My Story...and why it matters

A long while ago, I learned of the anti-gay marriage bill being considered in the Ugandan parliament.  It actually wrecked me.  Being a liberal, lesbian, urban-dwelling, woman social worker in the third largest city in the United States (Chicago, for those of you who didn't know!) I'm usually pretty nonplussed about being OUTRAGEOUSLY opinionated and advocating for the rights of myself and others who are similarly marginalized and oppressed.  When I found out about this bill (see this recent article in the Huffington Post and/or google "Uganda Anti-Gay Marriage Bill"), I literally was speechless.  I barely, if ever talked about it, and felt generally hopeless about the situation.  When I fell in love with the country of Uganda, I started to build my life around the idea of being able to work, learn, live, and love there.  I eventually did just that for a summer in my undergraduate college life, and felt equally nonplussed about continuing my exploration of my sexuality there.  While there, I came to learn about the vast danger with this openness.  As a British colonized culture heavily influenced by the American Evangelical movement, they took these pastors doctrines as universal truths, and have since become what I see as the ultimate experimental ground (and thus highly praised in the evangelical church) for their beliefs.  I had no clue of this when I went there.  I thought I'd share my coming out story here after reading this article because I still miss the freedom and adventure of Uganda, but now I know I will not be able to safely go back there without massive structural changes.   Fair warning...this is a long post and I'm really sorry but I'm terrible at editing because (as stated earlier) I tend to feel like I have a lot to say!

Myself (right) and S (left) in Uganda, Summer 2009

*****

It was the summer after my freshman year of college.  I had come out to myself the semester earlier, after falling in love with one of my close friends.  I attended a Christian college in the Midwest known for it's non-acceptance of LGBTQ people, and I had bought into it while attending a small group Bible study that only furthered this non-acceptance in myself.  I told myself that I would never tell anyone about my feelings for women, and I would force myself to date men.  To please God, and my family.  I even promised I wouldn't write it in my journal.  That way, if I died (by whatever means), no one would ever know.  I had always wanted to go to Uganda, or more specifically, since I saw the documentary Invisible Children in my sophomore year of high school.  It became clear (to me) that the best time for me to go and fulfill that dream, was now.  So I went.  I raised the money all on my own, found an organization to volunteer with, and I went.  I remember my best friend (at the time, no longer) advised me to go "...and not think about boys.  Christian women go into the mission field all the time searching for a husband, go for yourself, and God."  I nodded and agreed, that would be easy.  But I also decided to try to forget about what I had learned about my feelings for women as well, and just focus on myself, what I was doing, and God.  

I arrived in Uganda in June of 2009.  For a month, I kept my pact with my friend, and myself.  I remember at the one month mark saying to myself, "wow, I haven't even thought about any of that shit!"  I absorbed myself into the culture (as much as I could) and fell in love with the country and friends I made there.  

Then, right at the one month mark, trouble came to Africa in the form of a woman: S.  One of the American volunteers who had been there starting in May told me that she had invited a friend of hers from college to come because she was a videographer and the organization wanted her to create promotional videos for the organization's website.  I paid no mind to this at the time, and just nodded and said I was excited to meet her.  She arrived on the day that the girl I had become closest with had left - so I truly didn't really pay much attention to her.  And, I learned, that she didn't pay much attention to me either.  At the time, my hair was plaited with an African weave in little braided dreadlocks and a hoop nose ring adorned my freckled nose, and she wasn't looking for love either.  This was a job for her.  

At first, I really disliked her.  I hadn't planned on going on safari while I was there, because I didn't raise enough money.  However, my mom offered to pay for it at the last minute, because I was in Africa, and when was that going to happen again?  So, I signed up to go with a group of people I had really connected with and everything seemed to work out fine.  Then I found out that the organization wanted S to go on safari too, to make a video, but there were too many people in the first group.  Because I was one of the last people to sign up for that weekend, they told me I would be going the next week, in the group with S, and none of my friends.  I made plans to room with one of the other girls so I could stay away from S, who I was very upset with!  

