What’s something that’s been quietly bothering me lately, but I haven’t fully acknowledged or understood yet?
What Happens If I Finally Let What’s Always Lingered at the Back of My Mind Explore Itself Openly?
I feel like there’s so much happening in my life, yet at the same time, nothing feels truly noteworthy.
To be honest, I’ve never liked this subject, yet I pursued an Honours degree in it. I hated it, yet I chose it as my elective during my Post-Graduation. Now, I'm pursuing my PG in a subject I hate even more. And when I despised this university with every fiber of my being, I still enrolled here.
Yes, I’ve been doing a lot of things I’ve always hated.
Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know any better. I was told to do this, so I did it. I was told to do that, so I did that. Personally, I’ve never felt like I was doing something I truly wanted to do.
During my school years, I never thought about dating anyone. No boys. Girls were never in the picture. Dating. It just wasn’t something I was interested in. All I wanted was to pass my exams with flying colors and make my father proud of me, make my mother proud of me. I always enjoyed studying; it helped me in so many ways. It felt like everything would be okay as long as I focused on my studies. So, that’s what I did.
My family isn’t overly conservative, but they’re not exactly liberal either. I mean, we’re just your average middle-class family living in Delhi, going through the motions of everyday life. It’s not like we were struggling financially, but we were never really thriving either.
My father would never actually say no to anything. If we wanted something, he would get it for us. But the truth is, we never really wanted much in the first place. He’s been the perfect father. As a husband, he’s always recognized and appreciated what my mother did for us. And for him, I’m forever grateful.
My mother has been a guiding light for us. When my father was always busy, he’d still make time for school events or parent-teacher meetings, but if he couldn’t, my mother always stepped in. Even though she could hardly understand English, she never missed an opportunity to be there. She taught me the importance of showing up, of seeing your loved ones in the crowd, cheering for you, even if they don’t fully understand what's happening. For her, I will always be grateful.
My sister has always been there for us. Always. She’s been the pillar for me. My home. My constant support. Because of her, I’ve always felt stronger and ready to face anything. People often think bullying isn’t a thing in Indian schools, but the truth is, it exists. It may not be as extreme as what you see in K-drama, but it’s still there. There was this one time I was bullied in school, though at the time I didn’t even realize it was bullying, I just thought it was something normal that made me cry. But my sister fought for me, even with the teachers, after she saw me in tears. The next time I faced the same situation, I knew she would always be there to support me, and I found the strength to stand up for myself. And guess what? Bullies back off when you stand your ground, especially when they see others supporting you. My brother stood by my sister’s side, too. Looking back, I feel nothing but gratitude.
But if I could, I would choose not to be born into this family again. Not because I dislike them or anything, Nah. But because they’re too perfect. They deserve the best, and I don’t think I’m the one who can give them that.
I’ve always been the straight-A student, the one everyone praises, the one they call the teacher’s pet. Even though I never told my teachers anything about my classmates. Every time I topped that meant the world to me. But with that came the names. The whispers behind my back. I didn’t know at first, until one day, I stumbled across some chats. At first, I thought they were just joking, but they weren’t. At least, not for me.
I always studied because I wanted to see my father smile. That smile was rare back then. He was always so tense, so stressed. Anyone would be with the mounting pressure of raising a family, with expenses that seemed endless and an income that was barely enough to cover the basics. He did everything he could for us, sacrificing his own peace to provide for us, to support us through everything. He went through so many highs and lows, just for us. So when I showed him my marks and he smiled, it felt like the world was finally okay.
But if I didn’t do well, if I couldn’t understand something, he’d always say, 'It’s not the teacher, it’s the student. Pay more attention.' Back then, I felt so bad about myself. I even cried sometimes, wondering why it wasn’t good enough. But when the next test came, and I did well, and when I saw that rare smile on his face, it was all worth it. Because in those moments, I knew I’d made him proud. And that was all I ever really wanted.
During my school years, I was happy. My life had a schedule that I followed and everything seemed organised.
I would wake up at 6 then leave by 7 and be back at 3. Then till 4 I would freshen up, eat, watch Tv and then a tuition from 4 to 6. Then from 6 to 7, a break and then study till 10. It was a perfect routine. Everything was perfect. And then ofc there were people who would say being a topper is all okay, I wanna be a topper too as if it was that easy.. as if I wasn't sacrificing all my time to get those marks. But then it’s okay. It’s not like they could.
