Watching the news as a 11-year-old wondering why my eyes were glued to the TV as Aotearoa announced same-sex marriage was legalised. I didn’t really know what it meant, I just knew something monumental was happening. I developed allyship for these people I didn’t even know existed. By thirteen I had the first inkling I may have been different; I never cared for boys, I don’t think I had ever had a crush. With this new found language circling through my community and the media, I started to connect the dots. Before I even knew what these words meant, I knew I was it, and more so, I knew it was a bad thing.
Growing up queer was 7 years of whiplash. Coming out wasn’t a single triumphant moment and accepting myself came in ebbs and flows. It wasn’t a secret, but it was shameful. Surviving bullying, religious trauma, and heartbreak is a hard thing to endure when you’re forcing yourself to go through it all alone.
So fuck year I wave that inclusive pride flag – it’s liberating. Being overtly queer isn’t about flaunting who we sleep with or demanding special treatment. Pride is about honour. It’s acknowledging that despite how hard the world tries to make queerness small, we have grown, loved, and thrived anyway. And the truth is, it’s a huge deal. Heteronormativity is such an ingrained part of our world that simply existing outside it becomes an act of resistance. Everything from laws to love songs to casual conversation assumes straightness as the default. We need rainbows, parades, drag queens, and marriage equality not for decoration, but for survival. Each is a reminder that queerness deserves light, not shadows.
Being the rainbow flying gay means refusing to dim that light for anyone. It’s about reclaiming every insult, every silence, every attempt to erase us, and turning it into something bright and proud. It’s carrying the legacy of those who couldn’t wave their flags openly – and making sure future generations won’t have to wonder whether they’re allowed to.
To be prideful isn’t seeking acceptance or forcing eyes on who you want to sleep with. It’s feeling honourable about who you are. It’s a daily declaration: I exist, I matter, and I will not apologise for either. When I lift that flag, I lift my younger self too – the confused kid transfixed by a news broadcast, who didn’t yet know that queerness was not a curse but a kind of beauty. I wave for them, and for everyone still finding their rainbow. It’s for the moment, that one day, when I mention my girlfriend no one even bats an eye.
