A House Is Not A Home

For anyone that's Facebook friends with me (and I welcome anyone to add me or message me if you just want to talk), you know that I was recently trying to find a plane ticket back home to good ol' Columbus, GA. My mom has been begging me to come back home for some time now and I can't finding reasons why I can't. However, this time, I had no excuses. So I start searching for plane tickets home only to find out that the cheapest one I could find was about $250. This made me happy to no end. I was not going to pay that much money to go home for only a week and I know my mom wouldn't want me to do it either. I think that was the happiest moment I've had in a long time. Here's why.

I hate going back to Columbus, GA. Nothing good came from me living in that city. From the time I entered high school, I always dreamed of leaving that den of misery and going somewhere else where I could just be free and happy to live my life the way I pleased. There's not much to do in Columbus. You can only go to the movies, bowling, or the skating rink so many times before it grows old. Most clubs downtown were 21 and up. Mom wouldn't let me go to one anyway. There was no potential for me to go anywhere with my life. If I didn't get out of there, I knew that I would be trapped in the vicious cycle that has trapped so many other members of my family. I would spend hours on the back porch just sitting, daydreaming, waiting for the day that I would be free. I knew why the caged bird sang. I knew because I sang the same tune.

My family did not help the situation. Being a bastard in the literal meaning of the word, I only knew my mom's side of the family. My Y-chromosome donor's family had it's own problems and I was just another one that ended up swept under the rug. If that wasn't enough family division for one family, my mom's family was also split in two by my grandmother's divorce to my biological grandfather after having a few kids and then marrying my step-grandfather and having more children. The two factions, differentiated by last name, grew to bicker with each other about which kids were true "insert last name" and which ones were just outsiders and who the real siblings were and who the step- or half-siblings were. Both sides began to hate each other and banded together against the other. My mother, being the middle child, tried to find the middle ground the best she could but she only suffered worse for not picking a side. Thanksgiving quickly became my least favorite holiday. The tension at dinner was easier to cut than the turkey my mom cooked. Eventually, I grew used to it and could basically time when drama when break out and who would get drunk and dig up old bones that were thinly covered in an inch of dirt. I kept my little cousins occupied to distract them from the feuding going on down the hallway. My older cousins were old enough to go do their own thing so I was left to watch the youngins. Oddly enough, I was everyone's favorite. Both factions loved me and would give me almost anything I wanted (probably only because I put up with them trash-talking the opposite faction). Somehow, I became the center of everything with everyone pulling me towards their side.

To make matters worse, the entire family is very strict about their religious beliefs. My step-grandfather was a minister until he passed away. I have two uncles that are ministers. My mom taught me to read using the Bible. Everyone in my family was baptized, attended church every Sunday, and was active in the church in some way. I was in the young adult choir. It wasn't long into my middle school years when I realized that something was different about me. I never flirted with the girls. I just became good friends with them. I never tried to kiss them. But there was always some guy that would catch my attention. One of the boys that I just had this longing desire to be around. It wasn't long before I fully knew and realized what that meant. This revelation shook the foundations of my life. Several times, I heard my family say how "those gays" deserve to go to hell and burn for their perverted lifestyles. "It's sickening. They're not natural. They're freaks. God's going to punish them." They're me is what I thought to myself. The star of the family, the one that everyone loved was also the thing they most hated.

School was my only escape. I didn't come out until high school. I had to. I was going insane not being able to tell anyone about who I really was. At school, I could be myself around my friends and not care. I could join the girls in talking about how hot the new guy was or about who really deserved the most attractive guy senior superlative. I was happy for a time. Until I had to go home and face reality. Face the truth, that I did not live in a world where I would be so openly accepted as I was at school (for the most part. There were some exceptions of course). Senior year came and I felt my friends and I growing apart already. We were all going separate ways. I knew I was leaving with no attention of coming back anytime soon. Ready to leave this life behind me and move on to a happier time in my life.

And so, that is why I was ecstatic when I received a call from my mom this morning saying that she didn't want me to pay for a ticket home. I've found my happiness here at Duke. I can finally be free to just live MY life, free of restraints from the family, free of the family drama, free to live and be happy. All of this struck me this morning as I was walking into work and noticed how beautiful the morning was. I wanted to sit down on the ground and just stay there and never move. I used to feel horrible about not going home because I know it's killing my mom. I love her so much and I know she loves me, too, but I just can't put myself through that misery again. I've had my darkest moments back home. I've had my most disturbing thoughts back home.

