#8
LAT
Atkāpšos uz laiku, kad pret sevi biju vispatiesākais un godīgākais. Toreiz gāju otrajā klasītē un biju patiesi laimīgs puika – man bija savs pulciņš draugu, mīloša ģimene, nebija ne atbildību, ne raižu… Vienā no latviešu valodas stundām klases audzinātāja ierosināja pamainīt solu izkārtojumu telpā. Līdz tam sēdēju pie viena galda kopā ar vienu no bērnības labākajām draudzenēm, taču sanāca tā, ka tiku pārsēdināts blakus ļoti foršam, gudram un simpātiskam puisim.
Un tad notika lielais atklājums – apziņa, ka turpmāk sēdēsim blakus, lika vēderam sagriezties, un es pirmo reizi mūžā sajutu tauriņus…
Es to uztvēru absolūti normāli un pat nepiedomāju pie tā līdz brīdim, kad no “ārpasaules” sāku sajust dažādus, teiksim, pretspēkus. Atceros augusta vakaru gadus divdesmit atpakaļ, kad ar ģimeni bijām devušies izbraukumā. Sēdēju mašīnas aizmugurē, biju atspiedis galvu pret logu un lūkojos zvaigznēs. Kaut kā sarunas tēma – pārsvarā runāja mana mamma un viņas māsa (mana krustmāte) – ievirzījās par vienu Latvijas sabiedrībā pazīstamu dziedātāju, kuru turpmākā stāsta nolūkiem saukšu par Jāni.
“Bet Jānis taču ir zilais!” Šī ir frāze, kas manā atmiņā no šī brauciena iespiedusies dziļi. Lai arī toreiz nemaz nesapratu, kas slēpjas aiz termina "zils", intonācija, ko dzirdēju, bija diezgan nievājoša, un ilgu laiku neizpratu, kāpēc aizķērās arī manā prātā.
Tā aizsākās ilgu gadu periods, kur ārkārtīgi konfliktēju pats ar sevi. Mēģināju sev un, protams, citiem pierādīt, ka esmu tik pareizs, cik vien sabiedrība no manis to sagaida. Es taču biju tikai parasts bērns. Un nenoliedzami – šī konfliktsituācija mani traumēja. Būdams pats ar sevi, gribot negribot iemācījos uzņemties atbildību (pat gadījumos, kur tas ir lieki), kā arī klusēt, kad kāds dara pāri. Rezultātā pamatskolas beigās un visu vidusskolas laiku cīnījos ar smagu depresiju, kas atstājusi sekas uz fizisko, psiholoģisko un emocionālo veselību vēl šodien. Un viss tikai tāpēc, ka nevarēju (laikam pareizāk teikt – nedrīkstēju) būt es pats.
Lai cik dīvaini tas varētu šķist, saredzu arī plusus šajā sevis izzināšanas ceļā. Ļoti mērķtiecīgi, lai "ignorētu" šo savas identitātes šķautni, skolas laikā pilnībā nodevos mācībām. Gāju uz olimpiādēm, cīnījos, lauzu sevi līdz pēdējam, kas pozitīvā ziņā pret mani ir atspēlējies ilgtermiņā – šodien esmu spējīgs viegli uztvert jaunu informāciju, gluži vai ieraduma veidā iekļaujos termiņos, daru visu ar lielāko atbildības sajūtu.
Kad uzsāku studijas Rīgā, sapratu, ka esmu nonācis krustcelēs – man jāizlemj, vai nu turpināt nemīlēt sevi un slēpties, vai būt atklātam un līdz ar to mierā ar sevi. Bija pāris mēģinājumi nostāties pret sevi (tai skaitā “nevainības zaudēšana” ar meiteni), bet, pārāk neiedziļinoties manas intīmās dzīves aprakstā, vēlos uzsvērt, ka tas vienkārši nebiju es.
Es jutos neērti un pat pretīgi par to, ka sava gļēvuma un baiļu dēļ pats lieku šķēršļus savai laimei. Tad pienāca vakars, kad ar asarām acīs nostājos pretī spogulim, ieskatījos sevī un pirmo reizi skaļi pateicu: “Tu esi gejs!” Pat vēl šobrīd sirds sāk pukstēt straujāk, kad apzinos – es esmu gejs! Atceros, ka pēc atzīšanās sev visu atlikušo vakaru jutos atbrīvots, un šodien, teju 10 gadus vēlāk, jūtos brīvāks un drošāks par sevi nekā jebkad.
ENG
I'll go back to a time when I was the most truthful and honest with myself. I was in the second grade and I was a really happy boy – I had my own group of friends, a loving family, no responsibilities, no worries... In one of my Latvian language classes, the teacher suggested changing the arrangement of the desks in the room. Up until then I had been sitting at the same table with one of my childhood best friends, but it happened that I was seated next to a very cool, smart and likable boy.
And then the big discovery happened – the realisation that we would be sitting next to each other made my stomach turn, and I felt butterflies for the first time in my life...
I thought it was absolutely normal and didn't even think about it until I started feeling different, let's say, counter-forces from the “outside world”. I remember an August evening twenty years ago, when my family and I went on a trip. I was sitting in the back of the car, leaning my head against the window and looking at the stars. Somehow the topic of conversation – mostly my mum and her sister (my godmother) – turned to a well-known singer in Latvian society, whom I will call Jānis for the sake of the rest of this story.
“But Jānis is a fag!” This is a phrase that has stuck deeply in my memory from this trip. Although I did not understand at the time what was behind the term “fag”, the intonation I heard was quite derogatory, and for a long time I did not understand why it stuck in my mind.
That was the beginning of a long period of years where I was extremely conflicted with myself. I tried to prove to myself and, of course, to others that I was as right as society expected me to be. I was just an ordinary child. And undeniably, I was traumatised by this state of conflict. Being on my own, I learned to take responsibility (even when it was unnecessary) and to keep quiet when someone hurt me. As a result, I struggled with severe depression at the end of primary school and throughout secondary school, which has had consequences on my physical, psychological and emotional health to this day. And all because I couldn't (probably more accurately, shouldn't) be myself.
Strange as it may seem, I also see the upside of this journey of self-discovery. Very determined to “ignore” this aspect of my identity, I threw myself completely into my studies during school. I went to the academic competitions, I pushed myself to the limit, which has paid off for me in a positive way in the long term: today I am able to absorb new information easily, I meet deadlines almost by habit, I do everything with the greatest sense of responsibility.
When I started my studies in Riga, I realised that I was at a crossroads – I had to decide whether to continue to dislike myself and hide, or to be open and therefore at peace with myself. There were a couple of attempts to confront myself (including “losing my virginity” with a girl), but without going too much into the description of my intimate life, I would like to stress that it was simply not me.
I felt embarrassed and even disgusted at myself for putting obstacles in the way of my own happiness because of my cowardice and fear. Then came the evening when, with tears in my eyes, I stood in front of the mirror, looked at myself and for the first time said out loud: “You're gay!” Even now, my heart starts beating faster when I realise – I am gay! I remember feeling liberated for the rest of the evening after coming out, and today, almost 10 years later, I feel more free and confident than ever.
Dalībnieka #8 radošais darbs
Creative work of the participant #8