EMAN EL-HUSSEINI: I met and fell in love with a redhead woman who also happens to be Jewish.

Did I mention I'm Palestinian?

JAY VILAR: "Did you know that gay people have very prominent "roles in politics and business?

Like, did you know that Abraham Lincoln was gay?"

I'd buy the finest bottle of Bajan rum, pour us each a glass on his back deck, and casually mention, "Hey, bro, I'm gonna be your sister from now on."

THERESA OKOKON: Tonight's theme is "Pride."

♪ There are all sorts of things that a person can be proud of-- their identity, their family, their heritage.

Sometimes it's a singular accomplishment or a wise decision.

In tonight's virtual storytelling showcase, our storytellers are going to be telling their true stories of coming out to their friends and family.

♪ EL-HUSSEINI: My name is Eman El-Husseini, I'm a comedian.

I'm from Montreal, Canada.

I currently live in New York but seeking refuge back in Canada during COVID.

And what role did humor play in your household growing up?

And are there other comedians in your family?

Oh my God, everybody's hilarious in my family.

I feel like we have the dynamic of the El Husseini family is basically we're either fighting or we're laughing together.

There's no in between.

There's no neutral.

There's no just having a regular conversation.

It's either an argument or dying laughing.

Did humor play a role throughout your life in dealing with difficult situations?

Yeah, I mean, humor really eases everything.

I feel like the reason I was drawn to it is that's how I learned to communicate from such a young age.

You know, we left Kuwait during the Gulf War... literally in the middle of the night, you know, with barely a suitcase each family member.

And just the way that my parents treated it as if it was just like a regular everyday thing like, "Yeah, we're just... you know, let's pack up.

"And it's like going on vacation.

But we're never coming back home," you know, it's just... (laughing) It really, you know, eased the trauma, I believe instead of... instead of just like having to be like, "This is so heartbreaking.

"We're leaving our home and, you know, our life is gonna change forever."

♪ I was born and raised in the Middle East until the age of ten years old.

Your entire existence is based on making your parents happy.

My mother loved to remind my siblings and I that nobody can enter heaven unless their mother okays it.

Apparently, it's clear, it's all over the Quran.

Um, you could look at Muslim... Muslim mothers as, as, you know, the, the bouncers of the afterlife.

Didn't start off well for me, I'm left handed.

My mother was horrified.

"Oh, my Allah.

Where did I go wrong?"

And she decided to take me to the doctor to see if I was normal.

It didn't help that I was actually a lot bigger for my age, too.

Like when I was two, I looked like I was seven, crawling around.

I didn't do it like a normal child on hands and knees.

I was very hyper and impatient.

So I would crawl on hands and feet.

This terrified anyone and everyone who came into contact with me.

Like "What the hell is wrong with your daughter?

"And does she have a mustache?

What's happening here?"

Luckily, the doctor reassured my mother that I was indeed normal, and I was not possessed by the devil, and discouraged her from making me switch hands.

So I continue to be left-handed today.

This was not the fate of my cousin, whose mother, my aunt, also took him to the doctor to see if he was normal and they actually went with switching hands.

So he's right handed now.

I obviously come from a very good family.

We get to the second obstacle, and I discover I wanted to become a comedic actress.

A career in the entertainment industry is completely forbidden in my culture, especially if you're a good girl who comes from a good family.

And my parents were not shy to drop subtle hints for the career they wanted for me.

My nickname until today is Dr. Eman El-Husseini.

I couldn't hurt my parents' feelings, so, uh... and I wanted to be a good girl, um, because I come from a good family.

I suppressed my dream and reenacted my favorite Egyptian funny plays in my room.

I was closeted about wanting to be an actress.

Fast forward to our move to Canada.

This is the second time my parents escaped war.

First Palestine, now Kuwait.

Moving to Canada was amazing for me.

I mean, look at me, I'm on TV right now.

It was terrible for my parents though.

They left behind them a wonderful life of luxury and children that will do anything to make you happy.

They made all of these sacrifices to give us, myself and my siblings, a better life.

Um, which meant that we had to crush their hopes and dreams.

I, I loved it.

I loved Canada, I met people from different backgrounds, and religions and different sexual orientations.

A pivotal moment for me was in grade eight when I was introduced to Eddie Murphy'sRaw, okay?

It was safe to say at that moment Dr. Eman El-Husseini has left the building.

So I wasn't becoming a doctor.

And I wasn't marrying an Arab guy because every single crush I had was a white boy, basically.

So that's it.

So now I'm in college and my parents come to terms that I will not pursue a career in medicine.

So they settle for next prime minister of Canada.

Um, I'm studying political science while renting every single stand up comedy special I could find at the local Blockbuster.

You guys remember Blockbuster?

I don't want to age myself or anything, but... And, uh, I hit a breaking point.

