JACKIE
I was born in Colombo, Sri Lanka. We lived there until I was 11 and then we migrated to Australia. It was a time in Sri Lanka when the political climate was changing. My family were Dutch Burghers, a group who had previously been privileged but that was changing. Anyone that could get citizenship in another country moved out, including us.
The key messages from my childhood were enjoying people and enjoying food. Music was a big part of life. Everyone played the piano and sang, it was a thread that connected everyone in our lives. I took lessons from about five years old. My mum and aunts belonged to a light opera group called The Colombo Singers and we grew up around rehearsals and performances. I feel that has continued in my life in a way through GALSWA.
When I first got to Perth it was a tough time. We didn’t expect any problems, we just thought we were coming to a land of milk and honey. Life was more comfortable in many ways but integrating was really hard. My brother and I were teased a lot and it took several years to form friendships and be part of the mainstream. The colour of our skin, the way we spoke; there was a lot of racism in the 1970s in Perth. A lot of kids from India and Sri Lanka got teased. I used to be called ‘Jackie the Paki’, which is just so stupid because I’m not even from Pakistan. Everything was a huge adjustment.
Whilst I’ve borne the brunt of ridicule as a migrant, I haven’t as a gay person. For me I just didn’t go through the normal things that other teenagers go through. I didn’t have boyfriends, I had lots of secret crushes on women. My dad noticed it once and said ‘Oh it’s natural to have crushes on girls, it will pass’. But it never did. I grew up in a very ungay world. People never spoke about it and when they did it was negative. I didn’t think I knew anyone gay and I guess for a long time I hoped that one day I’d fall in love with a man and follow a traditional path. I’m quite a traditional person! I came out when I was 28 and that was when I’d met a lesbian. She must have picked it and we started talking about it. But it’s something I guess I’ve always known. I have a clear memory when I was 15 at the school library and pulling a book off the shelf on sexuality and reading about lesbians. I thought ‘That must be what I am’ but at the time that book went straight back on the shelf!
It was easy to come out to myself because I’d secretly known all those years. It was just finding a label. But coming out to people was hard because I wasn’t living in a world where I could guess how people would react. Telling my parents was especially hard. It took quite a while to tell my mum. She was very calm. She said she’d sort of guessed. But I know it wasn’t easy for her. It took me longer to tell my dad but he had a similar reaction. I didn’t have any negative reactions to my face but over the years I have had a few people apologise for not being more supportive at the time. I think some people did struggle with it, especially my brother who became very religious so he knew I was going to hell. But it was very hard. I cried every time I told someone and they could see how traumatic it was for me. They probably didn’t have the heart to give me a negative response. I think when you hold on to a secret for so long it’s quite emotional letting it out. And you risk losing people. Even thinking about it now I‘m very grateful to everyone for being accepting. It’s a great watershed moment in your life. There’s no doubt that it’s the right thing to do but it’s still scary.
Coming out was exciting. It was a whole new world for me to explore and a whole new community for me to join, which seemed very foreign. There was a feeling of liberation and being true to myself. It was the first radical thing I’d ever done. It felt a bit like being on a fast bike without a helmet. It was so nice to be able to express how I felt about someone – I’d never told anyone about any of my crushes. It wasn’t a smooth ride but at least it felt like I was on the right ride. I was being myself.
I remember my first Pride march in 1993, walking down William Street. I remember thinking ‘Wow I’m out in my city and everyone might know I’m gay’. It was liberating because we were the centre of attention and everyone supported us. It was a powerful feeling.
I work at a university, where they couldn’t be more open. There’s nothing to hide. But around family I don’t shout too loudly about it, I don’t need to make a big deal of it. But it’s true to say that you are always coming out. Whenever you’re joining a new group or starting a new job or whatever. Sometimes that can be a bit hard. I don’t always come out now. If it comes up I’ll say, but it often doesn’t. And certainly coming out now is nowhere near as big a deal as it was in the 90s.
