Wanting, Yearning, Pining

This piece was submitted by a member of the LGBTQ+ community at American University as part of the Rival American’s Pride Week. Their views do not necessarily represent that of The Rival American or its staff.

philly-pride-flag-now-060817.jpg

By Lucy W.


I’m sorry if you feel I talk about it every day- it’s just, I think about it all the time.

I think about it when I get dressed (am I being too gay? not gay enough? honestly, what does it mean to “dress gay”? Why do I feel I have to censor and perform the presentation of my sexuality for-- no, Lucy, you’re getting off track), I think about it when I order coffee (I hope that cute barista girl doesn’t think I’m flirting with her, even though she is Cute Barista Girl 👀), I think about it when I hear people call someone their partner, when I put my hair up (16 hour days on these curls? try again) and run my fingers across the undercut I had to fight my mom to get. I wonder often what I could do with the brain space my sexuality occupies if it weren’t a consideration. And then I pine. No one warned me about how much pining there would be.

Before I came out, dreams about the first woman (because in my mind, away from prying eyes, I always knew it would be a woman) I would love burrowed their way into my bones. They never had anything to do with how she would look -- I never weighed in my head the merits of brown eyes over green, of long versus short hair, of height, or weight, or any such nonsense-- I only ever thought of the way it could feel. The way one day, if I could gather the courage, if I could find someone who might feel as I did, it could feel to kiss someone and know I was right.


And know I was being seen, and heard, and felt in all the ways I hid for so long. Queer love is radical and even before I knew that word, even before I could consider the real potential of that dream, I knew that. And so, I would pine.

I’d pine for more than just her; I would pine her eventuality. I would yearn for a day and a space where I could meet her, could see her and pursue her unabashedly. I love being queer, but that love is not unconditional. Some days it flows free, and others it must be dug -- mined, almost- from a rock deep inside of me. How heavy it seems, at times, and how utterly free it feels at others.

I never wonder who I would be if I were straight, I only wonder who I would be if I were queer in a world that didn’t care. I wonder if moments of elation come at the cost of hours/unbroken days/near decades, they must add up to be, of entrapment.


I wonder if people who don’t feel contained or confined, who have not experienced the isolation, or self-doubt, or fear, recognize or experience similar liberation. Coming out, for me, feels like the first strokes of swimming in an open ocean.

So I am sorry, if it seems I talk about being gay a lot. It’s just, for the first 20 years I breathed air in this life, I was drowning. Even since I first came out in high school, it has felt like I was barely treading water. On good days, when I wake up and feel right and the pieces click, and I want to be exactly the way I am, I want to share that with people- I want to rejoice in that. And on bad days, when they come, I want to be able to say so. I want my pride in myself to be unlimited- I want to celebrate my queerness while doing justice to the pain it has brought me. Presenting one without the other would be unfair.


Lucy is a rising senior studying public health with a minor in sociology, even if she took the scenic route to get there. Loves long walks w/ boba and a good jam session to My World 2.0. Easily distracted and a Gemini, she prefers to have no fewer than five hobbies at a time.