To Be a Lesbian

  To Be a Lesbian

  By

  Yuriko Hime

  Copyright © 2016 by Yuriko Hime

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within.

  Books may be purchased by contacting the publisher and author at:

  Email: yurikohimex (a) gmail.com

  Website: www.yurikohime.com

  Facebook: Hime Yuriko

  Instagram: Yurikohimeko

  Wattpad: Yurikohime

  First Printing: 2016

  Cover Design: Yuriko Hime

  ISBN: 978-1-365-48058-4

  Publisher: Y.H Publishing House

  Editor: G.F

  Creative Consultant: G.F and Tatienne

  Dedication

  To everyone who’s been bullied, discriminated, and unloved because of her sexuality, this is for you.

  To my old self, never again.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright © 2016 by Yuriko Hime

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33.

  Chapter 34.

  Chapter 35.

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Acknowledgment

  Chapter 1

  My journey to a magical world came in the form of three envelops in different colors. A day after I was crowned homecoming queen, bleary-eyed, mascara still on because I was too tired to wipe it clean with a makeup remover, my doting mother of eighteen years sent the house help to fetch me. "Your mother wishes to see you, Scotland," she said, opening the curtains. One should never keep a Roth waiting, my mom even so, rousing me out of bed. She was in her red silk robe, sipping her tea when I came to the parlor, concentrated on the stock market report on her Smartphone.

  Let's get the character descriptions out of the way early in the story. I was taller than most girls, shorter than some. My nose was neither large nor awkward on my face, just right. My hair color was dependent on the season. Summer it was lighter. The opposite on winter. As for my eyes, they were a pleasant grey. Not charcoal grey, but a lighter Marengo.

  My parents looked a lot like me. In fact, everyone in our family sort of looked like me, except I'm softer on the eyes. Our similar appearances had caused countless of articles to be published both online and in printed magazines about how we married our cousins and relatives to preserve the family money. It could have been true in the previous generations, shudder-inducing I know, but goddamn it if I were to marry my brother. That practice had been abolished in the past years.

  And if you were to ask about modesty, it had been absent since Mr. Roth, my banker father, told me that it would get me nowhere in life. "We're a family of go-getters," he said in the autumn of 2005, on my 7th birthday. "Modesty didn't make your grandfather's father rich, nor had it gotten me to where I am. One day you and your brother will get all our assets and properties. I want you to understand that sticking with modesty will not be favorable for your life." Needless to say, my modesty went out the window at that age, though my brother was able to retain a lot of his.

  Where were we in the story? Ah, I was telling you about how I went downstairs to talk to my mother who had summoned me from restful sleep. She set her phone aside when she heard me come in. Money was gold, but Roth's were priceless, as they said. We made it a point to let go of everything when talking to each other. "Congratulations on your homecoming queen award," she said. "I told you they'll love your gown. It took Donatella three months to complete. How did Bjorn fare?"

  "I wasn't keeping tabs. I broke up with him." Bjorn was my Viking of a boyfriend. He was tall, muscular, had a nice smile that got him most girls, and we were over. Mom frowned before settling for a poker face. Between the three other boys I brought home for formal introductions, she'd liked Bjorn the most, mostly because he was a people pleaser. "It wouldn't have worked out with us anyway. We're off to college soon," I supplied. It wasn't a secret that more than 50% of high school relationships failed in college because of the long distance and different culture. I was being realistic. I was a Roth.

  Mom seemed to realize that too as she nodded to herself and took envelops, three of them, from the glass table. "These arrived yesterday afternoon when you were getting ready for the party," she said. "I didn't have the heart to take you away from the joy of homecoming preparations, so I hid them from sight." I wouldn't have fussed over those envelops even if I saw them yesterday, I wanted to say. Instead I waited for her to reach out to me on the other side of the table, briefly noticing her perfectly applied nail polish before I accepted the papers. "Read them," she urged.

  I only had to glance at the insignia's on the upper right corner of the envelops to know that each of them came from the universities I applied to for higher education. Tearing through the paper, I read loudly, "Dear Miss Roth, the Department of Sociology has strongly recommended you after reviewing your application. We are happy to offer you an admission to the class of the succeeding school year." I thumbed through the next letters and read the same results.

  Mom clapped her hands together. "That's good news," she said. "I'll call your father." As usual, daddy had been out of the house before the first rays of sunshine. He expected the same dedication from his children. Mom spoke to him in low tones over the phone while I zoned out and thought of the universities.

  Most of the interviewers were wearing suits and had that scholarly aura about them that said, 'I am a professor or a PhD in something. Respect me.' Any other student would be shriveled on the chair, mumbling their answers. Count me out. I was a Roth. We loved the challenge. Instead of telling them how I could contribute to society and mankind, I was bold enough to ask what they could do for me.

