Because I Loved Her

Dear World,

I remember the first time I realized I was gay. It was in the 6th grade and we were learning a dance for the end of year show, The Lion King. Us, being 6th graders, were each assigned an 11th grader for a part where we would have to hold hands and dance.

And of course, because we were 6th graders, we all giggled about having to dance with a girl. And I, of course, giggled too until I saw her.

You know those moments in movies when the guy finally sees the girl and the slow music starts as he gawks at her? Yeah, that's what happened to me, except I wasn't in slo-mo and I'm not a guy. I was a lanky, hijabi black girl.

Nonetheless, I still fell completely in love. Every time I thought of her face, I smiled. I even wrote a dumb poem about her, called, Ruse (that was her last name).

Back then I wouldn't have recognized it as love. I would've called it a friend crush as an excuse for why I wanted to marry her (an excuse I made often for countless girls after her). It just never occurred to me back then that I could be gay. I thought being Muslim and being a hijabi would somehow deflect the gay. It deflected the gay girls, but not the gayness itself.

She was the very first love of my life and I will never forget her.

And there is always an aching part of me that regrets not just leaning over and kissing her when we held hands and danced.

Why?

Because I loved her. And love doesn't have a gender.

Love,

Jibbida