Being queer on campus: A quiet kind of belonging

When I was deciding which university to attend, I didn’t really think about queerness. For most of my life, I’ve been used to minimizing that part of myself—keeping it compartmentalized, or just not naming it at all – from fear of backlash or in order to avoid somehow inconveniencing the people around me. So it didn’t really occur to me to consider what the queer community or climate would be like when choosing schools. That being said, TMU has been a most welcome surprise. 

I remember attending a few queer-focused events during Frosh Week and thinking, “Oh… I can just exist here.” There was no performance required. No big coming out moment. No pressure to prove anything. It wasn’t about queerness being this huge, central narrative or even as derogatory, as I’ve come to know it, but more about the fact that it didn’t have to be. I didn’t have to perform my identity or hide it, and I have found that to be extremely comforting. 

At TMU, being queer doesn’t feel like a spectacle. You can choose freely when and/or how to share that part of yourself, or you can just quietly live in it, and both are valid. 

Coming from a country where I wouldn’t necessarily face legal persecution the way many do in parts of Africa, but where queerness is still deeply taboo, I spent most of my life being questioned, ridiculed or harmed for it. It was exhausting. Before, I was constantly holding my breath, scanning the room, anticipating the next subtle jab or open slander, and having to steel myself against any bullying. I felt like I always had to be “on”, ready to advocate, explain, defend (both for myself and others). I was hyper-aware of my surroundings, always reading the room, always calculating. Now, thanks to the community that surrounds me, I feel like I can finally breathe. And that, honestly, was more healing than I expected. 

Now, queerness isn’t a name tag or baggage I have to carry around. I’m free to explore and embrace all the other parts of my personality while still being able to find community when and where I need it. Thus, to me, the impact of my experience hasn’t just been the existence of queer events and spaces at TMU; it’s how many there are, how well-attended they are, and how warm and receptive both the organizers and other students have been (allies and those part of the community). 

Being able to exist at the intersection of all my identities—Black, queer, African, a STEM student, an immigrant, an artist, an avid anime lover, an avid avocado hater, an athlete, a green thumb, etc. etc. etc.—has allowed me to come into myself in a way I can’t quite explain. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Like I can finally exhale. For the first time in a long time, I feel calm. Queerness is no longer something I have to fear being punished for, or something that sits at the centre of how I’m perceived. It’s no longer the lens that dictates every interaction or determines how I move through the world. It's simply just another part of who I am.

My first year at TMU helped me reconnect with all those identities —and for the first time, I felt like I didn’t have to shrink any of them to belong. I could explore my full self, without needing to explain it or justify my presence. 

There’s a rich, warm culture on campus; not just within the queer community, but woven into the campus culture as a whole. In so many corners of campus life there is this atmosphere of ease and acceptance – a kind of quiet openness that makes existing in all your forms feel natural. And honestly, it’s one of the things I appreciate deeply about schooling here.

It also doesn’t hurt that Church Street—the famously queer, joy-filled neighbourhood—is just up the road from campus. That sense of community isn’t just symbolic, it’s tangible. You can walk outside and feel it. 

Through TMU, I also learned about a number of scholarships and resources for 2SLGBTQ+ students, one of which was the Bill 7 Award, which I received in my first year. That award not only helped ease the financial burden of being a refugee claimant and international student, but also connected me to a wider network of queer students, organizers, and advocates both within and beyond the TMU community. It reminded me that I am part of something larger. That there are people who want me here. Being surrounded by other queer students and hearing stories from queer elders at the award ceremony reminded me that my story matters, and the powerful extent of representation.

Now, going into my second year, I’m hoping to get more involved with The Queer Space (external link) , one of TMU’s Equity Service Centres, and continue building connections across campus. There’s still so much I want to explore, and so much I hope to give back. 

If I could give any advice to other students from marginalized communities, especially those who are queer or questioning, it would be two things, maybe even slightly contradictory ones: 

1. You don’t have to come out, express yourself a certain way, or conform to anything to belong here. You are already enough. 

2. But also: don’t be afraid to take up space, as you see fit. There is so much life to be lived! And being vulnerable enough to try—even just a little—almost always leads to the people and opportunities meant for you. 

Yes, heteronormative expectations still exist. Yes, being an international student navigating queerness can come with pressure and confusion. But this doesn’t have to be another stressor. This can be your soft place to land. Your space to expand. 

And above all: Don’t be afraid to speak up. There is nothing you have to carry alone.