I wish I could tell you that coming out was easy. I wish I could tell you it happened in one moment, in one big brave breath—but the truth is, it didn’t. It started in the quietest way. I was 17, sitting alone in my room, crying so hard I could barely speak. I picked up my phone and called my sister—the one I trusted more than anyone. And somehow, through all the shaking and the fear, I told her, “I think I’m Gay.”
I made her promise not to tell anyone. But before I could even wipe my tears, my other sister knew too. She came upstairs, sat beside me, cared and listened. That moment didn’t fix everything, but it was the first time I felt seen, felt held, felt a tiny spark of hope.
But coming out didn’t stop there. It wasn’t a one-time thing. It was—and still is—something I carry with me every day. There were nights when I heard my mom cry behind closed doors, wishing I was “cured.” There were moments when I questioned if I’d ever be fully accepted—not just by my family, but by my community, my culture, even myself.
And then I came to Centennial. I started to find my voice again—not just for me, but for everyone who ever felt like they didn’t belong. I became a student leader. I sat at tables where decisions were made. I fought for safer spaces. I worked to make sure students like me, especially those from immigrant families, racialized backgrounds, and queer identities, felt seen, heard, and valued.
It wasn’t perfect. There were moments when I felt alone in the fight. Moments when I wondered if it was even making a difference. But every time I heard a student say, “I feel safer because you spoke up,” I knew why I kept going.
I’ve learned that coming out isn’t just about saying “I’m queer.” It’s about choosing to live fully, loudly, and unapologetically—over and over again. It’s about using my voice, even when it shakes. It’s about building spaces where the next generation won’t have to be as scared as I once was.
I’m still figuring it all out. Some days I’m still scared. But here I am. Still standing. Still speaking. Still choosing love—love for myself, for my community, and for those who haven’t found their voice yet.
My name is Khushbir Singh. I am a proud QUEER Punjabi student. And I am not going anywhere. Because people like me deserve to take up space—proudly, loudly, unapologetically. I’m still figuring it all out, but I know this much: I’m not hiding anymore.