A College Essay
“Why do you have a boy’s haircut?” the classmate next to me curiously asked.
In seventh grade, I came out as gay. Ignoring my mother’s caring, yet concerned warning of “flaunting it,” I also cut off ten inches of hair. I didn’t feel worried though. The only gay woman I knew of was Ellen Degeneres, and if she could rock the pixie, then I could too.
Thus, I proudly told the classmate that I liked it short, and that “girls can have boy’s haircuts too, you know.” But his question replayed in my head for the rest of the day.
For me, discarding my long hair represented my pride in my sexuality. Pairing the new hairdo with a rainbow backpack pin—at first, I felt invincible. Nevertheless, I had seen the movies about high school; in just a year and a half, I’d be among the infamous network of cliques, where queer kids never seemed to find their place. Thus, as the end of junior high loomed on the horizon, the classmate’s simple question prodded my brain. My pride began to weaken, and I wanted to take everything back.
Yes, I am sure. I have been sure of myself since I was in seventh grade. Yet, for some reason I always seem to be defending my sexuality.
Not overtly, per say; very few people have ever told me directly that I am lying or confused (though it has happened), but subtle comments and jabs verify the unacceptance and disregard of a bisexual identity.
I recognize that, outside of the LGBTQ+ community, homophobia in general applies to anyone with a queer identity.
