I don’t want to die.

All I really want is for the pain to die.

I don’t have the guts to put the belt around my neck.

I just look at it. And I cry.

That is how my father and mother find me there.

When I see my father, I remember what he once said to me: “Every parent has a dream for his child.”

What I am is certainly not part of that dream.

That is why it tears me apart to tell my father and mother that I am gay. And that I am sorry. It’s not something that I could have chosen. It was just … there.

When I’m done, I wait for them to tell me that they don’t love me any more. That I must take my things and leave their house.

But it doesn’t happen.

They cry with me.

They put their arms around me.

They say: “You are still our child. We still love you.”

Every parent has a dream for his child.

That dream is bigger than who we are and who we love.


QUESTION: What are your wishes for Nathi?