from Monica Waterston
Monica Waterston
Dallas, TexasI’d known since the age of four that I was somehow different from the other girls I knew, but it wasn’t until the age of seventeen that I finally realized I was a lesbian. Living in a state as conservative as Texas, I knew that my life would become a living hell if I came out; I was convinced that my family would love me just a little less if they ever found out, so I tried my best to hide it for as long as I could. Finally, on the night before my eighteenth birthday, I couldn’t hide it any longer. My family wasn’t exactly pleased, and they didn’t have to say anything to let me know what they were thinking: I was choosing to lead a life of loneliness with only a dog or two for company. They shared the opinion that I suspected most of Texas felt: that just because of whom I chose to love, I was regarded as a freak, unfit for society; I would die alone, never knowing true love.
I was determined to prove them wrong, and I did just that when I went to college and began a relationship with an amazing woman. I owe a lot to her, but one of the things I’m most thankful for is the day she introduced me to Vienna’s music. She played “The Tower” for me one night, and I was so moved by it that I went out and bought Waking Hour and Warm Strangers quickly thereafter. That was three years ago, and I’ve had a Vienna Teng song to help me through every hard patch in my life since. “Lullabye for a Stormy Night” helped me get through my first breakup; it comforted me in a way I can’t quite explain. I knew that just like the storm in the song, the storm I was going through would pass and give me a chance to start over and create something beautiful. “Eric’s Song” helped me feel closer to my best friend when she was thousands of miles away spending a semester abroad in France, and “Unwritten Letter #1″ helped me deal with the most unrequited of loves.
I am so grateful for those songs and the comfort they gave during the hard times in my life, but the song I am especially thankful for is “City Hall.” When my copy of Dreaming Through the Noise came this summer, I put it in the player immediately and lost myself in the music. When I got to “City Hall,” it brought me to tears. The lyrics gave me hope that I would find a woman someday who loved me enough to share a life with me. It made me believe that things will finally change in America, that one day, I won’t be denied basic human rights because society doesn’t think I deserve them.
When I went to see Vienna’s show at Sons of Hermann Hall in Dallas this past August, I was beside myself with joy. I was finally going to see the woman whose music had become such a part of my life. When she played “City Hall” for her last song, it was, quite honestly, one of the most memorable experiences I’ve ever had. Almost from the first few chords, the crowd started clapping and yelling enthusiastically. I saw couples of all orientations kissing and expressing their love for each other. It was there, in that moment, that I knew not everyone in Texas thought that being gay was wrong. I had always felt like somewhat of an outcast my entire life, but there, listening to Vienna’s voice and the cheers from the crowd around me, I was able to remember that I was not an outcast—I was just a girl who happened to love differently. Thanks, Vienna.
[ I didn't want to use a picture of me, so I included this candid picture that I took of two of my friends this summer. When most people look at it, they don't say anything about how it's two guys. Instead, everyone comments on how they see the love that these two have for each other, and that's all that really matters, anyway.
]