I didn’t intend to write about politics, the state of the economy or legalities in this post so I’ll cancel that train of thought at the last station. It’s now the final (hopefully) semester of my undergraduate years. It is a welcome end to an eventful era, however, I wasn’t exactly crazy about college. I do owe university though, for opening my eyes to the world of philosophy and for giving me Kate.

The problem now, is what the hell am I supposed to do with my life? I have had no luck in trying to decide what career direction to aspire towards. Even if I did, would it really matter? Jobs are few, graduates many. I’ll be lucky to get an average office job. 9 to 5? Bring it.

The three possibilities I’m currently wading between are advertising, journalism and tourism. Why? Well simple really, I like to write, I consider myself reasonably creative and I’m also pretty much obsessed with holidays and travel. All I seem to do in my spare time lately is look up flights, accommodation, destinations… All for the imaginary future holidays I’ll most likely be taking in my own head.

Of course, they aren’t all to be left to my imagination. I’m going on three vacations this year in fact. In chronological order, Barcelona, Krakow and Berlin will be rewarded with my presence (Or Should I say, burdened with?). In fact, I’ll be celebrating my 21st birthday in Barcelona, possibly with a trip to the city’s chocolate factory! No doubt many cocktails will also be involved, they may need to keep the chocolate sculptures under lock and key while I’m there!

I do worry that with all my obsession over holidays and holiday booking, that I will ruin the actual trip. I’ve hardly kept my nose out of a guide-book since the flights were booked and I wonder if this is actually a good idea. Half of me wants to know everything about everything before I get there. I want to know where the best tapas is served, where the weirdest and funkiest bars are placed, which sights won’t bore me half to death and which cannot be missed. The other half of me knows that if I look up all this stuff before I arrive, I won’t have the same experience of adventure. I will have already explored Barcelona’s depths from the comfort of my sofa, will I want to do the same when I arrive? Perhaps I’m over thinking things. It is a terrible habit of mine. Just to be safe though, I may lock away the guide books, at least until the plane journey.

Krakow is a special holiday for me this year because it is the first holiday I’m going on with just my Mom. It’s an idea I’ve been batting around for a while now to go away just us two. Needless to say after a few glasses of wine on an idle Thursday, the flights were booked and the hostel sorted before Kate could rip the laptop from my grip. I don’t regret the choice though, in face I relish the idea of returning to Krakow and who better to go with than the slightly older (and probably better) version of me? Whether things will go swimmingly or not is all up to the fates!

Berlin is my last destination and my summer break. It is also the holiday that I am most excited about. It will be quite a family affair, the vacators including me, Kate, my brother Andy, her brother Conor and my cousin Jay. We’ve decided to theme the whole trip, each night being one of our ‘birthdays’. Basically, this means that every evening we’ll pretend that it is one of our birthdays, say mine for example. The birthday girl (or boy) then gets to choose what fun and frivolities will be had that evening including everything from pre-drinking (which is probably purely and Irish concept), eats and the all important choice of booze hole.

Of course the itinerary won’t be purely based on booze, just mildly so. I do intend to revisit all the sights such as the Berlin Wall, the Brandenburg Tor, the Jewish memorial and the Reichstag. The amazing architectural masterpiece that is the Sony Center is also on my list of places to introduce to Andy and Jay (it’s their first visit, the Berlin virgins). A holiday wouldn’t be complete without a trip to a gallery or two either, though Kate may need to drag the rest of us by our hang-overs to see them.

Travel is my vice it would seem, or at least short touristy breaks to Europe’s most beautiful cities. Of course, the life changing journey to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter has been in planning in my mind since I first heard whisper of its possibility, a trip that will need to wait for a better financial climate.

My post has seemed to take a turn for the travel based instead of the original career theme I was aiming for! So the original question still remains, what job? What goal? What career? No matter how I phrase it, the answers remain muggy and uncertain. The decision is bound to be a hard one and is one I don’t intend to rush. However, if this post is anything to go by, my clear obsession with travel may end up making my decision for me, just like the decision of what to spend my hard-earned cash on.

Whether a person has the right to take drugs and whether they should be banned by a higher authority for our ‘own safety’ is a philosophical matter. Is there anything morally wrong with taking drugs? If it doesn’t hurt anybody else, and you take them in private where it won’t affect other people, then surely it is up to that person and that person only if they should be allowed take them or not. It is similar in the argument over whether people have the right to commit suicide or not. This is a huge debate that would be difficult for me to step into, especially at 12.50 am on a Tuesday (as it is now). So I’m not going to press this point much further.

However the problem we find with the head shops is a different matter. The fact that these drugs are (or were) deemed legal gives one a false sense of safety. One could almost assume that these drugs have been tested somehow to prevent the sale of harmful substances to young and old people alike. Of course this has not been the case.

Of course presuming that all legal things are safe is faulty reasoning. Not all legal things are safe, after all there are many dangers faced in bungee jumping, driving and even having children. However, most of these things are somehow regulated to make them safer. Yet again, the argument of whether things that aren’t deemed ‘safe’ should be illegal or not is a different issue. I am just working with what an average person may presume when the term legal is affixed to something.

So yay or nay to head shops? Most people would be on the side of an obvious nay vote. However, people are quick to jump on the anti-drug band waggon whenever the press starts shouting its mouth off. The idea of head shops in themselves is not flawed. A shop that sells legal highs to people over the age of eighteen. The problem lies with the drugs that are being sold, not the shops.

If these shops were to be more strictly regulated, including drugs being tested for any harmful side effects, then how could this really be a problem? The problem is with legal highs being readily available that can potentially cause more harm than some of the illegal class A drugs that are readily available on Dublin’s streets. There is no point in going on a rampage against head shops. If a young person decides that they want to experiment with drugs there really is no stopping them. No matter how much anti-drug education is force-fed down teenagers necks, the good of taking them will always outweigh the bad if they have a curious nature towards them.This is the truth, and anyone who argues otherwise is being naive to think it isn’t.

So really, head shops could be a blessing rather than a burden. If tested, safe legal highs were available for sale, strictly to those over 18, perhaps young people would be more inclined to experiment with these than with the potentially dangerous illegal drugs instead. Not everyone who owns or works in a head shop are bad people. Everyone needs to earn a wage somehow. By destroying head shops instead of regulating them we are putting more people into the unemployment queue and encouraging the growth of illegal drug trade in Ireland.

So yay or nay to head shops? In my book, it gets a big fat yay for the concept and a nay for the reality.

Sex is thrown at us in all walks in life. Sex is used to sell us products such as perfume and even shampoo (Herbal Essences). It is in almost every single television show available for viewing, some revolve solely around sex. It is obvious that sex sells, and that sex is interesting but does this over use of sex make people feel bad about themselves?

It is not only marketing and television that had become obsessed with sex, it’s everybody. I’ve overheard people complaining that they haven’t had sex in weeks, that they need it. Sex has become like a drug that people crave. Is this a real need, or just a social construction? I would choose to believe the latter.

It seems that people have been induced to think that in order for them to be normal or have good lives they must have sex at regular intervals. Months, weeks and even mere days without sex have become phobias of our society’s young adults. Anger, depression and even violent behaviour is being blamed on, to put it crudely, ‘not getting your hole’.

That’s basically all sex has become now. The next hole, the next fix. Sex with strangers has become almost the norm in Dublin’s nightlife. People may argue that this is a trait solely based in the gay scene, but it holds true equally with all other clubbing scenes. At least good knowledge about contraception is widespread, the information is easily available. Fear of STI’s used to be enough to discourage people from hopping into bed with any random stranger off the street, but even that is beginning to fail now. Sex has taken priority over any dangers involved with it, it’s just too important to avoid it.

Unfortunately this social need for sex is probably the result of a relaxed attitude towards sex, which is a necessity for a healthy outlook on the subject. People may argue  that this obsession is unavoidable. Perhaps people should consider though, just how bad is life without sex? Is it really that unbearable that is warrants constant complaining, hours spent in clubs looking for possible sexual encounters and of course, constant risk of STI’s? For those who think, maybe it’s not that bad after all, I applaud you. There are worse things to life then not having regular sex. You don’t have to worry or constantly fret over the amount of sex you have. If it hasn’t happened in a while, relax, it will. If you haven’t had it and are under pressure from others and society, the same applies. Don’t worry, when it happens it happens, you don’t need to rush.

However for those people who disagree and still believe their lives are unbearable due to a lack of constant sex, I feel bad for you. I don’t think I could stand a life with that much disappointment over such a trivial subject. Sex is amazing, but if it holds priority over all other experiences and needs in life then it loses its real value. You may not take my opinion, after all I’m lucky to be in a relationship, but it doesn’t make the opinion any less valid. Try to relax about it. It’s not the end of the world. If you can’t, then really, all in all you’re just another dick in a hole.

I’ll beckon to your call,

I’ll be the one to see you through

Or catch you when you fall.

I’m always here to help you,

If you should ever need,

I swear that I’ll protect you,

And always let you lead.

I’ll never doubt your wisdom,

But listen with intent,

I’ll talk with you for hours

And cherish our time spent.

I’ll never try to hurt you,

I’ll defend your name always,

I’ll never lie, but speak the truth,

Until my dying day.

I give my hope, my trust, my world,

I wish that I could give you more.

But I’ll be here, right by your side,

I promise.

(What else are girlfriends for?)

All Grown Up

I’ve grown up, I can see it now. I noticed yesterday, Staring at bleached photographs And a saved magazine clipping. In the mirror, I look different. It’s the subtle changes That make us who we are. Or are The changes caused by who we’ve become?

