Story-Portal

And when I grow up, I want to be gay. Yes, I think that sentence hits the nail on the head, or rather, the sentence has already hit home. Or even better, it hit home when I didn't just think it, as I actually meant it, but actually said it.

I think that was the first time in my life that I was truly noticed. No, I wasn't invisible until then, but I was one of those people who simply belong to the great gray mass, who merge into it, submerge themselves in it, and ultimately are swallowed up by it. Actually, that's no surprise, because that saying doesn't come from nowhere; it actually has a kernel of truth.

And why shouldn't you be one of those people? It's simply easier to blend in, to blend in, and thus not stand out in either way. Of course, you take the risk, or rather, you accept the fact that you won't really be discovered as a person, but rather appear interchangeable, but it costs less. Less effort, less time, simply less of everything.

Everyone has probably encountered a follower at some point in their life, condemned them for their meaningless ways, or mildly smiled at them, perhaps even pitied them. Or, ultimately, have once been just such a person themselves, and perhaps still are.

Yes, I was exactly like that, too, and every now and then I find myself struggling with myself for pushing this gift away and more or less stepping into the spotlight of social interaction. It's simply easier, albeit very exhausting, to be that kind of person.

Easier? Yes, exactly. Because you're just there. You don't have to do anything and can simply enjoy it. Everything happens around you, and you can simply participate. Be there without giving anything yourself. Take without making any sacrifices yourself. And yet that, too, is a curse. Cursed to be inactive, not expected for its own sake, but ultimately tolerated only out of habit.

Although one is initially rewarded with recognition for one's own rare contributions, one is ultimately met with mild ridicule, as the question always remains as to whose words one has just reproduced in great detail and without any thought.

And no one realizes that even those who never actually say anything or only rarely raise their voice ultimately have so much to give, so much to say. Perhaps it's because they simply don't have the courage, or because they're simply incapable of doing so, because they're not self-aware. Or perhaps they've finally given up, withdrawn into themselves, and accepted and internalized the position of the lethargic, listless spectator. Ultimately, for these or other reasons, they won't express their desires and will admit to themselves that they will never be respected, or at least noticed, for their own sake.

These people, like variables, different at first glance, yet the same at second, seventh, and tenth glance, are the ones everyone tries to overlook. Because only when you take a little time and observe them calmly can you see that they are fundamentally different from one another and, above all, independently thinking people.

Of course, it's easy, and often necessary, to categorize people and treat them accordingly. This is necessary simply because even one's own self, the individual, can only muster a limited amount of energy to engage with others. To get to know them, perhaps even to love or hate them, and thus, in one way or another, to make room for another person in one's own life and thoughts. Because ultimately, even a heart, however big and infinitely kind it may seem, has only so much room for people with whom one can rejoice or whose suffering one can share.

And perhaps even for that one person to whom you want to reveal your innermost self, unprotected by walls, ramparts, and other protective mechanisms. To whom you want to give what is neither expected nor demanded, and from whom you hope for the same, even if you don't demand it.

Well, I belonged to that very large, gray mass, with the emphasis on "belonged." Because things are a little different now. It never really bothered me to be seen as just one of many. There wasn't really anything that distinguished me in any way, anything that made me stand out, anything that set me apart from others.

And yet, something was always missing. I could never really describe it, but I just knew something wasn't quite perfect. Although, talking about perfection is pretty bold for someone like me, but I'm getting off track.

Deep down, I don't know whether I should be happy to have stepped out of the vast, gray mass and given the unknown a name, or whether I should hate myself for having taken this step. Especially since it's frightening what a moment of loss of control can lead to. A moment in which you don't consider the consequences of your actions. A moment in which you simply do what feels right.

The motives may have been good and formative at that moment, but ultimately it is your environment that decides whether and to what extent your action, your deed, that one thoughtlessly spoken sentence is accepted as acceptable or labelled or condemned as incomprehensible, perhaps even reprehensible.

I should have known beforehand that the people around me would react this way. My goodness, people don't really know me, or to be more precise, they only know the role I've always played. But on the other hand, I've always considered myself a pretty good observer, someone who always listens to the person they're talking to, and that's why I should have known beforehand. Maybe I did know beforehand, well, actually I'm pretty sure. But it's always a matter of trusting your own observations or trusting other people. After all, I'm sure I'm not the only one who's just playing a role, fulfilling some cliché, because lots of people do that too, in order to... well, why exactly?

