AUGUST 6, 2018

Let me start at the beginning. I was born in Bogota, Colombia in March 13th, 1994. In the evening, according to reputable sources. I was a very hearty crier, apparently, according to the same un-named sources. It’s my parents…my parents are the sources. Anyways.

I had an awesome childhood, I think. I went to a preschool in Bogota called “Chispitas,” and I remember our burgundy-red school van, the red tile of the driveway, and a certain smell. Don’t ask me to describe it. Somewhere in there, my little brother was born. We shared a room for the majority of our lives, I think. Which was cool, because our apartment had a window that opened to a big (covered, child-proof) terrace where we had most of our toys. We used help each other “escape.” My brother’s cool, and he’s much smarter than me, which I’m very glad for. Ok back to it.

I think I had friends and stuff then…in preschool, I mean. I don’t really remember. I wish I did remember. But what I do remember is my family. My huge, amazing, family on both sides. My dad is one of 8, my mom is one of 4; so I consider myself incredibly lucky to a ton of aunts and uncles, and the best cousins anyone could ask for. I forget, sometimes, how much I love them all, even though we don’t get to see each other much. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let me tell about Sundays. Sundays were great days. We’d leave our apartment in our little green Mazda early in the morning. I would have riding lessons—as in horses—followed by tennis lessons. This all happened at the club our family used to go to a lot, called “El Club Militar de Golf.” My Grandfather was a General in the Colombian Army, and that’s why I think we were able to go there. But back to Sundays. I remember the smell of grass, the feeling of the red clay from the tennis courts, and the delicious mix of empanadas and gatorade. Also sneezing. I’m allergic to horses. Here’s the best thing about Sundays: we would drive from the club to Mami’s house for Sunday lunch. This was a whole-family event, every week. The food, the family, the games my cousins and I would play. Sometimes I remember individual moments like they happened yesterday, but more recently it feels like that childhood belonged to someone else.

So let’s press on. I went to the “big kid” school-“El Gimnasio Campestre.” My uncle went there too. Boy, was I proud of going to that school? We had uniforms, marching band, I was in choir (a very vivid memory I have is “missing” math class to go to choir. Oops). And then, we left. My family moved to Washington DC in September of 2001. It was supposed to be a “short-term” move, I think. I don’t really remember…everything is a little muddled. But we’ve been here since.

There’s an image that I’ll never forget. It was at the airport, in McDonalds, in Bogota. The day we left. Everyone was there. I remember feeling really, really sad. It felt like we were never coming back. My heart still feels heavy whenever I think of that moment. I can’t remember if I cried, though I sure wouldn’t have been surprised if I had.

Then we were in America, and a few days later the world turned upside down. September 11th, the DC Sniper attacks, anthrax…to a kid it was little scary, but I didn’t really grasp how scary it was until much later. I had other things to worry about. Namely, starting at a brand new school, in a new country, with a newish language. I think I already knew a little English, but definitely nowhere near fluent. THAT was scary to me. I remember waiting inside our portable classroom in my elementary school in Chevy Chase, MD, and I remember my parents talking to my 1st grade teacher, Ms. Janiello. She introduced herself to me, my parents left, and the rest of the kids came in. Surprisingly, I survived. I made some good friends, too. My best friend at the time introduced me to Playmobil, Harry Potter, Runescape, playing “war,” and goldfish. The snack. I spent many afternoons at his house, him at mine, sleepovers, pool play-dates, etc. Classic kid stuff. I was even in a book club for a while! I loved that neighborhood and that school, and all my friends. So when we moved again right as I was going into 5th grade, I thought everything was going to be terrible. We moved about ten miles away, though, so it really wasn’t that bad.

But it was a new school system, which meant that—even though we tried for a little while—my old, first friends became memories. The best memories—thank you.

But as for my new school, I think I got really lucky again. First of all, I was a SAFETY PATROL. I had seen the safety patrols doing their duty every year since 1st grade, and I WANTED TO BE ONE SO BAD. AND THEN I WAS. AN OFFICER OF THE LAW! I got to help parents and kids cross the road, which was freaking cool. The best part was wearing the belt. Actually, the best part was meeting my new best friends. We shared a patrol post in fifth grade, him on one side, me on the other. I mean, that’s a good ice-breaker, if you ask me. We became great friends—him and his brother—and we did a lot of stuff together. Kid stuff, but a little more “grown up.” I don’t know how many baddies killed in Ghost Recon or Call of Duty, but we spent a lot of hours playing. Also Nerf. Cap guns. Baseball. Tennis (though that was mostly one-sided…they both have wicked serves). Their family became like my family, and the Halloweens we spent together will always be amazing memories for me. We were very close up through middle school, and maybe at the beginning of high school. Then, as it happens, we grew apart as we grew up. I think they’re doing very well, and that makes me very happy.

So, this feels like chapter three of my story, so far. High School. Actually, no need for much drama there. I kinda liked high school—except for math. I was awful at math. Funnily enough, I met some of my closest friends in the class I was worst at. I’m still friends with them and I love them very much, though I don’t get to see them nearly as much as I’d like.

