Born This Way (15 page)

Growing up in Bali, Indonesia,
I loved watching the folk dancers with their gilded costumes and bright colors.
My older sister, who was quite a tomboy, was taking traditional dance lessons, and I remember being more interested in the instruction than she was. I would stand behind her and the teacher, emulating all the stomps, finger wiggling, and eye moves. My parents tell stories about how I would turn a box into a stage and perform for them at three years old! My favorite thing to do was find my own little corner, with tons of blankets, sheets, and odd and ends. I'd spend hours making costumes and putting on shows, which was far more interesting than kicking a ball around the playground.
I remember being called names in school at a young age, and people had to explain to me what those words meant.
I don't think I realized I was gay until someone else pointed it out to me. In my early teens, we moved to California, and I discovered all the old classic movies. I'd watch
The King and I
and
Singing in the Rain
. All these things that influenced me are still my favorites today, except now my friends call my private play space my own “Genie Bottle.”

When I came across this photo in a family album, the first thing that came to my mind was,
“Oh, the crazy '80s!”
Check out the mohair sofa and wood paneling. (Obviously this was a truly dark time for interior design.) That said, it's time the world knows that I would've kept that handbag if I'd realized how truly fierce I looked with it. And the storage inside was amazing! I mean, that bag carried all my necessities: sunglasses, ChapStick, breath mints, and, of course, My Little Pony. You can't see it in the photo, but I totally had my nails painted pink pearl. I thank my grandmother for that—I wanted them painted, and she did them for me. Many gay people say, “Growing up I always knew.”
As a kid, it wasn't just me who knew.
Everyone
knew I was different.
I was lucky enough to have a family who supported me right from the start and never once tried to hold me back.

When I look at my childhood photos, I remember those times fondly. I had a normal and happy upbringing. I was six years old when I first became aware that I was gay. I was too young to realize exactly what my feelings meant, but I knew I was attracted to guys. At school I felt like an outsider, but thankfully I found like-minded individuals I could be friends with. We were involved in plays and drama club and I found a great sense of community there, so I never felt lonely or sad growing up.
Strangely enough, I was never a victim of homophobia,
but I was a victim of fat-phobia. I was picked on for being fat rather than being gay.

After high school I left Miami to study at NYU where it seemed everybody was out and proud. After a semester, I decided it was time to tell my mom the truth about my sexuality. Although my mom was accepting, she wasn't glowingly receptive of the news.
It's difficult for any parent to understand that their child is going against what the world views as “normal.”
Over the years, my mom has become more accepting of my sexuality, and our relationship could not be better right now. Being gay has become easier over the years. When I was growing up there weren't many gay role models on TV. Today the media is filled with positive examples. I'm also privileged that I am viewed as a successful individual who happens to be gay, and that I can be who I am without judgment.

My childhood dream was to be Snow White.
Although I couldn't whistle, I regaled everyone with my versions of “Whistle While You Work” and “Some Day My Prince Will Come,” raising some eyebrows around the house. I also started channeling my creative energy into another outlet: drawing. My parents sought the mentorship of a local artist who took me under her wing when I was four years old.
She taught me that anything I imagined could come to life on canvas.
Soon, every wall in our house was covered with oil-painted tributes to my favorite heroines. Then I decided that I didn't want to be Snow White when I grew up; I wanted to be an artist. I'm grateful that I had a mentor who cared enough to fan this creative flame, because the other
flaming aspects of my personality
presented problems at school. Boys with high-pitched voices whose approach to running in gym class could be described as “prancing” didn't fare well. I learned that, in order to survive, I had to conceal those aspects of my personality. But I wasn't able to describe what I was covering up as gay yet. That didn't hit me until right after college. My fairy tale has a very happy ending:
I found my way out of the dark enchanted forest to a place of self-acceptance.
I even found my own handsome prince, and our life together is as close to “happily ever after” as I can imagine.

Here I am in costume before
my very first dance recital.
I was thrilled. When kids on the bus found out I took dance lessons, they'd sing Lionel Ritchie's “Ballerina Girl” to mock me. I had so much closeted shame back then. But
I still wanted to perform and feel the tremendous joy
I felt when I was dancing on stage.