We were taught to condemn what we don’t understand, instead of digging deeper into ourselves to acknowledge and kill the demons that make us so afraid and weak.
As a Romanian, I wasn’t actually used to all the freedom I found here although I read, watch documentaries, have a few gay friends, travel ect. I’m fighting this and I’m almost there. Why oh why do we find it so much easier to judge what we aren’t capable of understanding rather than to let live and accept and maybe read a few things before we open our sinner mouths in contempt?
To make a long story short, I don’t know. I literally have no idea what drawns people to same sex individuals the same way that I would always be drawn to sexy, dark haired, lumberjackish men.
I don’t know how a young man feels when he puts his sister’s red lipstick on or buys his first pink wig or has to keeps this side hidden from everyone else to the point that it becomes an unbareable bourdain and there is no one there to talk to…
I don’t know what childhood trauma makes a woman want to grow a penis and have breast reduction surgery.
I don’t know what a woman is going through until she finally has the courage to tell her old father that he will never be “Grandpa” to anyone because she is in love with another girl and she’d rather take her own life than be forced to let a man touch her.
I don’t know how it’s possible that every single gay man has such an amazing taste in clothes and how, as soon as he admits to be gay, becomes this fabulous interior designer.
I don’t know.
That being said, I left home on Saturday having an entirely different schedule.
I left home on Saturday consumed with prejudice. My actual problem started two weeks ago, when I started seeing the adverts for the “#LoveIsLove parade” that was to take place in London on the 8th of July. That’s when I started to get defensive.
“So…am I supposed to…what? Cheer and applaud these people who are parading before my eyes admitting that, now and then they get fucked in the arse and lovin’ every second of it? Why is that something to be proud of? Since when is sexuality something to shout about? Should I feel bad for not being gay? Is not being gay bad? Am I doing something wrong? Am I a paria? Are these people out of their freaking minds? Am I?”
I spent two whole weeks having that in mind.
An then Saturday came and, as I said, I had entirely different plans…but then I got to Oxford Circus and something changed. No, no…everything changed.
I saw smiles and rainbows, glimpses of what freedom should look like (if freedom was an openly gay man), balloons, hope, bravery, red buses filled with dressed up people, feathers, men in high heels wearing rainbow wings, sequins, vintage clothes and crazyness, leather and BDSM equipment just for the fun of it, flags and syncron dances and more balloons, red and dark brown and purple lipstick, hairy asses and cellulite and chicks with dicks, or dickless men, lollipops and a whole lotta plasic, wheelchairs and glitter, but I mostly saw people as they were and simply couldn’t look away, as I was drawn to everything they stood for.
They were beautiful and misunderstood.
From scouts to policemen, from catholic priests to lawyers, from babies to elders, from HSBC to You tube, from employees to patrons, from Facebook to Disney personnel, these people had something to say.
An they said it all right. And then, of course, they danced, shouted, whistled, drank the hell out of it.
“Look, buddy, I was scared. And traumatized. And bullied all my life because of something I truly believe I am. Don’t look away, look at me. Talk to me. Accept me. I bet we have so much in common…and even if we don’t, this is me and I’m not afraid anymore. Don’t be either. Life is too short”
Life is too short!
GreenEyed Kisses,
Error: No posts found.
Make sure this account has posts available on instagram.com.