That's when I realized, that a house is not a home. Just because I spent all of my life in Columbus, GA before coming to Duke, doesn't mean that it's home for me. It's not. It's where I'm from. It's where my family is. It's where I grew up. But it is not my home. Home is where the heart is (yeah, cliche I know, but so fitting here) and my heart is here at Duke. The Duke community here makes me feel so comfortable, so loved, so free. I know I won't be in this amazing Duke bubble forever and don't expect to find anything like this again, but for now, I'm going to enjoy it as much as I can. I guess that I've just learned to not let myself get caught up in the notion that I should want to go home. I've grown pass that. In my mind, I'm already home.

(PS: Sorry this is so long. I started writing and couldn't stop. I hope it wasn't too big of a waste of time for you :P)

I'm Coming Out... Again???

So, I've been a bit MIA on the blog for a while but with good reason. I've been working at Duke this summer doing a lot of the behind the scenes work helping to organize all the summer camps like TIP (Yeah, I'm looking at you, Brandy! :D ) I've gone back and forth about writing about this for a while but something happened recently to seal my decision.

Anyway, I work in a small office with 5 other people. They're all really great to work with and I'm pretty good friends with one of the other student workers. So I felt moderately at ease around them. That is, until one of my co-workers asked the question: Is he gay? Funny thing is, he was asking me if I thought one of our supervisors was gay despite him having a wife and children.

I honestly do not remember how I answered him. I was too caught up in the thought that maybe he was homophobic or thought gay people were destined to hell. Why was he so concerned about our supervisor's private life? The little bubble of safety I once felt now lay shattered on the ground around me. I heard a faint laughter, something mocking me: "You thought you were safe. You were wrong. *Insert evil snicker*" I panicked. I made up some excuse to leave and came back to my room. Was I going to have to come out again? Wasn't the first time enough? Is it NECESSARY that I come out? Why should I have to? But I decided to let it go and just forget about it. I was probably just overreacting anyway.

A few days ago, a different co-worker began telling me about a party his fraternity was going to throw at their off-campus house. In his attempt to win over my RSVP, he mentioned the amounts of drinks there would be and how a friend of his was going to bring "a ton of hot dancer chicks from the American Dance Festival." I looked at him and laughed. Little did he know how pathetic his attempt to make me want to go to his party only made me want to go less. Don't get me wrong. I love a good party just as much as the next guy, but by 1) using women as his selling point which infuriated me to no end and 2) thinking I was some hormone-driven dog, I had no problem turning down his offer. But then, he did something I didn't expect: "Why not?"

Oh no. I'm going to have to do it again. I'm going to have to come out to him, aren't I? Just like they did the first time I tried to come out to my friends, the words formed a simple sentence in my mind, traveled down to my lips, but couldn't pass them. If I could have turned red with anxiety, I would have. I hurriedly made up some half-baked excuse about wanting to get some rest and just relax. He left me alone. Crisis averted, right?

Temporarily, yes. But I just can't shake it. Why did I have so much trouble proclaiming something that I say so often now, something that I'm proud of? Am I still afraid of the sideways glances and evil glares? Am I terrified of the words he'll say? Do I think he'll look at me any differently? Am I really as open and proud of who I am as I'd like myself to believe? Is it just because of the people I usually surround myself with, ones that are accepting and loving and caring and open? This guy certainly isn't a person that I would normally hang out with on a regular basis. I mean, there's nothing wrong with him but it's just a mismatch of personalities and interests.

Something else struck me: I'm so worried about him judging and stereotyping me, but what if I'm doing the exact same thing to him? Could I possibly be going through this struggle because I'm stereotyping him to say what I would expect someone like him to say? Am I causing myself anxiety about being stereotyped because of my own stereotypes?

Answer: I am.

It's funny, you know. I always expect people to make leaps and bounds towards forgetting stereotypes and being more open-minded but, as evidenced by this, I still have my own progress to make in stereotyping. Part of me just wants to come out with it (pun only slightly intended) and just say I'm gay. But another part of me is mortified. I have to work with these people for the rest of the summer. What if things get awkward? Will our work dynamic suffer? On the other hand, what if there's absolutely no problem with it at all? Gah! I'm giving myself a headache going around and around in circles like this. I give up. Should I come out (with a proper parade and floats and rainbows, just kidding... sort of) or is there really no need to?

Any suggestions?

