Hot Sause, 17, Nyack, NY

I got my nickname when my friends and I were taking hot sauce shots one day. It became some craze, and now everyone calls me that. I spell it “Hot Sause” since my name is Keana, but it’s not spelled like other names. People can still refer to me as Keana, but I feel like the name puts me into a box. I like that my nickname is gender-neutral.

I feel like I’m not really a boy or a girl. I don’t think people understand that. I’m performing in Guys and Dolls in my high school musical. I’m playing the character of Big Jule, who is supposed to be a guy. But since I’m playing it, they changed it into a girl’s part and changed the pronouns from “he” to “she.” I wish they had just kept it a guy’s part, though. I don’t know why.

But it’s the director’s decision. I love being in the show. I love practicing and acting. I’m very musical. I’ve been writing music since I was in the third grade. I started rapping recently and I’m actually performing at my school this Sunday. It’s a song I wrote called “Breathe.” It’s a rap inspired by all the things I’ve heard on the news about kids getting bullied and facing violence. In one of my verses, I say, “Stop the violence.” It’s really a radical poem.

I love music and I love helping people. I think I want to be a music therapist. It goes hand in hand. I want to bring joy into the lives of people who feel like they’re forgotten.

At Common Threads, I just grabbed the mic at the dance and started DJing. It was my first year going, and I was nervous when I got there. But then I felt so comfortable. Everyone in the whole place hugged me and I felt that love. At the end I cried because I couldn’t stay there. If it was a town, I’d want to live there. I had to leave all those good people who care about me and go into a world where people are not as nice.

I have friends at school, but not anyone I can relate to. Most of my friends at school are straight. They’ll talk to me about my issues, but they won’t get into detail. We don’t really talk about who I like. Maybe they don’t feel comfortable asking me about it.

I go to Rockland County Day School. I’m not sure if there are any queer-identified people besides me. That’s what a Gay-Straight Alliance should be for. It kind of upsets me that they don’t have one. They should have a queer-safe and friendly place. I’d love to talk to other people like me, and maybe they could introduce me to people. It’s kind of hard for me to date. I’m kind of shy when it comes to talking to other girls. There aren’t a lot of people I can talk and relate to. I can’t just walk up to a girl and know what her preference is.

I was in a relationship that was unhealthy. I met her online, and it’s not really good to do that. We were going back and forth and back and forth. She was confused about her feelings for me. She didn’t like the way I was referring to myself. She hated when I referred to myself as “he” sometimes. She didn’t really understand that. But I stayed with her, on and off for five months, because I had feelings for her.

That relationship took a lot out of me emotionally. Maybe if someone comes along, it would be cool. But now I’m just focusing on school and performing and acting, and just trying to get out of high school.

As told to Diana Scholl.
Photo by Laurel Golio, taken in Stony Point, NY, 2011
To tell your story, email hello@wearetheyouth.org

Marina, 21, Atlanta, GA

Sometimes people have assumed I’m straight because of my appearance. I date both guys and girls, and I’ve worried that people would just think that I was straight. I’m not so concerned about it now, but it’s something that I thought about when I was newly out and not really sure how I fit in. I felt like I had to prove my queerness. I’m more comfortable with it now and sort of do whatever feels right.

I identify as queer. Depending on who I’m talking to I’ll identify as bisexual, but I think the word bisexual, to me, sort of means two genders, which isn’t necessarily how I see things. I understand two genders exist in society, but they aren’t inherent or necessary. I go by female pronouns. More or less, I identify as female. That’s how I was raised to identify and how people view me. I’m a linguistics major, so I’ve thought a lot about these terms.

Being queer affects many aspects of my life beyond just sexual orientation. I work at the Center for LGBT Life, and the queer community here is very supportive. Other queer students on campus ended up being a ready-made social circle for me. Through the Office of LGBT Life, I’ve met so many people I’ve really connected with. Almost all of my close friends are queer. Emory is my first experience with any queer community. I didn’t really have that in high school.

I was only out to my very, very close friends in high school. It wasn’t something I talked about. To make my life easier, it was something I kept to myself. I knew that when I went outside of Inverness, Florida, that would change.

