The day I came out to my (host) parents.

I don’t know what spiritual force I believe in, if any…what I do believe is that, that if you give the earth enough patience things fall into place (or at least a few).

Leaving Mount Holyoke, a community where being gay is so normalized---I think it’s almost a place where being gay is the “cool” identity to have, knowing I was going to be traveling on my own…in a country where the guide book says it’s not “gay-friendly,” was probably the most unsettling/difficult part of going-abroad. Yea, speaking a different language—hard, frustrating. Meeting people, traveling in a major city—could be challenging. But being asked to hide a part of who I am, something I had already done during high school, not fun. I’ve done it before. I’ve played that game—pretending she is just my friend, pretending I think that guy is cute. But I decided I’d see how my host family was before I made any official decisions about whether I’d come out in Chile (and coming-out here meant telling them that I was in a relationship with a woman).

After the first few hours, I knew they were liberal. But that really means nothing when it comes to “gay-acceptance.” Lots of people are liberal, and aren’t too keen when one of their kids tells them that they are gay.

After the first few days, I knew they were more “comfortable” with the idea. They had talked about their friends who identified as gay/lesbian/etc. Told me about the gay bars they go to. They asked me if I had a novia o novio (girlfriend or boyfriend). I remember thinking, “How awesome that they don’t make assumptions about me!?!” Somehow I managed to brush the question aside; you get used to doing things like that, when you don’t exactly want to pretend 100% of the time. Eventually they asked me again…I told them her name. Luckily for me, her name is gender neutral, so I was able to talk more abstractly about our relationship.

After the first weekend, I knew they were safe. We still didn’t have power from the effects of the earthquake, so there was lots of laughter from not having certain conveniences and were all beginning to understand each other for each other, Emma was becoming Emma…not the person who was speaking extremely slowly or thinking twice before she says a single phrase…

Ale (I know her well enough to use her nickname!)—Alejandra—was in the kitchen and I decided to bring out the picture of my girlfriend. I said, in Spanish (although it might not have come out like this—she still understood me), “At first, I wasn’t sure if I could tell you this. I have a girlfriend and I have some pictures to show you.” Ale stopped what she was doing, stepped out of the kitchen, sat down next to me in the living room. She sat close to me. And let me go page by page, explaining who this person is to me. She used a gentle voice, when I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, to help me with my Spanish. She asked questions. After, when I thanked her for being the person I could share this with, she thanked me. Then Pablo came in. After I told him about my novia, I told him I had pictures and he excitedly looked at them. He, too, went page by page looking closely at each photo. I thanked him. Pablo said, “Thank you for having the confidence to share this with us.”

And the rest of the night went on. They ask me about her—when she’ll be back from India, when I’ll get to talk to her.

A few days since, they’ve become more comfortable with me. Ale’s told me about the lesbian relationship she had. How she believes sexuality is fluid. She wants to know about my “coming-out” (in the U.S., I’m assuming).

Creating a safe space means taking risks. And when the risk-taking is rewarded in some version, it makes it easier to take more.