I’m From Honduras, But I Never Felt at Home Until I Moved to Taipei

It's kind of funny, but I never realized that I was bisexual — instead, I realized that not everyone else is. Growing up in Honduras, I remember sitting around with my friends and bringing up my crushes on women like Gwen Stefani or Kate Beckinsale, and getting these blank looks from the other girls. They didn’t understand what I meant — and I understood that I was different.

Honduras has made some strides in LGBT acceptance, but it still has a very long way to go. Old habits of Catholic traditionalism and a culture of machismo die hard, and what little progress has been made has mostly been for gay men. Mention anything about LGBT or queerness in Honduras, and people think you’re just talking about gay guys. Everyone else is simply erased.

I moved across the world to Taipei, Taiwan, in 2017 to get my master's degree, and I ended up staying. I graduated years ago, and now I’m a packaging and branding designer. I’ve always been enamored with Asian culture, and I’ve found Taipei to be more open-minded and accepting than Honduras — and that goes for all kinds of queer people, including bis, lesbians, and trans folks. In the Taipei queer scene, there’s a wonderful celebration of what makes us all different, not just from mainstream society, but also from one another. It’s hard to express just how welcoming and heartwarming it’s been.

During the loneliness and isolation of the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, I realized how many other bi people must be out there in the closet, and I met a bunch of them online. I was in my early 30s and still in the closet myself. The time felt right to come out. It started out with bisexual “horny on main” posts on social media, but before long I was practically screaming it to the world. I wasn’t alone. A lot of folks came out during the pandemic. We call ourselves “covid queers”. And contrary to popular belief, we’re not all a bunch of teenagers or 20-somethings. In Taipei, at least, the queer scene is dominated above all by folks in their 30s.

There’s an old joke about bisexuality, which is true, that you’re never really done coming out of the closet. Some people don’t believe you’re bi when you tell them. Some don’t believe that bisexuality exists. Some tell you you’re really straight, or lesbian, or confused. It’s one reason I’ve never officially come out to my family back in Honduras. Once in a heated argument many years ago, I blurted out that I was bi in a moment of frustration. My parents took it very poorly, but they also refused to fully believe it. They thought I was just lashing out and saying things to hurt them. The truth is, my parents are stubbornly anti-LGBT, but they’re also not fools. They know that I’m bi, on some level, they just can’t accept the reality of it, so it’s become a subject matter we never bring up together.

But I’ve found a family here in Taipei. I started a local chapter of amBi, a bi social club, and it’s connected me with lots of other bi folks. It was so refreshing to find people to just hang out with, to watch movies or play video games with, and to just be together without making it about sexual orientation, but rather shared interests. I also joined a troupe of bisexual, lesbian, trans, and other queer women who do drag shows, called Another Drag Show Taipei, and they’ve become some of my closest confidants — the folks I turn to when I have problems, or have something to get off my chest, or need to work through a difficult experience. I can’t tell you how lucky and grateful I am to have found this community. Together, we’ve created a family, a place where we can all be ourselves, and where we all belong.

One thing I’ve had to confront since coming out as bi is the constant expectation of me to perform my bisexuality. As though if people don’t see me with a man and woman at the same time, or at least alternating between them, then I must not be who I say I am. The pressure that is put on you can mess with your mind if you let it. There was a period when I had a sort of identity crisis. I started to second-guess myself. “Maybe I’m not really bisexual. Maybe I’m not really queer.” But I realized I can’t live my life to conform to the stereotype other people have in their heads. Nobody needs to perform their sexuality. I’m just me, and that’s all I need to be. If there’s one piece of advice I’d have given to my younger self, it’s that. Live your life — not the life other people assume for you.