Ocean

I remember what I lived through ten years ago as if it happened just yesterday. I can still feel the gentle breeze caressing my face, the vastness of the deep blue ocean stretching before me, and the emotions of that moment pressing against my heart even now. When I place my hand over my chest and close my eyes, I can hear the waves crashing against the shore, feel the wind grazing my skin, and visualize the reason behind the smile forming on my lips.

Had I known that a love like his would come into my life, I would have been braver in diving into the depths of the ocean. I knew that the ocean’s secrets lay hidden in its depths, and only those with courage could uncover them. But as most of us understand all too well, if we knew what was to come, everything would turn out differently. And that would strip the soul of its magic.

What did Tolstoy say? “All great literature is one of two stories: a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town.” From my perspective, I was the one who set out on a journey; from Aaron’s, I was the stranger who arrived in his town.

The first time I saw him in the schoolyard, I made a silent promise to myself that I wouldn’t let that strange yet familiar feeling take hold of me. No matter what, I would focus entirely on my own life and avoid unnecessary distractions. I was in university now, in a city where I knew no one, and I was determined not to repeat the mistakes of my past. I would finish school in a healthy state of mind and move forward with my life. But love—love always arrives unexpectedly. And as always, I learned that lesson at the most unexpected time.

The moment I realized I was in love with him, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. But my struggle wasn’t just about his feelings for me. In the city I lived in, emotions like mine were not always welcomed with open arms. I was simply loving the way my heart had been designed to love. Why did people judge that?

Before I begin telling my story, I want to explain what I mean. I was ten years old when I first realized that my attraction was not toward women but toward men. In the ten years I had lived—and the five years I had truly been aware of myself—I couldn’t remember ever feeling so ashamed. Now, I don’t think there was ever really anything to be ashamed of. But at the time, back in elementary school, an unfamiliar feeling had started to grow in my heart for the boy who sat next to me.

I was a child; I had no concept of love. But seeing him made me happy, and being around him made me feel lucky. I know, many people feel close to those who make them happy—they befriend them, they care about them. I, too, cared about my seatmate, and I started to feel something for him. But I never told him, because what I felt wasn’t love—no, it had to be just friendship. It had to be. I kept everything locked away inside my ten-year-old heart. Until two years ago, when I finally understood the depth of my love for another boy…

From that moment on, I truly realized that I wasn’t attracted to women, but to men. My life—as a man—became far more complicated than I had ever imagined.

What was love?

And what was romance?

Did two people really have to be of different genders to love each other, to fall in love, to devote their hearts to one another, to be happy together? Who had set that rule in place?

My name is Luke. I’m nineteen years old, and by all appearances, I fit the standard definition of what a man should look like. The only difference is that my definition of love doesn’t align with that of other men.

What you are about to read is my story…