MOVED TO SPAIN TO LIVE WITH MY UNCLE AND HIS FAMILY AFTER MY PARENTS’ DEATH

When I was 10 years old, I lost my dad. Six months later, I lost my mom. Then, two years later, I lost my sister. 

Each of them suffered a different kind of death:

My dad had a heart attack

My mom had breast cancer.

My sister was in a train accident.

My dad knew my mom was going to die. He was the only one in the family who knew that she had breast cancer after having been through it once already. My dad took her to the best doctors in Bulgaria. And he went on a ship to sail abroad and earn more money to better provide for her. 

He died in Japan. 

The moment my mom found out about my dad’s death, she just gave up. It’s gonna sound weird, but I am happy she did. I am happy that she didn’t care that we, her children, were there. The great love of her life died. She didn’t find the strength to go on to live her life.

So when I think about my parents’ death, I say to myself that they died because they loved each other so much. I want to love someone someday so much that I’m going to be willing to give up and just let it go. 

After my parents’ death, I moved in with my uncle and aunt who were immigrant workers in Alicante, Spain. I lived with them throughout high school. The hardest period of my life was my initial years in Spain because they didn’t accept me. I was gay.

My uncle and aunt didn’t know I was homosexual during our first year living together. Then they found out. The daughter of my cousin read my journal. And he said it out loud to them that I was gay. My aunt asked me to go to see a psychologist and get hormonal treatment so that I could change. 

And I was aware that I could never change. You could increase the amount of hair on my skin and make me smell more like a man. But I know who I am. It is in my mind. I knew it from the age of six when I was crying to see Leonardo di Caprio drowning in The Titanic. I was so mad at Kate Winslet for not dying instead. I knew who I was.

I used to overeat and be a chubby kid during high school. 

Being gay is not an easy thing to be. Not even in Spain. It is super hard. If someone asked me back then if I could switch to be straight, if there was a switch to be straight, I would do it in a second to make things easy. What I’m living not freaking easy.

So I hate it when people say “you are gay because it is popular to be one.” It’s not popular. It is what it is and it has always been. The history is full of gay people. Alexander the Great was gay. Everybody knows it. No point in hiding it.

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