Karma is a big bitch.
So I have a long and complicated story that takes place between 8:55 and 9:13 this morning.
There once was a college student named Rachel, who didn't go to sleep until 2 am because she was too busy laughing riotously in another dorm to be bothered with sleep. Lucky for me I did go back to my room last night, lest I would be in a puddle of tears somewhere.
So there I am, sleeping peacefully at 8:55 this morning, my alarm clock set for 9 am (class at 10:30), when all of a sudden there is a pounding on the door. My roommate, who was also asleep (but had class at 9:30) jumped out of bed to answer it.
It was the RD, who is a friend of mine and the advisor for the GSA.
"Is Rachel here?"
"Yeah, but she's sleeping, what's up."
At this point I am almost awake, because as soon as I hear my name I wake up.
"Her car is being towed."
I jump out of bed, half hanging out of my tank top, pajama bottoms hanging around my waist.
"You parked in a space where you aren't supposed to park, they're towing your car."
"WHAT?"
So she repeated herself, as I adjusted my tank top and put my addidas sandals on.
So I grabbed my keys, my wallet and my cell phone, and sprinted down to the lot where my car is parked. The details of my run to the car teeter on the obscene, so I'll just leave it at some people shouldn't run with tank tops on, because it may or may not result in a black eye.
Sure enough, there were people there doing construction right next to my car, but there was no indication that the space where my car was parked was a space where they were doing work. There were cones partitioning off all the spaces to the left of my car, and to the right there were rows and rows of cars, sitting pretty.
So I slowed down, walked toward my baby Rhonda (my car), with tears welling in my eyes, and asked if I could move her. The guys, ruther disgruntled, said yes, so I moved my girl to a safe location, removing the bright orange ticket that had been lodged under her windshield wiper (the second one I've gotten this week, might I add, but I deserved the first one).
At this point I was pissed off beyond belief, because there was nothing indicating that I couldn't park there, there was no reason they should have threatened to two my car, to wake me up when I had five minutes of sleep left, to make my run down a big ass hill in the most uncomfortable sandals ever, looking like a complete and total douche with my hair all crazy and unkempt Irish in the morning.
So I bust into campus police like some kind of badass and start giving them a piece of my mind, about how I shouldn't have to pay the fine, the cones weren't in the right place, why should I have to pay a ticket when some asshole moved the cones and it's not my fault, this isn't fair blah blah blah on and on. I was heated, and maybe a little rude, but no ruder than those guys have been to me in the past (though might I add that I know several of the guys from campus police and they are wonderful people and they do a great job, they're the best). The first guy I dealt with basically told me to calm the hell down and man up and pay the fine, cause I wasn't gonna get out of it. The second guy who I dealt with took the ticket and told me to head on my way, without paying it or anything else. So I did, told them all to have a great day (sincerely) and left to call everyone I knew and tell them how outrageous my morning was.
And then it occured to me, as I was walking back to my room, that there was a reason the cones were missing from the spot they clearly wanted no one to park in.
My friend and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to steal cones and put them on our friends' cars last night, so we did. Apparently we stole the cones from the spot where I proceeded to park last night, having forgotten that I was parking in a reserved space (a "tow zone" if you will).
Basically, I'm the asshole kid who moved the cones, and then forgot that the spot from which I stole the cones was a place where I shouldn't park.
Wow, I am dumb, and lucky as hell that my car didn't get towed.
"Carma"
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
A Grain of Sand
I wanted ice cream earlier, so I went to the DQ. It was still bright outside, with the sun peering through the orange and red leaves. The fall is so beautiful here, where the trees grow over the road so everywhere you drive you're going through nature's tunnel. My high school creative writing teacher from Utah told us once that the most beautiful part of moving to the Northeast from the West was that out in Utah and California (she also lived in California for a while) the trees didn't grow over the road, but here they do, and it's spectacular.