It doesn’t matter, I brush off these thoughts, No times for philosophising, It’s all go, go, go. I couldn’t stop if i wanted to. But that’s what happens When we grow up. Time passes along with distance, Friendships, Love and hope. For what’s the use of hoping for a better tomorrow When you don’t even have time To take in today?

Isn’t this what we’ve all been waiting for? Is this how life is meant to be? No time for anyone, or anything, Not even for ourselves. Not even for our children. Not even for our friends, our family, our loved ones. Life is short, but still we run and run And race all the way to the end…

I’ve grown up, I can see it now. I noticed yesterday. And now i know, I can’t help wondering Why i wished my life away?

The colourful people were few in this strange world, though there were many more than the normal grey folk really knew about. The Colourful People were shunned by society. No grey person could understand why these people were so different, so strange and so abnormal. The Colourful People were denied the same rights as the ordinary grey folk; as they were seen as an abomination against the very world they lived in. They were not allowed to mix with Grey People in public places or bars. They were not allowed to marry or own their own businesses. They were not even allowed to mix in public with other Colourful People like themselves. It is needless to say, the life of a Colourful Person was not usually a happy one.

There are only really two distinct differences between the Colourful People and the ordinary Grey People who inhabited this world, and it was thus. Colourful People shone. They positively glowed, and they were colourful. They were not colourful like you or me, oh no! They were always one, singular colour. In fact, if a Grey person were to accidentally stumble across our own world, they would probably have a heart attack at the sheer repugnance of it all!

The other difference is that Colourful People were only attracted to other Colourful People, usually of the same gender, though on rare occasions this wasn’t the case. Ordinary Grey People were severely against this as it goes against every belief they stand for, which are mostly about and against the odd Colourful People.

Most Colourful People chose to live their life in secrecy, apart from an odd few. They administered a small injection to themselves every day which would temporarily make themselves grey, just like everyone else. They then would be able to live in society without offending anybody as they would not look like a Colourful Person. Although there was no law against taking this injection, they were not available to buy except on the White Market which often proved expensive. There was however, a law against lying.

Grey people were well renowned to absolutely hate lying. There was no tolerance for such thing, except amongst the corrupt. If a Colourful Person, while in disguise as a Grey Person, were to lie when asked straight out about if they were Colourful, they could be punished severely. That is, if someone were to go so far as to check if they were colourful. For you see, there is only one thing the injection could not change to grey, and that was the blood of the Colourful People, which flowed in whatever colour that person usually shone.

It is printed in this world’s history that the Grey People once went so far as to try and wipe out all the Colourful People in the world. However this proved impossible, as the more they killed, more were born. The Grey scientists often were plagued with the question of why some people were born colourful. There was no obvious answer. There was not even a pattern to it. Two normal Grey people would often have a baby, without ever even coming in contact with the Colourful People, and it would turn out to be a Colourful baby. The sheer idea of having a Colourful baby appalled some people so much that the abortion rates in this world sore through the roof.

The Colourful People were destined from birth to lead an extraordinarily hard life. Most hid from the world by means of the injections, ashamed of what they really were. Some sought solace by living on their own in loneliness. Some were lucky enough to lead happy lives with another Colourful Person that the loved, though this would often end in heartache. Some were even bold enough to walk around as themselves, in full colour, daring the world to do something about it. One person who, at one point, tried all of these lives, was a young man called Rojo.

Rojo was born on the Big Continent in a large town called Cinzento. His father was a Colourful Person Regulator, or C.P.R. This meant that it was his job to make sure the Colourful People kept in line, followed all rules against them and if they did not, he was the one who would refer them for punishment. His name was Segredo and despite his job title, he was a friendly and understanding man.

When Segredo’s wife, Rose, gave birth to Rojo, Segredo did not lament his son’s skin colour as he was expected. It was almost as if he had expected such an occurrence as he had organised the birth to take place at home and the doctor who delivered Rojo was sworn to secrecy. When Rojo was born, his skin glowed red as a flame. His father did not hesitate in administrating his first injection, immediately dulling the red to a soft grey.

At first Rojo did not understand why the Grey People hated the colourful people so much. His father tried to explain that being Colourful was not normal, and that he was not the same as everybody else. Rojo found this hard to believe when he saw the love and adoration that Segredo showed for him. If his father loved him, why could the rest of the world not at least tolerate him being different? He didn’t look very different, apart from the colour, and he didn’t feel different either. His father insisted however that the world did not see it that way, as did his mother, Rose.

Rojo and his mother were very close. Every night she would read him bedtime stories about princes and faraway castles. Rojo used to dream about being the prince of his own faraway land. A land where all the Colourful People like him could live, though he had never seen another colourful person before, and they would not have to fear the Grey People as they would all be equal in his land. Once, Rojo had told his mother about his dream. Rose did not say anything about it, which upset Rojo. He had wanted her to share his wonderful vision, but she had just sat there watching him with doleful eyes.

After that, Rojo gave up on his dreams about uniting the Colourful People with the Grey People. Instead he learnt to pretend he wasn’t Colourful at all. Sometimes he would even forget that he radiated a red glow until late at night when the injection would wear off. It upset Rojo sometimes that he could not stay in the other boy’s houses like his classmates could, but Segredo always stressed the importance of Rojo staying hidden.

He could not ever alert suspicion that he was a Colourful Person. Segredo said that if he was asked about it, Rojo would not be able to lie, no matter how much he wanted to because if he did he would end up being punished. Rojo didn’t like to think about being punished, so for his childhood he successfully kept his dark secret from everyone without complaint.

When Rojo was a young man, around 16 years old, he saw another Colourful Person for the first time. Rojo had been sent out by his mother to buy milk in the supermarket when a bright blue man fell out of a door in front of him. The door belonged to the local pub, which didn’t allow colourful people on the premises.

Rojo blinked several times and stared in shock at the sight of this blue man. Rojo had been told by his father that there were other colours apart from his own, but he had never imagined them to all be so different and so bright. “Stay out! Ya hear me shiner? We don’t want you scum in here!” the bartender spat, slamming the door on the blue man’s foot, who yowled in pain. Mumbling curses under his breath, the man got to his feet and brushed off his clothes. That was when Rojo realised something very odd, it was not just his skin that was blue but his clothes too.

Rojo gasped at the sight, a blue man dressed entirely in blue. The man span around and eyed Rojo with curiosity. “What you lookin’ at boy?” He sneered at Rojo, straightening his posture to make himself taller. “You ain’t never seen a Colourful Person before?” Rojo shook his head in astonishment. Rojo had been warned by his father not to talk to the Colourful People, but no one had noticed this interaction yet and Rojo was burning to ask a question.

“How did you get your clothes like that?” Rojo asked, still staring in awe at the man’s blue sweater and jeans. The man looked much taken aback by Rojo’s reaction to him. This was a man used to being taunted, sneered at and feared, not awed upon. “Well, I eh, I dyed them see.” He offered, pulling at the sweater slightly. Rojo did not understand so he asked again. “But how?” The man didn’t look so astonished this time, he was clearly used to Rojo now and was under the impression that Rojo may have been a bit simple in the head.

“Well I cut myself with this here blade,” The man said, pulling a small knife out of his pocket. “And then I mixed the blood with some water and my clothes. Dyed them blue, just like me.” The man puffed out his chest in pride and Rojo nodded, slightly thunderstruck. Rojo’s conversation with this man was beginning to be noticed by other people in the crowd, who were astounded by both the blue man and the manner in which Rojo was speaking to him.

“What’s your name?” Rojo asked hurriedly. The blue man had given up on this inkling that the boy was simple and was now looking at Rojo knowingly. This scared Rojo but he held his place and waited for the blue man to answer. “They call me Big Blue.” He said, searching Rojo’s face with shrewd eyes. “Rojo.” Rojo said quietly as he made to move past the man. He heard Big Blue laugh as he sped past him. “I won’t tell nobody.” Big Blue promised, and then pushed Rojo off the curb into a muddy puddle on the street. “Ain’t nobody gonna get away with calling me a shiner boy! I’m Big Blue after all!” Big blue screamed the words at him and Rojo cowered, suddenly terrified of this strange man. Then Big Blue leaned over and winked at him before running in the opposite direction. Rojo sighed in relief as he realised that the show had not been for him but for the astonished onlookers. As he got up and brushed himself off he heard the sound of police sirens in the next street.

That night Rojo decided to test his newly learned information and dye a small square of his own fabric. He left the small square soak overnight in a small bowl full of water and a few drops of his own blood. When he returned from school the next day he took the piece of cloth out and let it dry in his wardrobe. Rojo was very careful when disposing of the red liquid left over, afraid that one of his parents would see it and understand what he was doing.

Later that same night Rojo checked the piece of fabric hidden in the back of his warm wardrobe. He marvelled at the colour of it, almost exact to the colour of his skin. When it was dry he hid it beneath his pillow so that he could look upon it at night. It was his most prized possession. He cherished the piece of cloth as if it were part of his own being.

However, one day, Rose discovered the piece of cloth and, afraid for her son’s safety, alerted Segredo. Rojo came home from school to the sight of his mother crying at the kitchen table and his father holding up the small square of cloth, dark grey with anger. Segredo punished Rojo severely, making him do all the household chores and not allowing him to go out with his friends for three whole months. Segredo burned the piece of cloth until nothing remained. Rojo despised him for it but did not dare dye another square.

Rojo and his mother began to grow apart as Rojo grew older. He did not like the way his mother refused to talk about the Colourful People, as if it actually pained her to discuss the subject. This made Rojo feel alone. He even began to question her love for him because of it. Rose did not live long after Rojo’s seventeenth birthday however.

Rojo came home from school one day to find his mother dead in the kitchen. He tried desperately to revive her but to no avail. After half an hour of trying to pump her chest with his tear stained hands, Rojo had to give up. It felt like a hole had been torn out of his very heart. Rojo didn’t realise then that this hole would never go away, but the raw edges would dull with time.