Ah, but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. You see, by my Junior year in high school, I had a secret. A pretty big secret. One that I didn’t understand, one that I was a little afraid of. And this is the part that might surprise some of you. You see, I knew by then that I was gay. And that was terrifying. I think that was the low point for me…my grades suffered (not terribly, but enough to cause severe strain with me and my parents). I didn’t tell anybody. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even tell myself, really. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it. Sure, kids tossed the word “gay” around all the time, they even called me that a bunch. Though those kids tended to call everybody that…teenagers are strange. I didn’t tell anybody until I finally gathered up the courage to tell a friend of a friend—almost a stranger to me—because I knew he could help me. And he did. He was the first “beacon,” is what I think it was for me. He helped me accept myself, and gave me the inspiration and the courage to find more beacons. I told a few more of my closest friends, one at a time, and this weight that I didn’t even know I was carrying flew off. I felt so light. I felt like the world was mine, and I could do anything. I don’t know where I’d be without them, all of them. Then I had to say goodbye. College.

4 years. New place. New friends. New community. I got lucky again. I found a community in theatre that loved me and I loved them, and those four years were some of the best of my life. But the rush of energy I had felt in my last year of high school when I came out to for the first time, it felt like someone else had done that. I went back into the “closet.” And that’s when I felt the weight again. The old weight re-settled in my core and soured the happiest moments. I finally know how to describe it, thanks to a movie I watched a couple of days ago. “Love, Simon.” A character describes it as being in a ferris wheel—one moment you’re up, then you’re down, then up, but always being brought back down. That’s how I’ve felt for so many years. Three times, the weight got to be too much and I told three people. Three new beacons. But the weight is back, and I’m done carrying it. So I’m broadcasting to everyone, because 24 years is too many. I don’t want to hide anymore. So, now everyone knows, and regardless of the consequences, I’m glad.

I’ve told a little, tiny bit of my story in hopes that maybe you can remember that I’m more than who I love. If you can’t, well…thank you for sharing your life with me, and I hope you’ll be back someday. I’ll be here. I’ve got goldfish.

To my friends—past, present, future—and to my family. I owe you all everything. Who I am, who I’ve been, and who I’m going to be. And from now on, I’m going to be me. All of me. Gracias, los quiero mucho.

Octubre 9, 2018

Historia de Mr. Frodo (Pseudónimo)

Cuando decidí emigrar de mi país de origen hacia los Estados Unidos nunca me imaginé que era VIH positivo.

Comencé a entender que era Gay desde el colegio, en mi país no puedes ser abiertamente gay así que decidí salir de allí para dejar de ser discriminado por mi orientación sexual, para buscar trabajo y para huir de la delincuencia. Decidí comenzar mi camino hacia los Estados Unidos junto a unos amigos.

En mi trayecto, tuve muchas situaciones en las que puse en riesgo mi vida, una de ellas fue subirme a la llamada “Bestia” que son trenes de carga que recorren los estados de México. Logré atravesar México encima de la bestia desde Tapachula hasta Ciudad Juárez. Al encontrarme en Oaxaca, México, me subí a uno de los trenes con la ruta hacia el norte, este tren transportaba manteca (aceite sólido), por los que era muy resbaladizo caminar sobre él.

Como a las 10 de la noche, en medio de una selva, alguien que estaba adelante en el tren gritó: ¡la Migra! (Agentes de Migración), entonces todos nos alarmamos, los demás comenzaron a lanzarse del tren y yo, al tratar de lanzarme, me resbalé y caí en un pequeño río con uno de mis pies atorado en una cerca espinosa. Allí abrí mis ojos y noté que estaba bajo un puente con el tren pasando sobre mí, como pude me quité la bota para poder desatorarme de la cerca. En ese momento el tren se detuvo y corrí para poder alcanzarlo de nuevo, al llegar a uno de los vagones del tren me encontré con un grupo de emigrantes de una tribu indígena de Guatemala que habían pagado viajar dentro de la bestia para ir más seguros, allí ellos me dieron la mano y logré subirme dentro de la bestia y seguir mi camino.

Después de sufrir en el tren durante el trayecto logré llegar a Ciudad Juárez, en donde pude contactar a la persona que me iba a ayudar a cruzar la frontera con Coyote (Persona que transporta grupos de inmigrantes a través de la frontera). Logré cruzar la frontera, pero estando en Tucson, Arizona, mi supuesto amigo se negó a pagarle al coyote la otra parte del dinero y éste me regresó a Ciudad Juárez.

Estando de nuevo en México busqué trabajo para sobrevivir y con la fe de, algún día,  poder cruzar la frontera a los Estados Unidos para no regresar a mi país de origen. Estuve trabajando allí por seis meses y un día, me hice de un amigo salvadoreño, y con el logré cruzar la frontera hacia los Estados Unidos. Me fui a vivir por tres años a Mississippi, un estado en donde hay mucha discriminación racial y de orientación sexual. A través de un amigo que tenía familiares en Seattle logré mudarme a esta ciudad.

Justamente después de dos semanas de llegar a Seattle, conocí sobre Entre Hermanos, en donde me aconsejaron hacerme la prueba de VIH, y es entonces cuando me enteré que era VIH positivo. Inmediatamente comencé el tratamiento con mi doctor y con los medicamentos logré bajar mi carga viral. Aun sabiendo que con el tratamiento iba a estar saludable, tuve depresión, ansiedad y hasta había perdido esperanzas de seguir adelante.

Gracias a la ayuda que existe en Seattle para servicios de salud, especialmente Entre Hermanos, logré recuperarme física y emocionalmente. Le doy gracias a Dios por haberme permitido encontrar este tipo de ayuda. Ahora me siento más tranquilo y seguro al contar mi historia a otras personas para dar una luz de esperanza a otros que han sufrido situaciones similares.

Mr. Frodo