AstraReaching | Astra

Name: @astrareaching |

Social Media: Twitter

My first love was Beatrice. She knew she was lesbian long before I met her. Unfortunately, her religious parents who prioritise their image and reputation above all else knew too. So, she learned to be discreet and hide. Our time spent together was mostly within the confines of the university where we were studying and its immediate vicinity. We were strangers before we were friends. We shared a class when she first noticed me. She said she fancied me from the moment she saw me enter the class. I was oblivious of her presence. We were friends before we were best friends. When we kept having classes together, she finally worked up the courage to chat me up. From then on, she would find an excuse to sit beside me during that class.

We were best friends before we were lovers. As I got to know her, one of the things that became evident was how difficult it was for her to fall asleep. Yet, one random afternoon while we were beside each other on the campus grounds, she fell asleep on my back unceremoni­ously. She said that was the first time sleep came so naturally for her and that it was because of my proximity to her. She felt safe with her head on my back. Then, we were lovers. And she loved holding my hand when we walked even though I was self-conscious that my palms would be sweaty. I loved it too. Wherever we sat and stayed, we would be as close to each other as possible - arms or sides or thighs in contact with each oth­er’s.

Touch was a language we used so frequently, it became second nature to us. Touch was a language we both understood and appreciated. And yet, on the rare opportunities that we get to go beyond the confines of our campus for dates, she would let go of my hand and there would be space between us because of fear. After all, she did not know where her parents might have friends or acquaintances who might see us and report our closeness to them. She never posted about us in her social media. When her parents learned she was in a relationship with me, suddenly, she was getting driven to and from school to prevent her from staying beyond her class schedule, to prevent her from having time to spend with me. And I really wished that was the worst and that was the full extent of what they did to her.

I was Beatrice. When I realised I was falling for a woman, my world shifted. It was not that I saw something wrong with being LGBTQIA+. I had close friends and relatives who I knew were not straight for as long as I could remember and I would like to be­lieve I have never been homophobic towards them. Their gayness is just a part of who they are and it made me as happy as a friend could be when they are in fulfilling relationships regardless of who they were with. But I would admit that I thought of it as "it is okay for them to be gay , but not for me.”

I grew up religious and my faith wasdeeply personal to me. My parents were and are religious and when they share their stories - the struggles they had to face growing up - it is easy to see why their faith matters to them and why they brought us up valu­ing prayers and faith. Add to that the fact that I went to a Catho­lic school from kinder up to high school where every first Friday of the month or before every big event, there wa Mass; everyday, there were morning prayers (changing dependingon the day of the week); every start of class, a prayer led by a student; before and after every break, a blessing for the food; every 12 noon and 6 pm, the Angelus. However, whereas my peers would find this a burden or a boring activity, it brought me peace and I fully im­mersed myself in it - savoring the words, the tone and cadence of it, the vision of offering up myself to the God I was taught to be­lieve in.

Then, realised that I might be falling in love with a woman. And suddenly, I could hear all the sermons against being gay, all  the remarks about how sinful it is to bewith the same sex. Multiple times, I went to a small chapel that rarely had visitors unless there was mass. I would sit and pray hoping for clarity. And I would quietly cry as I kneel begging that God would give me a sign that I am allowed to love her that way, that I can pursue this happiness with her, that I am permitted to take care of her the way we both wanted.

The night we became official, I told her that I am unsure about how to classify my feelings for her exactly, that I have never seen myself being in a romantic relationship with a girl. I told her that all I was certain of was that I love her. I asked her then if she was willing to try entering a relationship with me knowing all that. And when she said yes, all the doubts and fears faded into the background. In that moment, it was just pure and giddy happiness for both of us. The day after, on campus, that happiness was overshadowed by the dread of not knowing what people would think. I suddenly realized that I was unsure where my friends stand with gayness. It felt like each coming out and revelation of who I loved was a maze I had to figure out how to navigate blindly.

Early in the relationship, I tried countless times to open up to my mother about it and gauge what her reaction might be. My mother and I were close and yet, every time we would talk about anything vaguely hinting at me not being straight, it would get shut down immediately. "It was not normal. It would leave me unhappy. It was not right." I stopped trying after a year. In my mind, I told myself I was just postponing telling them so I could be sure of my feelings first. I even justified putting it off by convincing myself that it would be best to say it after I graduate and have a stable income in the off-chance (but a chance nonetheless) that they would kick me out. When I finally did, every conversation with my mother ended with her repeating her sentiments that it is not normal, that I would be unhappy, that it is a sin; the one conversation I had with my father about it ended with him saying he would not be able to accept me.

Even when I started working, I made it a point to avoid revealing my gayness and my relationship to the people I work with. I had to prove myself first. If they knew I was gay immediately and they thought of it as immoral, I feared that would be all they see; all my other good traits rendered invisible.

I know Beatrice. Beatrice is a cousin who I (and everyone else have always understood was not straight but who had never been able to explicitly come out. Beatrice is a cousin who denied being anything but straight for years. Beatrice is that cousin and her brother who on separate occasions came out to me after I came out to each of them first only to ask me not to tell the other. Beatrice is a friend whose parents used their money to manipulate what they can and cannot do. Beatrice is a friend's partner who refused to be introduced to us because they did not know who we are and who we knew and who we could tell regardless of how much we have reassured them. Beatrice is a nephew who was reprimanded for the slightest bit of femininity as a child and who when he finally admitted to himself that he was gay, had already gotten too used to hiding it and fearing judgment from the rest of our family. Beatrice is a kid who uses a different name in front of their friends and in front of their parents. Beatrice is a kid who cried to me at the mere possibility that she was not straight and that it would change how everyone sees her. Beatrice is a friend who could not dress how they would have wanted. Beatrice is a kid who came out to me but told me not to tell anyone because they are surrounded by people who would not understand.

I know Beatrice. And it is heartbreaking that I know far too many Beatrice’s - Beatrice’s who feel the need to repress and hide and fear.

And I am tired.

I am tired of being afraid and of knowing stories of fear.

Sister Beatrice brings us to the forefront. And I pray everyone can watch her and see us and our stories. I want more people to watch Sister Beatrice in Warrior Nun and to understand a bit more our pains and fears in the process. I hope that it breeds empathy. I hope that we see more of Sister Beatrice in Warrior Nun until there would be no more beatrice’s in our world.