  My brother who'd been studying in one of those school's laughed when I told him the story. "You're an idiot," he said with a shake of his head.

  Mom was not thrilled with my overconfidence either, saying it could have cost me the admission. Like my brother, she had a sliver of modesty up her sleeves. Daddy, in the meantime, was proud. "You're a true Roth," he said. "Mayer would dance in his grave." Don't ask who Mayer was. Daddy always brought him up.

  When the conversation between my parents was finished, mom turned to me, bearing the question that each of them wanted to know. "What college are you going to?"

  Fast forward to days after graduation. It was the end of May and the summer breeze was making itself felt. I was stretche
d beside the pool, watching my brother Casper complete his final lap, as he would always do when he was home from college. He was panting when he boosted himself up the ladder, hair dripping wet, the broad muscled limbs of his shoulders relaxed. "Is there still ice on that tea?" he said, coming to me. "I'm thirsty."

  "You'll have better luck asking the help for another glass." I showed him my laptop. "What do you think?" On the screen was a two-storey house with charming slated roof and shutter windows. "It's near the university," I said. "The market is a ten minute walk. There's a church, a lake, a park, and basically everything a college girl would want. It's small with what I'm used to, too small, but it will do."

  He grabbed the towel laid out for him on the pool chair and started drying his hair. It had turned to a lighter shade like mine, a symbol of summer. "I don't get why you couldn't have stayed in the dorms," he said. "You'll feel isolated off campus. Trust me."

  I wiped the screen from droplets of water. "This is temporary. The university isn't allowing students to live in their dorms until September. That's why I'm asking daddy to buy me a house to stay in till classes starts. I want to adapt to the area. Then when it's September, I'll transfer to the dorms."

  "What will happen to the house if you leave? You're wasting money that you're not earning yet."

  "Buying property is never a waste of money," I argued. "The value will increase in years, and when the time comes I can sell it for a higher price. It's called return of investment with an added bonus like daddy used to say. Besides, Lulu will stay there. I'll have somewhere to retreat to when I'm not feeling the university vibe."

  "Whatever you say, Scotland," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. Casper wasn't happy that I was getting my way often. That was the difference between us. He would never ask for these things, whereas I'd demand for it like it was my God-given right. Aside from that, I would move heaven and earth to get what I wanted, and I would work hard for it too.

  My school was the state champion in cheerleading because I've stretched and jumped more than anyone else in practice. I've won the science fair, the spelling bee, the hearts of every male and female in the private school I went to, even the hotdog eating contest, because I've dedicated my time and effort in them. Yes, every single bit of hotdog counted. Casper would always complain about my missing modesty, but what he failed to realize was I earned my stripes. I was a winner. An achiever. So if I wanted a house with charming windows, I would get it. But as it was, I still valued his opinion every now and then, more than a little sister should, so I asked.

  While I was busy patting myself on the back from my small feats in high school, Casper had propped his feet on the chair. He shaded his forehead, so he could gaze at the clouds wistfully. "I think the house looks great," he admitted. "Go for it." I smiled at the victory. Of course he'd like it. The house resembled the small vacation cottage we had in Alaska. "Are you ready for college, sis?"

  "I was born ready for everything."

  His brows furrowed. "It's a different ball game there. You won't be the only pretty chick."

  "But I'll be richer," I pointed out. "We're always richer."

  "The competition will be high, and knowing you, you'll end up overworking yourself to win."

  Casper was well-meaning, but something about what he said caught my interest, as it did when winning was involved. "Tell me more about this competition," I said.

  He tilted his head to me. "It's easy, actually. Once you leave this roof, it will be every man for himself. Someone out there who doesn't have the same financial standing as us will strive to prove himself by trying to beat you. They're hungrier. They're used to little to no advantage. Your credentials, however impressive they are, will be average when pitted against other people's achievements. How many cheerleaders do you think there are out there? How many student council presidents? How many straight-A students? How many people who drives Ferrari's?"

  "You're saying I should stand out?" I questioned.

  "I'm saying you should aim to make a difference."

  I didn't realize until later that this conversation was to be the turning point of my life. My catalyst. By then I would have been involved with a group I never thought I'd be a part of, chased by an angry mob, pursued by an alpha girl who had the same brilliant mind as mine, and so much more that I had to make a book so you'd understand my rambling.

  I pondered about my conversation with Casper for three days. Make a difference, he said. There was a ring to it. I liked it. But how? Discoveries were being made every day by scientists, and although I was well equipped to handle the science part, I wasn't feeling it at the moment. What else could I do? They were looking for cures to sickness, poverty eradication, and solving political endeavors, none of which could apply to my expertise at present, or perhaps I was looking too much into it.

