Colors in my closet

I was just a girl, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love me … and cue to a decade later, I’m now a woman, lying on top of my bed, lazily scrolling through my social media and seeing that ex-girlfriend being with her nth girlfriend.

I smiled looking at that picture, more so when I saw that the privacy setting was in public. I tapped the heart reaction. We were each other’s first girlfriend. But she was my last. Not because I still love her, but because I’m a coward, still afraid to come out of this closet.

Loving her was a contradiction. It felt light, but it wasn’t freeing. I was true to myself, yet I was hiding. That part of my life was a piece of myself that completed my existence, of who I truly am. Unfortunately, that self is still hidden beneath the skeletons in my closet; below those dark skeletons is a whole flesh, with rays of different colors, wanting to be out and finally be accepted of its true form: me.

Surprisingly, when I first found out my feelings toward her, I was not confused. I did not waver to say those feelings to her. I still remember what her first response was: “But … I’m also a girl.”

I did not know what struck me back then. Was it because I was still too young, so I was reckless? Was I too impulsive? Probably. But that feeling … I knew I had to hold on to it, because somehow, for the first time in my life, I felt complete. Everything finally made sense. It was my moment of eureka.

“So? I like you. That’s just it.”

There was no hesitation there. For me, everything just made sense. It was as if a switch was finally turned on, lighting everything up within me, finally discovering each corner of myself.

However, that courage only lasted for a moment. I may have found my rainbow after the rain, but a rainbow is only a fleeting moment; only a reflection, and cannot be grasped by reality. It’s only a fraction of colors amidst the dullness of this society. And beyond that curve is a world that is truly unforgiving for the likes of us.

“I can’t do this anymore. Mom is getting suspicious of us.”

How ironic was it that it was I who started our uncommon connection and pulled you along these uncertainties, only for it to end up with me, slowly unclasping your embrace, and crawling back into the closet that I did not even know existed because all I knew, I was not confused. This was the true me. This is the true me.

I was aware of that but why did I tremble in fear whenever someone else was about to peek at that part of me? I should have just stilled myself back then, let myself wander with her touches as I drifted off with my eyes closed, allowing myself to be guided by her soft murmurs of affection and be content with her strokes of warmth. Because just as I opened my eyes again, I was disoriented as I was welcomed with the illumination that she had first given me. But as my eyes slowly adjusted to her light, I felt a tinge of continuous stabs.

Her hands were still on my bareness, but as I looked around, many piercing stares pierced through us. I could still feel her soft touch, but the overwhelming jabs were cutting through everything. I could feel a part of me slowly slither away, which she had desperately run after, because that part of me was the thing that bound us in this connection. I chased after her as I saw her anguished face, panic obvious from her expression; but not because of the penetrating stares around us, but for the reason that the real me was now slipping away from her; the self that loved her. I caught up to her, held her hands, and stopped our tracks. I saw her pleading look, as we watched together a ghost of me slowly crawl inside a closet. As the doors closed, I felt a lump of chains clothed me, too much that I almost became numb from the suffocation.

I felt the chain being tugged behind my back, pulling myself away from her. When I could no longer feel her hand clasped with mine, the piercing stopped. But it was replaced with a tight feeling around my neck, making it harder to even breathe. As I looked back at her for the last time, her gaze was still on me, still as soft as ever. Her back was still being stabbed but she was still even able to let out a deep sigh, as if out of relief. It was getting more difficult for me to move on my own, but I could see her slowly stand up by herself and stretch her lips into a mesmerizing smile as I watched her mouth, “thank you,” before I was pulled inside a dark surrounding, fully absent from her light.

I slowly sit up on my bed. The tight feeling around my neck was still there, but it had become manageable. Could I ever be free again from this chain? I adjusted my eyes toward the slit between the door in front of me. This room is dark, so that slit is the only light that I could see. I got out of bed and walked toward that thin line of rays. I peeked outside and saw the familiar surroundings that I was once sheltered in. Could I ever be brave again to step out to those colors? But as I just thought about those, a prickly sensation took over my body. And so, I crawled back once again and hugged my knees close to my chest.

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Kaye C. Gulapa, 22, is a college graduate who writes for fun.