The Beginning of Life as We Know It

On being a rainbow in a colorblind world

Most parent-child relationships are formed in a direct, connect-the-dots sort of fashion. The child preforms well in life and he gets a hug; misbehavior equals a timeout. Rules are clearly defined, and communication is almost always a realistic solution to confusion. Humans are a reflection of our universe, and our children are no less a reflection of the universe we create for them. Most children don't grow up broken because we try our best to make sure their observable universe is whole.

When I grew up I didn't realize it but my universe wasn't whole - my parents created an Earth that would inevitably break me because I was destined to fall in love with someone who looked too close to my own reflection, and heaven forbid I love myself too much. I was told I'd eventually find a tall, handsome heart  to complete me with everything that I wasn't; it seemed obvious to everyone but me why I needed to look for strong, powerful hands to lift my heart to happiness. When I fell in love I thought maybe I could finally show the rainbows interwoven into my voice and the way I move but instead they made me sit sobbing on the staircase while I listened to my parents talk about how they could paint me black and white again.

They gave me a choice to pretend I couldn't see the color but somehow it was easier to try to ignore the invisible bruises on my back whenever I held her hand. For some reason sameness means an abnormality but at least I could stitch my lips into a smile when I saw her, because to this day I have never found anything to be more contagious than her joy. At home, though, I could feel my soul ache and I couldn't ignore the shattered glass in my heart. It's hard to love yourself when you're constantly told that certain parts of you need fixing.

When I see myself, I never see "gay," just me. But when other people look at me it seems like all they see is "gay," and that's the part I could never understand.