Between Silence and Truth

Coming out…

It feels like a lifetime of waiting, no matter when you do it — at fifteen or fifty. There is usually a rumble before an anticipated storm. A rattling in the internal organs, your gut and heart getting into a wrestle. Most experience this anxiety, this fear, and there are so many — so many — tips and tricks on ‘how to come out’: assess, practice, have an ally, do this, avoid that, etc., etc.

And then we are told of the rewards: ‘never felt better’, ‘best thing I’ve ever done’, ‘burden off the shoulders’.

These days I’m told coming out is easier. The World Wide Web, the flow of information, the exposure to queerness is so vast — ‘everyone’ would have heard of it. Nothing is a total surprise anymore.

But is that true? And is knowing that gay people exist enough?

May 2024

“What you do in your private life is your own business. We don’t need to know.”

I had only said to my parents, “There is something I need to tell y—”

Maman didn’t let me finish my sentence. Her abrupt reply came with raised eyebrows, looking from above her reading glasses. She went on to watch some Arabic prayer video on her phone, volume on max. Going slightly deaf didn’t help anyone.

My parents were visiting London from Iran when I decided it was my turn to take the plunge — at forty-four. On my Uber ride to theirs, I tried playing out every scenario in my head: their shouting, fainting, throwing, breaking — name it. All the while, the Uber driver — a chatty one — was telling me how humans were created by aliens and that Fauci belongs in jail.

Dinner was dry and swallowing hard; small talk was worse. As Maman and Baba sat on the couch in front of the TV, another news channel on loud, and getting their phones out, I decided: it’s now or never. I first turned the TV off. Neither noticed.

I began: “I…I…I need to…”

“Huh? Can’t hear you?” said Maman.And when I finally started, I was stopped in my tracks.

Back in Iran, in my teens, I was religious — very religious. I grew up with the Grand Ayatollah’s picture, two of which adorned our walls, looking at me. When I had my first crush on a boy, Lee from the boyband 911, I confessed it to Maman. I did not see the clash with Shia Islam. She did. She warned me. I was scolded for saying the “L” word about another boy. But that was it. I had come out back then, in the most innocent way possible. She knew. That and other slip-ups — even after I learned how to hide my sexuality — had confirmed to my parents that I was gay.

The Ayatollah was always watching

They pushed away the thought. They didn’t let it percolate. They never asked — hoping, praying, and wishing it away would just do that.

Whilst the Uber driver was telling me how aliens genetically modified the human species to become intelligent, why didn’t I think of this scenario: ‘stopping me before I even start’?

Back to that conversation.

Maman looked triumphant, stopping another sin in its tracks. But I could not stop.

“No, no. I need to say this,” I continued, loud enough for her to hear and pause the video on her phone.

“I…I…” deep breath “I don’t live alone.” That was my best.

“Oh, of course, we know,” said Maman with a nervous laugh. “You live with your cats.” She was not making this easy for me — or for herself. Baba said nothing, leaning back. I had to press on.

“No, I live with someone, and we have been together for six years.” Someone, still ambiguous.

Silence.

“So, will it be four of us then for dinner next Friday?” asked Baba. I had already invited them for dinner at mine. Baba — how he always made every conversation a casual one.

“No, he is away then.”That was it. I said he. I had come out.

The brief quiet afterward was interrupted by the ear-splitting Arabic prayer on Maman’s phone. It was only for a few seconds, though. She paused it and looked at me straight.

“Remember, whatever you do, you can always come back to Allah. Just don’t forget that. He always forgives.” Pressed play again. She always enjoyed her ‘mic-drop’ moments.

I flinched, but now there was adrenaline soaring in my veins. Hearing another preach about God’s grace — about the religion which had slapped me to silence and scarred me for life — tainted the courage with anger.

“Yes, yes, sure. But I am telling you this now, as I cannot and will not live a lie anymore. How much you want to be involved in my life will be up to you. If you want to know more, you ask — but I won’t hide it any longer.” My heart was about to rip my chest open and run away. My stomach was threatening to erupt.

Maman looked at me, her phone singing in her hand.

“Whatever you do, you have to remember — no one will love you more than I do. Maybe your dad, but that is it.”And she pressed play on her phone. I let this mic-drop linger.

I was speechless. I tried clearing my throat. The knot was there to stay. I looked at Baba.

“Do you want some ice cream?” was all he said.

My parents are in their eighties. Since that night when I came out, they have asked a grand total of zero times about my partner — but that is OK, I convince myself. They still talk to me, and when I tell them about my life, I use plural pronouns: “Our cats…” “We are going on holiday…” “We are buying a new place…” I tell myself it is enough.

Maman sends me pictures of them with my brothers, their wives, and children — all smiling. She still sends me Quran verses and Arabic prayers. While I hope she’ll come around and ask about my partner, she hopes I’ll have a sudden religious revelation and come back to Allah’s embrace.

Maybe I did it too late. Maybe I shouldn’t have come out at all. They live in Tehran, and I in London.Each time I ask myself these questions, though, I come up with the same answer: “It is not on me. It is on them.”

So — is coming out the best thing that happened to me? Is it easy because everyone knows about gays? The answer is not as straightforward, eye-catching, or encouraging as you’d hope. Life puts queer people through different experiences, and whilst coming out is not a big deal and not consequential for many, it can be for some.

I am content with my choice. It did not silence my anger towards the Sharia, but it did lift a weight off my back.