To Be Queer is to Be Infinite

Coming Out Comic by a Bi (Sort of) Girl

The summer seems to bring a time of newness and opportunity for me. While I’m averse to the heat (as a sweaty person!), I am drawn to the long days and the sun kissing my skin. Perhaps, it’s because it’s my season as a September Virgo and the universe aligns this time with abundance for me.

Last summer, I had the honor and privilege of being a part of the Kearny Street Interdisciplinary Writer’s Cohort, where I studied poetry, fiction, and comics under Anthony Cody, Devi S. Laskar, and Trinidad Escobar respectively. I met and befriended by fellow fellows (I couldn’t resist, hehe!) and I remain in awe of the work they create even after our time together.

One of the pieces I created was during a warm-up exercise facilitated by Escobar. I’ve long forgotten the actual text I drew and wrote this comic in response to, but I fell under the spell that stream-of-consciousness creation brings. The comic emerged from my feelings of self, being queer, and being mutable.

Contrary to popular belief, coming out can be a series of events. The first (and most impactful) coming out was to myself. My experience as a bisexual person was met with a lot of doubt (which enraged my Scorpio stellium to have my truth challenged.) So often, I was asked a variation of “are you sure?” and “how do you know?”

Coming out to my mother was out of my control, as my younger sister shared this newfound knowledge of myself with her before I could (as an eldest daughter) strategize the most effective (and least tumultuous) way to disseminate this information to our mother.

She was theatrics hearing this, screaming and crying. She even called one of my aunts (who is actually not bi, but lived a life of compulsory heterosexuality before she met her wife. However, my mom assumed that since her ex-spouse was a man, my aunt MUST be bi) to have explain what I meant by being bisexual.

Contrary to popular belief, coming out can be a series of events.

Coming out isn’t always an anxiety-inducing interrogation. I remember going through a list of non-negotiables to my partner very early in our relationship, such as if I didn’t keep my last name, I was going to hyphenate (no Mrs. for me!); I wanted equal distribution of labor, effort, and domestic chores; and last but not least, I was bi. I looked at him expectantly.

This is very much a straight person assumption, but I had already heard it all even before I was out of the closet: bi people are more likely to cheat, bi people are actually gay/lesbian but haven’t come all the way out yet, bi people are only "trying to have a good time,” etc.

So, I steeled myself again, bracing myself for a painful rejection. But in a way very much his own, he responded, quizzically, “so? It’s not a big deal.” And I burst into tears. My partner held me as I cried, wiping the sipon¹ off my face, and brushing my hair away. He laughed until I laughed. Which is to say, there will be people who will make this easy. There will be people who are safe.

And this is where I thought I was done coming out. Everyone who needed to know, knew. It was until last summer that I realized I forgot to come out to a very important person: my Lola².