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The thing is, I didn’t actually completely mean to come out.
At the time.
I mean, my plan was totally to kind of, leave it, for a bit, and then if I ever got a girlfriend (which is about as likely as finding a boyfriend who doesn’t just want to be a princess’s girlfriend) I’d just take her to functions and stuff, and if people cottoned on they cottoned on, because it’s not really that important, I don’t think.
I didn’t think.
But I was being interviewed by MSNBC, about Genovia legalising gay marriage (which, duh, human rights – it hadn’t been finalised yet, but polls looked like it almost definitely would) and they just asked me one of those open questions, like “what is your opinion” and, I mean, they knew my opinion, because, even if they didn’t already know that I’m liberal and stuff, a princess has to stand by her country, so even if they banned vodka or something Grandmere would still have to say something to the media about how this was a good thing, even though it would mean she would just swear to live here even longer and then, I don’t know, start taking drugs or something instead whenever she was actually in Genovia.
So they asked me what I thought and I was still kind of terrified by the cameras and I just came out with, because I was just trying to be relaxed and jovial like Grandmere keeps saying, “It’s great, you know, it would mean I could marry whomever I want – because my wedding, if I have one, will be in Genovia - and more importantly, the people of Genovia can marry whomever they fall in love with.”
And I mean, I got to say ‘whom’ properly, and for feminism, say I might not get married.
But, as Lilly has pointed out, among all the other crap she has now pointed out to me about this, the media never want to hear about a princess who might not get married. But they might want those storybooks that get burned by crazy religious groups about two princesses to come true.
And so they said, “Is there a chance you might take a female consort then?”
(And, I suppose, kudos to them for knowing the terminology around my title.)
To which I said, “anything’s possible.”
And then, because my eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head I felt so deer-in-the-headlamp-y, Lars made some threatening face to the floor manager, who had words in the interviewer’s earpiece and she finished the interview and cut to scene’s of Genovia’s gay pride from last summer.
And I wasn’t completely sure what had just happened.
Lars took me home, where mom had been watching the interview, and she just said that it was good, and I asked about my face and she was like “what about your face, hon? Your face looked fine.”
So I thought that had proved that what I said wasn’t a big deal
And then Lilly called and demanded to know why I hadn’t told her I was bisexual.
By now, I have to admit, I’ve had a few “why didn’t I know this before the rest of the nation” accusations from Lilly, so, I wasn’t as torn up about this one as the first one. Also Michael (who I am not dating anymore, but still sees me socially and occasionally when I’m at the Moscovitzes) insists I am far too insecure about my friendship with Lilly, so I try harder not to panic than I used to.
“I didn’t tell you I am bisexual, because I’m not bisexual,” I said wearily.
“Yes, you are, Mia, if you are attracted to women and you can imagine a long term romantic relationship with one.”
“I mean, imagine, Lilly, and yeah, it could happen, but, I didn’t even mean to say that, because –”
“Because what, Mia? You don’t think your nation of fledgling gay Europeans deserves to know? You don’t think little twelve year old girls who don’t understand what they’re going through deserve a princess they can still imagine being?”
“What? Lilly, I’m not -”
“Don’t even lie Mia, because Michael says you are.”
“I . . . what? Is Michael there?”
I wondered what she was talking about, and then remembered one kinda tipsy evening spent in Michael’s bed discussing Buffy. Specifically the contrasting appearances of Buffy and Faith. And now that I think about it, Michael didn’t add much, because he never used to talk about what other girls look like when we were together. So that was quite likely to all have been me.
“Yes but he – no I am not being insensitive Michael!”
Michael said something that didn’t quite make it down the phone line, and then the line went quiet, which meant Lilly had put her finger on the microphone bit.
And now I’m sitting on the phone line, on my bed, wondering if she’s right. (She does this, conversations with other people not on the phone line. I know she’s still there).
Does a checkbox of sexy and relationship daydreams make you bisexual? I mean, my logic brain kind of says yes, but instinct brain says . . . I don’t even know. I just don’t think I feel bisexual.
There’s a sound, she’s back on the line.
“Sorry about that.” (Lilly was once really bad at saying sorry, and then she spent a day saying sorry for everything, and now she says it really easily, and it’s almost equally as bad, because I think ‘sorry’s are meant to be a bit hard, and she’s somehow made them easy.)
