As a confused but bright-eyed fifth grader, I was carefree and wild, mostly concerned with three things: attaching neon feathers to my hair, moving my body to the newest pop hits, and contemplating which ecosystem to unearth in my backyard. Then my mom told me she was in love with another woman. We had never spoken about her dating life or sexuality following the turbulent years with my father, but they were never married nor lived together, so separation was almost unnoticeable from the start. My mom told me, “I am in love with this person, and she just happens to be a woman.” I must have known the truth somewhere deep inside, because I remember that my cheerful knee-jerk response was, “I knew it.” As a 10-year-old, I didn’t feel the need to question her. I trusted my mom’s decision in choosing whom to love. To me, it didn’t matter, but to the world, it seemed to matter a whole lot. And since that day, my heart has yearned for a world where love is freely chosen and bestowed.