A few days before we were supposed to leave for safari, we were invited to be bridesmaids in one of the Ugandan women's introduction ceremonies.  (Basically an engagement party, but it is a MUCH bigger and more traditional ceremony than the wedding).  Per tradition: we were not allowed to have our hair in a weave.  So, my dreads had to come out.  I spent the night before with the whole house pulling fake hair out of my head and sleeping on my 80's rockstar style hair: crimped, frizzy, and greasy.  The next morning, I washed my hair for the first time in 4 and a half weeks and used a hairdryer and straightener.  S tells me this was when she really noticed me, and decided she wanted to pursue me.  Apparently it was one of those Megan Fox moments, where I walked out of the bathroom a totally different woman, flipping my hair back and forth wrapped in my towel, with the sunrise behind my head.  All of a sudden, S was at my hip the whole day.  Helping me with my hair, painting my toes, I helped her with her makeup.  I remember the way she looked at me made me want to know her better, and made me want to be around her all day long.  I decided to give her another chance too.

Throughout the ceremony, I felt her eyes adoring me, and I felt a familiar feeling rising in my gut, I desperately wanted more time with her, alone.  In the car ride home, she rested her head on my shoulder and I whispered in her ear, "do you want to share a room on safari with me?"  Yes, I totally ditched my friend.  I couldn't help it!  She nodded and smiled, and went back to resting on my shoulder.  

The weekend of safari was one of the most magical I've ever had.  (In efforts to make that sound less corny, it was magical for more reasons than just S!)  We spent the days sitting in the warm sun on the roof of safari vans roaming through the African plains, and the nights in an authentic African hut, our beds pushed together and our mosquito nets tied to drape over both of our beds.  She took the video like she was expected, but all the time with me by her side taking photos with my fancy camera.  I told her it was nice to have someone to hang back with as we did our art forms.  She told me she appreciated my help, and ended up putting me in some of her shots.  Then at night, we stayed up all night laughing and talking.  She told me everything, even that she was gay and had dated women before.  I told her that I understood, I had wondered some of the same things myself.  

After that weekend, we were inseparable.  Everyone knew that where one of us was, the other was too.  I moved into her dorm room, and chose to sleep in the bed under hers immediately when we came back.  At night, she would sneak down the bunk-bed ladder and cuddle with me under my green mosquito net.  One night, she kissed me on the cheek, and it sent shivers up my spine.  I kissed her back on the neck.  After a few weeks, a few people started being suspicious that our friendship was just "too close."  One even made a comment, "If you two were a lesbian couple, Emily would be the feminine lipstick one, and S would be the more masculine one."  We laughed half-heartedly, worried about being found out, even though we hadn't even talked about it yet.  

Finally, one night, I told S that I had wanted to sleep outside on the front porch since I got there, but hadn't been able to yet.  I told her I didn't want to do it alone.  She told me she would do it with me, she just wanted to be with me.  We put our pillows and blankets on the mattress on the porch outside and waited until everyone was asleep to go out there.  We watched the sunset over Kampala, and then I nuzzled my head into her collarbone.  She kissed my forehead and I reached my hands under her shirt, caressing her body underneath.  After a few moments of this, she stopped me, "We have to talk about this...do you have feelings for me?"  I was terrified of all the things I was feeling, so I broke down and cried while having a panic attack.  I told her I did, but I wasn't sure if it was ok for me to have those feelings.  She just hugged me closer, "I know."  I woke up and told her that I didn't believe it was ok for me to have those feelings, and she was heartbroken.  We continued to be inseparable, and doing the same things as before, because even though I didn't think it was ok for me to have those feelings - I did, and I couldn't help myself.  Neither could she.  

When I left a month later, she came to send me off at the airport.  We cried and looked at each other knowingly.  I told her we needed to talk once she got back to the States, she nodded.  After a month of skyping between Michigan and Africa, Michigan and Wisconsin, she came to visit me at my college.  There was so much left unsaid, but all those feelings came rushing back again.  The first night she slept in my lofted twin bed, there was so much tension, the air was full of it.  She held me as close as humanly possible, and I let myself fall into her.  Then, she kissed me, for real this time.  I thought to myself, now I understand.  This is what love feels like.  I also came to the realization of just how happy I was.  I had a clarifying moment spiritually soon after, I knew God was rejoicing at my happiness, and at the great relationship S and I had that was always supportive of the other.  It was going to be ok.  