“Are you writing?” she asks.
“Ummm.”
“Whatever, anyway, Michael’s not in the same room now. So. Sorry for trying to rush the coming out process. I now realise this is just another Mia-hasn’t-noticed-herself yet thing, and you deserve as much time to come to whatever conclusions you come to.”
Nice, but obvious she doesn’t expect anything other than one outcome.
And then she starts speaking psyco-babble really fast, and this is what she’s saying:
“And just so you can maybe go faster, I think maybe some of your problem is a combination of societal proof and internal behavioural proof, because if society thinks of you as a certain thing, and expects things of you then lots of people just fall in to line, and our society is both heternormative and also has repeated a lot about your heterosexual behaviour, which comes to behavioural proof, which is we define ourselves by our behaviour often more than our beliefs, and seeing as you’ve only engaged in heterosexual romantic and sexual relationships-”
“Lilly!”
“-the behavioural proof comes back to your subconscious as heterosexual. Just to say.”
And then I didn’t say anything because I was writing all of that down. And she waited for a second and said, “You are writing aren’t you?”
“Uh huh.”
“Great.”
“I’m up to speed now. Maybe you should speak slower.”
I think it’s easier to be cocky to Lilly when I can’t see her face.
She made a noise of annoyance. “Anyway. I mean, I think when you’ve been through the self-realisation process you should come out properly.”
“You have no control over my media life Lilly,” I say, parroting Grandmere’s words (who totally does have control over my media life, and also OH SHIT GRANDMERE WHAT WILL SHE DO?).
“Whatever, you should. Anyway. I’m going to go, then you can get started on getting over yourself. I mean, you know. In a nice way.”
It’s kind of sad that this level of niceness from Lilly is actually better than what once was.
“Thanks for your advice, I will take it under consideration.” And that was almost princess–like, except I said ‘thanks’ not ‘thank you’.
Lilly huffed and hung up.
I’ve got the phone on the bed in front of me, because now that I’ve thought about it, if Lilly saw that as me coming out, then so will everyone else and while very few people are now able to call the loft (mom had to get a cell phone for work and everything, she was unimpressed to say the least) I’m guessing they’ll have something to say.
But it doesn’t ring.
I mean, I wrote all of that Lilly-conversation an hour ago and it hasn’t rung.
I’m going to see about food.
Same day, back in bed
So I went out to find Mr G cooking, and I asked about the occasion, because really, as much as Mr G can cook, he has a career and hobbies and stuff, and I think mom and I have been a bad influence on his eating habits.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Well, your dad called Helen, and said that we should be careful who we let in, because while the media are being quiet about what you said today, they are in ‘a cold war of information hunting’ and are competing to see who can get enough facts together first to run a story without being sued by the state of Genovia.”
He said this kind of too-lightly.
“Oh,” I said.
He shuffled a bit.
“Obviously, I should say, because your mother thinks it’s obvious and won’t, we all love you, and will whoever you are.”
I thought I was going to throw up, and I don’t even know why.
So I did what Grandmere said to do when presented with love (obviously she meant romantic from-a-man love, but) “Thank you, you are very kind.” (Actually, as I write this I remember you don’t say thank you. But this wasn’t the situation she taught for, so it’s ok.)
And then we had dinner when mom came back from her studio.
In the middle of the conversation we were having about the great barrier reef, mom said that Grandmere wanted me to go to an extra princess lesson before school tomorrow, which sounds kind of suck-y, except I suppose I’d rather that than for her to a) spring a phone call on me, b) turn up at the loft (!!!) or c) not tell me what the media are about to do, if in fact they are about to do anything.
And I thought this in about three seconds so I was able to say with total dignity “Ok, what time should I get there for?”
“Half seven, your dad says.”
I almost snorted, but didn’t, because yeah, like Grandmere will be able to function at seven thirty am.
But I just said sure, and then watched some cookery reality TV show until it was time for bed.
The next day, In Grandmere’s bathroom
Well, that, I suppose, solves some stuff.
I turned up at the Plaza at twenty five past because it was an appointment, so I should be slightly early.
Grandmere was, to my slight amazement, if not dressed, at least hair-ed and make-up-ed and wearing a silky dressing gown over her nightdress.
