Back on my island, all I did was go from school to home and from home back to school again, and then I made a decision: that when I finished ninth grade I’d immigrate to the United States. I lived with my grandmother, an uncle (my father’s brother), and my big sister.
My mom is from Honduras and my dad is from El Salvador, but, when I was fourteen, my mom left us and decided to make her life with someone else. She went back to her country and left us on our own, and then my grandmother died, and we were even more alone.
My dad went to the U.S. in 2007, because of the situation with work, so he could provide for us—he had to go to give us a better life. He always looked out for me and my sister. And my mom, too, until she decided to go and live with someone else.
On the island where I lived everyone knew one another. It’s a small place, with about five hundred people living there, and everyone says hello and talks to one another when they go out into the fields, or to the beach. When I was there, the kids who used to be my friends would show me their fists, saying they were going to punch me, but I would try and move away. They’d shout at me in the street and say I was someone who shouldn’t exist. They showed me their fists, but I tried to avoid them, so it didn’t get any more serious than that.
I realized when I was fourteen years old. When my mom abandoned me and my sister, I felt more alone, and when I felt alone I needed someone who would show me affection. That’s when I realized I was gay.
I went to school from Monday to Friday. Sometimes on Saturdays I went to watch the other kids play, but when I did, my old friends were always around and implying things, saying stuff like Here comes the faggot and laughing at me for my sexual orientation. By that point I’d stopped hanging out with them. If they were saying things like that then they weren’t my friends anymore; they didn’t have anything to do with friendship, because someone who treats another person badly is not a friend.
I felt good about myself and I still do. I never had a problem with it; I accept myself for how I am. But when other people hassled me, it affected me, because it hurt my dignity.
Things were going well for me at school because I was getting good grades, but, on the other hand, they weren’t going so well because the other kids would bother me because of my identity. They’d shout rude things at me: When we played basketball, they’d say it was a game for faggots, and that soccer was for real men, but basketball wasn’t.
This all started when they saw me talking to a kid who was my boyfriend, and then they started to suspect that there was something going on between us, even though we weren’t doing anything, we weren’t kissing or anything like that. But they suspected we had something between us and that we were going out with each other. And then they said horrible things to me, they shouted that word at me in the street. They always treated me that way.
I used to go to a beach on my own, where not many people go; it’s a solitary kind of beach. I would go just to walk around, because I wasn’t hanging out with anyone, for the same reasons—because they all treated me badly. I didn’t go to the beach with my family because things weren’t good with them, either. My family would hear rumors and they all started to distance themselves from me. I wasn’t getting any support or protection from my friends or my family.
My family suspected that I was gay and they started saying awful things to me. My sister would say to my uncle that I might have a boyfriend and my uncle believed everything she said and started shouting at me, saying awful things. He said that he didn’t want a faggot in his house.
There was one day when I was studying in the city, because on the island you couldn’t study for your high school diploma, so on Wednesdays and Fridays I had to go across to the mainland to do a virtual diploma—back then there weren’t any computers on the island. In the city some bad people threatened me on my way to class. They noticed me in the street and told me they didn’t want to see me around there again, because they’d do something to me. I’m sure they figured out my sexual orientation. In my country no one accepts gay people.
In the city there are lots of gangs, the Mara Salvatrucha and the M-18, all looking to see who wants to take part in doing bad stuff. And if you refuse, they say that they’re going to kill you. Or they don’t even tell you, they just go and do it. Or else they demand rent off you.
If you’re gay they bother you even more. Gay people they rape and kill.
I told my dad that I wanted to go to the United States with him, but I didn’t tell him the reason. My dad doesn’t know, and he wouldn’t accept it if I said to him, “Dad, I’m gay.” Because he doesn’t love people like that, either; he’s kind of against gay people. I never told him I was gay because I didn’t know what would happen.
My dad always looked out for me, he sent us money, but he’s never known about this thing with my sexual orientation. My uncle didn’t tell him anything, but he did have an idea that I was gay.
When I was in the States one of my cousins started sending me messages, saying that he didn’t like me because I was gay, and then he told me if I was deported something would happen to me, because he’s in a gang. I was really scared, I still am scared, scared that if I go back he’ll do something bad to me. He’s in the 18th Street gang, and so I’m scared he might do something to me.
On the way here, I met someone from my country, called César. We got along really well. He and I had things in common. I really liked him, and he really liked me.
We made the journey with ten people, eight men and two women, including a six-year-old boy traveling with his mom. They saw us and they were laughing and they kind of suspected something, but they didn’t discriminate, they weren’t bothering me. They were respectful.
He and I still talk sometimes, but he’s in California. And when we talk, there are times when we actually get into those topics. I ask him if he ever thinks about me, and he tells me that he does.
We both know it’s something we’ll always remember.