The Day I Decided to Emigrate

I clearly remember the first day I was aware of my difference. I was eleven years old and we were at school. The boys were talking about the girls they liked, but I didn't feel the same way.

My eyes were on the boys, and I felt an attraction that I didn't fully understand. At first, I thought it was something temporary, something that would go away in time. But it didn't.

As I got older, I realised I was gay. At first, I kept it a secret. I knew that if I said it out loud, the consequences would be devastating. And I was right. When I was seventeen, I told my best friend, thinking he would understand. His reaction was shock and rejection. Overnight, everyone at school found out. They started calling me "faggot", "sissy", and other insults that still echo in my mind.

School days became a nightmare. The other kids pushed me in the corridors, called me names and some even hit me. The teachers did nothing, and sometimes it seemed that they too looked down on me. It was as if suddenly the whole world had turned against me.

At home, things were not much better. My parents, although they didn't know about my sexual orientation, were very strict and conservative. They constantly talked to me about the importance of having a traditional family. The thought of disappointing them terrified me, so I kept pretending, trying to be the son they expected.

One day, after a particularly vicious attack at school, I came home in tears. My mother asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't tell her the truth. I just told her that I had had a bad day. That night, as I lay in bed, I decided I had to do something. I couldn't go on living like this. I had to find a place where I could be myself, where I didn't have to hide or live in fear.

I started researching the most gay-friendly countries. I discovered that many LGBTQ+ migrants found refuge in Europe, and one country in particular, Spain, stood out for its openness and acceptance. Madrid, the capital, was known for its vibrant LGBTQ+ community and social acceptance. I decided that this would be my destination.

Making the decision to emigrate was not easy. Leaving behind my family, my friends, and everything I knew was terrifying. But I knew that if I stayed, my life would still be hell. So, in my twenties, with a heart full of hope and fear, I packed my things and bought a plane ticket to Madrid.

The day I left, my mother hugged me tightly. "Take care of yourself, my boy," she said, not really knowing why I was leaving. I felt a lump in my throat and had to hold back tears. I didn't want her to see how scared and sad I was. My father, on the other hand, simply patted me on the back and told me to make something of my life. It hurt me to leave my parents without telling them the truth, but I knew they wouldn't understand.

The flight to Madrid was long and lonely. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of my parents, of my friends, of all those I had left behind. I wondered if I was doing the right thing, if I would find the peace and acceptance I longed for.

Arriving in Madrid, I was overwhelmed. The city was huge and full of life, so different from my small town in Colombia. I settled into a small flat I had rented with my savings. The first days were difficult. I felt alone and lost in an unknown city. But little by little, I started to explore and meet people.

One afternoon, while walking through the Chueca neighbourhood, the heart of Madrid's LGBTQ+ community, I felt for the first time in a long time a sense of hope. The streets were full of people like me, people who were not afraid to be who they were. For the first time, I didn't feel alone.

Eventually, I found a job in a coffee shop and started making friends. I met other people who had gone through similar experiences to mine, and together, we shared our stories and supported each other. I joined a support group for LGBTQ+ migrants and there I found a new family.

Although my life in Madrid was not easy at first, little by little I started to feel more confident and accepted. I started to live my life without fear, without having to hide. Still, there were nights when I felt melancholic and missed my family. I thought about my mother and how she would react if she knew the truth. It hurt me not to be able to share my achievements and joys with them, but I knew that my decision to emigrate was the right one.

Distance helped me heal and find my place in the world. I started to get involved in organisations fighting for LGBTQ+ rights and found a new passion in helping others who, like me, had suffered discrimination and rejection.

Today, as I write this story from my flat in Madrid, I look back at the road I have travelled. The sadness and melancholy are still there, but there is also hope and a deep gratitude for having found a place where I can be myself. My journey has not been easy, but it has been necessary to find the freedom and acceptance I have always sought.

Despite the distance and pain, I have learned that sometimes, in order to find peace and happiness, it is necessary to make difficult and courageous decisions. Emigrating was the hardest decision I have ever made, but it was also the best. Here, in this vibrant and welcoming city, I have found a home and a community that accepts me as I am.