My older sister Yasmina and I are pretty much the only queer Lithuanian siblings in Australia.
Growing up, our weekends were dedicated to dance rehearsals with our Lithuanian folk dancing group Sukurys. We also went to Lithuanian festivals and celebrated religious events like All Souls Day/Vėlinės andKaziuko Mūgė or Saint Casimir's Fair day.
Yasmina’s coming out story is hilarious. In 2008 I went to Lithuania for the first time with my younger brother Dominic. Yasmina couldn’t come, much to the sadness of our Baba (great-grandmother) who repeatedly insisted on paying for her plane ticket so she could find a husband and get married.
A few years later this arranged marriage discussion was brought up by my mother at dinner. Yasmina started doing this weird laugh-crying thing when I said: “Hmmm I don’t know about a husband [for Yasmina] …maybe wife?” I dropped a bomb and ran away for my sister to deal with the fallout.
Giorgia (dark hair), Yasmina and their brother Dominic as kids. Source: Supplied
There was silence until my brother said: “Sick, I always wanted a gay sister!” My Mama only stammered, “What...what does this mean?” It must have gone well, because I came back and finished my dinner with silence around the table.
My coming out story was less dramatic. I fell head over heels for a woman I locked eyes with on a sleepy morning train to work. She was walking up the stairs at Redfern, the sun shone over her half shaved burnt orange hair. We stared at each other and that was it. I told my mum over coffee to which she said, “Right ok, would you like cake?” Yasmina said I was just copying her.
Though we identify as queer my sister and I are very different. She has been engaged to a woman and is attracted to women, whereas I am very fluid and attracted to all queer, non-binary, trans individuals which is not understood by my tėtis (father). My dad’s dream is for me to get married in a white ball gown to a cis straight man.
Despite the lack of understanding in our culture and family, my sister and I have found love and community – in queer inclusive choirs but also as queer siblings – queerblings.
To have my sister Yasmina – someone that understands my family, culture and queerness is incredibly comforting. We even date and club together.
Yasmina and I are late queers to the game which makes dating somewhat awkward at times as we can both be on the same queer dating apps. I’ve had to swipe left on her a few times.
It also doesn’t help that we look incredibly similar and are always mistaken for a couple.
This coupling comparison was never-ending during our last trip to Europe. To avoid missing out on any international action, I would hold up my phone in lesbian clubs with the Google translation of “We are sisters” in Spanish (Somos hermanas) while dancing with women to reggaeton.
Giorgia and Yasmina at this year's Mardi Gras. Source: Supplied
Both our parents were born in 1950s Australia, to Lithuanian migrants who fled Soviet occupation and were granted asylum in Australia after World War 2.
In a tiny Ashfield dumpling restaurant, I recently asked my tėtis if he had heard of the term “non-binary”. He wasn’t expecting a night of queer discourse served with a plate of steaming hot soup dumplings. He stared back at me, slowly chewing his new favourite dish of garlic braised eggplant and replied: “What?” I explained to him my views on gender fluidity and his response was curt: “You know what you are when you look between your legs”. I sighed and looked down between my legs. I only saw stains of soy sauce and vinegar on my trousers.
I asked him if he knew of any gay people in our community and he did. “Yeah, there was one,” he said. “He just said it and put it out there. It’s like you say to people hey hello I have this scar on my arm and move on”. That was it, my dad’s only encounter with a “gay person” until his wife gave birth to two queer sisters and a son.
Although homosexuality was decriminalised in Lithuania in 1993, the heteronormative family structure is deeply rooted in our folk songs, customs and traditions filtered through the Catholic Church. Most Lithuanian words classed as either “masculine or feminine”. The way your last name is pronounced specifies whether you are single or married.
Our erasure as sisters in this silence is complex, but the affirmation of our existence in each other helps us to progress forward and believe a new family structure is possible.
We know who we are and, we are vocal about it even though the Lithuanian community may turn its head and ignore our right to be dvi gėjų lietuviškos seserys (two gay sisters).