I had my first kiss with a girl when I was 13. She was a close friend of mine and we had a sort-of relationship, and she’d also be dating guys publicly. I was like, “I’m not cool with being your secret girlfriend.” As far as I know she doesn’t identify in any way as queer now. She has a kid and lives in our hometown. A lot of people from my high school have kids. There was a group of kids in honors classes and they’re in college, mostly at University of Florida, but I’m one of the few who went out of state.

Neither of my parents went to a four-year college, and my sisters and I all did. My parents both worked a lot when we were growing up to support us. I can’t remember them saying “You have to go to college or do well in school.” but it was always assumed that you will go to college and you will do well in school.

My dad is Mexican and my mom is white and from the South, but I’m not really emotionally wedded to one thing or another and never really fit into either category. Before I came to college I didn’t necessarily have the vocabulary for it, but I’m used to not necessarily fitting into a box. From a young age I’ve always been aware of race and ethnicity and how these things played into my life.

I told my mom I was queer a year and a half ago, but I never came around, I guess, to telling other members of my family. I decided several months ago to operate like I had already told my sister. We both use Twitter a lot, and I’d tweet that I was going to Atlanta Pride and I’d link to various queer events I was going to, so I assumed she knew. But I just officially came out to my sister yesterday. On Twitter.

My sister told my mom, “Marina’s never actually come out to me. I know, or I think I know.” But it seemed to my mom like she wanted me to tell her. So last night I sent her a Twitter direct message being like, “Hey, Mom said you wanted me to tell you this but you probably already know, so yeah…” She wrote, “Haha. Thanks, I guess.”

As told to Diana Scholl.
Photo by Laurel Golio, taken at Emory University, Atlanta, GA, 2010
To tell your story, email hello@wearetheyouth.org

Anna, 19, Tuscaloosa, AL

When I was little I wanted to be a boy, and I would call myself Sam. I’d go to Sunday school and people would be like, “Is that a little boy or a little girl?” My mom would be like, “Why does it matter?”

My older sister Genny told me, “Mom and Dad didn’t think you’d be a lesbian. They thought you were going to be transgender.”

As I got older I realized I was comfortable being a female. While researching the gay community, I realized what I was feeling was the butchness of being a lesbian. I like short hair and hate dresses. It’s more of a masculine appearance than a masculine action. If I’m anything, I’m a soft butch. It’s more common here for lesbians to be more feminine. I don’t know if it’s societal or what.

I never try to do anything just to be weird or individual, but people have come up to me and told me I’m brave for dying my hair. I’m like, “Soldiers are brave. Firefighters are brave. I just dye my hair funny colors.” But so many people are scared to do strange things with their appearances.

I started dyeing my hair when I went to high school at the Alabama School of Fine Arts (AFSA). I felt so pent up at middle school. It was all a football culture, and everyone was wearing Abercrombie. It was like  the University of Alabama but it didn’t have the small, artsy community to be part of.

I had wanted to be out in middle school, but I was scared because when my girlfriend Brittany first came out teachers had to walk her to class. Brittany and I dated for, like, a month, but I wanted to keep it a secret. I started hearing rumors about us, got ticked about it and broke up with her.

But my high school was such an open place it was easy to be out. You were seen as uncool if you were discriminatory to gay people or if you were really religious. Anything seen as cool in Alabama is seen as weird at ASFA. It was awesome.

When I started high school, I was 14 and shouting that I was a lesbian from the rooftop. I became the big lesbian on campus and the big activist. I helped found the school’s Gay-Straight Alliance and started my school’s participation in National Day of Silence.

I realized I was gay when I was in fourth grade. I had seen a music video for the band t.A.T.u. I looked them up on the Internet. It was the first time I had seen the word “lesbian.” Then I went to a Girl Scout sleepover at the Birmingham Museum of Art, and I had t.A.T.u. written on my hand because I thought writing on my knuckles was really cool. This girl said she really liked them. Then I started staring at her all night. I realized, “I don’t just want to be friends with her. I think I have a crush on her. I think I’m gay.” People say that t.A.T.u. are fake lesbians, but hey, they helped a lot of people!

I came out to my parents and my sister when I was 13, and they have been incredibly supportive. My mom is very active in the community, and she went to Parents, Friends and Family of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) meetings. My dad wants to be more of an activist than me. He goes off on anyone who says anything anti-gay. My parents are liberal for Alabama. They met on a Democratic political campaign.

