Pride.

I can feel butterflies in my stomach as we drive toward the station. They're the sort of butterflies that flutter like leaves and have an eye on their wing for deception. I've never liked insects. They batter my chest, causing me to gag on my trepidation and choke down the truth which is threatening to escape. I cannot be honest, I remind myself, even butterflies hide their colour for self preservation.

It's the day of Brighton Pride 2013 and I've lied to my parents again. They think that a friend and I are going for a nice day at the seaside, taking the train from the next town over, when really we've got rainbow face paint in our bags. For the past week I've been agonising over any whisper of the event, fearful that the plan would fall through. By some miracle we were here though, walking through the station to an onslaught of whistles and rainbow flags as we bask in the reality of "our community". 

There's something special about the first time that you walk into a queer space- or any space that resonates with your identity. It's a validation of sorts that shows you that you can exist in this world, that you're not the specimen that some people would have you think. Wrapping myself in a rainbow flag I felt recognised. I looked around at this collection of difference and for once didn't feel outside.

My parents were worried that I would be influenced by the things that I saw. That was the reason they gave me when I confessed our actions later that night- I was always bad at lying. They told me that people like that found each other later in life, that I was too young to be going to queer events. Already the corruption had ruined my spotless record, compromising our trust and turning me into a liar.

I regretted nothing. 

Butterflies understand that sometimes it's beneficial to wear a different skin, to shake the nails from their wings and hide behind illusions. It has always been easier for me to conceal than to be honest. My nature is inclined toward disguise because living your truths behind a screen is always easier. 

I am no longer ashamed that when my parents ask me what societies I've joined I don't say LGBT. I am no longer ashamed that when my aunties ask why I've not had a boyfriend I tell them that "I'm just engrossed in my work". I desexualise my body and thus it becomes acceptable. They see me though false eyes and that is okay. My truth is vibrant when I unravel.