Eight

The first time I tried to come out to her, I failed because I couldn’t muster up the courage to. Whether “courage” is the right word is another topic.

This time around, after hanging out, playing a variety of sports (tennis, ultimate, and badminton, oh my), grabbing some good grub, and deliberately taking the long route to walk instead of biking, I still almost couldn’t bring myself to do it. Almost.

I fought out a story (the same one I used for Six and Seven) and beat around the bush for a while until we were almost below her apartment. Whatever deity is up there has a messed up sense of humour, because as I was about to just leave it be and take the straight route home (literally) instead of turning right to walk with her home and finish my story, I saw a Lesbian couple holding hands walking towards us then turn in the direction of her apartment. If that wasn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.

I blabbered out “I’m not straight” and as I did, I subconsciously strayed my bike away from her, almost as if I was scared and it was a defense mechanism.

She asked (almost rhetorically) if I wanted to talk about it, to which I sheepishly said “I don’t know, we’re almost at your building.” She pointed us to seats in front of her building and we sat down for an hour long conversation of me catching her up.

She said I was still young and it’s only been a few months. I counted and was startled at how right she was. It’s only been three months since I first came out (to someone and also myself). I don’t know why but it seems like it’s been at least half a year.

I feel like with every person I come out to, I discover more about myself because I’m talking it out and trying to make connections to coherently tell the story. When I’m alone I (have self-conditioned to) avoid thinking about it…

This is good. I still feel stressed out trying to bring it up but the actual story-telling isn’t as difficult. This is progress.

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