There were a few people at the DQ, all bundled up because it is starting to get cooler. There was a woman, by herself, a man, by himself, and a group of four, two older women and two older men. One man had a cane, but walked very poorly even with the cane. The other three weren't much better off, but they were a bit more sprightly.
I was waiting for my small reese's cup blizzard when, behind me, the man with the cane fell on his stomach, cane sprawled out in front of him, practically kissing the ground.
I kept repeating oh no oh no oh no, and gave him my arm to lean on while another person gave him theirs on his other side. He got up, but he had such difficulty regaining his footing. It took three people to bring him to a table to look after him.
I know what it's like to constantly worry about falling, not personally but because my mother had polio when she was younger, and as a result she walks with a limp. I remember once we had tickets to see The Lion King on Broadway, and we got up early to get in the car and drive to New Haven to catch the train. Only we never made it to the show, because my mom fell down the steps in front of our house and ruined her knee, now it pops in and out so when it pops out she has to stop, sometimes for hours. I was ten, I think, when that happened, while my mom lay in the driveway in pain and I frantically called all of my aunts and friends nearby, panicked about what to do. I take good care of my mother, because she doesn't have anyone but me. I support her when she walks, I help her up and down stairs, I glare at the kids who stare at her limp, whose parents haven't taught them to respect other people.
When that man fell today, all I saw was my mother, who wants so desperately to be normal, to walk and run and dance. But she never had the opportunity to do those things. She doesn't know what it's like to feel the wind in her hair when she's running down a tree lined street, or to hear the whip of her lacrosse ball sailing into the net, or the velvety feel of the pink ballerina shoes she longs for every day of her life.
I don't want her to be the person with the cane who falls. I don't want her to grow old. I don't want to grow old. I want to stay young, to live on the lacrosse field, to thrive off of the sound pouring from my violin, to live for a life of dawns and grass and leaf piles.
I want everything to freeze where it is, to take the great moments and hold them forever. I want the man with the cane to be okay. I want every person with the cane to be okay.
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence
There were a few people at the DQ, all bundled up because it is starting to get cooler. There was a woman, by herself, a man, by himself, and a group of four, two older women and two older men. One man had a cane, but walked very poorly even with the cane. The other three weren't much better off, but they were a bit more sprightly.
I was waiting for my small reese's cup blizzard when, behind me, the man with the cane fell on his stomach, cane sprawled out in front of him, practically kissing the ground.
I kept repeating oh no oh no oh no, and gave him my arm to lean on while another person gave him theirs on his other side. He got up, but he had such difficulty regaining his footing. It took three people to bring him to a table to look after him.
I know what it's like to constantly worry about falling, not personally but because my mother had polio when she was younger, and as a result she walks with a limp. I remember once we had tickets to see The Lion King on Broadway, and we got up early to get in the car and drive to New Haven to catch the train. Only we never made it to the show, because my mom fell down the steps in front of our house and ruined her knee, now it pops in and out so when it pops out she has to stop, sometimes for hours. I was ten, I think, when that happened, while my mom lay in the driveway in pain and I frantically called all of my aunts and friends nearby, panicked about what to do. I take good care of my mother, because she doesn't have anyone but me. I support her when she walks, I help her up and down stairs, I glare at the kids who stare at her limp, whose parents haven't taught them to respect other people.
When that man fell today, all I saw was my mother, who wants so desperately to be normal, to walk and run and dance. But she never had the opportunity to do those things. She doesn't know what it's like to feel the wind in her hair when she's running down a tree lined street, or to hear the whip of her lacrosse ball sailing into the net, or the velvety feel of the pink ballerina shoes she longs for every day of her life.
I don't want her to be the person with the cane who falls. I don't want her to grow old. I don't want to grow old. I want to stay young, to live on the lacrosse field, to thrive off of the sound pouring from my violin, to live for a life of dawns and grass and leaf piles.
