Let me tell you a story about two sisters.
(Content Warning: Suicide, Homophobia)
They were born in Pakistan in the 1970s only a few years apart, and came to America when they were young. By the 90s, they were in Southern California. One of them was a lesbian, and the other one wasn't. Their mother was also a sister -- she had three sisters, in fact. One of those sisters was my grandmother. These two sisters are my father's cousins.
The Desi Muslim community of Southern California was in its fledgling stages. The family was more tight knit, the four sisters keeping everyone in each other's pockets, keeping each other fed, keeping each other practicing the faith, organizing the weddings, organizing the funerals, making sure no one was alone when it mattered.
The sister who was a lesbian came out to her aunt, another one of my father's cousins. I know this cousin as someone loud and unafraid, the biggest personality in the room in a room full of big personalities. The cousin was understanding of the sister's story, didn't turn her away. Instead, she turned to the rest of the family, and told them that the sister was a lesbian.
I was young when this happened, maybe 9 or 10. My parents kept this from me. They never spoke of the sister again. I stopped seeing the sister at parties. No one talked about her anymore, no one was proud of her. I remember her letting me play video games on her computer. I remember her showing me her lava lamp (it was the 90s). I wish I had asked anyone where she went.
Her sister stopped talking to her too.
The other sister, the one who wasn't a lesbian, had two sons. They were my cousins. One of them was born only a few months after me, and he was one of my closest friends growing up. I grew up as one of the boys, something that everyone talked about, but not too much, because they didn't like it. The sister who was a lesbian loved those two boys, and she was a proud aunt to them. When the sister who was a lesbian came out to the family, her sister refused to let her see her sons. She kept her sister from her own nephews for a long time.
I can't tell my cousins this, because I promised my aunt I would never do that: after her sister did that, my aunt turned the ignition on in her car, sat in her shut garage, and tried to kill herself.
She told me that story so that I'd go to therapy. I think she also told me that story because I was the only person in her family she could have told that story. But sometimes I wish she hadn't told me at all.
Things have improved since then, even though it's not perfect. There's still a long way to go. The sister sees her nephews all the time now. One of them is finishing medical school, the other works in Silicon Valley. She's a good aunt, and a good mom. She has two kids. She has a wife. She has a cool job in social work. I'm proud of her.
Let me tell you a story about two sisters.
My little sister doesn't know I'm bi. She doesn't know that I moved to the other side of the country because of that. To her, I guess I'm perfect. I have my life together. I go to a nice school, and have a job my parents almost understand. In all ways that matter to her, I've succeeded. I'm on this pedestal she put me on, one that I've done very little to argue against, and she resents me for it.
So what if I told her the good news? She hates that my parents speak of me to strangers and don't speak of her. One day, they won't speak of me at all. I will bring them shame and heartbreak. I will make them question their faith and themselves. My father has said that gays deserve death -- perhaps they will say this of me too. I have nightmares all the time that they will stop loving me. My sister is afraid my parents' love is conditional, and she will never meet those conditions. In that, we agree.
When the day comes, they will be glad to have my sister. They will be glad to keep her. My brother might never let me see his children again. I want to see them grow up too. I think about this every time I visit them. Maybe this is the last time.
I think about my aunt all the time too, because I think she was unimaginably resilient. I think her story has shown me that things have changed, that people can change, that you can choose to survive and live your life authentically. And I think her story has also shown me that sometimes things can break between sisters, in a way that can't break between anyone else.