Being Fiercely Real

So, something has been bothering me for a while now. A little while ago, I was chatting with an old high school friend of mine on Facebook that identifies as being a homosexual male. We were both talking about how we were trying to be more health conscious and go to the gym more. We both mentioned the, let’s just say… changes, our bodies have made over the years. I told him how I wanted to get back to my senior year/ freshman year body because I was really happy with myself then. He replied with an “lol.” But what he said next is what really bothers me. He added that he wants to make sure that he looks good for the boys. Now, just to give you some comparison, we are the same age, same height, similar build, and I’m bigger than he is. My fitness goals are less than his. After bringing this up to him, he replies that the only thing that matters to gay guys is how many abs you have and how big the rest of your muscles are. I was taken aback by this. I won’t even begin to go into all the thoughts that ran around in my head. I asked him if he was like that. Response: “No. But I know what people want and I’m going to do anything I can to give it to them.”

I was floored. I know that body image is very important to a lot of people, but is that really the ONLY thing that is considered when considering if someone is attractive? Do I really have to have rock-hard abs and be able to bench 250lbs to be considered hot? Are gay guys really that vapid and shallow? Speaking from my personal experience, thankfully not all are, but I do know that there are some people (of all different identities and sexualities) that take physical appearance as the only deciding factor. But please for my sanity, tell me that it’s not as large of a population as I fear.

It’s something that I’ve noticed a lot, not only in the gay community but in society as a whole. Everywhere you look, you see the models with their flawless skin, amazing physique, perfect hair, immaculate smile. I look and wonder if that is really the concept of beauty. If it is, then what in the world am I?! My skin is far from flawless, my body is decent but could be a lot better, I could use a haircut right now, but I do have a pretty nice smile if I do say so myself. But should I have to break my back at the gym everyday for 2 hours or starve myself for weeks on end to look like all the models do? Do I really care that much about getting called “hot” by some air-headed, shallow, gym rat? NO FREAKING WAY!

Don’t get me wrong, I will still go to the gym and try to adopt healthier eating habits but it won’t be anything drastic and it is not because I want to be one of the “beautiful people” as I like to call them. It is because I (extra emphasis on that “I”) want to do it for myself.

On Tyra Banks’ show (yes, I watch her show every once in a while), she did a special episode about plus-size women and how they can and should feel happy and comfortable in their body. Tyra gave them style tips and the whole nine yards. Also, she didn’t call them plus-size women. She called them “Fiercely Real.” I’ll admit that I burst into laughter at this new title, not because of who the title was for but just because it’s Tyra and everything is fierce in one way or another to her. Anyway, I actually loved that episode. There is absolutely nothing wrong with going to the gym for 2 hours everyday if you want to do it for yourself. If you are like me and actually like having a little extra warmth on you, then you go right ahead and stay warm! Do you and that’s all you can do. As soon as you try to do someone else, then my friend, we have a problem.

So here’s another warning from me to everyone, but especially for our Community because I see it a lot within us: Don’t let anyone dictate to you how you should live your life or how you should look. If YOU think you look good, great. If someone else has a problem with it, tell them this: Build a bridge and get over it.

Peace and blessings.

And here’s a little something completely unrelated but I think you should know about it because it is absolutely amazing.

Multiple Identities, One Person

I love the rain. There’s something about rain that makes me feel very reflective. I like playing in the rain when I’m not on my way to class or have something else to do. It’s very cleansing and therapeutic for me. So today’s sudden monsoon put me back in my pensive mood. I began to reflect on my classes this year and on the mistakes I’ve made. As I thoughtfully meandered my way through the past academic year, I halted my psychological car in front of this one awesome memory I like to call Clinical Issues for LGBTQ, a wonderful class taught by the amazing Dr. Janie Long (PLEASE take this class. I promise you will not regret it.). So one of the readings for the class was entitled “Black-Gay or Gay-Black” and it basically stated that when a person is gay and Black, that person must decide whether he or she finds identifying as gay or Black to be more important. For example, I would have to choose which of my identities matters most to me. This made me a very unhappy person.

According to this article, I cannot equally and fully acknowledge who I am as a person. What am I supposed to do? Should I neglect one part of me while I devote more attention to another part of me? I can’t do that. I am me and all of me. It’s not possible for me to choose what matters most to me. I am gay AND Black, neither more gay than Black nor more Black than gay. I do not choose to highlight one over the other or attempt to conceal one and promote the other. So where do I fit in in this dichotomy of identity? Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, I actually do unknowingly fall into one of these categories?

