The next piece of our Born this way series is by Tímea. Read the others' stories as well and find the series summary HERE.
Our page concept was inspired in LGBTQ+ solidarity by BornThisWayBlog.com
Tímea (10), (1999)
Neither of us is happy in this picture. I didn’t like being a ladybug. Right before the finale I still wanted to tear the red costume off of me. My mom didn’t like being my mom times like this. I didn’t liked being her daughter, either.
It’s still better than to dress up as Minnie, though. At least, I could become Süsü, the dragon once. He was also an outcast, green and at least a boy. Well, not as cool as Zorro or Batman, but still. But I wouldn’t dare mentioning these ideas.
Ours is a conservative family. I hated my grandma because she called me a lesbian. I wasn’t even touching Aliz’s boobs on the arboretum’s bench then. She couldn’t even see that a picture of Nora Salinas a.k.a Graciela cut out of the TV guide was hiding under my pillow. One of my friends drew a picture of Jose Armando, she even sprayed it with her dad’s cologne. Every night I gave a kiss to him and I whispered that “I’m sorry but I love Graciela”.
Aliz was my first at the age of 14. Sándor was my second, when I was 18. Between them there were others, but what happened in the meantime would be a story too long to share. I almost married Sándor. My mom supported the marriage, maybe because she hoped subconsciously that I could have a “normal” life. Husband, kids. Family. Even though one family is more than enough. Eventually, I left my fiance two weeks before the wedding.
I have never liked macho lesbians. Short hair means the opposite of femininity to me. And I love the very womanly women. Even though they only like me for a one night stand. Which they regret later. And they blame me for it. As if they have never been there. But I’m used to it now. I wasn’t hoping for a serious relationship.
The only thing that was changing faster than the constant ups and downs of my heartache was the object of my love. I fell for three or four teachers a year. I wrote poems about the pain of my hopelessness. That was the time I started writing - being a teenager. I haven’t given up this habit ever since. I’ve become a professional poet and writer. And a lot more. Sometimes a painter, sometimes a musician. I act in an alternate theatre. I don’t want to be anything, I just want to live and feel. I just want something to happen.
I was asked to write a volume of interviews three years ago. The book turned out to be tolerable. At least an OK. It was meant to be a publishing sensation, it hardly became a part of the curriculum. I naively believed that I could become rich. I only earned the contempt of others and people fear me. Of course, my mother told me so. Not to speak out about these matters, and that I wouldn’t accomplish anything in life.
My mother has died since. But I am alive, and out. I succeeded in life. This matters to me. I continue to maintain my freedom. That I could become anything in life. Artist, without a civil job. Woman, even if I don’t march for feminism. Mother, even if I “gave life” only to two dogs. Lesbian, even if I live with a boy and I’m happy with him.
Translated by Emese Balog