Despite openly talking and feeling comfortable with my bisexuality for two years, last June was the first time I’d ever been to Pride.
I’m not sure why I hadn’t attended before—perhaps I felt I wasn’t “gay enough,” or I struggled with too much internalized homophobia to celebrate. But, last year, when my best friend asked me to go with her to Toronto Pride, I decided it was finally time.
I was surprised by her invitation, as I didn’t think Pride was her kind of thing. For starters, she was straight, and I still wasn’t sure if she came from a place of acceptance or not. Pride month celebrations had never come up in our conversations before.
Despite being best friends for for eight years, I hadn’t told her about my own sexuality—a fact I had only started to share more liberally while at Queen’s, which was a six hour drive from where she was studying. The distance made it easier to hide this part of my life, and telling her was something I didn’t know how to do.
I felt a sort of disconnect between my university friends who knew about my sexuality, and my home friends who had no idea. It felt strange for her not to know about such an important aspect of my life.
We had grown up together, shared everything, and talked about everything. She knew all my fears, everything I liked and disliked, and everyone I liked and disliked. We’d talk about boys together, but I never shared that I wanted to talk about girls too.
I had no idea how to tell her something she should have already known.
On the day of the parade, I picked her up and we listened to music as we made our way downtown. The two of us followed groups of people all heading towards the same direction. There was an indistinguishable buzz ahead—a culmination of music, talking, and cheering. The streets were painted in an array of colours that were striking to look at, but beautiful all the same.
People from all walks of life cheered and chanted. I saw firefighters, kids wearing sparkly rainbow tutus, drag queens in full length ball gowns with hair that defied gravity, and parents. There were so many parents giving out hugs to queer children alienated by their own families, offering them the type of love that could only be given to a child from a parent.
There was music playing, and someone had a steel drum they were tapping with a pair of sticks as they walked. A drag queen started to dance in the middle of a circle of people, spinning in a red dress. She bowed to the raucous cheers as the tempo of the drums got faster.
I glanced at my best friend, and saw her eyes brighten with awe, a smile spreading on her face.
I decided I would tell her about my bisexuality when we got back. There was no point holding myself back anymore. If there was anything I learned at the parade, it was that it should never be a crime to be yourself. Love should always be celebrated, no matter what form it comes in, and who it happens between.
I could tell my fear of telling my best friend was pointless. This was a person who has known and loved me all my life. There was nothing she could say to stop me from trusting her, and I knew she felt the same towards me. I could always count on her.
I told her I was like them, like the people we saw at the parade who were proud of who they were. I told her I saw myself in them and I loved like they did. She hugged me and thanked me for telling her. I realized then I was still the same person as before, and so was she.
I wish I told her earlier.
For so long, I held onto this idea she would not want to be friends with me anymore, and that telling her would change our friendship. I was worried there would be a great divide between before she knew and after, and she would forget everything she previously knew about me.
I had held especially tight onto the idea she would think of me differently. There are so many people who would have thought of me differently—the same people who would rather tear down flags and see us hidden away, looking at Pride as not a celebration of love, but instead, something that deserves hate. Unfortunately, there are still people who preach hatred with picket signs outside crowds of joy, hoping to destroy something beautiful.
As this year’s Pride rolls around again, I’m reminded of the happiness and joy that comes with the celebrations. I remind myself there will always be love and community in place for those who need it. And maybe, sometimes, we should give people a little more credit, and trust they love us enough to love our love too.
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