Personal Narrative: Unhinging An Imaginary Closet

Unhinging an Imaginary Closet

The only queer object on my father’s otherwise neat desk was the Pamela Anderson’s Playboy spread. She wore a strapless, black satin dress that traced the concave bend between her waists and breasts. Almost any pubescent twelve year-old would’ve enjoyed the sight (or at least, that’s what my father’s question suggested). “Do you want it?” A proud grin spread over his face. It was the same one he’d displayed while watching me dress Barbies in matching wedding gowns my mother had sewn.
Two years prior, he had informed me of family’s long-standing tradition of parents buying Playboy subscriptions for a son after he’d completed his bar mitzvah. My brother and father received theirs mere days after reading their Torah portions. Neither remembers their parashah verbatim, although my brother mentioned his dealt withs

But since it was appropriated by Western culture, coming out became another exclusive minority hurdle. Being gay has been a blessing, but carving heretical beliefs and refusing to follow predetermined fates embody my identity. Despite the pressures it has placed on me through the abnormalization of my sexuality and the supposition that I’m straight, coming out will be on my terms, independent of a tacit societal contract. I will not be reduced to only my sexuality, no matter how convenient it may be for others and even myself. Examining the merits of my HACIA and MUN speeches will not be second to trying to detect the feminine inflections in my pronunciations. Audible sighs when reading my Talon articles about human rights do not waver me. Being outnumbered as the only top-ten student to vocalize his disapproval of a system that unfathomably awards ten guys the highest grades in his class is no longer daunting. Even if I am the only outspoken student liaison between queerness and my high school, I will break the