After that, we continued dating long-distance.  I started slowly coming out to friends at school, many of whom are no longer my friends because of it.  I joined an underground gay support group and started meeting other people at my college who were like me, and who I could talk to about S.  S visited me, and I visited her all throughout the  year.  She even moved to my college town for a short while because she needed a way to get out of her hometown. She then got a job in the Chicagoland area, and that was when our long-distance relationship truly stabilized.  She was establishing herself in Chicago, finally being open about her sexuality with her new friends in her new city, and I was doing the same in my small-town college.  In August, we will have been dating long-distance for three long (and beautiful) years.  But this August will be different.  In May I will graduate with my Bachelors degree in Social Work.  A few weeks ago, I got my acceptance letter from the University of Chicago's Jane Addams College of Social Work for the Masters in Social Work program.  I sent in my "Intent to Enroll" letter and deposit immediately.  We've started looking for apartments in the neighborhoods we love in North Chicago, and she's started collecting furniture. In August, we will finally be together, in the same city, the same home, and sharing our lives like we've wanted to for three long years.  I'm coming home.

*The story that I've written above was submitted to What Wegan Did Next's "Love Stories" section, but has yet to be published there!  So, if you follow them and they post it in the future and it's word for word...now you know why.

1,095 - 20

August 1st will mark the 1, 095th day that I have been not living in the same state, or city as my girlfriend.  And it will also mark the day that the lease on the apartment we rented, together, starts.

In 20 days, (or less!) I will be finally living in the same city and state as her.  Not to mention, also the same apartment.  I've thought about this time in my life for 1, 095 days now, and I always thought it would feel surreal.  That I wouldn't even be able to imagine it because of how long we haven't had that luxury.  But, really, I mostly just feel like, "it's about damn time."

Looking back, I know distance was right for us.  (Try to find anyone else who feels that way and I think you'll come up empty!)  We needed to be forced to be alone with ourselves and work on our own hurdles alone, in order to be able to be together in a healthy, loving relationship.  We needed to learn that the best kinds of relationships, are one in which two individual people can come together and celebrate, and cherish the other for who they are on their own, and who they become together.  For that, I am so grateful.

But now, we're ready.  We are so ready to be together.  To come home to each other everyday.  I think that's the part that will be surreal (but maybe, hopefully, it's just normal), coming home everyday and seeing her.   I think after a week we'll be like, "ok, so...one of us is supposed to leave now" and then WE WON'T.  AH.

I've been getting a lot of texts, calls, and letters from friends.  Some of my best, and some who have reconnected with me after a long time.  They all keep saying they can't wait to visit me & S when we move in together.  The part of me that believes in "signs" and karma and, my favorite phrase my momma taught me, "the universe will bring it to you," believes that this is a sign.  My friends see that I'm finally getting to the place I want to be, and happiness and contentment tend to draw people in.  I can't wait to have them visit me, us, (WHAT?!) and be a part of this new part of my life.  To be actively a part of it.


So to any friends who still read this, you are always welcome in our home.  Thank you for being such a huge part of my life, and our relationship, for the past 3 years.  That time apart from S, but with you, are part of what make us as strong as we are now. 

 

I hope you know that I'm the lucky one.  I hope you know that on those days that I'm feeling "extra feisty," or when I'm not thinking about what I'm saying, and you bring me back down to Earth, I may not like it at the moment, but I say to myself: "remember this. remember to thank her someday, because even if I didn't want it, I needed it."  I hope you know that I know, deep in the depths of my heart, I have not missed anything that wasn't worth missing.  I hope you know that in you, you have given me something that most people will never know, and never understand.  And it is for that reason that I hold you so tightly, that is why I treasure you so much, that is why I do not feel the need to see what I am missing, because what I want is right next to me, holding my hand.  I hope you know that even on our "bad days," I go to bed remembering all the things I love about you the most, and I know we're going to be o-k.  We are different from most, and I like it that way.

salty, sweaty, beautiful

I think I have a gift for seeing the beauty in most things.  This is something I love about myself.  Right now, in life, I'm trying to just get to know me and then let the other friends in my life get to know her too.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm totally open to change; but this time it will be for me, not anyone else.  So, with that said, let me paint you a picture of beauty that I took part in tonight.

