Iza

From the interview:

'The poem Wieg (Cradle) by Ida Gerhardt was printed on my birth announcement. Gerhardt lived in Zutphen — my mum's ex knew her well. Now I'm standing on the IJsselkade overlooking the river, next to the statue of the poet who so often wrote about water. She was living with her female partner in the 1950s, which was pretty rare at the time.

I always loved living here. With my parents and two sisters, we spent loads of time outdoors. Our family felt warm and safe. I remember once we were camping in France and built a gnome village out of whatever we found in the forest. My parents are anthroposophists. We built cubby houses in the woods wearing clothes we were allowed to get dirty. There was a lot of freedom, and everything could be talked about.

At home too — my mum is very open. She noticed how happy I was being really close with my girlfriends. So when I was fourteen, she asked, "Do you think you might like girls?" She wanted to show me I didn't have to keep anything secret, that my feelings were okay and we could talk about them. But I got really angry. I even felt insulted. I think I just assumed I'd be into boys. I couldn't imagine anything else.

It's a strange reaction, looking back. My aunt was living with her girlfriend. At school, we celebrated Purple Friday with enthusiasm. Maybe I did have those feelings already? Maybe being a lesbian just wasn't as visible back then — not like now, with rainbow zebra crossings and flags everywhere, and young people experimenting with pronouns.

As a teenager I never had a relationship — it was always just me and my girlfriends. When I was nineteen, I started wondering if maybe I liked women too. I looked at girls on dating apps, but it felt too intense, too close. I didn't go on my first date until I was twenty. That's when I realised I was more attracted to women than men. There's a certain look, a kind of chemistry — you just recognise each other.'

Continue reading in the book