I’ve experienced being on the outer and I like to extend a hand to those on the periphery. I feel like that’s my role in choir. Making sure that people are connected and OK.
The key messages from my childhood were enjoying people and enjoying food. Music was a big part of life. Everyone played the piano and sang, it was a thread that connected everyone in our lives. I took lessons from about five years old. My mum and aunts belonged to a light opera group called The Colombo Singers and we grew up around rehearsals and performances. I feel that has continued in my life in a way through GALSWA.
When I first got to Perth it was a tough time. We didn’t expect any problems, we just thought we were coming to a land of milk and honey. Life was more comfortable in many ways but integrating was really hard. My brother and I were teased a lot and it took several years to form friendships and be part of the mainstream. The colour of our skin, the way we spoke; there was a lot of racism in the 1970s in Perth. A lot of kids from India and Sri Lanka got teased. I used to be called ‘Jackie the Paki’, which is just so stupid because I’m not even from Pakistan. Everything was a huge adjustment.
Whilst I’ve borne the brunt of ridicule as a migrant, I haven’t as a gay person. For me I just didn’t go through the normal things that other teenagers go through. I didn’t have boyfriends, I had lots of secret crushes on women. My dad noticed it once and said ‘Oh it’s natural to have crushes on girls, it will pass’. But it never did. I grew up in a very ungay world. People never spoke about it and when they did it was negative. I didn’t think I knew anyone gay and I guess for a long time I hoped that one day I’d fall in love with a man and follow a traditional path. I’m quite a traditional person! I came out when I was 28 and that was when I’d met a lesbian. She must have picked it and we started talking about it. But it’s something I guess I’ve always known. I have a clear memory when I was 15 at the school library and pulling a book off the shelf on sexuality and reading about lesbians. I thought ‘That must be what I am’ but at the time that book went straight back on the shelf!
It was easy to come out to myself because I’d secretly known all those years. It was just finding a label. But coming out to people was hard because I wasn’t living in a world where I could guess how people would react. Telling my parents was especially hard. It took quite a while to tell my mum. She was very calm. She said she’d sort of guessed. But I know it wasn’t easy for her. It took me longer to tell my dad but he had a similar reaction. I didn’t have any negative reactions to my face but over the years I have had a few people apologise for not being more supportive at the time. I think some people did struggle with it, especially my brother who became very religious so he knew I was going to hell. But it was very hard. I cried every time I told someone and they could see how traumatic it was for me. They probably didn’t have the heart to give me a negative response. I think when you hold on to a secret for so long it’s quite emotional letting it out. And you risk losing people. Even thinking about it now I‘m very grateful to everyone for being accepting. It’s a great watershed moment in your life. There’s no doubt that it’s the right thing to do but it’s still scary.
Coming out was exciting. It was a whole new world for me to explore and a whole new community for me to join, which seemed very foreign. There was a feeling of liberation and being true to myself. It was the first radical thing I’d ever done. It felt a bit like being on a fast bike without a helmet. It was so nice to be able to express how I felt about someone – I’d never told anyone about any of my crushes. It wasn’t a smooth ride but at least it felt like I was on the right ride. I was being myself.
I remember my first Pride march in 1993, walking down William Street. I remember thinking ‘Wow I’m out in my city and everyone might know I’m gay’. It was liberating because we were the centre of attention and everyone supported us. It was a powerful feeling.
I work at a university, where they couldn’t be more open. There’s nothing to hide. But around family I don’t shout too loudly about it, I don’t need to make a big deal of it. But it’s true to say that you are always coming out. Whenever you’re joining a new group or starting a new job or whatever. Sometimes that can be a bit hard. I don’t always come out now. If it comes up I’ll say, but it often doesn’t. And certainly coming out now is nowhere near as big a deal as it was in the 90s.
I’ve experienced being on the outer and I like to extend a hand to those on the periphery. I feel like that’s my role in choir. Making sure that people are connected and OK.