Rojo never found out exactly how his mother had died. Segredo refused to tell him how it had happened, he said that nothing was certain and not to listen to gossiping people. Rojo did overhear one day that it could have been suicide. Rojo refused to listen to them. His mother might not have accepted him, but she would never have left him like that for her own selfish prejudices. Rojo sometimes did think however, that if she had killed herself, it was because of him.

Segredo was never the same again after his wife’s death. He often sat in silence in the living room, reading through his notebook that he kept for work. Rojo saw it lying on an open page one day and lifted it up out of interest. His father’s clear loopy handwriting was scrawled across in darkest black. It was a list of the colours the Colourful People could be found in. Rojo had heard about them all before, though he was not sure he would recognise which was which. He scrolled down through them, six in total. Red, that was easy to recognise as he himself was red. There was also Orange, Yellow and Green. He had seen a green person once on the news. Blue he had talked to when he had encountered big blue that time. Purple was the last and one that Rojo had not seen before.

Rojo was about to put the page down when he noticed a seventh colour scrawled at the bottom of the page. It simply said ‘Pink?’ and that was it. Rojo stared at the word for what felt like a long time. His father had never mentioned a seventh colour before. Even on the news or T.V programmes they had only ever referred to six colours.

Suddenly, Rojo heard the lock on the front door being unbolted and in his haste he dropped the book on the ground and ran out of the room. His father had obviously not intended Rojo to know about the seventh colour. That night he contemplated it before going to sleep, but his dreams after were so vivid that Rojo had forgotten all about this new colour by the morning. He would not remember the colour pink for a very long time.

Rojo, like his father, did not fair well after his mother’s death. He often moped around the house and was kicked out a lot for not being active enough. He lost a lot of friends because they were too impatient for Rojo’s depressing nature. Rojo missed his mother terribly and didn’t know of any way to put a stop to the aching feeling in his chest.

One day Rojo was lying across his desk in school when the teacher rapped the desk loudly, startling him. “Rojo,” The teacher said distastefully. Rojo looked up at the old pale looking woman. He figured that she must be from the Small Continent because of her odd accent and light skin, almost white in fact. “I want you to look after the new boy. He’ll need a friend these next few weeks.” Rojo groaned but the teacher ignored him. He was often asked to do special favours like this because of his father’s high status. He was very well known in Cinzento, which made it even more prudent that Rojo be seen as one of the Grey People.

Rojo was off daydreaming again about the different colours he had seen and which he hadn’t yet, he had added orange to the list, when a young timid boy sat next to him. The boy was an inch or so taller than he was but had younger features. His skin was a light grey, his hair white and gelled into a complicated looking peak on the top of his head.

“I’m  Flieder.” The boy said quietly, his hand shook slightly as he extended it to Rojo. Rojo couldn’t help but stare at the boy. He had never seen a Grey person who had looked so appealing to him. “I’m Rojo.” Rojo said confidently, taking the other boys hand. His skin was silky soft beneath Rojo’s fingertips. Flieder took his hand away, confused slightly by his want to keep holding this new boy’s hand so badly. It felt coarser than his but not unfriendly. Rojo was beaming at him now, something he hadn’t done in quite a while. The new boy couldn’t help but smile back.

Rojo and Flieder became fast friends over the course of the next few months. Flieder was 17, while Rojo was now 18. He had come from the Small Continent but refused to talk more about his family or where exactly he was from. Anytime the subject came up he would go completely silent and refuse to talk until Rojo changed the subject.

Rojo didn’t mind though. Life had gotten easier since Flieder’s arrival. Rojo didn’t feel raw or tormented when Flieder was around. Flieder felt similar for Rojo, though he hadn’t had to deal with the loss of a family member. He still found it difficult to be away from his family th even though it had been his choice to come to the Big Continent.

Rojo soon became aware that his feelings towards Flieder ran a lot deeper than he had first thought. He often found himself staring over at Flieder during class or thinking about him when he was doing his chores. One night Rojo began to dream about Flieder.

In the dream they were sitting in a remote field, entirely covered in beautiful flowers, all coloured in Red, Blue, Green and Orange, just like the Colourful people he had seen so far. He and Flieder were laughing about something, though Rojo couldn’t remember the joke. Flieder eventually stopped laughing and looked at him with his big dark grey eyes, an impish smile playing on his lips. Before Rojo had a chance to return the smile, Flieder leant in and kissed him. Even in dream form the kiss felt amazing. Rojo then pushed Flieder onto his back, kissing his neck and chest; Flieder’s top had mysteriously disappeared… That was when Rojo had woken up, sweating hard. Rojo found it nearly impossible to suppress these new found feelings for Flieder. He didn’t want to scare away his best friend, but he so desperately wanted it to be more than that.

On Flieder’s eighteenth birthday, Rojo went over to the house to give him a present. He had bought him a sports jersey of his favourite team. We don’t have the particular sport here on Earth but it involves a lot of running with large sponges strapped to one’s arms and legs.

Flieder had been still in bed when Rojo arrived but had called him into his room. Flieder was stretching out on his bed, clad in nothing but his boxer shorts and a black rope necklace. His white hair was tousled and had not been gelled yet. Rojo sat on the end of his bed, trying hard to contain himself around the mostly naked Flieder. Flieder didn’t notice Rojo’s discomfort and focused his attention on the present. He smiled with delight when he saw the jersey. Automatically, he jammed it over his head. It fit perfectly and he smiled back at Rojo.

Flieder’s impish smile, that was so scarily alike to that of Rojo’s dreams, was what did it. Without fully thinking about it Rojo leaned over and kissed Flieder hard on the lips, pushing him back onto the bed so he was beneath him.

At first Flieder didn’t react. Rojo was sure it was only a matter of seconds before he flipped him off the bed and turned him over for sexual injustice of the Colourful kind. However Flieder kissed him back passionately and grabbed at his hair and shirt. The kiss raged on for a couple of seconds before Flieder suddenly pushed Rojo off him and jumped off the bed, his back tho the wall and his eyes wide with alarm.

“You’re one of them!” Flieder shouted, pointing at Rojo. Then he whispered more quietly. “You’re one of the Coloured People!” Rojo closed his mouth, which was hanging open in shock and got up calmly to face Flieder. He couldn’t risk him running out of the door.

“But so are you Flieder.” Rojo said, extending his hand to touch Flieder’s face. Flieder shied away from it and looked down at his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not one of…” “DON’T LIE!” Rojo shouted suddenly. Flieder looked up, fearful, but saw that it was a cry of desperation not anger. “No Grey man would have kissed me back like that.” Rojo tried to keep his voice calm but his arms were shaking. He could feel tears of frustration welling up behind his eye lids.

Flieder didn’t know what to do. Rojo pointed at him again and asked in a calm voice. “Are you going to own up or will I have to prove it?” Flieder had a sudden image of Rojo kissing him again and wished for all the world that he would. But Flieder was scared. What if this was a trap? He didn’t know how far the grey people would go on the Big Continent to unearth the Coloured People like him.

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Flieder whispered, his eyes pleading for Rojo to stop. Rojo’s calm demeanour ended then and he grabbed at something lying on the ground near Flieder’s bed. In two strides he was pinning Flieder’s arm against the wall. Rojo stuck the tip of the small nail scissors into Flieder’s skin before he could realise what Rojo was doing. He cried out as the metal dug into his skin, but then it was gone. Rojo watched in awe as a small drop of a colour he had never seen before came out.

Neither of them said anything for quite a while. Rojo just stared at the tiny drop of liquid glowing against Flieder’s grey skin. “Purple.” Flieder said abruptly. The drop moved down his arm, leaving a perfect purple stripe behind it. Rojo took a mental note of the most beautiful colour he had ever seen.

“I’m red.” He said tenderly, moving to look into Flieder’s eyes. Flieder tried to hide how frightened he must have looked, but his ragged breathing was giving him away. At that moment Rojo embraced him tightly, kissing his cheek and neck and lips as he did so. Flieder couldn’t help but let his worry slip away, his fear receding as this beautiful red boy stripped him of the new jersey he had given him, the white contrasting brightly with his black floor.

Flieder and Rojo remained secret lovers from then on. They had found a new lease of life and something really worth living for. The two instantly fell madly in love, as if the universe revolved around each other. Flieder became less shy around Rojo and eventually, he told him about where he had come from in the Small Continent.

Rojo was amazed to learn that there was a small town there, the name of which he couldn’t pronounce, that was Colour-friendly. Rojo imagined an almost magical place, just like the one he had dreamed of when he was a child. Flieder had only come to the Big Continent to receive a better education. The Small Continent was often overlooked by the rulers of this small world, now Rojo was lead to believe it was because of this small town where Flieder had grown up.

Rojo and Flieder planned to go and live there when they finished school. Rojo refused to tell his father about the town before they left. Segredo may have loved him, but Rojo could not forget that he was still a C.P.R. He would always have to put his title first. He would probably have told the rulers about this town, and when they found out it was public knowledge there was no telling what they would do. Flieder had told Rojo about how the town was a complete secret from everyone but themselves and the rulers. It wasn’t even well known amongst the Colourful People, but more of a myth or urban legend. Only some people had actually gone in search of this wonderful town. Rojo had already decided he was to be one of them.

So after they finished school, Rojo told his father he was going travelling with a school friend and Flieder told his adoptive parents that he was bringing Rojo home to live with him. It didn’t take long to make the travel arrangements and soon they were on the small continent, travelling by coach to the small town that Rojo still couldn’t pronounce. Rojo could hardly contain his excitement and practically bounced around on his seat.

