By Apphia K.
To my mother,
From my tiny apartment, halfway across the world from you, I write this with a heavy heart. I miss you with an ache that does not grow weaker as days pass, and I’m happy that I still feel this way about you – as if that is proof enough that I love you, just as much as I did the day I was born.
As I cease being stubbornly rebellious about your ways and begin to embrace being your daughter, I am learning what it means to love unconditionally. For reasons I do not care to over-analyze or dissect, I know that I have always loved you this way. As a young adult, curious about our origins, I asked for stories of your childhood and what made you the woman you are and for stories of your mother. Upon learning that she wasn’t kind to you, I feel protective—to imagine that anyone should hurt you makes me fierce. I want you to know that you are perfect exactly the way you are. You can be sure of this.
As I come into my own as a woman, as my body changes I realize how subtle messages about my beauty or the lack of it, according to popular media, have affected my selfperception. I have also noticed how you perceive yourself and how you’re missing out on your own beauty. Beauty is the color of our dark, marked skin. It is in our wispy curls, our calloused hands; it is in our cracked heels and unpainted nails. I find beauty in your smile, in the warmth of your hands and in your voice (yes, even when you’re shouting at me). I miss that too.
As I embrace my bisexuality, I understand the origins of your misconceptions and naivety about sex and sexuality. I realize that while I started out with a bare minimum of information to satisfy my curiosity, you had no access to anything of the sort. Some days, when you disagree with my choice to be out about who I am, I remind myself that it is difficult for you to see things from my perspective, because you have been conditioned to believe that not being heterosexual is an abnormality and that scares you. In your heart, I know that you want me to be happy and not be alone forever. I want to reassure you that this is possible in some parts of the world today, and it is in pursuit of this that I left your home.
I promise you that my sexual orientation was not your fault. It is not because you wanted a boy when you were pregnant with me. I wish that there were some way I could prove this to you, so that you would believe me instead of clueless people who have never met me. Embracing my masculinity means that I am comfortable in my skin being exactly who I am, not that there is something wrong with me. Everyone has a little masculinity and femininity in them, at different levels. Being genderqueer is not a bad thing. I know you expected me to be shy and quiet, but I’m my father’s daughter too.
As I look for the person who is destined to be the love of my life, I remember your list of must haves and mustn’t haves. They might not check every box on that lengthy list, but I hope that you will someday accept them as my partner and the other parent to my children. I know that once you meet this person, you will love them too. Please be patient: you’ve taught me to choose wisely and I promise you that I will.
As I spend more time out in the world, in the company of strangers, I understand your desire to protect me from them and from the things with which you are unfamiliar. Thank you for letting me learn life’s lessons on my own. Trust that you have equipped me with the skills I need to survive out here. I have been hurt emotionally and mentally by people to whom I gave the benefit of the doubt, and every day I learn to heal my wounds. Things have changed, and it’s okay to talk about being raped and protest against it in public. I even write poetry in rage against it. Maybe someday you’ll watch me perform it and be proud that I’ve overcome my past and choose to give rape survivors a voice.
As I come into my own as a feminist, I notice that although the revolution passed you by, you in your own way have embraced your independence as a woman. Against all odds you made sure I got a good education and that we always had a home and food on the table. I realize that you never had the opportunity to realize your own dreams, but I hope that someday I can open up those possibilities for you too. I hear you empowering the women around you and it inspires me a great deal. I want to read to you, stories from the Laxmi Purana and of Izumo no Okuni, Tarabai Shinde and Zaib-un-Nissa Hamidullah. And I really want to play you the YouTube video of Malala Yousafzai teaching the leaders of the world about courage, determination and change. She made me cry and be proud to be a girl who will not give up.
I encourage you to accept the opportunities of leadership that come your way. You will find that you are entirely capable of being a pillar of strength and an inspiration to the women who are drawn to you because they believe that you can empower them, too. Discover your own power, embrace your greatness and don’t underestimate either. It’s never too late.
Every day, I know the strength of your love for me too. I have heard what your heart sounds like from the inside and it continues to resonate with my heartbeat.
I love you, forever.
Your Daughter,
Apphia
Apphia K. is a bisexual activist from India, currently in New York City. She is passionate about bisexual visibility and youth activism, manages the portal www.bi-inspired.com and is currently volunteering with The BiCast.