I’m part of the Alabama Safe Schools Coalition, so when I came to the University of Alabama everyone kind of expected me to take a leadership role. And I’m like, “I just got here. Chill.” But I found gay people very quickly. I marched in the homecoming parade with the gay group, Spectrum. We were holding hands so we wouldn’t get separated, and someone wrote a letter to the school paper saying, “I’m a fan of free speech but I don’t want to see guys kissing and holding hands.” And no one was kissing! You can’t kiss and walk at the same time.

But the environment here is surprisingly alright. I haven’t walked around holding a girl’s hand yet, but I’ve had my “Legalize Gay” shirt on. I know there are homophobes because I hear about them, but I think it’s a generally accepting campus.

I’m excited to be here and take courses that will help me have a career in zoo education. My mom forced me to volunteer somewhere in high school since I spent all summer watching TV. My friend volunteered at the zoo, then quit, and I ended up volunteering there for five years. I love pretty much any animal. Except sharks.

When I was in high school, usually when I was with a large group of people my age, we were there to talk about diversity. It was nice that at the zoo, instead of talking about how different we are and how much we loved each other, we were there to talk about the animals.

So many people in my senior class of high school had this drive to get out of Alabama. But I feel like if all the liberal-minded people leave, it’s a haven for bigotry. But I don’t know if I’ll stay in-state after I graduate from college. I want to work in zoo education, and when it comes down to what I want to do, the Montgomery or Birmingham zoos are my only options. Surprisingly, my dream zoo is in San Francisco.

As told to Diana Scholl.
Photo by Laurel Golio, taken in Tuscaloosa, AL, 2010
To tell your story, email hello@wearetheyouth.org

Chris, 18, Auburn, AL

I love soccer. I could watch it for hours. I coached kids over the summer, and I love watching them develop as the season goes on. It’s exciting to see them get excited.

I used to play, but I broke my knee a year ago so I can’t run much. I was in a wheelchair for six weeks. I couldn’t use crutches because I had just had surgery on my shoulder from a four-wheeler wreck. I was right out of rehab and had to be stupid and go skateboarding. That’s me in a bubble: one accident after another. I want to go in the trauma field of nursing because of my life experiences.

I got hit in the face two weeks ago on the way to a football game with Arkansas by a group of drunk 40-year-old men. I had a rainbow belt on and they thought I was a gay guy. Then they saw my chest so they started backing off. And I had to open my big mouth and say, “I’m not a woman.” So I’m just lying on the ground getting the crap beat out of me, waiting for it to end.

Stuff like that bothers me emotionally, but I can get over it physically. When I’m wearing my chest binder and people think I’m a guy, I don’t get bothered as much. Yesterday I was in Wal-Mart and a woman called me “sir,” and was talking to me like I was a man. There wasn’t that usual awkward pause where people don’t know what to call me. That was the best moment of my life.

I’ve told everyone I’m transgender but my roommates. I’m sure they’ll accept me, but trying to get through the policies of Auburn University is more of a problem since the school doesn’t have a policy dealing with transgender students.

I haven’t legally changed my name for the university. I’m waiting until I’m out of the dorm, so I’m not homeless. If the university sees me as a man, what are they going to do with me, since I’m living in a female dorm?

I’m the only out transgender person I know of on campus. There are supposedly two others, but they’re stealth.

My given name is Kahley, and that’s what my roommates call me. Everyone else calls me Chris. I talked to my mom about it, and Christopher Adam was the name I was supposed to have because my parents thought I would be a boy.

I came out to my family this year, and they’ve been really good about it. My mom’s the one who set up the appointment to get me on hormones. My mom’s really OCD, so she said as long as I don’t grow sideburns, she’s fine with it. I was tired of hiding who I am. But I want to be happy. I’m ready to take the next step.

I didn’t even know what transgender was until less than two years ago, when I started looking on the Internet. I was an army brat and grew up in really conservative, small towns. I was pretty sheltered from the world until about a year and a half ago. But when I learned what it meant to be transgender, it made so much more sense to me.

Growing up, there were times I’d do things that little girls should not do. I tried to pee standing up for the longest time. And every time I was forced to wear a dress, I cried. By second grade, my mom stopped trying to make me wear a dress.

I have a girlfriend, Amber. When we first met last year, I identified as a lesbian, but the label never really felt right on me. But I came out to Amber as transgender and she’s been accepting. She just changed her orientation on Facebook to straight. She labeled herself a lesbian before, but now she labels herself as straight when people ask her. She doesn’t care what other people think. She doesn’t love me as a girl or as a guy. She loves me for me.

