Monthly Archives: March 2017

Jay and Max, Portland, Oregon

photo by Kevin Truong

Max (left) and Jay (right) photo by Kevin Truong

Max (left) and Jay (right), photo by Kevin Truong

Max (left) and Jay (right), photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

Max (left) and Jay (right), photo by Kevin Truong

Max (left) and Jay (right), photo by Kevin Truong

Jay, in his own words: “I was an awkward middle schooler going through puberty the first time that I saw a photo of two men kissing and it immediately made sense to me. I knew by the time that I was 13 that I wasn’t straight, but it took me several coming-outs and a lot of soul-searching to really figure out where I fit into the LGBTQ+ family. As a teenager in Florida the term “queer” as an identifying term was not circulating within my social circles, so I identified as gay. But as a girl dating another girl, people would hear this and say “oh, you’re a lesbian”, but I wasnt. And I didn’t have the terminology or the understanding to figure out exactly why, much less explain that to others. I knew I was attracted to men, but not as a woman. I also knew I was attracted to women, but that I wasn’t a lesbian. When I started identifying as trans things started to come into focus. And when I first hooked up with a cis guy as a male-identified person, I felt liberated. For the first time, all of my bulbs were illuminated at once. My gender and sexuality were finally harmonizing in a way that I didn’t think was possible when I was younger. It’s been six years since I first started going by male pronouns and three years since I started taking testosterone. Within that time, my identity has naturally changed shape as I continue to grow as a person and form new relationships with myself and others. At this moment in time, I identify as a queer non-binary trans-masculine person and my pronouns are he/his/him. I date people of all gender identities/expressions, and identifying as queer has allowed my sexual identity and my gender identity to grow together instead of conflict like they used to. I assume that my identity will continue to shift throughout my life, but I know that my roots are firmly planted in my identity as a queer individual. To me, it’s a term that is as wonderfully ambiguous as my non-binary body and it has replaced those gaps in my identity that I struggled with as a teenager. In short, identifying as queer has made me whole.

I’ve had an incredibly privileged life, even as a queer/trans person. There was a period of time when I first came out as trans (and concurrently started college), where I truly thought that I was going to have to choose between transitioning and having a relationship with my mom, whom I’ve always been super close with. I had a tough couple of years, but I’m happy to say that my mom and I are even closer now than we were before and my entire family (extended as well) have accepted and supported me throughout most of my transition.

I had two major coming-out experiences and a third minor one. When I was 13 I came out to my mom at a restaurant when I realized I had a crush on my friend at the time. I remember being nervous, but it also never occurred to me to not tell her how I was feeling. She and the rest of my family were supportive even when I started dating my best friend just a year later. At 17 or 18 I came out as trans to my mom, expecting the same acceptance I received as a kid, but instead I was met with a lot of push back, rooted in fear and misconceptions, that I hadn’t expected. At 22 my eight year relationship came to an end and I started dating a gay cis man, which required another sort of coming out for everyone who knew my ex partner and I and had assumed that I identified as a straight male. At this point, I’m about as out as I can be and the fact that I feel safe enough to live as an openly queer/trans person is due to my privilege as a white male-passing individual living in a very queer-friendly city. For me, the recent visibility the trans community has received has affected me in a mostly positive way, but for a lot of other trans folks, the extra attention that comes with the preliminary stages of visibility is not always a positive thing and it’s important that we’re aware of the differences in every trans/queer persons experience.

I’m really not super involved in the LGBTQ+ social scene in Portland, but I know that there’s quite a bit going on here specifically in the queer/trans communities. For me, the city as a whole feels very friendly and accepting compared to how it felt living down south, and that’s really what I was looking for when I moved here. I don’t feel like I have to always be going to a group/event or making an appearance just to feel connected to the community.

I wish that I could go back and tell my middle-school self what being trans actually meant. I remember that my mom asked me once when I was about 15 if I wanted to be a boy (she framed it as “You don’t want to become a boy or anything though right?”) and I replied something along the lines of, “No, I like my boobs too much, it would have been cool if I was born a boy, but I wasnt”. I had such a vague/skewed sense of what it actually meant to be a transgender person, that it took me until college to really understand that I could socially transition without having to physically transition and later, that I could physically transition without planning to get surgery. I also would have loved to go back and provide my younger self with the term “queer” since it has given me the strongest sense of community and my strongest sense of self and I wish I had had that under my belt a little bit sooner.”

Vincent, Graphic Designer, Portland, Oregon

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

Vincent, in his own words: “Lately, I identify as queer.

I choose that term because it feels more inclusive and allows me to connect with many other folks in the community going through vastly different experiences, but also because I believe it’s versatility is powerful. Queerness gives me the reigns of my own identity — rather than being defined for me by politics or other peoples perceptions. It’s something that always rests in my own hands, and can be molded to serve a better me at any time. Like a lot of folks in my generation (maybe), I feel a freedom in my queerdom, not unlike a talisman or amulet of sorts.