I want everything to freeze where it is, to take the great moments and hold them forever. I want the man with the cane to be okay. I want every person with the cane to be okay.
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence
Lucky
Today is a big celebration at my school, no classes and all talks of what a great school we are, how blessed we all are, how thankful we are to the sisters without whom we would not be here. It's mainly for the freshman to get to know the college better, and to see the sisters who love them so much, without even knowing them personally yet.
The speaker today was Melissa Fitzgerald, Carol Fitzpatrick from "The West Wing." She spoke about her work in Northern Uganda and the work she does with disadvantaged youth in this country. She was a very powerful speaker. I won't even lie and say I didn't cry when she showed a video from Uganda of the refugees she works with singing and dancing, talking about how lucky they are to have what they have. Many had scars from the war, some were paralyzed. A boy my age had a bullet hole in his left arm, leaving it useless. But he can still use his right arm, and he knows he is lucky. A sixteen year old girl can hardly keep from crying when she thinks about how difficult her life has been, but she can move mountains with her story, and she knows it.
And here I am, laying on my standard issue mattress, staring at my $800 television, my counter overflowing with junk food and 100 calorie lorna doones. I don't want to ever take the blessings I have for granted. I am so lucky.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Love
When I was younger I went to the YMCA for camp and daycare. I was the only white kid, and not only am I so white that I'm almost transparent, but I also have red hair. I was the first person with red hair that any of the other kids had ever seen, and I got my hair pulled a lot. But I certainly didn't mind terribly, they never hurt me when they pulled my hair. And I was never different, really, after the first couple of weeks. We all swam together, and played with legos and invented crazy games. I lost touch with all those girls a long time ago, but I loved them all and I still think of them often. When I showed up to their birthday parties it didn't matter that I was the only white kid there, I was never the white kid, I was just Rachel. I put the pinata mask on too, and it blocked everything out except for their voices, their laughter, the sounds of kids being kids.
But kids turn into adults, and more often than not adults become their parents. I don't believe in color-blindness, though my mother would be quick to say that there is such a thing. But I live in the real world, where people judge people based on appearances, based on first impressions, based on what they've heard and not what they have been able to determine for themselves.
Generalisations turn into stereotypes, turn into opinions turn into hate. The Nazis weren't thinking of the families of the Jews when they shuffled them into box cars. The IRA doesn't see the Irish blood coursing through the veins of their "enemy." All they see is hate.
I have a serious problem with hate. Which brings me to my point that I really, sincerely, would like people to stop using the word hate. Every time I hear it, it makes me uneasy. So casually, people can "hate" a person for being annoying, they can "hate" a group of people sitting on the bleachers at a volleyball game, they can "hate" a person because they don't like the colour of their skin, or the way they talk, or where they are from, or the nasty things they have heard about THAT group. THOSE people. No one is THOSE people, there are no THOSEs. There are only people, and individuals.
Don't tell me you hate someone, and then cry because you heard someone hates you. You have no idea what hate is. Show me the tattoo on your wrist from the camp where they killed your entire family just because you are Catholic. She me the scars from where you were beaten, just because you are white and all the other kids are black.
Show me the love in your heart for all people, show me the willingness you have to lend all people the other cheek, lend all INDIVIDUALS the other cheek.
How dare you hate someone, hate a group of people, denounce someone, mistrust an entire group, reject the weary, befriend the gossip, when you call yourself a Christian. When you call yourself a good Catholic, a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist, a lover of God, a lover of life, a lover of freedom and air and good food and flowers and safety. Hate is something unfathomable to me, and I can't for one minute believe that my peers can grasp hatred any better than I.
Love everyone for who they are.
But kids turn into adults, and more often than not adults become their parents. I don't believe in color-blindness, though my mother would be quick to say that there is such a thing. But I live in the real world, where people judge people based on appearances, based on first impressions, based on what they've heard and not what they have been able to determine for themselves.
