For the girls in high school that made it possible for a closeted gay guy to survive.

Dear Darlene,

Thank you for your love letter. Mama found it in my lunch box.

I didn’t know about you or your feelings until my sister began teasing me. “143, 143, 143,” my sister said over dinner. “Stop it!” I protested. “I don’t even know what that means.” I’m sorry if it was meant for my eyes only.

Maybe next time, slip your feelings in my cubby hole instead. 

Dear Jessica,

Thank you for being my first girlfriend and my first kiss, and my second, my third, fourth, fifth, sixth … sitting in a tree, doing things we shouldn’t be, even when your friends were saying “Bakla naman ata yang boyfriend mo eh” | “Jessica, I think your boyfriend is gay.”

Dear Jasha,

I think I truly loved you. I would’ve been an engineer and you, a zoologist. We’d name our kid J-Jay, short for Joseph Junior. Maybe that’s being in love: a future so clear you can’t wait to get there. I would’ve loved you exactly how you wanted to be loved. Too bad I moved. Too bad I didn’t get to see our story through.

Dear Christine,

Thank you for breaking up with me. I chickened out when things got too serious, and by “too serious”, I mean, when the only line left to cross was below the belt. Thank you for putting yourself first and seeing through me. You taught me that break ups can be a form of self-care, a lesson I’ll keep forever.

Dear Emma,

Thank you for taking me to the ball with you. It was Lady’s Choice. I was worried that no girl was going to ask the only Asian boy in our year. I was ready to be one of those guys that “went out of town” because he couldn’t find a date.

Mama still asks about you, Emma. I tell her the truth – you still look the same after two kids – and Mama gets jealous.

Dear Lala,

You wanted to be friends with benefits but all I could be was a friend. I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you why showing me your boobs couldn’t get me there. It was not your fault. Please … stop crying.

Dear Eliza,

Thank you for being my best friend and sleeping with my closeted ex. You were his beard as much as mine. His inability to finish if it’s not from behind only brought us closer together. If any of my exes are going to sleep with a girl, I want it to be you. Always.

Dear Grace R,

Thank you for teaching me about secrets.

You whispered to me, “I’m keeping Adam.” You said, “I’ve thought it through, talked to my whānau and ex-boyfriend about it.” Still, your choice remained the same.

“Did you know that in three weeks, Adam’s almost the size of a pea?” You told me in our cramped common room, sitting on a musty couch. You thought, a lot of smart teenage girls have done this before you, and really, the only thing that changed was that now, you were one of them. 

I said, “Adam’s so lucky to have you as a mum.” I also said, “This is so Glee of us right now. You’re secretly pregnant and I’m secretly gay.”

You said, “Joe. You’ve been on every Stage Challenge since Year 9.”

You adjusted my school tie while I asked about Anna Karenina before English class. You said, “I’ve told people my secret, when are you going to tell yours?”

I answered your question with another question. “How do you know that the pea is Adam, not Eve?”

You told me, “Adam came to me in a dream last night and asked for gas money.”

Dear Chocolate,

Thank you for being my sister and my first beard.

You’ve always let me play with your barbies when Mama wasn’t looking.

You’ve even taken care of me when I wasn’t in good shape, even though I’m the older brother and I should be the one taking care of you, my baby sister. 

You told me, “Small town problems don’t have big city solutions” when I thought that moving to Wellington would make my secret from Mama easier to keep.

Thank you for answering the door when a white boy came bearing flowers and lemon bonbons, asking “Is Joe home? I drove here to surprise him.”Thank you for saying nothing, only scrunching your face as the white boy dug himself out of a hole. “Oh shit, I take it he’s not out. I mean, I take it he’s not in.”

Thank you, Chocolate, for just sighing and saying, “Joe should be home soon. Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Thank you, Chocolate, for putting the white boy’s flowers in a vase and his bonbons in a bowl as I tried my best to answer all of Mama’s questions. Thank you for pretending to be surprised by my answers.

143, I think that means I love you. Thank you, Chocolate, for being my beard, my first and my last.

Lovingly yours,

Joseph with the Good Beards