He and Flieder talked passionately about what they planned to do. Flieder wanted to open his own clothes shop once he had the money. Rojo was happy enough to stay at home while he did so. They laughed at the idea of a male housewife but they also dreamed that soon it would be true.

When they got off the bus Flieder began to march happily in the direction of the town. The bus stop had been placed in the middle of nowhere to insure that no outside Grey people would stumble across their haven. Flieder laughed as Rojo practically bounded along behind him, talking excitedly and asking thousands of questions. Flieder just kept answering “You’ll see!” and smiling lovingly back at him.

When they reached the outskirts of the town Flieder’s parents came out to meet them. Rojo jolted to a halt in surprise. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he never would have been ready for this moment anyway.

Before him were two beautiful women, one Green lady and one Orange lady. They were standing hand in hand, waving at Flieder who began to run towards them. They were standing in full colour, apart from their clothes which were black. What shocked Rojo most was that there  were Grey people actually SMILING at them. Rojo nearly burst into tears at the beauty of this moment. The Grey people were staring at him curiously, but there was no hatred. They knew who he was, but they didn’t despise him like they should have.

What also surprised Rojo was that Flieder’s parents were two women. He didn’t know how they could have gotten the right to adopt him when it was illegal for Colourful People to adopt on both continents.

Rojo’s train of thought was broken when the two women hugged him tightly round the waist and shoulders simultaneously. “We are so glad to meet you Rojo.” The orange one said from somewhere around his navel. The Green woman was taller and smiled at him from his level. “Welcome to the family” She said.

On the way to their house Rojo learnt the two women’s names. The Orange lady was called Alaranjado and the Green woman was called Grun. Even for Small continent people, these were strange names. Flieder also filled Rojo in on how Grun had managed to adopt him which was of great interest to Rojo.

Grun was actually Flieder’s aunt, his mother had died in childbirth. Grun had posed as a Grey Person with a fake husband from the town. The whole town had been in on the adoption from the start and had helped Grun through the whole ordeal. Rojo marvelled at this success and suddenly missed his own mother. Flieder said that this wasn’t a feeling he was used to. For him, Grun and Alaran had always been his mothers. He didn’t feel any loss for his birth mother, at least not much.

Rojo also learnt that there were other Colourful People living in the town, though there were still a lot more Grey People. These Grey People had been brought up to see the Colourful People as no different to themselves. Grun talked passionately on the subject, stating that if all these stupid prejudices and beliefs were dropped, then the Colourful People would be free and equal just like everyone else. Rojo instantly liked Grun and admired her passion for a perfect world.

The four of them lived in a large farmhouse not far from the town. It took Rojo a while to remember that he needn’t take his injection anymore. Flieder often had to remind him while he was mid prepping his morning shot. This ritual went on for a few weeks and always led to the two being in hysterics.

It took Rojo a while to get used to being affectionate with Flieder in public also. Flieder just smiled when Rojo shied away from him. Nobody cared though. The only looks they ever got were ones of understanding, none of contempt.

At first Rojo found it odd that there was more than one person of each colour in the small town. He had nearly mistaken a stranger for Grun simply because of her familiar Green glow.

Flieder was ecstatic to see Rojo so happy. Rojo had taught Grun and Alaran how to dye their clothes and soon the townspeople were interested in buying colourful garments. Flieder used this idea to set up his own clothes business. One day while watching Rojo expertly dying a bunch of shirts he marvelled at his sheer luck of finding his soul mate on the Big Continent, where prejudices are so high and the law so strict. Every day he made a mental thank you note to whatever may be controlling his fate or the world. If there was anything doing so, he wanted it to know just how thankful he was.

For a few years everything went amazingly well. They were receiving a good income from the clothes dying and had about enough money to put a deposit down on their own house. Rojo was happier than he had ever been and Flieder was constantly smiling that impish smile of his. They got to wake up to each other every day knowing that they didn’t have to hide their love and never lost their passionate spark.

However, one day Rojo received a letter from the Big Continent. It read that his father was terminally ill and only had a few months left. Rojo was distraught and instantly felt guilty for spending so much time away from his father. Flieder pleaded with Rojo not to go but Rojo told him they had no choice. His father had always loved him and he wasn’t going to leave him to die alone. That wasn’t what Segredo deserved.

So Flieder and Rojo bid goodbye to Grun and Alaran, promising that they would return soon. Grun and Alaran were reluctant so see Flieder leave them again and were pained at the thought that Rojo and him would have to hide themselves again. Flieder just laughed this off and said that it would only be a few months. They would have the rest of their lives not to hide. A few more months would be nothing.

Rojo however did not feel the same. He desperately wanted to see his father, but he hated the thought of having to hide himself. Why couldn’t the Grey People just get over this stupid prejudice? Why couldn’t they be more like the people in the town he was leaving behind?

Flieder assured him it was not worth thinking about this. He admired Rojo’s passion, which had greatly outgrown Grun’s, but he saw the danger in it. He warned Rojo that the people on the Big Continent were not ready to change. Rojo didn’t believe Flieder. If the people in that town could change then so could anyone else, but he promised not to do anything rash while he was there.

When Rojo returned home he found that his house was empty and that his father had been put in a hospice earlier that month. The sight of the empty chair where he used to sit and read his notebook made Rojo upset. Flieder could hardly console poor Rojo as his fears of losing his father finally came to light.

That same day they went to visit Segredo. Segredo was overcome with emotion at the sight of his son and hugged him as hard as his frail arms would allow. He did not ask who the strange boy looking uncomfortable in the corner was. Rojo presumed he already had figured it out for himself and was glad that he feigned indifference on the subject.

Later that evening, Rojo left his father’s side reluctantly. He did not give away much about his years of ‘travelling’ except that he had met lots of interesting people. His father seemed happy and didn’t probe much further into it. He had been tired and had fallen asleep an hour before Flieder finally persuaded Rojo to leave.

At home Flieder made Rojo dinner, which was something he never managed to do well but Rojo accepted it as a nice gesture. Rojo chose to flick through the news channels to try and catch up with what was happening on this side of the world. He was astonished to see a familiar face pop onto the screen.

Big Blue had aged several years since Rojo had last spotted him, but there was no mistaking the first Colourful Person he had ever encountered. “My god..” Rojo breathed, putting his head in his hand. Flieder looked startled at the resignation in Rojo’s tone. “What’s wrong?” He squeezed Rojo’s hand lightly and awaited his reply patiently, as he always did. “It’s just a guy I knew once.” Rojo said staring at the T.V screen. “He’s on trial for offending the Grey People.”

Flieder studied the screen carefully, not sure what to make of it. “What does that mean?” he asked quietly. Rojo sighed. “It means he’s been trying his luck too many times, and now he’s going to spend a long time paying for it.” Flieder shook his head and mumbled a few curse words under his breath.

Rojo sat quietly for a while. After a long time he muttered “I think I’m going to visit him tomorrow.” Flieder sat up in alarm at this, his wide eyes bulging. “You can’t! They’ll know you’re a Colourful Person if you go see him.” Rojo patted Flieder’s hand and reassured him “I’ll say my dad sent me to ask for his details. He may be retired but he was big in their business back when. They won’t suspect me.” Flieder sat back in his seat but he still looked unsure. Neither of them said anything more on the subject that night. Flieder hoped that Rojo would have forgotten Big Blue by the morning.

The next day Rojo went alone to Big Blue’s holding cell. Flieder had refused to go with him out of principle but Rojo had no problem getting in and aroused no suspicion doing so, just as he had expected.

Big Blue was handcuffed to a chair behind a small desk in a semi-padded cell, which was standard in all Colour holding prisons. He didn’t look up at first and just grumbled something about not caring if the lawyer wanted to go over his story again, he still wasn’t talking until he got a cheeseburger.

“They aren’t the healthiest of meals you know, I prefer a salad myself.” Rojo smiled, sitting down opposite Big Blue. He looked up at Rojo, startled by his off-hand manner. He studied his face for quite some time before it dawned on him who he was.

“Ah you’re that kid.” Big Blue smirked at his last memory of Rojo. “The one who was interested by my fancy clothin’. Am I right?” Rojo just nodded and held out his hand to shake Big Blue’s. Big Blue laughed and pointed with his chin down at his handcuffs. Rojo smiled at his own stupidity and lowered his hand to the table. “I’m guessin’ they don’t know ‘bout you fella or they wouldn’t have let you in here.” Big Blue deduced, his intense eyes searching Rojo for something he wasn’t even quite sure of himself.

“You guessed right.” Rojo admitted. “I came to see how you are Big Blue, and to ask a favour of you.” Big Blue’s eyes widened excitedly. He obviously hadn’t felt needed or wanted in some time and was happy to give Rojo anything he wanted. Rojo felt angry at what the Grey people had done to this man, but he remained calm.

“I was wondering if I could take a blood sample?” Rojo asked politely. “It seems a waste to let all that beautiful colour escape the public eye.” Big Blue liked this, just as Rojo had expected, and offered to let him bleed him dry if he wanted.

After Rojo had taken a sample of the blue liquid, and Big Blue had filled him in on all the illegal activities he had taken part in, Big Blue decided he had a question of his own. “So how ‘bouts you tell me just how you got in hear eh?” He asked, looking at Rojo suspiciously. Rojo sighed and explained about his father, knowing he owed Big Blue that much.

Big Blue’s face fell as soon as Rojo mentioned Segredo. He let off a string of profanities at the man who had sent him to prison so many times. Rojo tried to block most of what he said out, but couldn’t help tuning in when he mentioned the word ‘Pink’.