At one point, I couldn't hold it in anymore.

I had to come clean.

I had to tell my parents that I wanted to drop out of university and pursue a career in stand up comedy.

So I faced my Arab guilt.

Arab guilt, or those of you not familiar with Arab guilt, it's a combination of Jewish guilt and Catholic guilt, multiplied by the number of wars your parents escape.

So now I face my Arab guilt.

I tell my parents I want to be a stand up comedian.

It was terrifying, heartbreaking, and sad, but mostly frustrating, because they had no idea what that meant.

They were like, (accented): "Did we come to this country "so you could become a clown?

You want to work in a circus?"

(unaccented): Needless to say, that was the most difficult thing I had to tell my parents up until I met and fell in love with a redhead... ...woman... who also happens to be Jewish.

Did I mention I'm Palestinian?

I like to be oppressed in the streets and in the sheets.

I can't believe it.

I can't believe I fell in love with a woman.

I can't believe it from the first kiss... from the first kiss we had I immediately fell in love with her.

I mean, maybe I am a traditional Muslim woman after all.

Right?

I don't.

Anyway, um, it was weird that how we got together because all my life, I thought...

I thought I was attracted to men.

Right?

My white boys.

I...

I love Jason Priestley and Jordan Knight from New Kids on the Block.

Come to think of it, maybe I'm just attracted to people's names who start with the letter "J".

Maybe that's my sexuality.

I don't know.

Uh... so her and I were friends for two years on the comedy scene in Montreal before anything romantic happened until one night, we did a show together, we decided to go to the bar and drink and talk about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Very romantic stuff.

And as we're talking, this, this guy comes over with a tray of shots and tells us the solution to the Middle East is for us to kiss.

And, like the Nobel Peace Prize winners, we want to be... we obliged.

And like the lesbians that we are meant to be, we immediately fell in love, and got married.

But now I have to tell my parents.

They were expecting a son-in-law, but it's a girl.

And if you know anything about my people, "It's a girl" is never good news.

There's a million reasons my, my, my wife and I shouldn't be together actually.

You know, heartbreak to our families, um... she is... she's Jewish, I'm Palestinian.

She's... she grew up in the city.

I grew up in the suburbs.

I'm, I'm a Leo.

She's a Taurus.

Like just a million re...

But she is a redhead and her name starts with the letter "J."

Go figure.

My parents did not come to our wedding, but, luckily, they never disowned me or closed the door of their home to us.

I feel ultimately my parents are happy for us, but they're in the closet about it.

♪ VILAR: My name is Jay Vilar.

I live in Boston, Massachusetts.

I am in the crossroads of sustainable health and sustainable agriculture.

I work at a community farm and I also have a nutritional therapy business.

And, of course, everything in this world is virtual right now.

But is this your first time telling a story on a virtual stage?

Uh, yes.

So, I mean, I think we all sort of tell stories in our varying online Zoom meetings.

But having this sort of format of telling a story directly to an audience for sure is the first time I'm telling it like this, which is quite different.

And the theme for tonight is pride.

So can you tell me about how this theme inspires you?

With everyone who is LGBT, they will always have a coming out story.

And when you come to terms based on who you are in your sexual orientation, there's a lot of processing that, that happens.

And that story of how you processed it, and then how your community, your family, your friends, have accepted it or didn't accept it all becomes part of the fabric of what it means to be LGBT.

♪ In the Philippines, the term for grandmother is lola.

And my lola loved three things-- her grandchildren, her garden, and Fox News.

Her nine grandchildren were her pride and joy, and she loved being called "lola."

When she met one of my friends that she really liked, she would make them call her lola, too.

She had the best green thumb and would spend hours working in her garden.

Being an avid self-learner, she would read and study as many books as she could on topics she was passionate about.

When asked what the secret to her little Garden of Eden was, she would say, "All you need is an idea of what you want to grow and simply add Roundup to kill off the weeds."

Growing up, I really didn't know just how conservative my grandmother was until one day around the dinner table when she praised Sarah Palin as the most bravest woman in the world.

I was stunned, and when I learned she was being serious, my mom looked at her and simply said, "Don't worry, my vote will cancel out hers."

In our family, the dinner table was not the only place where food was served.

It was also the place that nourished my curiosity for our family history.

My lola discovered that a potentially fast way to immigrate to the U.S. was through employment.

Over the next decade, the U.S. recruited skilled laborers, and this is how my mom and aunts all became nurses, found jobs in the U.S., followed by my uncle, who became an engineer.

Eventually they all married and had children.

My lola helped raise all of her grandchildren.

She witnessed them reap the benefits of the endless opportunities she saw for us in the U.S.

Growing up, my lola was my primary caretaker because my mom was a career mom.

And one of the ways we spent time together was in the kitchen with her teaching me how to cook traditional Filipino foods.

