Monday, January 26, 2009

Thirteen...

When I think of being thirteen, I think of my 13th birthday.
Because that was when I had my first kiss.
Sarah, my junior high best friend, was spending the evening camping in my treehouse with me. Winterfresh gum, strawberry-scented shampoo, and sleeping bags all remind me of that night- even to this day.
I did not expect her to be my first kiss, and I remember the next morning I struggled with a lot of unanticipated emotions.
What did kissing a girl mean? What did it "make me"? I couldn't like girls, because I had been taught by my mother to always dislike homosexuality (yup, because it was a sin in God's eyes). So I justified it the way my other girlfriends did. We were just "practicing" for when we had our first "real" kiss with a boy. Our young minds were entirely shaped by a sexist/heterosexist culture that we had grown up with, from the media/our parents/etc.

Thankfully I'm 21 now, and as an adult I am free to act/think/feel however I want- without worrying about getting 'caught'. without worrying what my parents will say. without having to attend a homophobic high school that completely suffocates my sense of identity. I wish I could go back in time and tell my teenage self to stop caring about everyone's opinions. Because kissing girls is way too worth it. And learning to accept and love yourself for who you naturally are is way too much fun.