Generalisations turn into stereotypes, turn into opinions turn into hate. The Nazis weren't thinking of the families of the Jews when they shuffled them into box cars. The IRA doesn't see the Irish blood coursing through the veins of their "enemy." All they see is hate.
I have a serious problem with hate. Which brings me to my point that I really, sincerely, would like people to stop using the word hate. Every time I hear it, it makes me uneasy. So casually, people can "hate" a person for being annoying, they can "hate" a group of people sitting on the bleachers at a volleyball game, they can "hate" a person because they don't like the colour of their skin, or the way they talk, or where they are from, or the nasty things they have heard about THAT group. THOSE people. No one is THOSE people, there are no THOSEs. There are only people, and individuals.
Don't tell me you hate someone, and then cry because you heard someone hates you. You have no idea what hate is. Show me the tattoo on your wrist from the camp where they killed your entire family just because you are Catholic. She me the scars from where you were beaten, just because you are white and all the other kids are black.
Show me the love in your heart for all people, show me the willingness you have to lend all people the other cheek, lend all INDIVIDUALS the other cheek.
How dare you hate someone, hate a group of people, denounce someone, mistrust an entire group, reject the weary, befriend the gossip, when you call yourself a Christian. When you call yourself a good Catholic, a Jew, a Muslim, a Buddhist, a lover of God, a lover of life, a lover of freedom and air and good food and flowers and safety. Hate is something unfathomable to me, and I can't for one minute believe that my peers can grasp hatred any better than I.
Love everyone for who they are.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
I'm Glad I Share a Room with Weird Al
My life is filled with comedy. Today was a slow day, but I'm feeling great, so I have to share something that happened last semester (which I may or may not have shared previously, but it's the funniest thing).
Often, my roommate and I will go to the showers at the same time, and have conversations. Interjection: sometimes I sneak into the bathroom while she's in the shower and play my mandolin for her and scare her. She appreciates it, and my mandolin sounds lovely with the sound bouncing off the tiles.
So last semester she and I were in the showers, two stalls apart, shooting the breeze. I realized that I forgot shaving cream, so I asked her to throw hers over. So she did, and it landed in the stall between us, which was occupied. The girl shrieked and said "umm.. why did you just launch shaving cream at me?" Al (my roommate) was so mortified, it was hilarious.
So I finished up in the shower and went back to the room, all warm and cozy. All of a sudden Al busts into the room and goes "If I smell like peanut butter, I'm sorry."
Completely serious. She just got back from an abnormally long shower and she warned me of her peanut butter odor.
Maybe it's one of those things where you had to be there, but I laugh just thinking about it.
Like the time my friend Ashley came back from a weekend, and she had hot pink nailpolish and she bought a dress (everyone thinks Ashley is a raging bull dyke who is deeply in denial) and my beloved roommate took one look at her nails and said "Ashley, did you grow a vagina over the weekend?" In complete seriousness.
The girl has no filter, which makes my life so much more interesting. It's like living with someone with tourettes, only hilarious instead of unfortunate.
We call her Weird Al because she and I have been known to stay up very late, taking songs and rewriting them to serve our purposes. Al is the master at rewriting songs, any of my creations pale in comparison to hers. She's very creative, and super perverted which is always good for a laugh.
I'm very glad she's my roommate, and equally glad that I can truly call her one of the best friends I've ever known.
Often, my roommate and I will go to the showers at the same time, and have conversations. Interjection: sometimes I sneak into the bathroom while she's in the shower and play my mandolin for her and scare her. She appreciates it, and my mandolin sounds lovely with the sound bouncing off the tiles.
So last semester she and I were in the showers, two stalls apart, shooting the breeze. I realized that I forgot shaving cream, so I asked her to throw hers over. So she did, and it landed in the stall between us, which was occupied. The girl shrieked and said "umm.. why did you just launch shaving cream at me?" Al (my roommate) was so mortified, it was hilarious.