My favorite was whenever she taught me how to make her chicken adobo recipe.

She would use her specialty herbs she grew in her garden, as well as her "secret ingredient," which simply turned out to be adding a lot of MSG.

And I just liked hanging out with my lola.

On Friday nights, we watched the Golden Girls together, and I distinctly remember her laughing out loud about Blanche's... dating tendencies.

"I really hope she finds someone.

She certainly is popular."

Looking back as an adult, I was in gay childhood heaven.

Eating comfort food in front of TV, watching campy senior citizens dish it out over cheesecake, all with my grandmother?

At 21, I came out as gay, and I was sitting at the table with my mom, my brother, and her, and we were talking about it like it was the weather.

Today's 70 degrees.

Might rain tomorrow.

Jay has a boyfriend.

When the news came towards my lola, I can feel her staunch conservative old world viewed values bump up against her deep love for me.

"Well, I don't think a man should have sex with another man."

I knew my Lola loved me, and that wouldn't stop me, so I simply pushed back.

"What do you know about being gay?"

"I know it's not natural."

My mom jumps to my defense.

"What is natural?

We have lots of gay friends."

My lola, feeling as if she was under attack, leaves the table, heads into her room and closes the door behind her.

The rest of the family simply look at each other, and Mom shrugs her shoulders, and with a, "That's her problem now.

Now who wants ice cream?"

When I think about her reaction now, I know it was influenced by the culture she grew up in.

In the Philippines, people who identify as gay are often not taken seriously because you're judged for being a comedic feminine or a ladyboy.

There were never any prominent gay role models.

But I also don't think that anything to do with the fact that I just like boys.

My lola wanted me to have all the chances and opportunities she was never afforded because she was a girl, an immigrant, spoke with an accent, and now old.

It was her grandchildren's lives she looked through to determine if all her sacrifices were worth it.

So when I came out as gay, she viewed it as a setback to her vision of what was possible for my future.

A few weeks later, I returned home for another family visit.

My lola sits me down on the table and she shares, "So I went to a library and I've been doing some reading.

"And did you know that homosexuality is found "all over history?

"And that gay people have very prominent roles "in politics and business?

"Like, did you know that Abraham Lincoln was gay?

"Well, you're my grandson, and I love you, and I will love anyone you love."

My heart was filled.

(clicks teeth) Aw... Lola...

I love you, too.

And I had to look up the gay Abraham Lincoln thing up myself.

At the time, I was living in Washington, D.C., and friends would love to come home with me, because my childhood home was so close to New York, and my family would throw these epic backyard barbecues and my lola would serve up her famous lumpia, which are Philippine eggrolls.

What I didn't know was that whenever I brought home a male friend, my lola was secretly keeping notice.

"You know, Jay, when you come home for a visit, "I always see you with another boyfriend.

I can barely remember anyone's name."

She spilled the tea all over the table.

The rest of my family couldn't help but interject.

My cousin Michael blurts out, "Oh my God!

Lola just called you popular."

"Lola, they're just my friends."

"Well, call then what you like.

I like the Black one the best."

She was referring to my best friend Brad at the time.

"I just want you to meet a nice man.

Fall in love and be happy."

Well, today, I live with my partner, Scott, and we share a community garden.

I have my own nutritional therapy business that partially warns people of the dangers of glyphosate and MSG, and I found happiness.

If my grandmother was still with us, we would invite her over for dinner, and I would ask her again to please teach me the secret of making her amazing lumpia, and at the end of the meal, she would hug us both and tell Scott that she is his lola now.

♪ HARTFORD: My name is April Hartford and I'm coming to you from my van.

I live in Parks, Arizona, which is about 20 minutes west of Flagstaff, Arizona, about an hour from the Grand Canyon, of all great places.

I am a professional photographer, and I'm very used to telling my stories visually.

Can you tell me what it is about a place that makes it intriguing for you to take its photograph?

Well, it is definitely mostly landscapes, and it's also self portraiture in those landscapes, often nude self portraiture.

So there has to be some remoteness for it.

I do love the Southwest, the desert southwest, the raw landscapes that are naked of any type of vegetation, essentially.

What are you hoping that the audience takes away from your story?

Like my photography, once I do my photography and I make it, I make...

I make the images for myself.

But I never...

I never want to tell anybody what it means to them.

And I think the same is true with any type of art.

I don't...

I don't want to control what somebody sees or hears, and I want them to take away whatever... whatever speaks to them.

♪ I was alone stumbling around in the kitchen early one morning.

The phone rang.

"I want you to know I love you and support you," my brother said.

My soon to be very ex-wife had left the house early that morning to go meet my brother at our office building and out me to him.

I confided in her the night before that I was dealing with cross dressing, and what I now know to be transgender feelings, and that I needed to go to counseling.

Well, she didn't take it well at all.

