You will look through your Facebook friend list, looking for a friend you feel trusted enough to tell things to but then realize all of them are not really homo-friendly.
Yes, I do think it’s better to be out. It’s great to tell a group of my straight friends at a party, “You know what would make this party better? Diversity!” But like, who am I or anyone else to tell someone else, “You need to be out. Trust me, it gets better”?
She furtively tries to set him up with another member of her gay posse, which produces disastrous results, quickly learning that gay man + gay man is not a simple recipe for success (or sex).
What do you do when the most homophobic violence comes not from an anonymous blow as you’re walking down the street, but in the house you grew up in and from people who are supposed to love you?
5. “You don’t really look gay.”
Success stories of “gay conversions” spread like wildfire in the religious circles that lend credibility to the family spheres, providing hope that perhaps the right camp, the right proselyte can make the miracle transformation.
I had never really given it much thought because there was a big part of me that always knew instinctively. Then, in my early 20s I realized that people are actually probing for specific instances of my raging homosexual tendencies.
Coming out in some black families is the equivalent of ringing a death knell; it was this reality that forced me to crawl into a dark closet, lock the door, close all the latches and swallow the key for twelve years. It also created a sense of resentment and self-hate toward blackness.
There are those who base their spirituality on the the Great Commandment, or, as St. John of the Cross, a Doctor of the Church, wrote, “In the end we shall be judged on love alone.”
I have to learn my value, and that I deserve to be with someone who equally wants to be with me. These are things I should have discovered years ago, things my 18-year-old sister is better equipped at dealing with due to her many high school romances.