Dad was there too, in a suit (duh).
“Amelia! Come in,” said Grandmere.
I stepped inside the suite and Lars closed the door behind us.
“Good morning Mia,” said Dad.
“Good morning, dad.”
Dad was then quiet. I don’t really get my parents sometimes. I mean, if my kid came out (not that I think I came out, but apparently I did) I don’t think I’d just assume they knew I was OK with it. Except obviously that’s what they both think, so at least I know what they think. But, still.
Grandmere spent a few moments looking me over.
I felt like I was fourteen again, with triangle hair and school pants and boots and looking like I clearly didn’t belong in the plaza, even though I’m seventeen now, and I actually have awesome hair and I know how to stand and everything.
“Well, she has the hair for a lesbian,” was the conclusion Grandmere finally came to.
“I’m not a lesbian, Grandmere,” I said, sounding bored enough to sound uncaring even though: WHAT, WHO SAYS STUFF LIKE THAT?
“Yes, well, apparently you have to be something.”
“I . . . why?”
“That is what Enrique says,” said Grandmere, indicating a man behind her. “And Susan agrees.”
Susan was, I presumed (correctly), the woman next to Enrique.
I, being a three-year princess now, smiled at them and shook their hands and introduced myself, thus forcing them to explain who they were.
Who they were, was apparently Grandmere’s Genovian and American (Enrique and Susan respectively) press correspondents, who I hadn’t yet met because up until now Grandmere has believed she could do everything involving me herself.
And they had been summoned to my presence because Grandmere does not understand gay people. Go figure.
I smiled and said, “I have to be a ‘something’, you say?” I was hoping I could get down the kind of princess icy-but-polite thing Grandmere sometimes does. Because I don’t think I’m ready to be a ‘something’. From their faces I possibly managed it.
“It’s possible that you can go without, in the vein of some previous American celebrities, but all of those tended to be those who were hounded by bad press anyway. Hints of non-heterosexuality without a label indicates danger to the American public, which, unless you’re planning a royal rebellion of drinking, drugs and inappropriate outfits, I would advise against,” Susan said.
“I didn’t know Harry did drugs,” I said, still attempting the ‘mild but frosty’ thing, but it’s possible she had a point. Still, it wasn’t like I was keeping my identity a secret to spite them, I just didn’t have one yet. Because, yes, maybe it was only between straight and bisexual so far, but I really didn’t feel like either, couldn’t there just be me? Also, god, why not just come out and say people’s names?
“Your highness,” nodded Susan, which, very cleverly (when I think about it now), wasn’t any kind of response. At the time it did kind of make me feel like she’d heard what I’d said. Anyway, then Enrique started talking and I didn’t notice that she hadn’t said anything.
“Most of the things you say are received by the Genovian public in some form, and this will be especially, because it is world gossip. Also, being a Mediterranean country we have more influence than say, Britain, to change attitudes of surrounding countries, in the media you’re already perceived as someone driven by causes, and it would make sense for you to use your presence as . . . whatever you decide . . . to bring less liberal countries up to speed. At the moment your approval rating in Genovia is at the level where, in my opinion, whatever you insist is the moral standpoint, the majority of the Genovian public will stand behind you.”
Well, that was both comforting and extremely terrifying as a responsibility. Which, ok, so was ruling a country (well, ruling a country actually isn’t often comforting), but there’s a difference between being the symbol of the mostly-wealthy citizens of a small nation and being some shining beacon of human rights to a community of people I know nothing about.
I sort of stood there for a bit not saying anything.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, Amelia, you brought this upon yourself. I mean, you don’t even have a lover at the moment, you could have waited, and then if you fell in love with a man like I did you wouldn’t have to have a coming out, and if you had wanted we could have kept any female lover under wraps.”
I stared at her and wondered if she had just admitted to being able to fall in love with a woman.
I think she did.
And it made me think, that made me class her as bisexual. Maybe she’d given the wrong impression or there was some other reason I shouldn’t class her like that, but . . .
And if I sort of agree with that as the way I look at the world that would make me bisexual.
“Please excuse me,” I said, making eye contact with Grandmere, Dad, Enrique and Susan before stepping to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and sitting down in the chair.
