I still recall it sometimes. That night when I saw you for the first time, the rain drizzling down as a reminder of the fading summer. That night when I was hit in the face by something as delicate as your personality. It’s been a while, but I remember it so clearly, how you came walking up that parking lot in that weird looking jeans jacket of yours. I remember your shoes and I remember your eyes flickering out of insecurity, and I remember that instant moment when I realised that you were not as everyone else, and I remember everything you said after that.
During those three hours of walk, I felt the presence of someone in a way I couldn’t relate to from before. I remember how you told me about yourself; about your dreams and about how you hated those new buildings close to the water. About how you had thoughts of becoming a police officer but doubted yourself too much, and how you would like to work with people. And what I remember the most; You. Your way of moving yourself, your way of continuously excusing yourself for no reason, the smell of your perfume, your ways of expressing yourself, your voice, your way of being so modest and so unpretentious despite the undisputable beauty of your whole being. You caught me because you were you, and nobody else. Because you were smart without realising it, because you didn’t try, because you saw me.
When circumstances of reality is not coherent with the irrational truth of the mind, the mind prevails. And the more distant you became, the more I missed you. The more you rejected me, the more I loved you. The more you despised me, the more I understood you. The more time that elapsed, the more I missed what never became. The thought of you gave me life and removed it in the same blink of an eye, gave me force to live and killed it simultaneously. You made me alive, hence, should I have denied you, and I had also denied life. Within the paradox of unconditional love lies my inability to despise you, hate you or forget you. Whatever you did, whatever you said or however many days that passed. For I could not deny the impression you made, or the person I saw behind those eyes that made me who I am today. My dear, don’t forget me, for I will not forget you. Not in a lifetime.
It’s hard to look forward when one is blinded by the dust of a scattered history. The reality of a human being is shaped by the memories that constitutes the base of her souls’ perception of the history that prevailed her. When she has always been told to follow her heart, only to be forced to witness the result of her hearts’ choices crack open beneath her feet and make her fall into the vacuum of emotional neglect, then who is she? If she can’t resume to what has defined her, and then who is she?
My own personal experience of how love for another man struck and how it fell into pieces, and how that experience changed and affected me, shows me proof, like nothing else, that love has no boundaries of sex or gender. Love is not a choice. We love to live, but most of all we live to love. Love makes us, love shapes us, love breaks us. Unrequited love as much as forbidden love or love that is considered less; is a knife to the strings of a human heart. This text is dedicated to anyone in the world whose love is considered less, forbidden or desperately impossible. To the Romeo and Romeo, the Juliet and Juliet of reality. To any couple in any of the vast majority of nations in which their relationship is secondary matter or even cause of social expulsion, or to anyone in any of the 74 countries of the world where their punishment will be guaranteed and sanctioned by the state.
To all the people that lives to love, but are judged, excluded, haunted, beaten down, imprisoned or executed because of their affection to another person’s heart and soul. To all the ones’ whom I do not know, but can relate to the experience of being caught up trying to batter feelings of guilt, induced by a society where a man loves a woman. To all the lives that are stolen, beaten down and suffocated by society for the incomprehensible reason of love. And to all the leaders of the world, all the influentials of the world and to everyone whose minds are poisoned by the prejudice of ‘don’t ask don’t tell’; love, and let love. Do not deprive anyone the most basic right a human being has and the most fundamental condition of experiencing life; the right to feel.
Last week [22-05-2015] Ireland held a national referendum concerning whether or not gays and lesbians ought, or ought not to, gain the right of marriage. The majority were given the ultimate say on whether or not others shall own the right to the ultimate proof of unconditional and life-long love. Prior to the voting, I made a silent wish that before people made their choice, they would consider the alternatives beyond the boundaries of their own minds and sexual preference. That they would not succumb to irrational intolerance partly induced by traditional religious standards. And they didn’t; it was approved. Which is an improvement, in Ireland, but nevertheless leaves another 180 or so countries behind. Which means that a majority of the countries within the European Union – and most other countries – still does not approve.
Some people might argue that homosexual love today is accepted by society, and on behalf of the country I live in, I am prone to agree. Some people would also argue that the question of whether or not same-sex marriage is legal, is not equal to that of whether or not there is an acceptance. Maybe that is true. But it is hard to look forward when society is blinded by the dust of a scattered history. And maybe it is not only about acceptance, but also about inclusion. And as long as a society systematically denies people something that almost anyone else takes for granted, something that so many individuals describe as the ‘best day of their lives’, then how dare anyone say that we are not second class citizens. As long as fifteen year olds have to worry about what their parents are going to say, about whether or not their friends will stay or if they’ll get beaten up and bullied at school, as long as they are forced to ‘make a thing‘ about who they happen to fall in love with, then how dare anyone say that we are equal.
By Fredrik Thool