As told to Diana Scholl.
Photo by Laurel Golio, taken at Auburn University, Auburn, AL, 2010
To tell your story, email hello@wearetheyouth.org

Gender Reel Festival!

If you’re in Philly the weekend of Sept 9th-11th, come check out Gender Reel, an annual festival dedicated to enhancing the visibility of gender non-conforming, gender variant/queer and transgender identities. We Are the Youth will be showing 4 portraits and accompanying interviews Friday night and all day Saturday!

Nel

Nel, Age 17, New Jersey

I feel like I’m really lucky to be where I am. My parents, my friends, my teachers, everyone’s accepting. I haven’t lost any friends, I’ve gained friends. All my teachers are cool with it. They mess up pronouns, obviously. My English teacher messed up once, then emailed me to apologize.

My guidance counselor is probably my best friend in the entire world. This year it’s uncomfortable for me to sit in classes where there’s a substitute who’ll call out my entire birth name. So if there’s a substitute teacher, I’ll just go to my guidance counselor’s office and sit there the entire period. We’ll talk about our weekends. I told her I was starting testosterone, and she’s like “Oh my God, I’m so excited for you!”

I’m three months on T. It’s going great. I just think my body’s reacting really well. The changes are awesome. Whenever I go to school, people will say “Your voice is changing. Your face is changing.” It’s easier for me to talk to new people. Before I was very self-conscious about not passing. (more…)

My Coming Out Story: Ryan

In honor of National Coming Out Day, we’ll be sharing unique coming out stories all week. Ryan tells We Are the Youth how the Larry King Show aided in his coming out process:

When I came out as transgender, I came out very slowly. My brother was the first person I told, then I told my mom when I was 14. I told my dad when I did because he went away and brought back this really girly necklace for me. I just had to tell him that day because I felt guilty. I came out as trans to the world when I was on the Larry King Show. I was telling one person at a time at school and if I weren’t on the Larry King Show it would have taken years to come out. It’s easier just to be out. When you’re trans, it’s different. If I didn’t come out people would still be calling me “she,” or by my birth name and I’d be extremely uncomfortable. In some cases it’s not a good idea to come out, if your safety is in jeopardy. For me it was just a convenient time to come out

Check back next month for a full feature on Ryan!

Maddy, 16, New Rochelle, NY

The hardest thing about coming out, for me, was coming out to myself. From there, things got easier. My family is very accepting. I’ve managed to avoid getting picked on about it, for the most part. I have a girlfriend — who is amazing, by the way — and we’re an out couple in school. However, coming out to oneself is very difficult — at least, it certainly was for me. After all, society has built all these expectations up for us to fulfill, and finding out you’re LGBTQ is not one of them.

When I found out that I had feelings I would later describe as pansexual, I was really afraid. If I acknowledged and accepted this part of myself, then I could never be “normal” and I’d be denied rights.

There are people out there who are afraid of me, some of whom even publicly state that they want me dead. Of course, they don’t know me, but that only made them more surreal to me. However, I did come out, and I’m glad I did, because it takes a lot of courage to do so and I think it made me a stronger person.

Now I’m very proud of my identity as pansexual and also, though I discovered this later, my identity as genderqueer. I’ve always been too masculine to feel like one of the girls and too feminine to feel like one of the boys. And, if you think about it, just what is a girl or a boy anyway? If it was really all about what organs you had, then why should so much else be attached?

From the day you are born, and even before nowadays, people start to assume how you’ll act, what you’ll wear, what you’ll like, your skills, your goals and so much more, just from one part of your body. These concepts — man and woman, girl and boy — are so filled with assumptions that who can say what they are? Since I can’t, I’m not going to label myself as one right now, though this is just my opinion and I’m still thinking a lot about it.

While my identity as a queer person is very important to me, that’s not the only part of who I am. I’m a theater geek, an aspiring artist/writer, a lover of graphic novels and manga, a musician, a singer and actor, a total nerd when it comes to school, an optimistic pessimist, a Unitarian Universalist atheist, a liberal and a human. Just like you.

As told to Diana Scholl.
Photo by Laurel Golio, taken in New Rochelle, NY, 2010
To tell your story, email hello@wearetheyouth.org