So I finished up in the shower and went back to the room, all warm and cozy. All of a sudden Al busts into the room and goes "If I smell like peanut butter, I'm sorry."
Completely serious. She just got back from an abnormally long shower and she warned me of her peanut butter odor.
Maybe it's one of those things where you had to be there, but I laugh just thinking about it.
Like the time my friend Ashley came back from a weekend, and she had hot pink nailpolish and she bought a dress (everyone thinks Ashley is a raging bull dyke who is deeply in denial) and my beloved roommate took one look at her nails and said "Ashley, did you grow a vagina over the weekend?" In complete seriousness.
The girl has no filter, which makes my life so much more interesting. It's like living with someone with tourettes, only hilarious instead of unfortunate.
We call her Weird Al because she and I have been known to stay up very late, taking songs and rewriting them to serve our purposes. Al is the master at rewriting songs, any of my creations pale in comparison to hers. She's very creative, and super perverted which is always good for a laugh.
I'm very glad she's my roommate, and equally glad that I can truly call her one of the best friends I've ever known.
Monday, September 29, 2008
In Case I Didn't Ramble Enough About the GSA
I have to study for an exam in my research methods class, but I'm doing everything in my power to procrastinate. So here I am.
Apparently I have an exam in research methods tomorrow, and two exams on Wednesday (one in statistics and the other in child development). All courses I need to take in order to remain a psych major. Which means I'm kicking myself for not being a carefree English major. I can talk Shakespeare until I'm blue in the face, but all this analytic nonsense is... well... analytic nonsense. I'll do fine though, because I am genuinely interested in the subjects (for the most part... the intricacies of the APA Ethical Code are only so interesting though... but I definitely understand the necessity in it).
I have a meeting of the executive board of the GSA in an hour, which will kill more study time. And then I have to stand guard in the lower student union from 9-midnight in the event that anyone from campus wants a board game or to watch movies on the big screen. But I'll be doing homework that entire time, so it will at least be semi productive.
I got another email expressing interest in the GSA today from a girl I've seen around campus, who I know is painfully not out. I was actually really thrilled that it was from her because I am starting this club with the hope that the GSA will be a safe environment for people coming to terms with their sexuality. I know how hard it is when you're so sure of who you are, but you can't bear to face the reactions of others. This club certainly isn't about outing people, either. I would never out someone, particularly when it is painfully obvious that they aren't ready to be out. But it's so sad to watch. I remember coming to college, already out to several of my closest friends, already completely sure of who I am. I thought I totally accepted myself, and that everyone else would too. Unfortunately, I felt like I couldn't be out at school, and so I didn't tell anyone, until it all reached its boiling point and I had to be out. I don't want that to happen to anyone else, though I know it happens all the time. I want this school to let everyone know that it is okay to be who you are, and that everyone will be appreciated no matter what, which is how I feel now. But it's how I should have felt as an incoming freshman. I guess the long and short of it is I'm trying to spare the freshman some of the tribulations I went though. But I understand that we all need to make our own mistakes, no one else can make them for us, unfortunately.
In any event I'm totally excited about the GSA, in case it's not obvious. Totally not excited at all about three exams in the next two days, but it'll be okay. Everything is always okay.
Apparently I have an exam in research methods tomorrow, and two exams on Wednesday (one in statistics and the other in child development). All courses I need to take in order to remain a psych major. Which means I'm kicking myself for not being a carefree English major. I can talk Shakespeare until I'm blue in the face, but all this analytic nonsense is... well... analytic nonsense. I'll do fine though, because I am genuinely interested in the subjects (for the most part... the intricacies of the APA Ethical Code are only so interesting though... but I definitely understand the necessity in it).
I have a meeting of the executive board of the GSA in an hour, which will kill more study time. And then I have to stand guard in the lower student union from 9-midnight in the event that anyone from campus wants a board game or to watch movies on the big screen. But I'll be doing homework that entire time, so it will at least be semi productive.
