Girls Like Girls

For Mom and Dad

(I've decided to write this letter to the both of you at once instead of writing them separately. One, is because you two share the same opinion, and two, let's save the trees and not waste paper.)

TO MY PARENTS, THE TWO PEOPLE WHO BROUGHT ME UP

Dear Mom and Dad,

The thing that you two absolutely detested the most - apart from my fights with Cody - was homosexuality.

Whenever you both see a gay couple, you two would immediately scrunch up your noses, glare at the both of them, and whisper among each other furiously, complaining about why gay couples are legal these days and saying that God would never, ever, forgive them for their sin.

But why is homosexuality a sin? Just because it's wrong to love someone of your own gender? Just because it's written in the Bible? Just because God thinks that it's a sin, too?

I don't see why it's a sin. I don't care if God think it's a sin, or whether if the bible says so. Whenever I see a gay couple, I wouldn't be glaring at them and wish them hell. Instead I would admire them. Admire them for their bravery for standing up to themselves. Admire how they can be happy when almost the whole world is against them.

But why would I admire them, you would ask. Well, that's simple. And I'm pretty sure you already know the answer, since the fight we had three days ago told you everything.

I'm gay.

Yes, I'm gay. I'm homosexual. I like girls more than boys. I prefer marrying a girl to marrying a boy. I'm more attracted to girls than boys. I prefer to do it with girls than boys. Simply put: I'm a lesbian.

When I was eight, I feel in love with a girl in my class: Summer Brown. I had two choices then, to love Albert McGarden or Summer Brown.

And yet I chose Summer.

Honestly, I didn't know why I chose her. I knew you wouldn't approve of this behaviour, liking a girl (and it's not like in the friendly way, but that like). I knew that once I told you so, you would bring me to the church and pray for me non-stop, read the Bible to me repeatedly until my ears bleed, tell me that "homosexuality is a sin", and I should forget about loving Summer Brown.

But I didn't want to not love Summer. Thus, I kept quiet. I never told anybody about it. Not even my teachers, my best friend, my brother, and obviously not you two.

So the days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and before I knew it, my third grade was going to end, but my love for Summer wasn't. I knew I had to confess to her, to let the heavy rock in my heart melt away, and stupidly, I did.

You should have seen the look on her face when she heard my confession. It was hilarious. She was stunned, staring at me with confused eyes, both of them flickering from the flower which I picked from a nearby park in her hands to my eyes continously. Then her eyes widened to the size of a ping-pong ball as the words I told her - I love you very much, Summer Brown - sank deeper into her brain. And before I knew it, she threw the flower I picked for her as far as she could and ran away to find a teacher with tears coming out of her eyes.

Obviously that reaction was absolutely normal, considering that Summer liked a boy in another class. And what was more horrifying for her was that a girl liked her. I told myself repeatedly when I went to sleep the previous night: Summer may freak out and may cry. So when she does, run. Run as fast as you can. Don't get caught, and don't let Mommy and Daddy know.

But I didn't run. Instead tears fell from my eyes as my heart broke as I saw the figure of Summer getting smaller and smaller. I was sure my heart would never work the same again. It was as if someone had dropped an exquisite piece of gem from a hundred-storey building, the pieces of it smashed into smithereens as it drops into the arms of the ground floor. And even when the teacher found me I just obediently walked to the principal's office where you both, Mr Fan, Summer, and her parents were waiting.