by Emily Eaton
i’m just happy to be a lesbian. lucky. joyful. as in, my heart could explode like a shaken bottle of pepsi at any second. okay, not any second. but particular seconds, like: when she first kissed me, and my insides turned fizzy. or standing to the side of a pride parade, dressed completely in pink—body crying grateful tears and letting out loud giggles. when i write, and i get to write that i’m a lesbian, knowing others are going to read it and think, i’m a lesbian too! we add little orange/white/pink heart emojis to our texts, blowing each other virtual bubbles in queer calling. when life means dancing through a chiang mai shopping centre, standing smugly close to my girlfriend on an escalator. we browse stores and find big bubble wands. i choose one with a hello kitty lid—take it to the counter to buy with baht. later, back from the cinema, she blows bubbles in our room and the floor gets wet with silliness. some of the bubbles pop in my palms, my hands now bliss-soaked. blown away by life. blown away that lesbian existence is nothing like a small, scared version of myself imagined it would be. it looks like glitter freckles; feels like coffee foam. smells like prosecco, but tastes like lemonade. it sounds like crackling catherine wheel fireworks, golden spinning specks. thailand’s warmth tattooed into skin—i’m away from home, but at home. even when lesbian life is lonely, none of its goodness leaves. blocked by ceilings but still in the sky—queer sparkles are swinging stars. outside, we greet a violet haze—happiness hanging above. the sense of belonging steals loneliness’s seat, sits back, and sips seltzer.
the bubble wand travelled in a backpack—came out for sunset on the beach, in bali. soap floating over soft, sticky sand when young girls ran through them—there were three. we gifted the kids what was left of hello kitty—smiled at their loud, gleaming glee. i watched the sun sink into its reflection—washed my feet in copper ripples of the sea. what a radiant view and a lovely life,
so very lucky to be.
Emily Eaton is a writer and overthinker from Essex, England. She regularly writes about queerness and places on Substack: somewheresoftly.substack.com.
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