This essay, by Zixuan Wang, 18, of Beijing is one of the Top 10 winners of The Learning Network’s “How To” Informational Writing Contest.
How to Come Out to Your Friend
“Coming out is like pulling a cake from the oven — you know it’s done when the room smells right,” says Bao Liwei, a cafe owner in Chengdu. His shop, tucked between a noodle stall and a mahjong hall, doubles as an unofficial sanctuary for patrons needing a quiet word. For seven years, he has baked rainbow cakes for local LGBTQ+ communities and quietly counseled over a dozen friends through their coming-out journeys. “Timing matters,” he adds, dusting flour from his apron. “But so does the recipe.”
Begin by choosing your moment. Not during a birthday party, not mid-argument, not while your friend is struggling with a work deadline. Wait for a lull — a walk home after dinner, a late-night text thread, a quiet corner of a park where rain drums against shared umbrellas. Speak plainly. Say, “There’s something I want you to know,” or “I trust you with this.” Avoid metaphors about journeys or closets; clarity is kinder. Bao insists, “Your friend isn’t a critic. They’re a guest at your table. Serve the truth plainly, like tea.”
Anticipate pauses. Silence isn’t rejection — it’s digestion. Let your friend ask questions, even clumsy ones. If they say, “But you dated so many people of the opposite sex!” reply, “Yes, and that was part of figuring it out.” If they joke, “Does this mean we can’t share clothes anymore?” — laugh. Humor is a bridge, not a dismissal. Should they stumble into well-meaning but painful clichés (“You’re so brave!”), gently reframe: “It’s not bravery. It’s just me.”
Why does this matter? Because secrecy weighs more than awkwardness. Because friendship, at its core, is about seeing and being seen. Bao recalls a customer who practiced coming-out speeches into her cappuccino foam for weeks. “One day, she brought her best friend here, ordered two slices of matcha cake, and said it all in one breath. By the time she finished, her friend was crying — not from shock, but from guilt. ‘You thought I wouldn’t get it?’ she said. ‘I’ve known since we were 15!’”
End as you began: with simplicity. Say, “Thank you for listening,” or “I’m still the same person.” Then shift the conversation — to the weather, the coffee shop down the street, the absurdity of your boss’s latest message. Normalcy is a gift. As Bao puts it, sprinkling edible glitter onto a batch of cookies: “After the confession comes the real work: letting them love you the same way, just with better ingredients.”