Luciole Black
Nov 5 · 4 min read

A Privilege

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Our story is very rom-commy. We met on the set of a Shakespeare play while working for a small theatre company in Asia. During script reads, the world fell silent as Alex spoke. His deep, booming voice and giant body were alien and thrilling.

Unfortunately, I was seeing Lia at the time. I regretted how much I thought of Alex as she brought me to green tea fields and ginseng pool spas. Despite our pleasant outings, I knew we wouldn’t last. Lesbians are often happy just to find a warm, single body in their age range, despite serious differences in values and interests. I started seeing Lia to alleviate the loneliness of English teaching abroad, not to enter anything serious. She quickly (and stereotypically) sought something long-term after two months of dating. It was time to express my intentions more honestly. She was heartbroken, but quickly found love again, this time in a local.

My communications with Alex began to increase. Our makeup artist and costume designer at the theatre company made sure we dressed in the same rooms. I giddily anticipated every interaction with him. We turned into two shy middle schoolers during our first tiny conversations. Alex was disinhibited on our dates; contorting his face in silly expressions, euphorically jumping when one of his favourite songs came on. I nervously looked around for passersby, taken aback by his total lack of concern for the opinions of others, conditioned by an extremely image-conscious culture. We already drew stares aplenty as non-Asians. Though also marred by a troubled past, Alex was completely in touch with his inner child. I felt 100% myself around him. My inhibitions lowered. Everyone cheered us on as we met new milestones, culminating in marriage. Old friends and family in Arizona were astonished but supportive.

Suddenly I was able to discuss our relationship, vacations, and plans openly. I never needed to introduce ourselves as friends, siblings, roommates, or coworkers for the sake of keeping everyone comfortable. We proudly labeled ourselves newlyweds before seniors and newcomers from conservative countries. We assume that everyone recognizes our relationship as valid, moral, and legal.

Despite the perks, the transition from the gay world to the straight is not without loss. I was unprepared for the sudden gain in privilege. Alex and I have less privacy as a couple. I miss the secretive and mysterious nature of same-sex relationships; two women can pass as friends. The public does not closely examine people they assume are friends; if we are attractive enough for one another, if we are well-suited. I missed having little romances that I never dared to share with straight-laced coworkers. I learned to shroud relationships with secrecy while working a government position in a Republican state and teaching in a conservative country. This marriage is more public.

I have lost touch with the queer community. The universal recognition that transcends borders, language, and culture. The way queer women smiled at me from Latvia to Vietnam to Turkey. Now, they look at me inquisitively, but quickly avert their eyes once they see the towering 6'4" man beside me. Don’t worry, your gaydar still works! I am not a false read, I swear.

Despite the loss, Alex is wonderfully sensitive and respectful of my history. He accepts but is careful not to fetishize it. He encourages me to attend Pride events here in Canada. I attend alone. A few women will come and chat; at some point my relationship status comes up. Married, to a man. The look of confusion is quickly followed by disinterest, even in friendship.

Yes, I am drowning in privilege. Privilege that I do not deserve. I spent nearly all of my dating years in relationships with women, switching subjects, switching pronouns, waffling, dodging. Wearing bulky black boots and button-downs. Eating all of the hummus. And now, that community has slipped from me.

How do we overcome the loss? By distancing ourselves from identity. A queer identity may enrich our lives, but it is not everything we are. And the term “lesbian” can become self-fulfilling. We end up following prescribed ways of dress, of speaking, of being. In the process, we lose some of ourselves. Fulfilling those prescribed roles that we tried to escape in the straight world. We ignore any attractions we may feel toward men, for fear facing the intense biphobia that pervades lesbian circles. My abusive ex-girlfriend in Arizona once flew into a rage when she caught me briefly staring at a muscular cyclist. This anger is rooted in societal mistrust of sexually fluid people; that we are cheaters by nature and must be avoided. We are punished for our honesty.

Our radical self-acceptance scares people that insist on labels. As teens and young twenty somethings, we are eager to hunt down labels that free us from our upbringing and signify our emergence as independent adults. Student, Employee. Athlete. Lesbian, Gay, Pan. Jewish, Christian, Muslim. Capitalist, Socialist, Nihilist. Over time, we feel their ceiling. The ultimate liberation lies in shedding them. Though it is funny to call myself a lesbian that married a man, the truth is that I simply fell in love. And I am happy to sit in this romantic grey area. We make peace with this grey area through Being, where we are free of the need to define. Once we live happily in Being, we learn that we have lost nothing.

Luciole Black

Written by

You are perfect as you are. Writer, singer, actor. Newly happy person.

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