But then, one day, a new student joined, and my teachers started whispering, “You’d better be careful; your position might be taken away... this new student did really well on the entrance exam.”
I was scared, not because I’d lose my title, but because everything would go back to how it was before.
“It’s you. Pay more attention.”
All my hard work, every late night, every sacrifice, could all be undone if I made even the smallest mistake.
I remember one time, I did slip up. I got a mark wrong, and the punishment was harsh: “No playing outside for you.” It stung. You know, Desi people know, the universal saying:
“Khelogey kudogey banogey kharab...
Padhogey likhogey banogey nawab...”
(If you play and waste time, you'll be ruined.
If you study, you'll become successful.)
So, I studied. I pushed myself, tried my best, and still, I couldn’t seem to get the grades I needed. And math... oh, I could never grasp it. It was such a frustrating subject.
But then, something changed when I reached senior school. The teacher changed too. Gone was the one who’d just said, “Tum hazaar baar puchoge toh bhi main hazaar baar samjhaungi..” (Even if you ask a thousand times, I will teach you a thousand times..) I got a teacher who actually cared and repeated lessons until I understood. She didn’t just brush me off. And then, it happened. I topped the class.
I couldn’t believe it. But yes, I did. All that struggle, all that fear, it finally paid off.
Then came the time to choose a subject for graduation, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do. My father said, “You will become an IAS officer.” And my brother, without a second thought, handed me the papers, “This subject will be perfect for you.”
So, I chose it. I chose it because it was expected, because they believed in me, even if I didn’t fully understand what I was doing.
Every day, I traveled to college, even though it meant wasting four hours of my life just to get there and then return home. But somehow, it didn’t matter. Or, at least, I told myself it didn’t. Inside, I felt the weight of it, but I never dared to complain. I knew the answer I’d get if I did: “Not safe.”
The worst was when I’d reach college, only to find out that the class had been cancelled. It was such a slap in the face, especially for someone like me who could only focus in my own room, in my own space. The whole journey, the exhaustion, it felt like it had been for nothing.
And then, Covid hit. I shouldn’t have felt this way, but I did, relieved, even. The four hours I had spent traveling every day were suddenly gone. No more endless hours on the road, no more exhaustion that left me feeling like I was just coming home to sleep. For once, I could just breathe. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a break. A small, unexpected relief.
During Covid, I made so many friends online, friends I could never have made in person. I was always the one who’d rush into class, barely making it on time, gasping for air as I sat down. And then, I’d be the first one to leave. I never had the energy to stay after, never had the strength to go back home only to collapse in bed.
Meanwhile, everyone else seemed to be enjoying their college life, living out experiences I could only dream of. But for me, it was never that simple.
“Not safe.”
For girls to go out.
For me to go anywhere, even if it was just with other girls.
No one in the world made it easy for me to be free, to live life in the same way others did.
So, I ended up alone. Always rushing, always tired, always isolated. But in that solitude, I found an unexpected opportunity: the chance to make new friends online. And I shouldn't have felt this way, but for someone like me, an introvert who was only really good at studying, those connections became a lifeline.
Before Covid, I barely had time for myself. The constant travel, the pressure to keep up with studies- it was overwhelming. And even then, my grades weren't the best. But now, with the world on pause, I had something I hadn’t had in so long: space. Time to breathe. Time to connect. And for once, it felt good.
My friends. I would talk to them all the time. Every single moment, every thought that crossed my mind, anything, everything, became a conversation. We shared everything: our favorite foods, the songs that defined our moods, our dreams, our fears. Suddenly, life wasn’t as lonely. I had friends, not just the ones who took me in out of pity or obligation, but the ones I actually chose. People who saw me for who I was, not for who I was expected to be. It felt... freeing. Like I finally belonged somewhere.
As we grew closer, we exchanged Snapchats, traded glimpses of our lives, the little snippets of reality that only friends share. And it felt like I was living in a different world: one where I wasn’t alone, where the weight of expectations didn’t crush me. My friendships, born out of digital conversations, felt real. They weren’t just pixels on a screen; they were people who genuinely cared.
