I won't thank you for being tolerant
Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash
On the outside I roll my eyes and laugh when someone asks my girlfriend and I if we are sisters.
I don’t want to be a stereotype – the angry, queer woman who takes offence to everything and needs to get over herself, because Toronto is way more inclusive than say, Russia or Hungary. So I smile, and agree that yes, things have gotten much better.
But on the inside, I am a raging bull.
I want to charge at the next person whose eyes linger for too long on our clasped hands.
I want to buck madly at my aunt who says, I’m just glad you have someone, thinking she’s so cool and progressive by tolerating my partner at family functions.
I want to trample over the men who see us at a bar and ask, can I join?
It’s just like men to think everything women do is for their spectacle.
Don’t ask us who does the cooking and who barbecues. Or who is going to propose.
Don’t ask us how we have sex, and if scissoring is really a thing.
Don’t tell us we’re pretty for lesbians.
We are not to be just tolerated, and we are not each other’s consolation prize for not finding a man. We chose each other, the same way other couples choose each other, and that is something to be celebrated.
I fell in love with the way she laughs every time she hears a noise that sounds like a fart, and how she always puts a glass of water on my night table before bed after she saw me do it once.
I fell in love with the way we fit so perfectly into one another when we’re spooning, and how soft her skin feels against mine.
I fell in love with her intuitiveness, with the way she can detect the slightest change in my voice and know something’s wrong.
I fell in love with the way we move together through the world as a team – the way there is never a gender dynamic at play, rooted in centuries of sexism and imbalance.
I would choose her every time.
But there are days when I feel like a raging bull, and aggression feels like the natural defence.
I’m angry that sometimes it’s easier to not hold her hand because I don’t feel like being stared at.
I’m angry at myself for not correcting people when they ask if I have a boyfriend.
And then I’m angry that even though it’s not my fault, I feel weak.
But more often, being queer makes me feel strong and proud – like happily existing is activism in itself. I’m living my truth even when the world makes me feel invisible. Even when the world makes me fight for my place and tells me that my relationship is less valid than others.
I am proud to say, this is my girlfriend.
I am proud to hold her hand and kiss her at the park, and to slow dance in the kitchen.
I am proud to have a community that supports and uplifts one another.
And I am proud to live in a world that continues to move towards love.
Even though there are days I feel weak, I am strong. And I am determined. I am determined to be happy in a world that makes it difficult at times, because for every voice that tries to push us down, there are hundreds more reaching out to lift us up.
But for every voice that lifts me up, the loudest must be my own. I am strong, like a bull, and I transform my rage into action. I stand confident and proud, and charge at injustice. I want to help the world move towards love, and how lucky that I can fight back by making all my dreams come true.
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