That girl who went to the Preston MTC in England wanted to be friendly with everyone, but found herself shrinking away in groups, becoming almost invisible. She wasn’t sure if her roots could hold her, so often she hide. The girl who went to England, knew the way of the religion she was spreading, yet wasn’t sure if she believed it. She prayed to believe, she fasted and she accepted every twitch in her tummy as a declaration of truth. The girl who went to the Preston MTC was like a plant, her leaves longing for sunshine, yet she kept them in the shadows. She was gay, she knew she was gay, but she wasn’t sure what people would say if she mentioned it, so she kept it to herself. She wore skirts. That was the expectation. She offered prayers, she knew the kinds of words to say, but found it hard to be genuine when others were listening. That girl who went to the Preston MTC made the choice to believe in a male God. She chose to believe in living prophets who commanded those with same-sex attraction to stay single or marry the opposite sex. She desired to go on a mission, to teach, to serve her church, even if she knew it would mean wearing clothes that made her feel uncomfortable for a year and a half. When the girl went to the Preston MTC, she didn’t eat much. She wasn’t hungry. She knew there were vegetarian options, but rather than choose those, she avoided the meat and picked through whatever else was given her. Her tummy hurt. In the moment she was hungry, she was told she couldn’t eat. The classroom wasn’t the place. She wished to explain herself, but rather, she held back tears and submitted. Her leaves withered. One curled up and dropped off the plant. When the girl was in the Preston MTC, she flirted with the idea of coming out. She yearned for light. In front of a crowd, she proposed to a girl, but everyone knew it was a joke. She wanted people to know who she was and love her anyways. But she was told all gay and lesbian people should go live and die out on an island. She tried not to watch the other sisters change, she didn’t mean to admire the curves of their bodies, covered in white, shaped like angels. She didn’t want to be accused of being a 14 year-old boy, though she understood how they must feel. With her companion, she joked that she’d come out later. Before her companion could say a word, she carried on with the story she was telling. Her gay foliage battered the shadows, crying out to be seen. She wondered if she hid it long enough, if her gay branch would break off and die. The girl in the Preston MTC searched for truth in her religion. She was in so far that finding truth was the only answer. Though she had questions, she trusted there were solutions which she didn’t yet understand. In England, though she hated praying, her prayers were answered, signs were received, and she could believe in her message. The signs formed her witness, her testimony of truth. A testimony that she decided was more powerful than any doubt. This was the testimony she’d been hoping for. In the Preston MTC, that girl received three compliments. They breathed life into a twig of her being. If she hadn’t been insecure, perhaps they wouldn’t have mattered. The comments convinced her that she could be a fantastic missionary, that she could teach and touch hearts, and that she could share her thoughts and change lives. She clung to this encouragement, believing that she was where she needed to be.
Sometimes I am ashamed to say this. At times, I long to hide my past, but I was the girl who went to the Preston MTC. Though it was more than four years ago, that was me. I have changed; I am the same. Though I’m no longer a member of a specific religion, I still pray. I try to pray out of desire, but too often it come from a place of routine and obligation. In the MTC I understood why the church told us to pray. Now I am not sure I know the reasons why I address my thoughts to an unknown being. I hope, somehow he can strengthen my limbs and branches. It has been a long time since I have fasted. When I fast next, it will be medical, so the doctors can check out my tummy. The pain is different than it was before, and while I still don’t have much of an appetite, I am not losing weight like I did in the MTC. My roots have expanded and I absorb more nutrients. I’m still gay. Some branches never die, regardless of how long we deny them. I don’t try to change my orientation anymore. In the sunlight, this branch buds and blossoms, and I realise how much it is a part of me. I married the most compassionate and understanding woman I’ve ever met. And yet, at times I am afraid. I am scared to tell people that I am married, nervous to say that I have a wife. I still fear their rejection. My leaves, however, touched by the sun refuse to stay in the shadows for long. In the MTC my teaching skills were complimented and encouraged. Now, I continue to teach, though my message is no longer faith based. I am eager to learn how to be a better teacher, but slower to accept the advice I receive. I chose to think and reason for myself. I recognise that one person’s style of teaching might not be for me, and that is okay. I continue to thrive when I am watered with praise. Perhaps it was my joy of teaching that brought me to the MTC, that sustained me there and through my time in England. I knew if I was going to teach in England, I needed to believe my message, so I forced myself to find signs of its veracity. Teaching as a missionary meant denying my gay branch, wishing it would die. It meant teaching others that homosexuality was wrong. As I continue to teach, I teach independence. It is easy for me to believe my message. Yet, I am still concerned about my students knowing I’m gay. Though my message no long dictates what people ought to do in their bedrooms, I fear losing credibility if the students knew what I did in mine. Every day when I teach, my gay branch hides in the shadows. The leaves reach for the light coming through the crack. They want the sunlight. They want to be seen. Just as the girl in the MTC hoped to one day come out, so to do I wish to live without hiding any of my branches.
