In Retrospect

The lady looked at us and said, "let's pause for a moment and open  up the discussion, if any one of you would like to say something about how you feel about this issue, I'd invite you to so!"

I paused, thought of what I wanted to share, and raised my hand.

I opened my mouth. Stuttered, tears spilled over and I became so choked up no other words came out except for "Oh I'm so sorry... please excuse me a minute..."

The room grew deadly quiet as the moderator tried to comfort me, everyone stared. It was not how I had imagined it in my head.

~~~

So on a whim, and looking to make some extra cash, I spotted an ad on Craigslist for an Asian-American Focus Group that required two hours of time on a Saturday, paid $50 and food would be provided. Never one to turn down food, I called the listed number. The woman over the phone asked me questions to make sure I matched the profile, and then asked a series of questions that provided clues to the nature of the focus group, without explicitly telling me what it was. She wanted to find out where I stood on social issues, and whether I'd be open-minded about hearing from those who stood on the other side. "Of course!" I said, "I would LOVE to hear their argument."

That Saturday came, and I found my way to a nondescript building in Pasadena, and met others who'd responded to the ad. There were only 7 of us, all Asian-American women and between the age range of 21-early 30's. Most were still in school, with the oldest being an attorney.The moderator, a kind-looking woman in her 40's handed each of us a stack of papers, I quickly flipped through the pages and enjoyed an inner chuckle and a swell of confidence. It appeared we were going to be discussing marriage equality today.

Now marriage equality, those words hadn't meant too much to me 5 years ago. I'd no real ties to the LGBT community, but 5 years ago I attended my first rehearsal with Vox Femina Los Angeles, an all-women choral ensemble whose focus was on giving women of all backgrounds, sexual orientation, voice. Following the two and a half hours long rehearsal, a friend of mine who'd joined the group with me that season, she and I walked to the parking lot, and in hushed tones, put our heads together and giggled, "sooo... who do you think was a lesbian?"

Looking back, and knowing what I know now, the way we looked at our now-friends then almost resembled how one would imagine an exotic species of animal. It was our first encounter with a group of grown women, some of whom were lesbians, and there was a very human reaction of being uncertain of the unknown, a curiosity. My friend and I had cast the women as "they". The "lesbians". We scratched our heads and wondered who was "butch" and who was "lipstick," terms we'd learned from the media and who knows where else.

Aided by a shared love of music, the process of becoming one with the group was ginger, slow, and organic. Until one day, the mystical "they" were just my friends. They saw me grow from a 25-year-old not-quite-sure-who-I-am into "yes, I am a woman." They were my friends who experienced the same joys, heartache, illnesses, unnecessary drama as any of my other friends.They were my friends who taught me how to be friends with women.

Without knowing I'd done so, I'd arrived at my focus group with the women in Vox by my side. They were there when I answered every question, when I abruptly burst into tears as I tried with my might to share their stories. The incredible women with their incredible families.  Women, who even with strong support systems, have had to wait for their turn at the altar.  My friends are young, my friends are old, my friends defy every stereotype that I had in my mind when I first met them.  My friends are women, personified.

~~~

The panel ended soon after that. I left, drained.

Later, I felt an enormous sense of relief, as if I'd passed a test. My tears somehow assured me that what I felt for my friends were genuine, that my pursuit of equality for my friends was on the right course...

I told this story in a class, more tears were shed, but my professor found my tone preachy. I understand... but I'm glad I did it. I will keep telling their stories because whereas I found a cause, my friends have lived it. They continue to live it. Everyday.


[Drafted in 2011, posted 11/14/14]