“Sorry,” Rojo cut in abruptly, suddenly remembering his father’s notebook all those years ago. “You said something about a Pink woman?” Big Blue nodded. He looked genuinely sad now, his anger fading. “Poor ole Pink.” He said. His voice was hoarse. “You’re blasted father discovered her. She was living in the underground with a bunch of us. We was only young. And your father…” Big Blue trailed off and looked out the grey barred window. “What?” Rojo asked, afraid of the answer.

Big Blue composed himself and looked at Rojo quizzically. “She had a lover, a young yeller girl. We called her Sunshine. Pink was just pink ‘cause we’d never seen anythin’ like her before. Havn’t since neither.” Big Blue stopped to sigh and then took a breath before continuing.

“You’re Dad found out ‘bout us. Too big a gathering to be legal see, so he came down to round us up. As soon as he saw our Pink he stopped dead. He took her from us that night and know one ain’t ever seen her since.” A single tear escaped Big Blue’s bloodshot eye. Rojo sat in silence at the thought of his father doing this to some poor woman.

“But why would he do that?” Rojo asked, confused and desperate to clear his father. “Cause she was different.” Big Blue explained, sighing again. “The world ain’t ready for another colour yet son; she would have been killed as soon as the rulers found out.”

Rojo walked home that night in a daze. Flieder awaited his return anxiously. He didn’t like the idea of Big Blue. He was a trouble-maker and an attention seeker. Sometimes it was necessary to keep secrets, or people got hurt. When Rojo got home Flieder ran to his side and tried to console him. Rojo told him all about what Big Blue had told him. Flieder refused to believe him at first but when he saw the notebook he understood.

Rojo decided to go to his father that very night and confront him about it. Flieder was against this but Rojo wouldn’t listen to him. He was too upset and angry to be consoled. He couldn’t believe that his father had sent some innocent woman to her death just because she was a unique colour. He needed answers.

Segredo was more than surprised to see Rojo and to see how irate and hurt he was. He didn’t interrupt once while Rojo told him about Big Blue and what he had said. When Rojo was finished he sat down, fuming as he waited for Segredo to console him, or agree with him. This strange man, Flieder, intimidated Segredo who was feeble in his weak state, so he decided not to waste time in telling his version of events.

“It’s true, I took Pink away from them that night.” Segredo sighed and stopped briefly to cough into a hankie. “But I didn’t kill her, oh no. When I saw pink I knew I was gazing upon the most beautiful woman in the whole world.”

Rojo was shocked but Segredo continued on. “So I took her, and I gave her an alternative. Either, I gave her over to the rulers, who would surely kill her, or she could come live as a Grey Person with me.” Rojo let the meaning of these words wash over him, Flieder gasped in recognition from somewhere behind him. “Mom?” Rojo croaked through dry lips. “Yes, my Rose.” Segredo said woefully, the thought of her paining him.

“But she could never love you back!” Flieder said angrily, a fire burning in his chest. “You held her prisoner!” Segredo choked slightly as he stuttered to answer Flieder, Rojo was beyond words. “No, if it wasn’t for me she would have died. If it had been anyone else she wouldn’t have had that choice. I kept her safe!” He pleaded. “True she never loved me, but she was thankful to me and for so many years she was nearly happy.”

Rojo peeped up between tear sodden fingers at his father. “She had a lover Dad. You took her away from her.” Segredo shook his fists angrily “It was that or die!” He beseeched Rojo. “Sunshine understood that, she still wrote letters to your mother.” Rojo just shook his head and wept between his fingers.

All along he had thought his mother had despised what he was, tried to look past it and see a normal son. She had just been afraid for him. Afraid that he would have the same sordid life she had had. Rojo wept for the thousands of Colourful People on the Big Continent who had to go through similar struggles and hardships. He wept for his mother and he wept for the poor naive Grey people who had done this to someone so loving.

That night Rojo didn’t say another word to Flieder as they got the bus home. Flieder just thought he was upset for his mother. Segredo had given Rojo the key to the last things that remained of Rose’s belongings, a small pink triangle shape of fabric and the letters that she and sunshine had written each other. He had burnt everything else.

Rojo had already decided that there were more important things in life sometimes than personal happiness. He lamented that Flieder would leave him once he heard what Rojo was going go to do, but Rojo couldn’t live his life without trying to do something to help the Colourful People. All they needed was some inspiration, to rise up and claim the Rights that they should have had all along. It wasn’t enough that there was one small town that was a haven for them. The rulers needed to see how much they were hurting ordinary people. Rojo wanted the whole world to accept the Colourful People for what they were.

Flieder had no idea what Rojo was planning when he went out for bread the next afternoon. He heard about it later, from the police station Rojo was held in.

Rojo went into the meeting square for noon, the busiest time of the day in the Cinzento Square. Rojo had only taken a third of the injection he usually took to keep himself covered. He had planned the timing to what he hoped was perfect. He had bought a megaphone from the old pawn shop on the corner and at a quarter to twelve he stood on the high platform in the square. Already, people started to stop and look his direction. Even more stopped when he cleared his throat through the oversized megaphone.

“I’ve come to ask you Cinzento, to look at yourselves.” Rojo began. “How many of you believe you are unique and are not the same as the person standing beside you? How many of you know the real similarities between all of us here?” All around people gathered to hear what Rojo was trying to say. Curiosity overwhelmed them.

“Do you agree that we all here breathe and bleed?” Rojo asked the crowd. Some of them murmered in approval. “Do you agree that as a people we can be compassionate and loving and can overcome any obstacle?” More people agreed this time and Rojo went on, more confident now. “How many of you would die for your family, your brothers and sisters? How many would risk everything for the person they loved?” A lot more people were cheering now, at least half the crowd agreed with Rojo.

“What about your friends, would you do anything for them because you love them like your own? You wouldn’t leave or hurt them if you could help it, would you?” most of the crowd were cheering now. “How about me for example, you all know me, you’ve grown up with me, you’ve taught me, you’ve cared for me and we’ve loved each other equally, am I right?” The whole crowd cheered this time and Rojo knew he was running out of time now.

“What if I told you that you were the most important people to me and I wanted you, all of you to stand with me, to fight an injustice that is both disgusting and unnecessary? An injustice, which has ruined the lives of many people and will keep on doing so, if we don’t stand together!” The whole crowd roared with Rojo now.

He glanced upon the clock in the meeting square and saw that it was five past twelve. A young boy pointed in astonishment and Rojo knew he had run out of time. “Then look upon me not as someone different to you, but as your brother or father or friend. Don’t look upon me as someone abnormal but just another one of you, someone who deserves the same chance as anyone of you. Look upon me as someone who loves each and every one of you. For the first time, I invite you to look upon me, the real me.” With his final words Rojo threw off his shirt. There was a confused mumble through the crowd. With the injection worn off it only took a few seconds for his skin to reach its normal Red glow.

The whole crowd gasped and was frozen in shock for a moment. Then Rojo heard the sound of angry screams and the crowd writhed in front of him. Rojo waited for someone to pelt him off the platform but was shocked to see a few people in the crowd coming up to join him instead. “He’s still our Rojo!” They shouted back at the crowd. Some of them screamed “He’s right, why is he any different?”

The crowd was too much to contain though. The police broke through and arrested Rojo for public indecency and trying to start a riot. Rojo hardly noticed the policeman putting cuffs on his wrists. He was too distracted by the people shouting his name in the crowd. At least two hundred people had heard him speak that day, and at least twenty of them were chanting his name loyally now. He may have been arrested, but it was a good start.

Flieder was beyond words when he bailed Rojo out of prison later that same day. He came as a Grey Person. He called himself a ‘Rojo-Sympathiser’ and had been allowed to bail him out with quite a sum of money.

Flieder refused to talk to Rojo. He was furious, something Rojo had never seen in him before. “I understand you will want to leave me.” Rojo said as soon as they walked in the front door. Flieder stopped in his tracks, pure shock entering his every nerve. “Leave?” He asked Rojo, as if he had never heard the word uttered before. “Yes.” Rojo managed to say. He could feel a ball in his throat but he had to stay strong, to make it easier for Flieder.

Flieder didn’t say anything for a moment. The silence between them was nearly unbearable to Rojo. Flieder spoke more softly than before. “I am never, ever going to leave you Rojo.” Rojo looked up into his big dark grey eyes and nearly broke down in relief. He moved to hug Flieder but Flieder stood his ground. “I’m furious Rojo, you’ve ruined everything we could have had.” Rojo stopped and nodded. “We can’t go back now, you realise that? You’ll be followed.” Flieder’s voice cracked and Rojo realised he was nearly in tears. Suddenly Rojo realised how much he had hurt Flieder. He was too loyal and too in love with him to leave, but that meant that he would have to sacrifice his happy life too.

“I’m not showing my colour. I will lie if I have to.” Flieder warned. Rojo tried to object but Flieder cut him off. “It’s plain stupid. No one is going to listen to you if you’re seen to be leading an army of Coloured people. If you want help I’m staying Grey and to anyone who cares, we aren’t lovers and never were.” Rojo nodded slowly. He wanted desperately for Flieder to join him, but he understood his point, he would be more useful as a Grey.

“But what if they find out?” Rojo asked timidly, worry creasing his brow. “They won’t.” Flieder said sternly. “I’m moving out tomorrow to make sure.” Flieder turned to look at Rojo and seeing the tears in his eyes he softened. “I will see you, just not every night now. It’s too obvious.” Rojo nodded, the sacrifice had begun.

Rojo and Flieder came up with a scheme to get people to listen. They didn’t like the idea of deceiving the public, but they were desperate. Rojo would schedule public meetings, legally this time, and speak in full colour. Flieder meanwhile would stand in the crowd trying to get as many people to rally in Rojo’s favour as possible. It worked surprisingly well. Soon Rojo had a group of followers that exceeded one hundred Greys and at least fifty Colourfuls. Rojo didn’t take well to the name calling at first but he learned to live with it.

