I lack advancement.

Shakespeare, “Hamlet”

In the epilogue, I…

• Focus on high school, writing, and my future prospects
• Repress my sexuality and give up on intimacy altogether
• Grapple with homophobic micro-aggressions
• Resort to self-harm
• Experience my first platonic crush
• Turn eighteen and start working on my first novel
• Graduate from high school
• Start working at a bookshop
• Come out as bisexual

This will be my final Coming Out post. I was going to post about my trip (it’s been two weeks since I documented it), but had some leftover material that brings this story to a close.

Actually, ‘close’ and ‘epilogue’ might not be the best words here, because technically the story isn’t over. Will there be a chapter 16, though?

I don’t know. The truth is, when it comes to my sexuality, nothing happened between that day in August 2011 and the day I lost my virginity. Between those two incidents, I barely journalled.

Back then, this pursuit wasn’t a priority. Worrying about my future always came first, and anything related to intimacy was pushed to the back of my mind.

If I hadn’t pushed it, perhaps those years in-between would’ve been more exciting. Perhaps I would’ve noticed more signs and acted upon them. Because I still worry about my future, now more than ever. In fact, I’ve never been so full of concern, of anxiety and despair.

I guess choosing not to live like a teenager as an actual teenager bore me no fruits. If my life goes downhill, I may as well enjoy the short ride while I can. Had I known this would be the outcome, I might’ve let loose way before the age of twenty seven.

Between summer vacation of 2011 (sixteen years old, chapter 15) and high school graduation in June 2013 (eighteen years old), my mind was focused, as always, on school.

Just like in middle school, friends and acquaintances continued to ask me if I was gay.

“You can be gay,” they replied, “it’s okay, just tell us!”

“I’m not,” I repeated.

I know I’m painting them as the bad guy, but I’m sure no malice was involved. Straight people simply love to inquire about your sexuality, if it differs from theirs. Definitions help them make sense of deviations.

Some friends probably wanted to make me feel accepted. Maybe they were even hurt I hadn’t felt comfortable opening up to them.

That’s all very well, and in a perfect world, inquiring after someone’s sexuality can be likened to asking about the weather. The problem is that in our world, I still hear people utter the word “gay” like it’s some ancient curse. People who don’t consider themselves homophobic.

Even some of the students who said the above quote said it like it wasn’t okay. (Also, thanks for your permission.) But I never thought there was something wrong with me. I knew they were the ones at fault.

If Althusser were alive today, he’d have a lot to say about microaggressions. They’re like Freudian slips of interpellation.

There are so many things that happened to me in high school I wish I’d documented. Like that day I wasn’t feeling well, and a friend took my phone during recess. We would prank each other all the time. She changed the background photo to a shirtless member of Big Time Rush. I think his name was James.

When class began, I asked the teacher if I could go home. She wanted to talk to my mom first, so I made the call and handed her my phone, unaware of the prank. The teacher immediately saw the photo and exclaimed in front of the entire class, “OMER, DO YOU WANT TO TELL US SOMETHING?”

I was mortified.

But I must admit, it was funny. Good times.

There’s also that time in tenth grade when I had my first platonic crush. I don’t get romantic crushes, but once every few years I meet someone I immediately wish to befriend. Two former guy friends come to mind.

In April 2012, eleventh grade, I opened a Tumblr account. I scrolled for hours, HOURS at a time. And made gifs of movies I liked and interviews of JK Rowling. Logging into my account now is like unearthing a time capsule.

In May 2012, I watched Brokeback Mountain. It really affected me. I don’t want to watch a tragic queer movie ever again.

Self-harm was a big topic on Tumblr, so much that it was borderline romanticised. I, too, thought it might help.

There were a lot of things going on in that moment, a lot of shaking and crying, but the song I vividly remember singing under my breath was:

I quit Tumblr in February 2013, right before my eighteenth birthday, because I was busy working on a short film at the time (my final project for film class). “My Shadow” followed a protagonist confronting his dark, shadowy self, used a lot of chiaroscuro and split screen, and “borrowed” the soundtrack from The Shining. I played the lead double role.

Once that project was over, in Passover 2013, I began writing my first novel. I’ll never forget the exact moment the idea sprang into my mind.

I just realised. It’s been a decade since then.

I’ve been writing it ever since. Countless drafts. All rejected by agents and workshop readers.

In senior year, my cohort didn’t have a graduation ceremony. It was a collective punishment for something stupid some girls did to the principal. I went with a few other students to the principal’s office for weeks to appeal her decision. Now I couldn’t care less. The students organised our own prom, which was very memorable. The picture above is taken from that night – the only time in my life I wore a tie.

On 1 June 2013, two or three weeks before high school was over, I started working at a bookshop. It’s always been on my bucket list, yet turned out to be little more than a capitalist playground.

One day, my former best friend (who I had a platonic crush on, and started working at the same shop) called during my shift. Somehow, the conversation reached sexuality, and he asked about mine.

“Bisexual,” I answered truthfully for the first time.

I still remember where I stood, the words I used, my tone, my body language – just like in previous chapters. The same goes for every subsequent time.

This was in late June. If memory serves me right, neither of us brought it up again.

The next time was on 18 September 2013, Sukkot Eve, when I pulled an all-nighter with a group of new friends from high school at the Iris Reserve and got asked that question by, lo and behold, a queer person.

Suddenly, it wasn’t so hard to answer. My heart wasn’t somersaulting anymore.

I’m pretty sure none of them bought it, and took me for a self-hating Kinsey 6. But it was the truth.

All these people disappeared from my life soon thereafter. The next time I spoke to anyone about this was on 11 October 2019, in England, at 24 years old.

A few weeks after that Sukkot, a girl from high school, who worked on My Shadow with me and another former best friend, invited me over for a movie. Several people had told me she’d had a crush on me, yet I’d dismissed them, thinking it was impossible. She would always smile in an embarrassed sort of way in my presence.

When we hung out alone at her apartment, I wondered if I was about to have my first kiss. I think she waited for me to make the first step.