(For background information, I'm still home for Christmas break and decided to go to my first yoga class in a longgggg time.  I'm in love with my yoga studio at home, and I constantly (inwardly) complain about how I will never find another Body Language anywhere else I choose to live.)

The first thing I do when I step into the warm waiting area is slowly take off my coat and boots.  My bare feet touch the floor, and it's not even slightly cold, but it's still invigorating.  There are others waiting for my class - others that will join me in breathing, living, and working in solidarity together - all of them silently whispering to each other, so as not to disturb the massage and yoga class in session.  The door opens finally and people begin to greet one another.  I stay silent and move into the much more warm yoga room.  You can't even tell the yoga studio is located on the side of a very busy intersection because it is completely silent in the room except for the relaxing sanskrit mantra playing from the CD player.  I lay out my mat, straighten it out, and lay.  First on my back, eyes closed, hands folded on my chest and breath.  Then I hug my legs into my belly and rock back and forth, massaging my spine.  The instructor turns on the space heaters, making the room even more hot and I can already feel my muscles becoming more and more ready to stretch and work.  
Finally, everyone is ready and seated, laying, stretching on their mats.  My eyes stay shut, I'm not even the slightest bit self-conscious, and I notice it.  (That's a first.)  The instructor begins to speak, tells us to meditate.  That many people choose to separate yoga from meditation, and that's simply impossible.  Yoga is meditation, and so that is how we will begin.  She tells a story about our minds and how completely cluttered they always are and that this practice should help us to stop thinking about our minds, and focus on our bodies, come into our bodies.  I find this liberating and erotic, as escaping my mind has always been one of the hardest things for me to do - inhibiting me way too many times in my almost 21 years.  She ends by saying, "sometimes, it's good to lose your mind."  I giggle in my head, but oops, not in my head, out loud.  That's okay, I'm so relaxed and happy I don't even care.  Finally we begin the vinyasa flow.  A breath-timed transition from pose to pose as we stretch, lift, and strengthen all parts of our bodies.  I start to lose count of how many times I've completed the flow and scold myself for keeping count.  I take a deep exhale and forget.  The first drop of sweat falls into my tear duct, stinging my eyes, and I smile.  The instructor has been talking the entire time, but she's getting more and more passionate and so I listen closer.  She starts talking about how we are just bathing ourselves in self-love, and my heart flutters.  I close my eyes and focus on my face, "I love you, face."  Then my neck, "I love you, neck."  Then my chest, "I love you, chest."  Then my arms, "I love you, arms."  My hands, my fingers, "I love you."  My belly, my legs, my feet, my toes, "I love you too."  I feel a little silly saying these things to myself, but as I feel out each part of my body, I notice the sweat covering them and I really do feel as if I am bathing in my own love for myself.  It feels damn good.  By now I'm sweating so much, and feeling so much that I can't tell which salty drop of wet is sweat, tears, or snot.  I don't think I'm crying, but by now, who knows.  
I open my eyes for the first time in what I would guess to be 20 minutes, the first thing I see is a 40-something year old woman, fit as ever, stretching her arms up to the sky.  I can almost feel her self-love, and I suddenly feel connected to everyone in the room.  I listen to everyone else's breath and realize we are breathing at the same rhythm.  All of humanity is connected, and tonight I know that's true.  We continue this for a long time, and by the time we switch to balancing exercises my legs feel like rubber and I'm light-headed.  I head for the water bottle many times during this period.  I start to scold myself for not being able to do some of the poses and then I remember the key rule of yoga, do it at your pace, and do what feels best and right for your own body.  I praise myself for drinking water.  I don't even feel full of myself for it.  
We continue with inversions, 
more balancing, 
more vinyasa, 
more 
and more 
and more 
and sweat is absolutely covering me.  I touch my foot to the floor while in pigeon pose and it slides across the wood floor of it's own accord.  I feel as if we have just started our rest and meditation period, and it's already time for it to end.  I know I look a complete wreck, and I've never felt so beautiful.  As sweat falls from my face to my mat, I tell myself, "this is for you.  for all you've done, and all you haven't done.  I love you."  It doesn't feel like 10 minutes has passed but it has and it's time to awaken from the meditation state.  Before sitting up to end the practice, we roll over onto our side like babies and then sit back up in prayer position.  The instructor talks and I feel like she's speaking straight to me.  "Let go of your worries, and bask in yourself.  The light in me bows in gratitude to the lights in all of you.  Namaste."  Namaste.

