Dear Mom,

The reason I’m choosing to write this to you is for two reasons:

1. I remember that you’ve always complimented how I have conveyed meaning in my writing. I can remember that ever since that paper in fifth grade, you’ve thought my writing was something spectacular.
2. Even after rehearsing everything in my head after Lady Gaga, I couldn’t bear to tell you this in person. I wasn’t nervous, surprisingly, but something in my body, my mind, my soul wouldn’t call out to you.

There was a time we were walking through Von Maur, and however the conversation went, the only thing I remembering being said was, “… and I will love you no matter what.”

There is a certain authenticity when hand writing messages. Each stroke can be seen in a different manner, every curve and dotted “I” is written with emotion. I’m writing this in hopes you won’t take it as an insult.

Please understand that I love you.

Reminisce (Part One)

Please understand I’m only writing this to you for the purpose of informing and to lead up to my ending of this letter.

I love you. I truly love you.

• In second grade, I was made fun of on a weekly if not daily basis. Of course then, words weren’t terribly harsh, but they were enough to make me cry when I got home. I never wanted to show weakness, so I mastered the art of hiding it.
• In middle school, I was insulted through various words: faggot, homo, fag, even gay was absorbed as an insult by me. Middle school was nearly impossible to tolerate, but I did.
• High school, everything died down and I rarely dealt with any form of taunting. People questioned my sexuality, and it was embarrassing, but tolerable. 

I sorted through every option, every method was double, triple-checked as finely as possible, and I’ve yet to come up with a suitable idea. I hope this will do.

I still love you dearly.

Liberation (Part Two)

I used to wish on every infamous 11:11, on every birthdya candle, on every star and on every good moment for one thing, and that was normalcy.

I never got that wish fulfilled, but over time I was given the ability to reason and open my mind, which was far better than whatever I may have considered normal.

I imagined writing this more eloquently, so I hope my 3:46 AM writing doesn’t throw you off.

On the way up to Lady Gaga, a song, Glitter in the Air, came on and you said you liked it, so I listened in. There’s a line that goes,

“Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, ‘I just don’t care’?”

I haven’t.

Not once have I felt the need to, or the want to do such a thing. Avoiding dear is much easier than facing it.

When Lady Gaga first came on, she unleashed her presence; it was a blend of acceptance, hatred, memory and love.

Lady Gaga is an advocate for homosexuality. When people were bashing her for supporting it in such high regards, she kept on, promoting free love. It was hypocrisy at its finest, because the people attacking her were in themselves being hateful. They wouldn’t bother accepting when they had the ability to block it out and continue hating.

Lady Gaga promotes God’s word (though this is probably blasphemous) in the most genuine form: she said we shouldn’t be afraid if we aren’t smart enough, or skinny enough, or pretty enough. She said we shouldn’t worry what our ethnicity was, what our sexuality was or what our background is because we were made this way. She said that when we left the Monster Ball, she wanted us to love ourselves more than her.

And tonight, I do, and this is why this section is titled Liberation.

When Lady Gaga spoke of gay rights, of support of the LGBT community, you cheered. You screamed. You waved your hands. This was all I needed, those few seconds, to know that .. you’ll love me.

Dear Mom, 

To reiterate and recap, I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Dear Mom, 

For lack of wording, I’m gay.

Dear Mom,

If this has managed to make you cry, I hope that they’re tears of happiness and not disappointment.

Dear Mom,

I’m looking fear in the face and not caring.

Please talk to me soon.

With love, 

Your son.