To my mother,

 

I came out to my mom today.

It’s been a long

time in the making now.

 

Maybe a decade?

Perhaps a little longer than that.

 

I know that a lot of my friends have come out to their parents.

It’s brave,

it’s admirable,

it’s courageous—

and I always pictured myself

one day

doing the same.

 

But I never had the courage to do so.

 

I think part of it is the Asian culture,

where my parents hold more traditional views.

But I do realize that,

as time goes by,

with the more accepting culture we have here in Australia,

I can start to slowly see

the shift in my mom

when it comes to these things.

 

And I’m sure that, at my age now—

34—

after the age of 30 or so,

when I’m not bringing girls home,

or ever, for that matter—

she would have realized that something was up.

 

And I’m also sure

that she’s spoken to her friends too,

and they’ve all come to the conclusion

that I might be gay.

And she’s just been waiting

for the time when I would tell her.

 

In the last couple of months,

I’ve been feeling a lot more comfortable

and confident in my own skin.

 

Telling people at work that I’m gay.

Most of them already had a feeling, of course.

They were just waiting for me to say it.

 

And it’s been quite liberating—

because I can be myself

and everyone still loves me

for who I am.

 

This is all practice, of course,

for the real thing—

which is coming out to my mom.

 

And it came about

in a very dramatic sort of way.

 

I met this guy on Hinge.

His name is James.

I brought him over to my place on our first date,

and he met my mom.

 

The next night, he asked if he could come over.

I said yes.

 

He ended up arriving around 3 in the morning.

He made a lot of noise opening the garage door,

and with the dog barking,

my mom came out to see what all the noise was about.

 

And that’s when she met him.

 

They were both shocked to see each other.

And there I was,

in bed,

eyes wide open.

 

Thinking.

 

Thinking how peculiar the universe works sometimes—

how it sets up these domino pieces

only to knock them down

when the time is right.

 

When James crawled into bed that night,

I reassured him

that I wasn’t angry or annoyed.

 

Instead,

I was grateful.

 

Grateful that he had entered my life

at this particular moment in time,

and set off all these chains of events

that would eventually lead me

to tell my mother

that I am gay

the following day.

 

I always imagined coming out

to be an event.

Full of confetti,

balloons,

red carpet treatment—

you know,

the things you see in movies

like Love, Simon.

 

But I didn’t get any of that.

 

It was just

a casual conversation—

that the boy she met at 3 a.m.

was someone that I am dating.

 

And I saw

that she flinched at that—

before asking questions about him:

his name,

where he lives,

his family.

 

And that was pretty much it.

 

The earth continued to spin,

time kept on ticking,

as it always does.

 

And soon,

the evening light

faded through the gaps in the curtains,

 

and I was left on the couch

as my mother went to bed for the night.

 

Just thinking.

 

Taking in a deep breath—

but it wasn’t as fresh

as I imagined it would be.

 

And I sat there,

wondering why

things didn’t feel as different

as I thought they would.

 

I’ve been in a jail cell

for 34 years.

I’ve had the key

to the lock

this entire time.

 

And now—

I’ve opened it.

 

And the door

quietly swings open.

 

And I walk through it.

 

There’s no party on the other side.

Just my loved ones—

patting me on the back,

squeezing my shoulder,

smiling.

 

And I smile back.

 

Perhaps my body

is still trying to catch up

to my thoughts.

 

Perhaps

these ordinary moments

of coming out

are the more common version

that happens behind the scenes—

the version

that no one sees.

 

Or perhaps—

I’m just really lucky

that I have an understanding mom,

who didn’t reject me,

or shame me,

or disapprove of my choices.

 

Just

a mother

who loves her son,

no matter the choices

he makes

in this lifetime.