(There is a chair in Grandmere’s bathroom – a room as big as some people’s bedrooms – because the Plaza people know sometimes people sit on the toilet seat, and also people who stay at the Plaza would never sit on a toilet seat.)
And I sat there and thought for a second before I started writing all of this down.
I think this makes me bisexual.
I also think that the reason I couldn’t think of myself as bisexual before was something to do with there being a something-ness about gay-ness that I had assumed existed. That a sexuality, being a lesbian or a bisexual, would add something to me, and seeing as the extra thing hadn’t been added, I couldn’t be. There was no ‘bisexual-ness’ in how I thought about myself, so I wasn’t.
But, when described like that, that’s stupid.
All I needed was to sometimes feel a thing. And I sometimes do feel that thing. And so ‘bisexual’ is mine to claim.
Huh.
Huh.
(There was a moment of thinking between the ‘huh’s. Well, blankness.)
Huh.
I don’t really know what to do. I suppose having decided I’m bisexual solves all the problems, and I’ll just tell people and like, stand up for gay rights.
It all feels far too sudden though.
It’s times like this when I wish I wasn’t a princess.
I mean, if I weren’t a princess I probably wouldn’t have noticed any non-straight-ness until much later. But I would also be allowed to spend as long as I liked coming out. And I think, as it is, I only have as long as I can avoid literally coming out of this bathroom.
I think I’ll just take a few more minutes.
In the Limo, On The Way to School
After taking maybe two more minutes, (which felt like seconds), there was a knock on the door, and my dad asked if he could come in.
I unlocked it, and he stepped inside.
“Now, Mia, your Grandmother has a very strange way of thinking about the world, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you and won’t accept however you choose to be.”
I stared blankly at my dad, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
Then I remembered the last thing Grandmere had said to me before I had gone and hidden in the bathroom hadn’t only included her own perhaps-coming-out, but the suggestion that I could keep a secret female lover, and that perhaps an onlooker’s explanation of my behaviour would be an already-knows-who-they-are LBGT person being upset by homophobic speech.
“Oooh,” I said after a moment, to my dad’s now confused face (He was confused at my confusion). I wondered how best to proceed from here, whether it was worth explaining that I only decided I was bisexual after my best friend and the rest of the world, while I hid in the bathroom of the Plaza penthouse. And dad probably wouldn’t get the ‘you don’t need anything extra to be gay you just need to be you’ kung fu panda-esque story I had just told myself. “No, I just needed a moment. Umm . . . women’s troubles.”
I then (I think) went scarlet and made a choking noise at what I had just blurted out.
Dad seemed completely in sympathy with my awkwardness (even though mom has tried to get him to accept menstruation as a natural and beautiful thing that will happen whether he’s awkward or not) so maybe that made it less awkward.
Perhaps luckily, this moronic announcement made the atmosphere in the bathroom seem worse in comparison to the atmosphere in the main room, so I exited the bathroom ahead of my father.
“Please don’t say anything about what just happened,” I said to Grandmere, “I don’t really mind how you think about secret lovers, but you should probably already know that, either way, a monarch should be honest in her relationships, so I will not be having any secret lovers, or extra-marital affairs. Privacy will remain important, but I will not be ashamed about any relationships, because there is not and will not be anything to be ashamed of.”
And I said this mostly because I didn’t want to have to accept an apology for something I didn’t mind, but it was actually a pretty good little speech, if I do say so myself.
“Well said,” said Grandmere after a tiny pause.
“Thank you. If I have an identity, when were you planning on unveiling it?”
Enrique answered this, because he knew. “The vote for gay marriage is in two days, because it is the anniversary of the Genovian Bill of Rights, and the legislators are proposing this be a human right as well as legal, and that is the date we alter the Bill of Rights. So then would be apt.”
This seemed sane.
“I’d also advise you be in Genovia.”
Good god. I am going to miss so much calculus. I am going to fail calculus. Genovia will be ruled by someone without even a High School Diploma. All because dad couldn’t wait until I’d graduated to reveal my royal identity.
“What if they don’t pass the legislature?” I asked, because this could get embarrassing.
“Polls indicate they will, and if we announce you will be in Genovia for it, there will be very little motivation for any member of parliament to vote against something that you will have indicated, even before any statement, by yesterday’s statement and your presence, is very close to your heart.”