Flieder would purposefully start arguments with the more vocal people in the crowd in the hope that he would be able to bring to light the ridiculousness of the reasoning as to why the Colourful People shouldn’t have rights. It worked a lot of the time and Flieder got good at it quickly.

One night Flieder went to pose as a Grey Person in a pub outside of town in order to bring up the recent rallies as a discussion topic. He kissed Rojo goodnight and Rojo curled up alone in bed for some much needed rest.

Despite them not being able to live together anymore, it hadn’t been as hard as Rojo had anticipated. Flieder was much more in favour of the cause now that he saw how many people were just as annoyed with these unnecessary prejudices as they were. Everything seemed very optimistic and Rojo slept soundly that night in the thought that one day the Colourful and Grey Peoples would live in harmony together, as is always should have been.

The next morning Flieder did not return. He did not return that night either and Rojo began to get seriously worried. He went down to the police station that he had been held in where the police were reluctant to help him with any of his requests. They looked upon his red skin with disgust, just as nearly everyone did.

Eventually he got some answers. Flieder had started a conversation that night in the bar with a man who had said he was for the cause of equal rights for the Colourful Peoples. He had said it was a crying shame that nothing had been done sooner. Flieder had talked animatedly with this man for quite some time when the man asked him, in front of the whole bar if he was in fact one of those Colourful People in disguise.

Flieder just laughed and told him he wasn’t. That’s when the man had pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced all down Flieder’s right arm, clearly showing the purple blood that spilled out from beneath his shirt.

The crowd in the bar had gone crazy and pinned him to the ground until the police came. Flieder had been remanded in custody and forced to tell them all about their secret relationship and how he had lied about being a Grey.

Rojo was told that he would not be allowed see or visit Flieder while he was in prison and that there would be no trial and no bail.

Rojo was distraught. He tried to get petitions signed to free Flieder but only the followers he had already accumulated would sign it. The people believed that they had been deceived and Rojo was left with no way to speak to or help Flieder, who had been sentenced to ten years in prison.

While Flieder served his time Rojo continued his work. Every day he rallied to get people on his side. His followers grew to over three hundred people. It became public knowledge that Flieder had been tricked in that bar so that the police had evidence to arrest him and he became almost a hero figure. Even those who didn’t support Rojo were embarrassed by the police’s sneaky methods and deceitfulness.

Rojo used his work to distract him from the gaping hole in his heart that was usually filled by Flieder. He believed there was nothing else that could make his situation any worse than it already was. His guilt began to consume Rojo. He became obsessed with equality and hardly slept.

Rojo’s father died a few months later. He admitted that he was proud of his son and made a public apology to all the Colourful People he had hurt over the years as C.P.R. Rojo was one of the few people to attend his funeral as many of the officials he knew were too embarrassed by him and Rojo to pay their respects.

Rojo tried to get in contact with Sunshine. He wanted to meet her and talk about his mother. He was desperate to talk to someone who understood his pain. She refused however as she said it would be too painful for her to bear. She said she was supporting him from afar and even sent him a vial of yellow liquid, her own blood so that he may dye fabric with it once Flieder was released from prison. Rojo refused to dye anything until he was let out.

Every day Rojo wrote a letter to Flieder in the hope he would be allowed to read them. He never got one in return but he never gave up hope that one day he would. That day came two years after Flieder had first been arrested.

The letter was addressed to him but was not in Flieder’s handwriting but typed. None the less it was from the prison that Flieder was being held so Rojo opened it with great hope and excitement. The Letter read:

Dear Mr. Rojo

We are writing to inform you that Mr. Flieder, Prisoner no. 56987, died

yesterday at 1200 hours as a result of an accident involving another cell

mate. The man in question is being held and questioned about the incident.

Your’s Sincerely

Unrecht, Prison Security.

Rojo never got over the death of Flieder. For the first year or so he wished to join him and nearly let it destroy him. Rojo was inconsolable and his followers diminished in numbers when he stopped heading the rallies. Many stayed loyal to the cause and hoped that one day Rojo would pick himself back up to lead them. Until then they decided to wait.

After four years Rojo held another rally. It is rumoured that every single person there, whether they supported him or not when they went to hear him, cried with him that day. No one could say after that rally that the love Rojo and Flieder had felt for each other was not pure and right. That day Rojo doubled his following.

It was also the day he decided to begin his new project. Rojo searched desperately for any Pink people who may have been living in that world. He always came up short. It turned out that, for then at least, his mother had truly been one of a kind. It made him morose to think he would have to complete his project without her seventh, beautiful colour, but he persisted anyway.

Rojo died six strips of cloth, each exactly the same proportions as each other. He then lined them up in this order: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue and Purple. When he had dyed them he then sewed them together into a flag, to represent the Colourful People all over the world struggling for equality and a better life. He hoped this flag would symbolise a better future and that no person, whether they be Colourful, Grey or otherwise need go through what he went through.

He didn’t put the Red and Purple stripes beside each other for a few very valid reasons. He wanted to show that this cause isn’t about the individual, but about every single Colourful Person in the world. He wanted to show how insignificant he and Flieder were in comparison to that. He also wanted to show that because of this injustice, they will now always remain apart, because society wouldn’t allow them to be together.

Every morning Rojo hung his flag up on his bedroom window. People would often come down to his house just to look upon it and all its colours. Most people had never seen all six colours at once before.

His fight was far from over, as every day meant more people to talk to and to plead with to see his point of view.  It also meant another day without Flieder. The pain was immense, larger than Rojo could ever even begin to describe. His fight for rights was the only thing that kept him sane.The sight of the flag helped him keep going. It reminded him what he was fighting for all along. It reminded him of the man he once loved and cared for, who he had denied a perfect life with in favour of a struggle; the man who had never left him despite this, but carried on loving him through all their pain. It was for him that Rojo fought for every other Colourful Person in that world. It was for him that every night Rojo would take the flag down carefully and folded  it, so that the Red stripe rested on the Purple. Then he would lay it down beside his bed, so that he and his beautiful Purple stripe could lie with each other once more.

Anyway, I am now free for the summer and I am quite glad for the break. I love college though and I say I will get bored of this freedom quite soon. I have no job to take my mind off all this free time. I will be completely relying on social interaction with friends to keep me occupied.

Many things have changed since the start of college. I am now on the committee of the UCD LGBT society and proud to be doing my part in the fight for Gay rights! I have finally found a cause that I want to devote myself to. I’ve considered the possibility of choosing a career path that will be closely linked with the LGBT community, though I am not sure yet what. I would love to write for a magazine or something of that nature. Writing is, after all, my passion.

So I have decided that next year I will take English as my major. I am not sure as to which minor I will choose though Philosophy is looking increasingly likely. At the start of first year I was so disheartened that I was unable to do psychology as a subject as it was full. Philosophy wasn’t even my next choice as I thought I would not enjoy it. I am quite glad I chose not to go ahead and do Greek and Roman civilisation studies now!

At the start of first year I was also single. There have been a few brief possible encounters of the romantic kind since then but all fizzled out usually pretty fast. That is until the week after my birthday when I went out to celebrate with my UCD friends, of which I have made a surprising amount! The night was pretty great actually. Most of us started off in my friend’s house for a bit of pre-drinking and some cake, which my friends had very kindly bought to celebrate the occasion. After lubricating our braincells just enough to make anything and everything funny, we hit the George in town for some serious clubbing. We met a few more friends in there, two of which had gone to see Neil Delamare live that night before coming out (jealous  much!). It was on the dance floor that I received my 19(ish) kisses and found myelf quite surprised when one of my friends (who I’m going to refer to as K* because I don’t like mentioning people by direct name on this) only kissed me on the cheek. Everyone else had only kissed me on the cheek also, but with her it brought a feeling of bitter disappointment. Of course in my drunken and usual state of complete emotional oblivion I didn’t realise that this disappointment stemmed to feelings I had for her. I suppose it didn’t occur to me because she is one of my best friends and I just hadn’t given us that much thought, or at least not consciously!

Anyway, later that night I ended up kissing K* and one of my other friends in the green room. It was all meant to pretty much have been a friendly joke and a bit of just messing around but when I kissed her I  knew it felt like more than that. I was surprised at just how amazing it felt, not like just a friendly mess around at all. It was more passionate than that.

That night I ended up flirting with K* for basically the whole night. In retrospect this really wasn’t very fair on my part as K* had recently been in a relationship with another one of my very close friends who was present at the time. I’ve talked to that friend about the whole situation though and everything is fine, there are no hard feelings. If there had been I wouldn’t have let anything else happen after that, my friends are to important to me to ever consider being so heartless. The only excuse I have is that I was fairly intoxicated at this stage as it was my birthday after all.

Later that night, just before I left for the taxi K* kissed me again. It was so unexpected and she completely swept me off my feet. I’m so glad she did because at that stage I wasn’t sure how the situation lay. I didn’t know if K* had felt the same about our earlier kiss or if it was just me. I had noticed she was flirting back with me but it didn’t seem like enough proof in my mind. I smiled my way home that night though I remained pretty confused about the whole thing.

The next morning K* coaxed me to talk about my confusion with her. She said that she would prefer if we could be more than friends but that that it was up to me and there was no rush in me deciding exactly whether I felt the same or not. I don’t really know why my feelings were still eluding me at this point. I think I may have still been in shock at just how amazing and right that kiss in the green room had felt. I decided to talk to my friends about the situation. One friend guessed it was about K* before I even had a chance to explain. He said that he knew I liked her and that it must have been something to do with her. In fairness he is usually very good at reading me and almost always knows when I have feelings for someone even before I realise it. I also talked to my friend that K* had been in a relationship with last as I wanted to check she was okay with everything. I was so glad she was and that I could talk to her about my confusion. K* had already talked to her about it too so that also helped. She really is a great friend, who I feel comfortable talking to about almost anything. I don’t think she will ever understand just how appreciative I am about how supportive and okay she was about the whole situation. She really helped in my progress to realising that I had strong feelings for K*. I am truly grateful to her for that and for always being there for me!