I got another email expressing interest in the GSA today from a girl I've seen around campus, who I know is painfully not out. I was actually really thrilled that it was from her because I am starting this club with the hope that the GSA will be a safe environment for people coming to terms with their sexuality. I know how hard it is when you're so sure of who you are, but you can't bear to face the reactions of others. This club certainly isn't about outing people, either. I would never out someone, particularly when it is painfully obvious that they aren't ready to be out. But it's so sad to watch. I remember coming to college, already out to several of my closest friends, already completely sure of who I am. I thought I totally accepted myself, and that everyone else would too. Unfortunately, I felt like I couldn't be out at school, and so I didn't tell anyone, until it all reached its boiling point and I had to be out. I don't want that to happen to anyone else, though I know it happens all the time. I want this school to let everyone know that it is okay to be who you are, and that everyone will be appreciated no matter what, which is how I feel now. But it's how I should have felt as an incoming freshman. I guess the long and short of it is I'm trying to spare the freshman some of the tribulations I went though. But I understand that we all need to make our own mistakes, no one else can make them for us, unfortunately.
In any event I'm totally excited about the GSA, in case it's not obvious. Totally not excited at all about three exams in the next two days, but it'll be okay. Everything is always okay.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Ironic Spontaneity Rant Extraordinaire
It seems funny to me that nothing is ever spontaneous in my life. Everything is always planned well in advance, there are no mysteries. I couldn't even come out to my mother spontaneously, I had to carefully plan out not only what I was going to say to her but also all of the potential responses she would have and my reaction(s). I guess it's true, we do turn into our parents. There is no one more overly-analytical than my mother, except for me.
That being said I'm pretty freakin excited about going into Boston to see some small town band play this coming Friday, it should be a great time. And then Saturday is... TEGAN AND SARA! I have been DYING of anticipation all summer for this concert. I will probably faint and cry like a little school girl.
And the following weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving so the madre and I are trekking up to the great white north for family time and home cooked meals mmmm. There is honestly nowhere in the world that I love more than Newfoundland. It's just a brilliant place, beyond gorgeous. It's usually not too cold this time of year, which is good because I'm more of a Florida girl. But Florida doesn't have scenery like this:
or this:
I'm pretty excited about the "upcoming events," if you will.
I was asked to be on the student athlete advisory committee here at school, (the acronym is SAAC, which makes me gafaw every time) which is just another thing to add to my already outrageous schedule. But somehow I am ahead in my work, and currently working on Thursday's assignments... Busting my ass to get stuff done last night was super successful and very productive.
And people are so so so interested in the GSA, which is great and I'm so glad. I was talking to the madre about it yesterday, and I told her I was kind of wary in telling her that I was starting a GSA here. She said I need to trust her, that she is fine with it and I need to cut her a break. She's not going to freak out because she is totally fine with the fact that I am and have always been gay. She's not shocked that I'm gay, she is shocked that I kept it from her.
I guess maybe I'm the one having difficulties here in that, I've known I was gay for so long and I've kept it hidden from her for so long that it is hard for me to be honest with her and to let her into my life. Which is really sad, but I think it's the truth. I can't call her up on the phone and tell her all about the girl I like or what my crazy ex girlfriend did this time or how much it hurts when people say cruel things like "just move to Canada" or when I find out that I am distinguished by my out-ness and not by my personality as a human being.
I think that's the scariest part of being gay and of being out. It's a toss up whether people are going to recognise you for what you contribute to their lives by virtue of your human-ness, or if they are going to see everything you do, everything you are, everything you will potentially do, as being directly influenced by your being gay. Maybe it's just an age thing, maybe college students still haven't gotten a grasp on the fact that very few things are a result of your orientation, your gender, your race, your ethnicity.