That was a remarkably good point. Though I didn’t want to interfere in the democratic process . . . but then again most homophobes only stop being homophobes when a member of their family comes out. (Thinking about it, my and Lilly’s documentary binges have been a pretty good foundation for my new–found identity.) And if their (bigoted) beliefs can’t stand up to opposition they kind of deserve to fall. It’s not like they haven’t voted against me before, in those parking debates, and the thing about olive trees. If it were a valid belief, and not just bigotry that they secretly know is bigotry, they’d be able to vote against me.
I am going to fail calculus though.
Three Days Later, On the Plane Home from Genovia
I have kind of failed to write in this diary, over what was probably the most historically important event this particular notebook will hold.
Oh, well.
Everything else went fine.
I got to school, and told Lilly she was right, which always makes her happy. (I mean, I don’t think she was TOTALLY right, like about all that societal proof stuff, but I can’t be bothered to explain ‘Kung Fu Panda for LGBTQ youth’ to her anymore than I can to my father.)
Meanwhile Grandmere charmed Principal Gupta into letting me make human rights history in Europe instead of attending three days of high school.
The news centres were being told of my upcoming arrival by Enrique. When I came out of school to go to the loft to get the things Grandmere wouldn’t have had packed for me I was shown some of the news stories from Genovia that had been written and published while I was in school. They all looked positive enough.
I was still terrified.
I had to draft a speech, something they’ve been letting me do for about a year now, but this one was harder since I felt like I wasn’t just speaking for myself, or for a Genovian people as described by Grandmere.
And then I got on a plane with Grandmere to fly to Genovia.
Dad had to fly in a different plane so that if one of us gets killed the other one will be reigning monarch. (Grandmere doesn’t get her own plane because she can’t be Queen, having married in.)
Anyway, I arrived, and, seeing as it was a national holiday as well as being an important day for parliament (they don’t get the holiday) I went on some tours of celebration until three pm, when the vote was.
The Rights Day celebrations were nice. I think it’s something to do with it being a small country, but they stayed pretty close to the point of the day, there being open lectures to show the right to education, a new playground was opened for the right to a childhood, and there was a showcase in aid of all the homeless shelters for the right to shelter.
I can’t remember it all, but that part’s documented anyway.
Anyway, I turned up to the parliament.
Dad sat in the monarch’s seat, and Grandmere and I sat in the gallery, and watched the vote.
If I were to make the etiquette rules, I think I’d consider it bad form for the royal family to turn up, with their neutral-looking faces, to observe a vote. But I guess that’s the point: here, my family makes the etiquette rules. And they seem to have decided that their daughter and granddaughter’s happiness (and, admittedly, that of all the non-heterosexual Genovians and their families) is more important than manners. And (at least, this is what I will teach my kids and my brother, probably against Grandmere’s will in my kids’ case if she’s still alive) that is the most important rule of manners. That they are important, but there are things more important.
The bill passed, by a large majority.
And then I had the responsibility of giving a speech to the nation, and the world, because even, like, Cosmo, had turned up to this. It was kind of embarrassing, for the world, when you see all these press people crowd into a government meeting room who are otherwise never there and are literally only there because some arbitrarily (well, by birth) chosen person has decided they may like a slightly different kind of sex and love than, like, eighty percent of the population.
They weren’t here when I tried to get people to care about the discrimination against the Roma in Genovia.
But anyway, I gave my speech, and this the transcript:
Today, politicians from all parties stood together to make Genovia a better place for its citizens.
We became the most welcoming micronation in the world to live for gay people and their families.
Hopefully we are leading the way for our neighbours, who, I was glad to hear several Genovians tell me today, Genovia hopes will soon follow in our footsteps on the issues of same sex partnerships, ability to adopt, and in some cases, making homosexuality legal.
However, in my opinion, what happened here today, while cause for celebration, was simply the action of good people, voting to do the right thing. Which is something we should all be striving for everyday anyway. Today Genovia did the right thing, but that does not mean we are finished.
Today, Rights Day, I have seen many examples of people doing the right thing, and in not one incidence has it been the thing people would have done anyway if they weren’t making a conscious decision to do the right thing.
If I have one piece of advice for you today, it’s that doing the right thing is a decision, one you have to remember is there to take.
Thank you.
Oh, and also, I am bisexual. For those of you who need to know.