During Covid, I found myself scrolling through shows to pass the time, and that’s when I stumbled upon Korean dramas. I fell in love with them: those stories, those characters, they made everything feel magical. But then, something unexpected happened. I came across a series called ‘2gether: The Series.’ And for the first time, I felt something I had never felt.
It wasn’t weird, it wasn’t awkward. It was just pure joy, watching two people come together, cherishing love, embracing everything it meant. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and I often told myself, “It’s just a drama.. It’s all acting..” Whenever it felt real.
I let myself dive into it, losing myself in the storyline, feeling the happiness, the hope. For me, it wasn’t just a show. It was a glimpse into something beautiful. But then, something shifted, something I wasn’t prepared for. The more I watched, the more I realized something about myself that I hadn’t been ready to admit. Love is love, right? Until you fall in love with someone of the same sex.
Then, the world opened again. College reopened, and I rushed. Rushed to meet them, to finally feel the warmth of their presence in the flesh. The moment I saw her, my heart leaped. She stood there, as real as I’d imagined, and then she hugged me.
But when she wrapped her arms around me, something inside me shifted. For the first time in my life, I felt… weird. Like I couldn’t quite place the sensation. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t what I expected either.
Maybe because I had spent so much time in this bubble of online connection, and now that it was real, now that I was physically standing with her, I wasn’t sure how to process it. It was a jolt to my system, a feeling of intimacy that I had only ever experienced in the digital world, now suddenly thrust into reality.
I felt weird as I looked at her. Something was off, but I couldn't place it. It was like everything around me was muted, and I was stuck in this dizzying haze. It was supposed to be the moment I’d been waiting for, the reality I had imagined countless times through our late-night chats. But instead, there was this uncomfortable heaviness in my chest.
It was the same feeling I’d always had, this nauseating knot deep in my stomach. Maybe it was because I wasn’t used to having someone so close to me, physically. I had spent so long in my own space, alone, that even the simplest act of someone sitting beside me felt strange. I didn’t know what to do with the proximity, with the closeness. It was like a physical barrier I couldn’t cross.
Or maybe it was something else, something I couldn't admit to myself. Maybe it was because she was a non-vegetarian. That thought passed through my mind in a flash. It was absurd, wasn’t it? I tried to tell myself it wasn’t a big deal, that it didn’t matter, but my mind latched onto it, clinging to any reason that might explain the discomfort.
I tried to push it away. I told myself, “It’s just a phase, just the weirdness of meeting someone for the first time.” But deep down, I couldn’t escape the feeling.. The feeling that I was standing at the edge of something I didn’t fully understand, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to leap.
"Let’s listen to music together," she suggested, her voice light and casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She played a song and handed me her earphones, her fingers brushing mine just for a moment. I took them hesitantly, unsure of how to react. We sat there, side by side, but everything felt too much, the music blaring too loud, the sound vibrating through my chest, and her presence just a little too close. My mind raced, scrambling to find a way out of this discomfort. It was like I couldn’t breathe properly, like I was trapped in a space I wasn’t ready for.
I couldn't focus on the music, couldn’t focus on anything. I pulled the earphones out, the silence falling over us like a heavy weight.
"Let’s go to the canteen," I said, my voice coming out a little too quickly, as if the words were my escape.
I stood up, already feeling the relief of the distance between us, even though I hadn’t moved a single step yet. It wasn’t her, it wasn’t the music, it was just me, my own anxiety wrapping around me, tightening its grip every time she got too close.
That’s when everything changed. Suddenly, it wasn’t just about a friendship. Those BL shows I was watching no longer felt just acting. It was about me. I felt an overwhelming mix of emotions: confusion, fear, guilt, because love, when it’s the same-sex, suddenly becomes something people don’t always understand. It becomes weird. And, for the first time, I felt that weirdness too. It was like the world shifted beneath my feet, and everything I’d just embraced, everything I thought was beautiful, now seemed wrong.
And it hurt. I didn’t know how to process it, how to come to terms with it. All those feelings of happiness, all that joy, it suddenly felt distant, as if it was a world I could never truly be a part of.