I decided not to finalise anything until I saw K* again. I was still slightly unconscious to my emotions and i didn’t want to meet up with her to talk about it for fear of making a rash decision and shooting myself in the foot. K* organised that a few of us hang out on Paddy’s day. We went to the parade and then back to her house for some general bant and sessioning. By this stage everything had fallen into place in my mind. All i wanted to do was talk to her and just her, to hug her and to kiss her. If I had remained oblivious at this stage I would really have to worry for my intelligence! I ended up holding her hand then later when she was sitting on the hammock. She had been giving me a back massage and I basically decided to make myself very obvious. I am so glad I did.

That day was one of the best I’ve had so far. Yet again I got to smile my way home, especially since I was going on holiday to Brighton the next day and K* was also going to be there! We decided that night not to score anyone else in Brighton which I was so glad about because I would not have been comfortable at all. Brighton was  a fantastic trip. K* and I didn’t have to hide our feelings from anyone in the outside world because Brighton is such a gay tolerant and culturally diverse town. We got to walk around in the open holding hands without fear of prejudice or being spotted by someone who we knew but who didn’t know of our sexuality. I wish I could feel that comfortable here in Dublin but alas I can’t see that happening in the foreseeable future.

The first night there is when I asked K* out. Most people would probably believe that our relationship progressed at a ridiculously fast rate but I don’t agree. I have known and been good friends with K* since last September after all, so it is not like I had to see if we were compatible or not. I already knew we got on well and had a lot in common so it just made sense to ask her to be my girlfriend. I think even if it hadn’t made sense I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself asking her anyway!

It has been nearly two months now that we have been together. I have never felt so safe and relaxed in a relationship before. I trust K* completely and have no fears or worries about getting hurt. She is sweet, caring and completely beautiful in  every way. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, it is so distinctly different to my usual emotions towards someone I like. I think one of the best things is that we are so comfortable with each other. I know I could talk to her about absolutely anything and I think she feels the same.

So I am no longer single, and ridiculously happy to be so. I don’t deserve K*, she is so good to me and is so caring. I get to go on holidays again with her in two months and I can hardly wait. When I am with her I am truly happy. It pains me to have to say goodbye to her, even if it is only for a few hours or days. It sounds soppy, but it is true and to be frank, I wouldn’t change that feeling for all the riches this world has to offer.

She is mine, and I am hers and hopefully it will stay like that for quite a while to come. I don’t want to have to give up this feeling, she is too precious to me. I find it weird to think back to all the little situations that lead to this eventually happening. What if we had kissed before then for example? Would I have seen it as more than a friendly mess about. I have kissed other friends and not ended up confused about it. Would I have missed out on this relationship if we had ended up kissing before this?

I shudder to think that I could have. It’s not a thought worth lingering though. None of the “what if”s matter. The reality is that I have not missed out. That, and her, are really all that matter.

It has certainly been an interesting first year of college. I feel I have matured sinc my nervous first day, which seems so long ago. I am glad that I get to end this year on such a high note. I am happy, I am involved with college, I have new and amazing friends and I have a girlfriend who I adore.

I think there are worse ways to end a year, though I can’t imagine better!

"I wanna hold your haaand! I wanna hold your hand.."

Andy was actually my brother’s friend, but I had grown up knowing him from an early age. We got on very well and I saw him as my friend also, not just a friend of my brother’s. Some of my school friends at the time may have seen this as odd, as Andy was two years my junior. To a 14 year old this is a long time. Being friends with a 12 year old would not have been seen as completely the norm. However we were also in cubs and then scouts together, so we were friends through that also.

I didn’t realise what day it was or its significance until a little bit earlier today, around noon. My mom and i were talking and the conversation somehow steered towards death and then towards Andy. We talked about the day we had to tell my brother. We both remember it slightly differently, but the image of my brother’s face when we told him remains vividly the same. We discussed these things for a while, and how my brother was so strong through the whole ordeal, then my mom asked me what date was his anniversary. I told her it was the 30th, then looked and my phone and was shocked to see that was today.

I was upset then after that and made an excuse about going to get dressed. I sat quietly in my room for a while, thinking back to that day and the night before which was the last time I saw Andy. I feel so guilty about so many things still to this day. One such thing, is that I got to see Andy the night before he died and my brother did not. We were in scouts, as was our usual Thursday night. I don’t remember everything we did that night, or the last thing I said  to Andy, though it was probably goodbye. I believe he had climbed into the bin and was giving the leaders a difficult but hilarious time when I left, but this could have been any night in scouts. I do remember one thing he said to me that night however, becuase it chilled me to remember it. All the scouts were playing a game outside. As usual I wasn’t really interested and decided to make an excuse and just watch. Andy came up to me and tried to get me to play. When I wouldn’t he said to me “You’re wasting your life.” and then went on playing.

I don’t think I will ever forget that he said that to me. He probably didn’t even realise it at the time but his words have kept me motivated with anything I have set out to do since. His life was cut short, a life that he could have used to do amazing things. I think I owe it to him not to sit at the side and watch as much as I used to. Sure I know I don’t get involved all the time, but I try to make an effort more and live my life how I want to.

Another thing I feel guilty about is that I get to go on living while Andy never got that chance. Andy was an amazing child, anyone who knew him could agree with me. He constantly looked on the bright side of things and was renowned for having people constantly in stitches of laughter. The most memorable things about Andy, to me at least, was his beaming smile, his short ‘carpet-head’ haircut, and his inability to say his ‘r’s', which jsut made him even more charming. Andy was constantly happy, or at least he was almost always upbeat and cheerful. He tried to make the best out of every situation and to get everyone involved. The only time I think I ever saw him frustrated was when I didn’t pronounce his surname right, simply because he couldn’t pronounce it either. I fondly used to refer to him as carpet-head, not Andy, because of his short black hair that felt soft and bristly. I remember only a few months before his death he decided to grow his hair long. It did get to a substantial length before he cut it off for his confirmation, going back to the hair we all knew him well for.

Andy was never great at school and was in a special learning class. This never dettered Andy though. He was looking forward to going to secondary school. He had chosen a school that the could do things like metalwork and carpentry, because he knew he was good with his hands. He was even looking forward to doing his leaving certificate and going off to get a job. He wanted to better himself and wanted to live to his full potential. For Andy anything was possible, nothing had a bleak outlook. Speaking truthfully, Andy was the kind of guy that could have probably done anything. he had the drive and motivation behind him to achieve so much. He never got that chance though.

I’ve never been that motivated in anything. I’ve never been as optimistic as Andy either. That’s why I feel guilty that his life was taken away when mine seems so much less important.

I also feel guilty for still missing Andy, though I know that can’t helped. I suppose it’s mainly because my brother seems so okay now, and really Andy was his close friend not mine. I even got to go away to Kerry with Andy and my brother did not. They were meant to be going there on a school trip but Andy didn’t live that long. I got to go with him the year before on a scout trip. I even got to see Andy the night before he died, where as my brother didn’t.

I found out about Andy the same day as he died. My mom and I were sitting downstairs discussing whether I would be allowed to go to Wezz disco for the first time. My mom got a phone call and was in tears. She told me that Andy had died and I wouldn’t believe her. We tried to ring anyone who might know, including and news services. We didn’t find out Andy’s name but from the other details we found, we knew it had to be him. Still, i remained hopeful until the next morning when our fears were confirmed. That morning my mom had to tell my brother what had happened. I sat and watched as my brother’s whole life shattered around him. He was only 12 at the time, so young to have to try and deal with the loss of his best friend.

I don’t think anything i could write would do justice to Andy’s memory. There aren’t enough words to describe what an amazing boy and friend Andy was. I count myself severely lucky to have known him so well for his short life. i don’t think I will ever stop missing him, as I’m sure my brother does, he just doesn’t show it. Andy would be turning 18 this year if he were still alive. There are so many things he missed out on. Going to secondary school, kissing a girl, going to his first disco, turning 18… The list is endless.

The only thing i can do now is promise to never forget Andy, though I couldn’t even if I tried. He holds  a special place in my heart and that is something I’ll never lose. His death has affected my life forever.

His life affected it much more.

I started going through some old diaries and journals to pass the time. Something to read always helps me relax. I like to read back on things I used to think about and feel. While rummaging, I came across 2 A4 pages shoved in an old diary from when I was in fifth year that paid as a gruelling reminder to just how low I got in that year. It was shocking to read. I don’t clearly remember writing it or when but I recognised the feelings linked to it. I had never intended anyone to read it, but I think because my theme for this blog has been change so far, that I should share it with those who wish to read it.

You must know that my life has changed dramatically since. At the moment I am happy. Which is huge for me because I am usually a sceptic of what happiness truly is. When I wrote this I was so far from happy I actually hurt reading it. I have felt this low since but not often. I have ups and downs that usually last months at a time. Anyway, here is the text as I wrote it then. All I’m going to change is a few spelling errors, so please excuse my writing. After all, it was written over 2 years ago now.

“I am unfit, unworthy of living. I am nothing, nobody. I am a failure. I hate myself. I hate this life and I want to die…” The thoughts that run too frequently through my mind. They scare me sometimes, my thoughts. I often wish that i could live in America, where guns are legal. To shoot or kill another human being is a disgrace and foul behaviour. There is no way I would ever bring myself to do that onto another, but then again I hardly count as human. So to shoot myself seems more like a justice. Maybe the reason then I was born in Ireland was to make sure I couldn’t get my hands on such a device. I don’t see why the world would want to save me.