Thank you again.
And then I left. I kind of forgot to read my notes, because I got quite into it, but then forgot I had to include coming out, so that’s why it was a bit weird at the end. And I didn’t say bisexual right out in terms of the law, in case people thought I was being selfish.
But the whole thing was, I think, quite good.
At Home, Well, Actually, At The Moscovitzes, but in NY again
I was chatting with Lilly about the media responses to this, but first we talked about Tina Hamkim Baba, who had assured me that she thought any relationship I had with a woman would be just as romantic – or even more romantic – than anything I might one day have with a man.
(This was a phone call last night, when I got back to New York, so I was too tired to really understand why she thought this.)
Tina had suggested that girls are inherently more romantic than boys, thus double the romance. But, as I pointed out to Lilly, most of romance is about tradition, which I didn’t think this was.
She said I didn’t trust people enough, and also, not to judge people by their literary choices. (“I mean, if I judged you by your movie choices, I’d call you a misogynist.” “But Erin Brockovich was on that list.” “So was Pretty Woman.” “And Julia was powerful in both!”) (She said that she could forgive me and only me Pretty Woman, seeing as for everyone else, the fantasy of being taken out of their ordinary terrible life and given money and a makeover was just that: a fantasy.)
And then I moved onto my next insecurity: that every publication I could get Lars to get me had at some point cropped my speech to the three words “I am bisexual” and bolded it. The worst just had that as the headline, more respectable ones just did it amongst the text of the article. But still, I really liked the rest of that speech. The awkward coming out at the end had been the least brilliant part. And still, “I am bisexual” is a headline.
Some had found images of me with other women to illustrate the point, despite the fact that I think all of them were straight, and I’ve never dated a woman, so there is literally no image that depicts my bisexuality, except those of me and Michael, because, technically, that relationship was due to my bisexuality. With the whole ‘also dates men’ part. But no-one’s done that. They’ve just found images of me meeting female celebrities or dignitaries, and one of the gossip mags has a picture of me walking home with Lilly, which she has kept for reference. I think she’s going to put it on her segment, but she hasn’t said she will yet.
“But,” Lilly announced triumphantly, “There is also the actual queer response.”
And then she showed me a series of articles that included other parts of the speech.
One of them was particularly impressed with the line “For those of you who need to know” - which actually was a really good article about the media’s interest in other people’s sexuality, even though I just said that without really thinking about the ‘sarcasm and power’ behind the sentence (which I have nonetheless been credited with).
“But even that one makes a big deal about it, even though it’s claiming it’s something not to have a big deal made about,” pointed out Michael, who had stopped in the kitchen after getting his glass of coke to read over our shoulders.
Which was actually so right.
And then it occurred to me to ask, because I hadn’t seen Michael since before that conversation on the phone he was vaguely involved in:
“Did you really consider that time I talked to you about Buffy to be me coming out?”
Lilly bent the screen of the laptop down, obviously thinking this more interesting than the internet. She and I had both swivelled a bit on the breakfast bar stools so we were looking at Michael’s face, rather than just feeling his presence behind us.
“Well, coming out implies some kind of gravitas, so not really. Because you clearly didn’t think it was a big deal, so I figured it wasn’t a big deal. And . . .” Michael shrugged and then managed to finish, “then we continued with our lives.”
It occurred to me that actually Michael, for all that he never talks about psychology, is actually a better ‘child of psychologists’ than Lilly is.
Or maybe he just understands me a bit better than she does.
Or is nicer, or cares about my happiness or something more than her.
Then again, I could just say he’s a different person than she is.
That’s probably a better thing to say.
“Sorry for telling Lilly that, I assumed you actually were coming out to the nation,” he added.
“Oh, yeah, that’s fine,” I said, because I wasn’t expecting an apology for that, “I mean, it was another version of what I said to you, it’s just the nation overreacted.” I shrugged. And then tried to delete the thought that I’d just decided Michael was better than the rest of America.
Because really, logically, bucket list-ily, now that I know I’m bisexual, I’d like to have a first girlfriend. Not re-decide that Michael is perfect.
(When I explained this problem to Shameeka, she found it hilarious that the only part of me I’d tried to deny is the ‘attracted to a man’ part. I don’t understand why no-one takes my problems seriously.)