Not only was I trying to figure out how to deal with her, I now had to figure out how to deal with my brother as well.

It was like an avalanche bowling over me.

My brother had defended me to her, and I was relieved to hear that, but it had to have been a shock to him to hear those words from her.

It was embarrassing to me.

After all, I had figured when the time came to tell him, well, I'd by the finest bottle of Bajan rum, pour us each a glass on his back deck, and casually mention, "Hey, bro, I'm gonna be your sister from now on."

Within a year, I was divorced, thankfully.

I'd left the family business and I moved to Northern Virginia outside of Washington, D.C.

I was anonymous there with so many people.

It was a vastly different place than rural Maine, where I grew up, outdoors with my... with my brother.

He was my best friend.

I mean, we skied on snow and water and we wrestled, we fought like brothers do.

We drove tractors and we did yard work together.

Later on, we ran the family insurance business together and were both well known in the community.

In Virginia, though, I had access to anonymity, to proper transgender healthcare and counseling, and to a new group of open-minded friends.

Well, I had never lived away from family, and although I could be myself without fear, I mean it was heartbreaking at times.

I had spent all day, every day for 12 years, in the same office building as my brother.

My father and my grandfather were often there, too.

And my mother, well, she worked in town.

We got together as family, frequently, and it was just heartbreaking.

I mean, at the same time in my life, I'd left my career, I'd left my family, friends.

The place I lived and the core of my very identity was up in the air.

But luckily I was hyper focused on doing all the work I needed to figure out who I was.

I read a lot of books, and I talked with people dealing with the same things I was dealing with.

I had a great therapist who I saw pretty much every week.

She had prepared me to lose anyone and everyone from my life because in 2010 it was often reality.

It still is reality today.

But hearing that from her, hearing the stories of others, well, just worried me more about telling my family and friends I was trans.

It was terrifying to think of losing them, and that thought, it would haunt me through all of my transition.

I drove back to Maine often to see my family, because I missed them, but it was awkward.

The only people who knew I was dealing with gender issues were my brother and my mother.

And as much as I wanted to talk to them, well, I also didn't want to make it harder on them.

I didn't have things figured out for myself yet, and it made me figure out, well, why would I want to confuse them and try to make our relationship worse?

So I didn't address it.

I just went back to putting on my old male persona and kept things as stable as I could.

It would take me planning three trips to Maine to finally tell my dad.

I drove up there twice and chickened out.

Then I went back to Virginia and drank the entire bottle of Crown Royal that I'd bought to tell him over.

Well, drinking had become my coping mechanism, and it was something my therapist knew.

But, luckily, the drinking never got that out of control, probably because of my therapist.

My brother did help me figure out how to finally tell my dad.

So, when I did, he thought for a second, he looked at me, and he said, "Okay.

"I love you.

Are we still going to dinner tonight?"

Then he hugged me, and we went to dinner that night, and everything was fine ever since then.

So nobody's reaction to me being trans has ever confused me more than my dad's.

I decided to have my first gender surgery in August of 2011.

It would be in San Francisco with one of the leading facial feminization surgeons at the time.

And my mother and my brother both insisted that they'd be there for it, trading off times to be my nurse.

Well, I thought things up until then had been awkward.

There was a point when I finally had to realize that I couldn't protect them from the awkwardness anymore.

I couldn't protect myself from the awkwardness.

Me being drugged to high hell in a hospital bed, my face was all wrapped up, and I was totally reconfigured.

Tubes were coming out of everywhere.

Well, that was the moment.

You know how we all hear about control being an illusion?

Yeah, that was when I learned about it firsthand.

A couple of weeks later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of a rental car beside my brother.

He was gonna be leaving to go home that day.

At the start of it all, he told me, well, he'd always have my back, and he was trying to prove it with his actions.

But I was still worried that our relationship wouldn't last because of all those things that my therapist had told me at the beginning.

Well, it was easy to be with him when I was pretending to be a guy because, you know, we were guys.

We'd say goodbye, we'd shake a hand, you know, whatever was easy.

Well, as brother and sister now, we had to figure everything out again.

So I went in for a hug.

Did not go well.

There was a center console, it was a small car, and I had boobs.

It was one of the most awkward hugs of my life.

Most of my friends, they've stood by me.

Some had slipped away.

Only one was mean to my face.

But, my family, they have been immovable from my side.

They protected and defended me despite all of my worries.

And my brother and I, well, we have a stronger relationship now than we ever have.

And even though we live so far apart, and don't see each other much, we do talk every week.

Yay, technology, right?

But looking back on everything, I do wonder if my ex actually helped me out by barging into my brother's office, and telling him I was trans before I did.

I mean, we were always taught to stick together as family, and I think when she tried to pit him against me that day, well, there was no way that my big brother was gonna let anything... he wasn't gonna let anything come between him and me.

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