Answering questions in a context where the question can't be true.

This past weekend was my one year, Drag Show Anniversary. And I celebrated by going to another Drag Show! Nothing quite like watching people bend gender barriers, celebrating courage, and pride, and Lady Gaga.

I had several 'straight' friends join me for their first Drag Shows. Just as I mentioned one year ago on this blog, it was a cultural experience. One thing they noted was the diversity of people in attendance.

The other thing they noticed was the breaking of gender barriers.

Every new performance on stage was accompanied by the somewhat-but-not-entirely hushed query: "So, girl or guy?". I answered the questions, though as the night went on I did so with increased hesitation.

Because the point of the night was for that question not to be asked, but to be comfortable in the ambiguity of gender that exists for people all the time - all physical, sexual, and psychological. Answering the question made it seem as though the only way to determine gender is by looking at somebody's junk, even though the other two forms of gender that I mention (and I am sure the dozen other forms that I am not yet familiar with) also play an important role in determining how we identify.

So, the 'man' dressed in a shimmering golden mini-dress, is he a boy or girl? Or both, or neither, or the thing in the middle that isn't really allowed to have a name?

And, how does that reflect on me? I am a boy - I have testicles, and a scrotum, and I like playing with them. But I also have somewhat feminine tendencies at times - and these become more and more pronounced the more comfortable I become with myself. Am I a boy? Yes, and no. And I am not a girl, but I can be. And I am not that thing in the middle that doesn't have a name - though I probably could be.

In answering the queries as I did, I missed an opportunity to outline the mysteries and complexity of gender, not only for transgendered people, or for drag queens, but in how they affect my everyday existence. And I sold out the soul of the show - the soul of pride, courage, mystery, and Lady Gaga.

In this season of disgruntling politics (when I am forced to realize that, once again my vote will not be of any importance to the government), I am forced to cheer up by the weather.

Spring has arrived.

In the past week, the glacier that has dominated my lawn for the past 5 months has receded. I can now see my flower bed.

And what colour is that I see?

Green.

There is green there. And it isn't from bulbs, but from root-based perennials.

That I planted last year. And that are growing back. Is it wrong of me to be joyful?

I am now planning what I will be planting in my vegetable garden for the last time; what biodegradable foods I will be giving my perennials for the last time; how I will help my parents turn their yards into gold.

I will miss having a yard in Vancouver, I am certain of that. But I will be able to find an urban garden to volunteer in, I am sure.

A message from Charlotte Bronte

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorns.

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is--I repeat it--a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line of separation between them.

The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth--to let white-washed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose--to rase the gilding, and show base metal under it--to penetrate the sepulchre, and reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.

On being outed.

It has happened.

I had no control over it.

My friend was at a Bible Study (wait, did I actually just capitalize bible?). People were leaving, the night was nearing the end. But the discussion was apparently just finally getting interesting. And somehow, as my friend often does, she managed to bring up the many sins of the church to which she is so committed.

And the sin that was on her mind was the sins made against the gays.

And, for the sake of her argument I was outed. People cried - particularly those who know me. And she was ok with it; she felt as though those around her, whom would deny me the right to do the things I love (like spend time with children, spend time with men, spend time with humanity), were finally slapped in the face. They knew of somebody that was gay, and was hurt by their prejudice.

She told me the following day that she had outed me.

And I liked it.

There has been no fallout thus far. I don't know what to anticipate, but I have no concerns. This is a moment that I have feared for far too long, and now that it is just starting to arrive - now that I am being shoved over the cliff side into that precipice of the unknown - I am anticipating salvation.

And I crave it.

And I know that good will come out of it. Because I have faith in humanity, in my friends, and the people that surround me. And though I am sometimes disappointed, I am finding my faith is very rarely misplaced.

“I don’t have a sexuality. I don’t feel like I’m female or male. I don’t belong to the gay or straight society, if there is such a thing. I feel like I’m capable of falling in love with other people. I’m not saying I’m bisexual, I’m just sexual!” -Elly Jackson

What a lovely sentiment. Not something I can relate to, but something I wish more people would accept as a social philosophy of sexuality.

"Do not treat life as a way to pass the time until you die."

- Anonymous

Take it all in stride...

My mom has told me that I have to tell my brother I am gay before I move to the coast. Which I totally understand.

She also wants me to tell me grandmother. Which I totally understand.

And I don't really have any concern over telling either of them, really.

She is urging me to, so that she feels as though she is free to talk about me with her friends as a proud mother - something she wants to do, but refuses to do until the rest of my family knows. Which I totally understand.


When I initially had this discussion with her, I felt like she was forcing me to do something that I don't really want to do. I don't agree with the philosophy of 'coming out', as I have stated before. And I don't really want to tell my brother - though he has changed considerably over the past couple months and our friendship has improved drastically.

And then I thought it through again.

My mom wants me to confirm to my brother and grandmother that I am gay so that she can talk about me with pride.


I am a very fortunate young man.