A bowl of personal identity served with blueberry pie
And so we went, together, holding hands. Marching for gay rights might sound ordinary to many of you but it’s very special to us, to me. My partner has never, I say never, joined a rally, march or demonstration of any sort. The closest she ever got was dropping me off two blocks away from the site I was going to hold IDAHOT at, and she was very shy about being seen even at that distance.
The rally itself was alright, about 1,000 people turned up. I loved how one sign said “I am straight. I support Gay Marriage” (too bad I couldn’t get it clearly on camera). It was peaceful along the way and the police were nice, too (we had to ask for directions and were politely shown the way by a middle-aged policeman who showed no signs of negativity towards the gay rally).
On the way to the rally, the taxi driver asked us why we were going there (because it seemed unusual that two foreigners wanted to go to their political party’s headquarters). At first I just said we were joining a rally, not too sure how he would react to a gay rally and no wanting my partner to be stuck in a homophobic taxi if the driver turned out to be one. But then he continued asking and so I said:
“It’s a rally for gay marriage”.
The dreaded pause. Maybe it was just a normal pause, but it seemed long to me.
“So you are lesbians?” said the driver in more or less the same tone as before, I think.
“Yes,” I said in my calmest strong voice, though I felt like I had just swallowed a rock. It was the first time my partner ever agreed to join me at a rally, a gay rally.
I cannot remember what the driver said after that but there was no hint of distaste towards us nor the gay rally, that is all I can recall.
I am very thankful my partner joined the rally, I know she did it for me. I know she did it because she felt that it was an important part of me. Though she’s still not interested in the whole gay movement, I’m happy we could hold hands marching among rainbow flags.
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