I never cried when I saw those “Am I gay?” quizzes. I’d look at them, shrug, and think, Whatever. It doesn’t matter if I am. I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t want to delve into it either. After all, I didn’t even care about marriage. The whole concept of it, marriage, the idea of being bound to someone, was suffocating. I distanced myself from everyone: my friends, my family... and I never really understood why.
I thought it was just because I was struggling academically, overwhelmed with everything that was going on. Travelling again, not understanding anything, feeling tired all the damn time.
But no one ever told me the real reason. No one ever told me that it was because of the internalized homophobia I was carrying without even realizing it. That I had built this wall around myself, a wall so thick with shame and fear that I couldn’t see it for what it was.
I kept telling myself that I was fine, that it didn’t matter. But deep down, I had this constant, gnawing fear: the fear of anyone finding out. The fear that someone might think I had a crush on them, or worse, that they’d think of me as some kind of pervert. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was disgusting, that the very idea of me being attracted to someone of the same sex was something I had to hide, something I had to suppress.
It was suffocating. Every time I looked at someone, every time I felt that spark, I was terrified… Terrified of what it meant, terrified of how people would react. And so I pushed everyone away, retreating into myself, thinking it was just my mind breaking under pressure, when in reality, it was my own fear that was slowly tearing me apart.
Even when I found out she was bisexual, I didn’t dare tell her. I couldn’t. Why? Because I convinced myself that I didn’t like her.. not like that. But now, looking back, I realize the truth I wasn’t ready to face. I didn’t want her to be some kind of experiment for me.
What if I wasn’t gay? What if this was just a phase, something I’d grow out of, something I could push away and forget? I didn’t want her to be the one caught in the middle of my confusion. I couldn’t risk hurting her, breaking her, with something I wasn’t even sure of myself. What if I tried to be something I wasn’t, only to realize it wasn’t real? What if I ended up pushing her away, ruining the one good thing between us?
It felt safer to keep it all locked inside. To pretend like I didn’t care, like it was nothing. Because, in my mind, if I ever admitted it, if I ever let myself feel what I was feeling, there was no going back. I’d be breaking her, and maybe even myself, in the process.
And then she got a boyfriend. Part of me felt relieved, almost grateful. It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders, like everything I had been silently fearing had just been answered. But at the same time, there was this nagging voice deep inside me that wouldn’t shut up: What if she’s lying? What if this is some game, just to see if you’ll get jealous?
Another voice, quieter but insistent, shot back, Stop being so full of yourself. It’s not all about you.
And then there was the voice I couldn’t ignore, the one that made me feel cold with frustration: If she likes me, let her tell me. I don’t want to play these jealousy games. I’m not doing this. I won’t be a part of it.
It was like I was stuck in some mental tug-of-war, pulled in every direction, not knowing which voice was the truth, which one was my own fear, and which was just my pride talking. I didn’t want to be caught in her drama, I didn't want to be just another player in some twisted game of "who cares less." But still, I couldn’t shake that feeling of what if.. what if she really did feel something for me, and I had missed my chance because I was too afraid to face the truth?
Then, one day, she reached out and offered me her hand, a simple gesture, but it felt like the weight of the world was at that moment. I didn’t take it. I can’t explain why I didn’t, even now. I didn’t understand what it was I felt for her: Was it admiration? Friendship? Something deeper? The truth is, I didn’t know. I still don’t.
But there was this voice, this persistent whisper inside my mind, nagging at me, questioning everything. Maybe… just maybe, I’m gay. And what if she was the reason I was starting to realize it? What if she was my gay awakening, the one who made me confront feelings I didn’t want to admit to myself?
It scared me. The thought of it. The idea that everything I had known, everything I had believed, was suddenly shifting. Was I ready to face it? Was I ready to face myself? Was I ready to accept what that everything meant for me?
Those moments with her, small yet so significant, felt like the beginning of something I never let myself even think about. And yet, in that uncertainty, I felt something stirring inside me, something I couldn’t ignore anymore.
So, I Googled it.. “Am I lesbian?”
I typed the words with a mix of fear and curiosity, hoping for some kind of clarity. But what I found wasn’t clarity. It was a rabbit hole. One search led to another, and before I knew it, I was staring at a screen full of articles, guides, quizzes, and endless what-if scenarios. It was overwhelming.
