RAINBOW POETRY AND OTHER STORIES ➳ [#WattPride]

Far-fetched

We were all shaken when Diego died.

The first thing you ask for whenever someone dies is the cause of death. You expect that it's something bizarre and far-fetched, something that wouldn't happen to you. Like some rare cancer or a tumor. You don't expect something as simple as that.

"He was OK that day. Normal." His mother told us, eyes hollow and drowning with tears. "He was being his usual self. Then, after calling him a thousand times for dinner, I barged in his room and found him lying on the floor, dead."

Diego did not die. Scratch that. He killed himself.

There is something you need to know about Diego. He lived two lives.

One was the Diego from the past. The Diego who was raised by a Catholic family. He was the Diego who never misses church on Sunday. The one who won't talk to us when he's in the grocery store with his mom.

The second one was the new Diego. The happy-go-lucky Diego. The real Diego. He was the Diego who couldn't take his hands off his boyfriend. The Diego who consistently beat us at Madonna karaoke. He was the Diego who go to gay parades with nothing but boxer briefs and the word "Unicorn" painted on his defined chest.

There were two very different Diego's. He chose to live one. So the true Diego died.

We were gathered in the cafeteria the day after Diego's body was buried in the ground. Such a shame. With his flair and personality, he should be buried in the skies where he'll sparkle.

Our table weighed the sadness in our eyes. No one dared to joke or laugh or make conversation as usual. Everyone was shrouded by a black drape of sorrow and desolation.

"I miss Diego," Kurt said. He was the first to break the mind splitting silence.

"Who would have thought he'll commit suicide," Blanche spoke, hugging her girlfriend Lyana tight. As if she'll let go. "He didn't deserve it."

"No one does." Her girlfriend answered back, burying her face into Blanche's chest.

"He died. Because he's gay?" My boyfriend Ross said. He tried not to cry but the droplets in his eyes betrayed him.

"No," I said rather louder than I intended.

My tears betrayed me too. I spoke the words as if they're choking me. But the truth needed to spill out. My friend slashed his wrist for this truth.

The words came out of me like a melody. I hope the world hears it.

"He didn't die because he's gay. He died because they kept on telling him that he's not."