There seems to be no easy way out of this. I am a coward and therefore don’t have the patience to go to the more extreme or slow methods of ridding this place of my presence.

Then again, there are my friends. The only thing left living for. The only reason I am still clinging on to what little I imagine I have. I can feel myself slipping away though. My mind and actions grow more secretive, hostile. Survival instincts? A waste of time. I feel like I’m growing apart from the few people I love and I’m no stranger to the fact that it is my own fault. My trust is forever in them but I still seem to be slipping away.

Sometimes it gets so bleak that I wish I didn’t have any friends. That I wish I had never talked to any of them. If I had never talked to them, then what would there be left to really hold me back? Then again, sometimes I want to be held back. I don’t want to give in. These times are rare. I see them as a lapse in conscious thought and realistic thinking. I am not an optimist, I have no need for further let downs and false hopes.

Where do these problems come from? I find myself crying over a school book or in bed. There are the obvious ones: school, love, general family problems and drink and drugs. All of these are apparent to me, but what of my imaginary grievances? I find myself enveloped in darkness without reason. I feel myself slipping into depression with no motives or hardly any. It makes me feel worse. I am unworthy to feel like this and I feel guilty for feeling so hopeless.

I know people, friends and strangers alike, who have more reason to feel like this than I do. Some do, others don’t. What should it matter? Friends always tell me that it’s okay to feel like this but if it is then why does it feel so guilt-stricken. I hate what I am, who I am. I hate that I still burden people with my stupid little problems and yet I hate that I am finding myself more reluctant to confide in anyone.

I really wanted to ring Leah today. Just to talk to someone, anyone really, though I find it so much easier to talk to her. I also really wanted to find out how she is. I know I can listen, anyone with half a brain cell can, but I can never find the right words to say. Maybe that’s why I didn’t call, not because I don’t care but because I can’t find the words. It kills me sometimes, not being able to help and not knowing what to do. I wish I had rang her. My own company seems almost unbearable at the moment though and I wouldn’t want to burden her with that.

I don’t really understand why anyone would want to be friends with me. I mean, I really don’t! I don’t do much to help with any situation, I am most definitely a bad influence and I am a monument of self-pity. Which, I hate myself for. I shouldn’t feel like this, I have no right. I can’t stand it anymore. Why can’t I just get on with things? Why does it take so much for me to feel okay? Why can’t it all just end?

The way I’m going i don’t think I’ll last much longer anyway. I’m on a road to self destruction and I know it. I want to cry out, I want to feel people want me to stay. Just a reason to keep going.

But I don’t want to be selfish anymore. I don’t want to have to put all the extra baggage of my stupid, worthless problems on anyone.

But then again, sometimes, I don’t want to die.

However, my first Lesbian experience was a short time before this. I am unsure of the year but I was between the age of 6 and 9 at the time. I had been playing out on the green across from my house with a girl who lived on the next street down from mine. I’ll refer to her as “Alex”. We were walking through the bushes which we used as a kind of fort. Those bushes are long gone now though. Anyway we were talking and Alex turned to me quite out of the blue and said that she liked me as more than a friend. She left it at that and walked out of the bushes as if nothing had happened. Understandably I was quite freaked out by the whole ordeal, I didn’t even know what gay actually meant back then. I didn’t see her again for a long time to come. I just found it to weird after that. Also she swore a lot and at the time I didn’t like that either.

The incident my mother became aware of was when I had my first crush on a girl in my class in primary school. All I ever wanted was to be around her. I couldn’t imagine kissing her, but then again I was too young to imagine kissing anyone at the time. I got scared of these feelings and couldn’t understand them so I told my mom. She didn’t react badly but looking back she must have been very surprised and worried. She told me recently that she had a lot of sleepless nights since then worrying about me having a normal life. She told me it was a normal thing and that I just really wanted to be friends with the girl. It was a lie but a small one. I wouldn’t have understood any different at the time.

I was in first year by the time I realised I couldn’t be straight. I started to like a girl in my class and this time I did want to kiss her. It scared me a lot. I began to like a close friend of mine towards the end of first year. I began to practically obsess over her. I told two of my other friends at another friend’s 14th birthday party, just before school started for 2nd year. Sarah, a friend who I am close with to this day, was fine with it and made me realise it wasn’t as big a deal as I had thought in my head. Unfortunately the girl I liked found out about it that halloween. She sent me a note in school saying that we could no longer be friends and that she couldn’t talk to me anymore. She came from avery religious family and saw it as completely unnatural. I was distraught and tried desperately to make her believe I didn’t like her.

A month or so later she apologised to me for acting like that. She said she believed me but we both know different. That experience set me back in accepting myself for quite a while. I made a pact with myself to never let anyone find out if I liked them, I didn’t want to feel like that ever again. I didn’t get over her for 2 and a half years.

I went to my first gig at the age of 14, near the end of 2nd year. I was starting to toy with the idea of kissing a girl. (or meeting as we called it). I had already met 3 guys, one who I went out with briefly on holidays for about 4 days. At this point I was beginning to believe I was bisexual. At my first gig I spotted a girl that Sarah said always went to them. She was tall and slim with dark black hair and thick black eyeliner. She was totally stunning. She looked about 2 years older than me and was the hottest girl in the room. We nicknamed her “sexy evil ballerina” because of the skirt Sarah said she usually wore. That day she was wearing jeans.

That summer a friend of my brother was murdered. He was 12 years old at the time. He had a special place in my heart as he was my brother’s best friend. My brother and I have always been close so I saw him as a friend of mine too. The night before he died we were both in scouts and as usual I wasn’t taking part in the out door games. I don’t remember the last thing I ever said to him, but I do remember him asking why I wasn’t playing and then saying “you’re wasting your life.” The next morning his dad murdered him.

He had said it to me as a joke at the time, but it made me think about how I should live my life how I want  to. I think it’s inspired me to do a lot of things I never would have. I still miss him to this day. He was a fantastic person. Life always wipes out the good ones.

I went to my second gig in third year and that was the first time I met a girl. It was also the first time I drank. Vodka was my poison, I could drink it straight back then but only needed a half naggin. She kissed my friend in the bathroom. I saw her do this and asked her if I could meet her too. That kiss was a lot better than my first guy kiss, and it felt more.. well right! I got a sudden burst of confidence after that. I decided I was going to meet Sexy Evil Ballerina (We had found out her name was Chloe). I got Sarah to march up to her, I was too shy to ask her myself, and ask her to meet me. It always happened like that when I was younger, nothing was spur of the moment everyone just asked. To my surprise she said yes. The second girl I kissed was the hottest girl in that gig, and in many gigs after.

At those gigs we often played beat the slapper. I generally lost. Even though I claimed I was bi I only ever really chose to meet girls. I met a lot of girls at those gigs, but nothing else happened. Until Sarah’s 16th birthday party that is.

We were in fourth year by this stage. Sarah had a party in her house and there were two girls there I didn’t know as well as a few guys. It was a great party. Plenty of booze, music and good banter. I ended up sitting on a bench outside with a guy friend and one of the new girls. We were all talking and it took me a while to notice her hand slowly making it’s way up my leg. I remember just stopping mid-sentance to look down at her hand there. I lent in and kissed her which seems pretty unfair on my other friend who was sitting there but he soon left. She suggested we go over to the trampoline.

That was the first time I ever did more than just kiss a girl. I think I had started to realise before that that I was gay and not bisexual. I started referring to myself as being “pretty much gay”. By the start of fifth year I felt nearly sure. Coincidentally my mom asked me about my sexuality. We had talked about me possibly being bi so I think that me telling her I was gay came as a slight surprise. She told me not to tell my brother, so naturally I walked into the sitting room and said “Andy I’m gay.” To which his reply was “Okay so.” I love him for that, he never had a problem with me. I didn’t know at the time but my mom wasn’t in a good place then and was only beginning to realise she was depressed. So obviously my news didn’t go down too well. I was treated differently, things were awkward for a few months. Those starting months of fifth year were the some of the worst of my life.

I decided to come out to my year in a dramatic way. I hated my year in fifth year which was unfair of me. By the end of 6th year I loved all of them, especially for how they reacted to my “little stunt”. At the musical after party I invited my friend Claire to come with me and we decided to pretend we were going out with each other for the night. We danced with each other and met each other, in plain view of everyone there. My friends didn’t know I was going to do it. They weren’t happy and I got an earful. They accepted me but they were afraid of how the people at the after party would react, especially the guys we didn’t know.

I found out at the end of 6th year that most of the girls there were happy that I had felt that comfortable around them to be myself. Coming from an all girls private school that’s pretty amazing. They didn’t realise it was a stunt. I suppose I was just ratifying rumours that had been going for a long time.

My cousin came out after new years. As soon as that happened life became easier for me. It was as if my family finally realised that being gay wasn’t as unusual as they thought and I was no longer the black sheep. New years eve of 2006 was an important night for me too. I had told my friend I liked her a few months previous. I wouldn’t have told her but another friend basically forced me too (thankfully). Anyway, that new years she told me she liked me too. We ended up meeting after that and went out as well. After 2 and a half months she broke it off but we’re still friends.

I won’t lie, it was really hard for me after that. I’m glad it happened though and that I had my first Lesbian relationship.

That’s basically my coming out story! A few months after we broke up I got with another girl I really liked. We didn’t go out but are also still friends. I havn’t had another girlfriend, yet.

I forgot to mention that Alex and I became friends years later. Around 2nd year. She broke my heart, but that is a different story.