I'm starting the GSA at school because I want there to be a safe environment for gay students, supportive students, bi student, trans students, etc. etc. It's too scary to be thrust into college, just when you're starting to be comfortable with who you are. There need to be people here who are approachable and friendly and understanding who have been through it, who know what it's like, and who will listen. We need to do things that prove that we're not just "different," we're fun, active, adventurous, talented, goofy and always learning too. I'm gay, but that's not all there is to me. When people see me walking down the road or sitting in the library or eating lunch with my friends I want them to know I'm not just the gay chick, I'm Rachel, I play lacrosse for Team Awesome, I save frogs and worms when it rains, I love the violin, I try to be insightful in class but often fail miserably, but I'm always smiling, and I have the best movie collection on campus.
I didn't begin writing this for it to turn into a rant about the GSA or about my feelings on out-ness, but I guess that's what it turned in to. C'est la vie. Happy new week, hope it's great all around!
That being said I'm pretty freakin excited about going into Boston to see some small town band play this coming Friday, it should be a great time. And then Saturday is... TEGAN AND SARA! I have been DYING of anticipation all summer for this concert. I will probably faint and cry like a little school girl.
And the following weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving so the madre and I are trekking up to the great white north for family time and home cooked meals mmmm. There is honestly nowhere in the world that I love more than Newfoundland. It's just a brilliant place, beyond gorgeous. It's usually not too cold this time of year, which is good because I'm more of a Florida girl. But Florida doesn't have scenery like this:
or this:
I'm pretty excited about the "upcoming events," if you will.
I was asked to be on the student athlete advisory committee here at school, (the acronym is SAAC, which makes me gafaw every time) which is just another thing to add to my already outrageous schedule. But somehow I am ahead in my work, and currently working on Thursday's assignments... Busting my ass to get stuff done last night was super successful and very productive.
And people are so so so interested in the GSA, which is great and I'm so glad. I was talking to the madre about it yesterday, and I told her I was kind of wary in telling her that I was starting a GSA here. She said I need to trust her, that she is fine with it and I need to cut her a break. She's not going to freak out because she is totally fine with the fact that I am and have always been gay. She's not shocked that I'm gay, she is shocked that I kept it from her.
I guess maybe I'm the one having difficulties here in that, I've known I was gay for so long and I've kept it hidden from her for so long that it is hard for me to be honest with her and to let her into my life. Which is really sad, but I think it's the truth. I can't call her up on the phone and tell her all about the girl I like or what my crazy ex girlfriend did this time or how much it hurts when people say cruel things like "just move to Canada" or when I find out that I am distinguished by my out-ness and not by my personality as a human being.
I think that's the scariest part of being gay and of being out. It's a toss up whether people are going to recognise you for what you contribute to their lives by virtue of your human-ness, or if they are going to see everything you do, everything you are, everything you will potentially do, as being directly influenced by your being gay. Maybe it's just an age thing, maybe college students still haven't gotten a grasp on the fact that very few things are a result of your orientation, your gender, your race, your ethnicity.
I'm starting the GSA at school because I want there to be a safe environment for gay students, supportive students, bi student, trans students, etc. etc. It's too scary to be thrust into college, just when you're starting to be comfortable with who you are. There need to be people here who are approachable and friendly and understanding who have been through it, who know what it's like, and who will listen. We need to do things that prove that we're not just "different," we're fun, active, adventurous, talented, goofy and always learning too. I'm gay, but that's not all there is to me. When people see me walking down the road or sitting in the library or eating lunch with my friends I want them to know I'm not just the gay chick, I'm Rachel, I play lacrosse for Team Awesome, I save frogs and worms when it rains, I love the violin, I try to be insightful in class but often fail miserably, but I'm always smiling, and I have the best movie collection on campus.
I didn't begin writing this for it to turn into a rant about the GSA or about my feelings on out-ness, but I guess that's what it turned in to. C'est la vie. Happy new week, hope it's great all around!
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