Letter to the First Girl I Realized I Had a Crush On
Dear [REDACTED],
A question I get often as a queer woman is when I knew. When I knew I was queer, when I realized, when I had the big ‘aha’ moment, like getting a cipher to a language I didn’t realize I was trying to decrypt all along. The question bothers me sometimes- I didn’t realize I was queer, I remembered. It was erased from me, taken, and I had to reclaim it. Because the reality is I knew for a long time- kindergarten, even. When I had a crush on a boy and my best friend Jenna at the same time- before I knew crushes on girls were possible. It’s deeply telling that I don’t remember his name, only the confusing mix of feelings I had when I saw him and Jenna hold hands for the first time. Puppy love and jealousy, bittersweet and further soured by the distinct impression I was feeling the right things but not toward who I was “supposed to”. I forgot though, over a long period of time. Not just his name, but the feelings and what they could mean. I forgot over strange glances, cutting words, and thinly veiled cautionary tales. I forgot what I was- who I was -before I even knew the significance.
In that sense, I suppose I did have an aha moment. Meeting you.
It was the summer before sophomore year of high school. I was attending a summer program I’ll deign not to name, that was a series of coming ages. I discovered two things about myself- one, I was never going to be the scientist everyone wanted me to be. I could do organic chemistry, sure, but not if it meant calling my parents in tears every other night. Forcing myself to be something that wasn’t me, even if I was good at pretending, was never going to be worth it. And two, that I definitely had crushes on girls, and I had one right then and there.
It started when we decided to perform for a talent show. I picked a song to sing, so I was at auditions, and so were you. I had seen you around, but never really noticed. You performed a moving spoken word piece about being bisexual and Asian-American, and it stirred something in me. Not only how your eyes softened when you talked about your dad trying, but the way your hair fell around your face as you talked about accepting yourself. How you straightened and looked at ease. Looking back on it, I think I more wanted to be you. At ease with the world and yourself in it. Not bending to anyone’s will but your own. I liked that your hair had blue in it, not just because it was pretty but because you dared to put it there. I still haven’t worked up the courage, nearly 7 years later, to dye mine. Maybe this summer I will.
I told you clumsily, when we did volunteer gardening together, how good your piece was. And as we side-stepped each other in the shade, I couldn’t help but think how pretty you looked with your hair swept up. I would tell you later you looked nice, and laughing you told me you weren’t nice at all. Good, then. You told me you weren’t good either. I felt like it was true when a mutual friend later told me you were put off by how awkward I was. I would text you in a panic that I was just questioning, I didn’t know if I was queer, it had nothing to do with you at all, and I wished you the best of luck with the future. Only the last part was true.
It’s a bit embarrassing recalling this much at all. But then again, I suppose this time, it really doesn’t have to do anything with you. I don’t remember the shade of blue in your hair, or the shape of your collarbones (even if I have poetry referencing them). I remember how you made me feel. And seeing you sway on stage made me think about who I could be.
I suppose telling you this doesn’t really matter. I don’t know where you are now, and more importantly I don’t know who you are. I suppose I never did, having propped you on a pedestal you never asked for. I think you’d be semi-proud (or at least relieved) of who I’ve been since then, and I’ve managed to look at you as you are. I’ve had a dozen aha moments since you.
I realized I didn’t have to choose between my culture and myself. I’ve realized that it isn't a betrayal of my queer identity to fall in love with a boy. And that queer identity is a lifetime of remembering and realizing. But thank you for the first. I wish I could tell you that- instead of all the clumsy compliments and attempts at connection I did give you. Best of luck with the future- wherever and who you are.
Sincerely,
Anusikha