Then, I found it: the one that seemed to promise answers, the one that would finally shed some light on everything. ‘The Ultimate Guide: Am I a Lesbian?’ My eyes locked onto it like a lifeline.
And there it was: The 30-page document. It was like I had stumbled upon some kind of secret, a manual to my own identity. I stared at the page, unsure whether to feel relieved or terrified. This was the answer, the key to everything I had been questioning, everything I hadn’t dared to ask out loud.
But even as I read, part of me knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. No document, no quiz, no guide could ever answer what was going on in my heart. But still, I kept reading, hoping for that magic moment when everything would make sense.
The document read:
“We're supposed to be pretty for men.. We’re supposed to want a man’s love more than anything else… Our movies are about how we’re supposed to fall in love with men… Compulsory heterosexuality is the voice in my head that says I must really be het even when I’m in love with a woman.”
And then, something inside me twisted. It was subtle at first, like a small crack in my world, but it grew over time. Ever since I started watching BL shows, I felt this shift. I found myself longing for something I couldn’t fully understand. I wanted to fall in love, with a man, yes, but as a man. The thought of me as a woman falling in love with a man always felt... uncomfortable. It didn’t fit. It was like trying to force myself into a mold that never quite matched who I felt I was.
It was either the kind of love I had always seen in movies: the romanticized, idealized love that seemed so distant- or nothing at all. And as I read the document, I realized something even stranger: during all those movies I had watched over the years, my entire focus would always be on the female lead. I had never questioned it until now, until I started piecing things together. Straight girls, they focused on the male lead, not me.
The realization hit me like a wave. Suddenly, the lens through which I had been viewing everything shifted. It wasn’t just about the characters on screen. It was about me, and how I had always viewed love, attraction, and identity. And with that realization came more questions… questions I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. But now, everything felt more confusing than ever.
I kept reading, page after page, as the questions on the screen drilled into me:
“Ask yourself if you can have healthy, fulfilling relationships with men and actually want to be with them.”
My immediate response was almost automatic: NO. But then, a different thought crept in: It’s not because I can’t love a man. It’s because I would never want to be treated the way men around me treat their women.
But then another part of me hesitated, pulling me back into confusion: But I like men. I’ve always liked them. Even if they were just fictional. And as I kept scrolling, the next heading shattered even that fragile thought: What if you’re wrong?
The more I read, the more it felt like the universe was answering every unspoken question I had buried deep inside. But there was something.. something that just didn’t fit. The idea of me liking a man didn’t feel weird, not at all. But the thought of him liking me back, and then the possibility of marrying him.. it made my stomach twist in ways I couldn’t understand.
And that’s when it hit me: Maybe I’m bisexual. Maybe I was caught somewhere in between, drawn to men, but not in the way society expected. Not in the way that led to the traditional love stories I had been taught to believe in.
It wasn’t a clean, neat label I could put on myself, but maybe it was the closest I had come to understanding this complicated web of feelings inside me.
I read more.
[Actual Attraction v/s Compulsory Heterosexuality… Fantasies.. a very limited template of potential narratives associated with that feeling…even though you have absolutely no desire to sleep with men in real life… More focused on movement than features.. faceless or blank-featured or their bodies might symbolize some emotion… You don’t really like the idea of what you’re imagining. You might not even be in the fantasy, but instead another faceless woman might be. You might even imagine yourself as the man… If you think about it later that day, you might feel vaguely nauseated or uncomfortable or feel invalidated and wrong.]
“YESSS!!”
And then almost every point got a tick. Yes. Yes.
[You feel like you could live with a woman in a romantic way, even if you can’t imagine doing anything sexual with a woman.]
“YES PLEASE.”
[You think that because you could survive dating, marrying, and/or having sex with a man, you’re attracted to men (hint: you don’t have to settle for just surviving).]
And then the lines:
[..Lesbian or gay feels like the label for you but you still doubt yourself for whatever reason…
…You think you’re attracted to men but just don’t want to date them…
..You only develop attraction to a guy after a female friend expresses attraction to them..