one very special day(weekend).

After goofing around, we finally sit down on the squeaky sand.  She wraps her arm around my back to support me and I place my cheek in the crook between her neck and her shoulder, just touching her collarbone. (my spot) She asks,

"Why do you like being by the water so much?"

I giggle for a while, because really, who doesn't like being by the water?  Then I realize it's actually a question.  She means it.  I think for a second.

"You know, I think it's because it's so incredibly chaotic.  The constant sound of the waves crashing, and the little white tips on the tops of the waves that just tell you that this water is MOVING.  It's chaotic and I can't control it.  So I let it take my chaos away from me.  Each wave takes my internal chaos and I can be at peace."

oh, the places you'll find...

I'm usually not one of these kinds of blog posters, but I'm going to play around and post whenever and whatever I feel like for now, which might make my blog seem scattered and unorganized (so UNLIKE me).  But I'm going to look at it with the view that I'm eclectic, I'm interested in a lot of different things and I just want to share them with whoever is reading this thing.

I was recently in Chicago and decided to go to an art festival in the Rogers Park neighborhood.  Well, it's pretty clear that I fell in love with that part of the city and, ugh, I have to live there for at least a little bit at some point.  But, one of my favorite things was this restaurant my girlfriend and I found for lunch.  It's called the Heartland Café, located in the heart of Rogers Park.  It was one of those places that was rundown enough to look a little worn-in, as if it was old but had seen a lot of life, though it still had quite the personality.  There were overgrown plants everywhere and you had the option of eating outside, at the bar, on a screened patio, or in the open air.  We chose the screened patio and it was wonderful.  The chairs didn't match each other and each table was different, as if they were purchased at a rummage sale.

Then we got our menus and everything was as green as could be.  All the meat products were from a great farm who did not use any extras to enhance their meat, it was all farm-fed and Amish-raised.  We decided to order an appetizer of hummus, avocados, tomatoes, and warm pita slices - which was delicious.  And then our entrée was chicken marinated in maple syrup marinade and topped with pineapple pieces and it all came with mashed potatoes and gravy on the side.  I kid you not, it was THE best meal I've ever had.  And I felt genuinely healthy and good about eating it...all of it.

After being full with our delicious, healthy, and eco-friendly meal I truly felt like I was welcome in this place, as silly as that may sound.  Then we walked around a little bit and found what we thought was a vintage store right next to the restaurant.  We walked in and I eavesdropped on a conversation an older man with gray-white hair was having with some people that I gathered were from France...I'm not sure about that one though.  He was telling them that they should vote in the next election to lean France a little bit more to the left...you know, fight for social justice.  I immediately liked him.  The Frenchies left soon after and we were looking around and he introduced himself.  We asked him how he got all this stuff and he told us that it actually wasn't a shop and nothing was for sale, this was just where he stored all his old stuff but people kept walking in since he left the door open.  He showed us some pictures that he took after a motorcycle trip he took to Mexico, one of which was of President Kennedy driving and waving from his car.  He then asked us if we had seen the Heartland.  We told him we just got done eating there and absolutely LOVED it.  He informed us that he was the owner.

Afterwards, I remember saying that it felt like one of those places that serves the community more than it serves food.  Bringing the community together in a supportive, generally happy place, to just be.

somedays i think about the little bits of time we have together
and it makes me wish that when you were napping in my lap
i would have memorized your face and stayed there
just a little longer.