This image of power and even magic contained with queer identity is something I’ve carried with me since coming out as a teenager. Early on I was very taken with the Native American (My grandfather was born in the Navajo reservation) term Two-Spirit. I liked it immediately because it seemed to suit me. It allowed for how I could dream of myself as a mother, express myself with a softness and emotional intelligence, and also be comfortable in my body. I generally refrain from using words like masculine or feminine, because I don’t think they exist, and question their role in how we define ourselves. But in those limited terms, I have always connected with both, and feel incredibly blessed to be queer so that I can dance between them without any self-doubt.

Of course, the years I’ve spent “out”, could be measured in degrees of how comfortable I am in that very thing. It can be challenging to know if one’s limits are self-defined or made by society. Am I disinclined to wear a dress because it isn’t in me? Or is it out of fear? In those instances lately, I’ve been choosing to do it anyway and evaluate afterward. Charge into the fear, as my roommate puts it.

Queer as I am now, I first came out as gay, though not quite in the traditional (if coming out can be seen as traditional?) sense.

I was lucky enough for my parents to find some incriminating evidence (**cough** porn) on my laptop when I was about twelve, and so I was thankfully spared having to come out to my entire Christian family and church for that matter. Looking back, I can safely say it didn’t go well. Having to answer questions of faith and heaven and hell (neither of which I believe in) early on, was far from fun and nothing I would have chosen for myself. The upside was that going through it all relatively young, allowed me at seventeen to casually say to friends “oh yeah, this is my boyfriend so-and-so.” I trusted that they could fill in the blanks for themselves. I had no interest in self-identifying myself for anyone and still don’t to this day. But I make a point of being open about my life — which includes my relationships and even sexual experiences — at all times.

This is relatively easy I’d say in Portland, so I am extremely grateful for that, knowing that in most of the world this is not the case. Though it’s true, Portland very much still lacks in diversity in terms of color, I can’t really say I’ve lacked for a moment queer connection of all sorts. I moved here just two years ago (new years day 2015) and it’s the first time in my life that I struggle to think of one friend in my personal life that isn’t queer in some way. Which is surprising to me, given that I spent the last decade in San Francisco. I’m not sure why it is but Portland to me has held a welcome sign for me that no other city’s queer community has.

If I were to speak to my younger self, I would tell myself not to give too many fucks about what anyone else thinks, to follow my own path, make mistakes without fear and above all not to get too debilitated by comparing myself with other people’s successes.”

Mauricio, Filmmaker, Buenos Aires, Argentina

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

photo by Kevin Truong

Mauricio, in his own words: “I remember being just 11 or 12 years old and one night going to bed crying; I had spent the afternoon at one of my closest Friends house hanging out with him and some others Friends from school, at one point (I don’t remember why) one of them said I was weird and different because I liked boys, my other friends agreed but none of us really understood what that meant, all I knew was I was being set apart from the rest of my friends and it hurt. That night my mom asked what was wrong and called my dad into my room, I told them what had happened and how I did not understand why being different was wrong, I was so sad…

Without hesitating my dad said that there was nothing wrong with me and that of course I was different from everyone else, that that’s something we all have in common, differences. Then my mom asked me if I knew exactly what those kids were talking about, I said “I think they were saying I’m gay” and she said no one had the right to tell me what I am, and that if I actually was it was only a part of me to be proud of, like my brown eyes and my large ears. I slept like a baby that night.

I never came out, I just never felt like I had to tell anyone that I’m into guys and not girls, my friends and family know I’m gay because they asked and I said yes; at first I think I avoided confrontation fearing rejection, but happily that didn’t last long, the thing is I grew up surrounded by loving people, I know I’m extremely lucky because of this, and thanks to that I’m a proud young man, kind and confident and in the search of true happiness.

I’m not really in touch with the gay community in Buenos Aires, I try to be aware of what’s happening all the time but I keep my distance, because I respect it so much, I’m still trying to understand myself and when I feel ready I know I want to take an active part in it; years ago I decided I wouldn’t let my sexuality define who I am and I know that people fighting for our rights have been responsible for this being possible and I’m so thankful, but I guess the truth was, until a few years ago, I didn’t want to belong to anything, I just wanted to be free. When the night the marriage equality bill passed I decided I wanted to be there to see it, so I stayed up all night waiting for the results in la Plaza del Congresso, happy, knowing that history was about to happen and that many people were closer to equality in the country I decided to call home. That night I discovered that in order to be happily different everybody has to have chances in life.

I think the only thing I would advise my younger self would be to trust more in people, it took me a while to do it and when it happened I started living life at it’s fullest, closer to happiness surrounded by people whom I love and who love me.”