So I sat and I pondered. I pondered and I sat. Then, I went and played in the rain a little. Then, it was back to sitting and thinking until I finally realized something. As much as I hated to admit it to myself (and now y’all too), I’m a gay-black. It’s not purposefully done at all. I just see so many more issues that the LGBTQ community faces that the Black community doesn’t. I have not fully come to a conclusion as to why I participate in more LGBTQ groups and events than Black ones, but I’m beginning to understand why. As I was reflecting on another class I took this semester about racial passing in literature (Shout out to Prof. Maurice Wallace. You should so take one of his classes, too), we had discussions about what it means to be Black and some other very interesting discussions. Anyway, from that class, I’ve learned that my views and belief about race are not quite views that many others share. But it’s due to my own view on race that I’m not active in Black student organizations.

However, that does not at all mean that I am neglecting my heritage. I will never forget where I came from, but remembering the past will not hold me back from realizing the future. I have multiple identities. I draw strength, power, courage, and love from all of my identities and the communities associated with them. So, I still believe that the article was incorrect in stating that I view one identity as more important than the other. I fully embrace every facet of who I am.

Sometimes, classes teach you more than just knowledge about the subject of the course. Every once in a while, you get one of those amazing classes where you learn about yourself, too.

Now, I want to thank Dr. Janie Long and Prof. Maurice Wallace for helping me to learn and grow more as a student and as an individual. I could not have done it without their guidance. I owe both of you so much.

A Gay Greek's Plea

Okay, here we go. I am gay, out, and in a fraternity. Best part about it: it’s not a problem at all. The brothers knew about my sexuality long before I rushed and pledged. I was worried that once knowledge of my sexuality spread, I would be blacklisted and never invited to come around again. Much to my surprise, not long after my sexuality was revealed, I was invited to go to dinner with some of the brothers. I agreed, hesitantly, wondering what in the world this could mean. Were we going to have “the talk”?! (DUH Duh duh!) We have dinner. The subject was not mentioned, not referenced, not even hinted at. I released a sigh of relief as mighty as the gust from Zephyr that killed the beautiful Hyacinth (Can you tell I love Greek mythology?). My times of hanging out with the brothers continued. Fast forward to rush. Once again, my suspicions rose that maybe I could hang out with the brothers but only as a friend, never a brother. On a last minute whim, I rushed. My heart beat at the speed of light at each event, waiting for one of the brothers to tell me what I knew I would eventually hear. I remember anxiously staring at my computer on Sunday nights, refreshing my email every 10 seconds, hoping that I would get an email inviting me to the next round of rush, but knowing that I would never get it. Again, the brotherhood proved me wrong. I received a round 2 invite, followed by round 3. Then came the moment of truth… bids. I successfully made it through all 3 rounds of rush, but would that matter? After all, it could have all been for naught if I did not get a bid to pledge and eventually join. For that entire day, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t eat. I was sick to my stomach. I couldn’t walk because my knees were weak. I couldn’t write because my hands were shaking. The same thought ran through my head all day: No fraternity wants a gay guy as a brother.

I broke into tears that night. I received a bid to join the Beta Lambda chapter of Sigma Chi. They didn’t care. THEY DIDN’T CARE!!! They wanted me to be one of their brothers! Tears of joy streamed down my face as I quickly ran downstairs to my best friend’s room to tell her the good news. I, Ashante’ Jamar Biggers, was going to pledge a fraternity.

That was a year ago now. I’ve enjoyed every single minute with my brothers. They’ve been my friends, my support group, my vacation buddies. They’ve been there through my happy times, my sad times, my confusing times, my stressful times, my blissful times. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

So why tell you my story? Because I want everyone out there to know that yes, there is homophobia in the Greek community, but it’s not everywhere. You can find a pocket of sunshine breaking through the clouds just like I did. You just have to find it. I feel very secure about my sexuality thanks to the help of my fraternity. I feel very comfortable inviting a guy to our events. The thing that gives me the most grief is getting up the courage to ask someone. I know that if I bring a guy to a date function, we won’t have to face the stares and whispers. We won’t have to be the awkward couple that no one talks to. We could be just another couple in the crowd.

So please, for me, don’t think of all Greek organizations as homophobic because they are not. I beg of you to not generalize all Greeks as the same because we are not. I am an individual just as much as the next person. Think of the negative stereotypes that you face everyday and how you feel about them. I feel the same way.