One of the shortest essays I’ve ever had to write yet probably one of the most important. It’s my college essay, the topic of discussion being “coming out.”
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When I was younger and the world wasn’t so dark, things were simpler and burdens, what burdens? I felt safe and knew not a single harm could happen to me. I felt like that until the end of my seventh grade year, but come the beginning of eighth grade, a simple realization that would change anyone forever happened.

Gay.

A simple word, three letters (g-a-y), one syllable. Yet this simple word has so many meanings that by time one enters middle-high school there are more than a hundred meanings. The meaning that politicians use was never an idea until later. To be gay doesn’t mean to be any of those on-hundred meanings. It means that I, a boy, like boys- I like people of the same sex. How queer is that?

No boys liked others boy, so to break this norm would be taboo. I had a tough time as it was, dealing with racial prejudices and to tell everyone that I was gay would bring another series of unfortunate events.

So what did I do? I told someone.

Because when something like this is discovered, it’s like a secret that one hasn’t necessarily been told not to tell another person. It just builds up, increases, gains more ground until finally it just bursts out. I SHOUTED whatever I had to say.

I told a girl I had just met her name was Amber. Our friends introduced us and she had a special something about her, and in one night, I told her my biggest fear. It was completely random and spontaneous. Her reaction was nothing like I expected. She was fine with it. She was even happy. She told me that she wanted a gay friend for a long time. I was so relieved, but then a thought dawned on me: being revealed. I begged her not to say a word because this became my new fear.

She never did say a word, but I did. After her reaction to my revelation, my exaggerations toned down and it didn’t seem like a frightful fact to admit (even if it did take another month to completely admit it). Things are easier now that I’m not confused about who I am or what I am. I’ve find that others went through the same experience, some older, some younger, some the same age, but, in the end, age doesn’t matter. Every one of them experienced what I did in some form or shape.

There is no need for me to tell people to stay quiet about this, but I still need to speak. Speak so that I may be seen as an equal, something that I still struggle with today. But I’ve learned from this experience: it isn’t whether people stay quiet, but whether or not I stay quiet. The fact that I no longer feel the need to say “shh” to myself anymore is the greatest lesson learned.

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