  It was the day of my departure when I got the answer. My path to greatness. The thing that would allow me to make a difference to the world. I'd been browsing through the morning paper when Casper, who had promised to drive me and my best friend Lulu to the airport, exclaimed, "These people are disgusting!" He showed me the page he was reading from. "They're rallying against LGBT," he said. "What right did they have to tell other people who to love?"

  "Settle down," I said. Casper was prone to outbursts when he had a strong opinion. It was the Roth's side of the family that showed when he was in one of those moods. "Now tell me. Why should we care? We're not the people they're rallying against. The only time you should be mad is when they take pitchforks and go to our gate, screaming for us to burn our things despite how hard our parents worked to provide for us."

  His eyes narrowed at me. "You should be more sympathetic," he scolded. "Have you heard the saying, till it happens to you? Just because you're not suffering doesn't mean that you should ignore what's going on. People from the LGBT community are being killed for what they are. Why just last week a woman who identified herself as a lesbian was raped so the perpetrator could prove that being gay was a choice. If it doesn't make you sick, you're part of the problem."

  I snatched the paper from him to look at the write-up. It had always made me uncomfortable to read news like this, especially one that was outside the scope of familiarity. But he was right. I shouldn't dismiss its existence. As I ran my gaze to the words, an idea clicked, like a light bulb going up my head. It was the subject I was waiting for.

  "Aha!" I said, jumping from my chair, newspaper waved around like a flag to war. The house help who was pouring juice on Casper's glass was so surprised that she spilled some on my brother's pants.

  "I got this," Casper said to the apologetic woman before turning to me. "Why are you shouting all of a sudden? You're scaring everyone."

  I slipped back to my chair excitedly. "I have an idea, Caspie. It's going to be great."

  And that, my beauties, was how I decided to start a book. I wouldn't go into details with the packing of our suitcase and how I bade farewell to my teary-eyed parents. The book was all that mattered to me. It was to be my journal to the unknown, a contribution to mankind. When I dreamt, I dreamt big. I was willing to take the study to where no other straight woman has gone before, and it was going to be a long road ahead.

  Chapter 2

  Born into privilege, I could pursue anything I wanted in college. So why Sociology? Why not Economics, Biochemistry, or Business Analytics? I've been asked by my parents the same question, and my answer had always been a repeat; I understood myself in every way a person should know herself. It was to my grief that people and society in general didn't share the same reality. Because Sociology played an integral part in helping people understand mankind, pursing such a course could be my way of helping others realize themselves and their potentials.

  "Basically, you're telling me that you're going to spend three to four months doing a study about lesbians," Lulu said. That was what she meant anyway. Most people would hear something like, "Vesicahhly, yu av telling meee dat yu av goweeeng tu sphend tree tu
fo month dooing ah stuhdy about les-bee-ans. . ." Her family had been in constant move since she was born before settling to their present home. Because of that, she adopted a weird accent that threw people off guard when speaking to her for the first time. I was used to it. Found it endearing even. We've been thick as thieves since high school after all.

  "We, Lulu," I corrected. "We, not only me, are going to spend the rest of summer vacation researching and interviewing subjects." A flight attendant passed by, dragging with her a cart. "Excuse me," I called. The attendant stopped and affixed a polite smile on her face. It was tempting to ask her for the most expensive wine they could offer, but I wasn't in the Roth's private plane or first class. Some things were best left for later. "Can I have water please?"

  After gulping down a glass and the attendant had rolled her cart away, Lulu said, "You used to hate flying economy. I remember the time when we went to France and you blamed Casper for getting the wrong tickets intentionally. You didn't speak to him for a week."

  I leaned closer to her. "This is all part of our new life, Lu. The next few years are going to be hard for us if we don't start adapting to the environment. This is my simple way of submerging myself in normal life. I figured if I'm going all out with the study I'm making, I might as well change my own lifestyle. We're going to be anonymous from now on."

  "No using your surname for once?" she asked dubiously. I shrugged. "Get out of here. I don't believe you." She pushed my face and all of its sincere expression away. "You're really serious about this book?"

  "Yes," I said. She had no reason to doubt me. I was in this 101% "And it won't stop with just that. I'm also dishing out a weekly summary about my findings on a blog, like a journal. There will be pictures. There will be supporting evidence. It's all part of Sociology."

  Lulu rested her head on the chair resignedly. "You're crazy when you have an idea," she said. "But tell me something before I sleep the next hour away. Why are you doing this? You could have chosen any subject matter in the world, so why lesbians?"