More than 2,000 miles from AU, withdrawn from the queer community that has shaped my identity, struggling to communicate in Spanish and acclimate to Mexican culture, I ask myself a question I thought I already knew the answer to: what does it mean for me to be gay?
Moreover, I’ve begun to ask myself why this is so important to me. Why is it not enough to gossip about cute Mexican boys, why does my sexuality need this inherent meaning?
My friends would tell me to get out of my own head, that I shouldn’t put so much pressure on myself to figure this out. But since arriving here, my queerness has become culturally unrecognizable. I know that I should be open to challenging my identities, but this is easier said than done.
I had come out to several people early on, casually sneaking it into conversation, when my roommate approached me one evening, “Tienes novia?” Do you have a girlfriend? Have you ever, why not?
He was standing in front of me, stripped to his underwear, and I realize that I had never said it in Spanish before. I didn’t know what American-football-playing Mexican men thought about gay boys like me, or which stereotypes I needed to counter.
But the silence was palpable, and I hope that he didn’t hear the panic in my voice or the scrape of the closet door shutting behind me.
The next day I told him and everything turned out fine. “Puedes vestirte sin preocupación, no me gustan los chicos atléticos,” and we both shared a laugh. You can get dressed without worrying, I’m not into athletes.
What a relief. Yet this experience was a wakeup call, not only in terms of my lack of linguistic and cultural capital, but also the realization that my identity as a self-proclaimed queer activist might not translate here.
My parents thought the same thing, sending their gay son to Mexico. They had lingering concerns about a machista culture that they knew as little about as I did at the time. But as their son – “the sociologist” – I explained that my gay identity would be eclipsed by other more visible differences. For example, my whiteness and my Spanish en desarrollo.
This is a new experience for me. In addition, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that the way I see myself as a gay man and the way that others perceive me isn’t matching up. This sudden shift from facilitating workshops on transgender identities to re-navigating the politics of coming out has given me cultural whiplash to say the least.
I miss the support of my queer community and the certainty of understanding my own identities. I miss the sense of purpose that my social politics gave me and the bonds I shared with fellow activists. Without these things, the question still stands: what does it mean for me to be gay?
Siegel is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences and is studying abroad in Puebla, Mexico. He will be writing a monthly column about his abroad experience.