..You crave “platonic” physical contact with your female friends but wish that men would just leave you alone…
..You think you’re too young/busy to be attracted to men or have a fulfilling relationship with a man..
.. I would totally date [x woman] if they were a guy!!” ]
And I wanted to.
This girl.
Damn!
And so, I realized, maybe I’m not as straight as I always thought I was. The truth hit me like a soft wave, one I wasn’t quite ready to fully embrace. But the bigger question that loomed over me was: Do I need to define myself with a label?The answer, deep down, felt like no.
I know for sure that I’m into girls: that part is clear to me, undeniable. But when it comes to boys, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe it’s just comphet, that internalized pressure to fit into a mold that doesn’t truly fit. I don’t want to date men, not now, but that doesn’t mean I can just outright reject the idea. Maybe it’s something I need to figure out. The truth is, I still don’t know. But for now, what I do know is that I like girls.
And maybe that’s enough for now. I don’t need to rush to label myself if I’m still figuring it out. What matters to me is that I’m being true to what I know, at this moment.
I’ve decided, once I’m financially stable and independent, I’ll come out to my family. But until then, I’m not ready. I’m not sure I can do it just yet. Not until I have the space to fully live my truth without fear. If that means hiding a part of me for a little longer, then I’ll do it. But it doesn’t make me any less sure of who I am, it just means I’m taking my time.
And if, by some strange twist of fate, I was forced to marry a man one day, a dark thought would always creep into my mind. [Because after all, I’m just a desi girl..]
I would rather end it all that day.
But no. That was a place I didn’t want to go. It was fear talking, not reality. The fear of something that felt completely wrong to me, something that would erase a part of myself that I wasn’t ready to let go of.
So, maybe I’m not straight. Maybe I’m not into men. But right now, I don’t have to figure it all out. I don’t need to place myself into a box, to label something I’m not ready to define. I know that who I’m attracted to, how I feel, is a journey, one that I’ll figure out on my own terms.
I don’t know where this road leads yet. I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. But one thing I do know is that I deserve to be loved, respected, and accepted for who I am, no matter what form that takes. And if the time ever comes where I have to face these fears, I’ll be stronger than I am today. Because I’ll know by then, through everything I’ve faced, that I don’t have to bend to anyone else’s expectations.
I’m not sure what my future holds, but one thing’s for certain: I will be true to myself.
Now, if I like a girl and she tells me she does, I won’t hesitate. I’ll accept it, and I’ll fight the world for her. I’ll stand by her side, no matter what.
But I’ll never, never tell some girl first. I can’t. Not in this world, not in this life. I know how the desi world reacts: how they would judge, how they’d make it into something ugly, something to be ashamed of.
I’ve seen it before, heard the whispers. The way they treat love like it’s a secret to be buried, something that can’t be seen or acknowledged. I’m not ready to face that, not yet. So I’ll keep my feelings locked away, hidden deep inside, even if it means sacrificing the chance to tell someone how I feel. Because the price of that freedom? It’s too high for me to pay right now. But one day, maybe... one day, I’ll have the courage.
You can call me a coward, or someone who contradicts everything I've said, but the truth is... my mind is a mess. It’s like a storm inside, a thousand conflicting thoughts crashing together, pulling me in different directions. I try to make sense of it, to pick a side, but every time I think I’ve figured it out, something else comes up, something that makes everything feel uncertain again.
I can’t help it. The fear, the confusion, it consumes me. I want to be brave, to stand up for what I feel, but it’s so much easier to stay quiet, to hide in the shadows. So maybe, yeah, I’m contradicting myself. Maybe I’m a coward for not confronting it head-on. But you don’t see the weight of these thoughts, the pressure of trying to figure it all out when the world is waiting for you to be something you’re not.
I’m not proud of it, but I’m also not sure I’m ready to be anything else. Not yet. Maybe one day, when the mess in my head clears up, when I know who I really am, I’ll have the strength to face it all. But for now, I’m just... figuring it out. And that’s okay, I guess.
For now, I’ll protect myself, by staying silent. Not because I don’t care, but because I do. I’ll wait for the right moment when I can be free to love without fear.
~~~
Until then, my heart stays quiet, trapped in silent distress,
While my mind is a storm, tangled in its own mess.
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