There is a magical place called The Dump. And growing up, my family went every summer day. Few people who arrive at The Dump would think it was anything special. But there, we’d jump off the dock. We’d catch crabs and sun burns. And we’d collect things.
It was a place where we’d go to go somewhere else. Where our imaginations would run wild. And at the end of the day, we’d all pool together what we found - stories, treasures, laughter.
As a kid, you always wanted to find something out of the ordinary. The most unique shell or sea creature. There was nothing cool about the status quo. There still isn’t, at least to me.
At The Dump, I could be anything but ordinary too. I was safe there, with my peculiarities and unfurling uniqueness. I was free to explore. Free to exist beyond boundaries, labels and binaries. Those feelings of freedom and safety that I had as a kid have stayed with me. Even as I got older, even as I ventured beyond the little island.
Today, I think of being queer like being at The Dump, which I know sounds funny. It’s true, though.
My queerness is running barefoot down the dock and launching myself into the sparkling blue water, curious to uncover the hidden world beneath. It is plopping myself down into the warm sand, unbothered by everywhere it's getting, and digging around for treasures I knew I’d find. It is family, sunshine, and adventure.
My queerness is a place with no boundaries, no labels. With only the freedom to explore as far as my imagination will take me, and with only one rule: come home for supper at sundown.