Well, perhaps in order to satisfy those around them, to live up to the demands placed on them, or perhaps simply in order not to offend them even more than they already do and, ultimately, perhaps be completely excluded.

But maybe I should just tell you how it all happened.

There are days, days when it's actually better to stay in bed. When you wake up in the morning, before you've even thought about lifting your leg out of bed and somehow struggling through the darkened, cold room to quickly close the window, you know that the day just beginning won't bring anything particularly good. Why? Good question. Maybe it's intuition, maybe inspiration, or perhaps it's just disillusionment, because what's supposed to distinguish this new day from the many days that have come before? It doesn't matter.

It was just such a morning, and against my better judgment, I got up and headed towards the window as quickly as possible. If I weren't such a cold person, I would have certainly been pleased by the gentle breeze in my room and, mentally refreshed, would have started the day with some exercise. However, since I am an incredible cold person, all I could do, as so often, was utter a few quiet curses and quickly shuffle towards the bathroom. It's the same every morning; well, there is a difference. Unless it's arctic cold outside, I usually wake up drenched in sweat because I'm hopelessly tangled up in my duvet again. But at least my morning hygiene is the same every day.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back in my room. The first torture, getting up, was behind me, but the next horror, my closet, awaited me. I should probably mention that clothes have never really been that important to me. The criterion they absolutely had to meet was that they were at least one, or better yet, two sizes too big. Well, I liked it that way. The clothes are simply more comfortable, and you can hide more. The problem with that, however, is this: I've changed a little lately. Maybe not outwardly, but definitely inwardly, but I might say more about that later. In any case, like every morning for the past few weeks, I stood in front of my closet and cursed myself for my taste in clothes. I would have loved to immediately offer half of my clothes to the fire as an offering and use the other half only for work in the basement, garden, or walks in the woods. But where can I get new clothes if not by stealing them. And how can I explain why, for me, who actually never cared what I wore my whole life, whose only innate guideline was to present myself in a halfway decent way, it suddenly became important to me what clothes were hanging in my closet.

Yes, you definitely don't look very good in clothes that are too big, especially if you're a bit of a wreck like me. But hey, there was nothing I could do about the situation at that moment anyway, so I grabbed what appealed to me most. After gathering my school supplies, which were scattered all over the room as usual, and stuffing them into my backpack, I found myself in the kitchen.

We rarely spoke a word in the early morning, which I was quite grateful to my mother for. It was bad enough that I had to drag myself through the cold in the middle of the night to a place I didn't really want to be. But I actually wanted to say something about my mother. Well, basically, like every mother, she is simply motherly. There's not really anything else to say about that, but it's somehow important to me to mention that she is the only person in my life I want to please. Why is that? To be honest, I don't know. Maybe it's simply because she's my mother, or maybe because she always puts herself last and never expects anything in return. Ultimately, it doesn't matter, because it is just the way it is.

It was standing in our kitchen this morning, as always. My breakfast was ready, as always, and while I briefly curled up in front of the television, I quickly put it to its intended use. Right after that, I had to leave, because somehow the clocks seemed to tick faster in the morning before classes started than after the first bell rang. From then on, time usually dragged on like chewing gum, making the eagerly anticipated afternoon seem almost unattainable.

As always, I was in the classroom when the bell rang, luckily before my biology teacher. Because if there was one thing she hated, besides students who were loud, students who talked in class, inattentive students, or students who, unbelievably, just acted like children outside of class, it was students who were late to class.

She entered the room shortly after me, and not even a minute after greeting the class and starting her lesson, the first reprimand came raining down on me. Of course, it wasn't directed at me, since I had my desk to myself, but rather at the two students behind me. It's pretty amazing how the two of them managed to incur their displeasure with such regularity and still maintain their good grades, but that would probably always remain their secret, because it never occurred to me to ask. Apart from this and a few other reprimands to one or two other students, not much earth-shattering happened in this lesson.

The second biology lesson didn't bring much new either, apart from a few notes in my notebook and a few short presentations from our dedicated biology teacher. After that, I had to change rooms, because English was next on my schedule.

These lessons provided a very nice change of pace, as there was always something interesting going on. Partly, this was due to our diverse English class, and partly also probably to our teacher. She had been my class teacher before we moved on to secondary school and, of course, had only gotten to know me at my best. The last few weeks must have been quite shocking for her, because at the start of year 11, I had a new desk neighbor, which was quite unusual for me, as I usually had either a male desk neighbor or no desk neighbor at all. On top of that, my desk neighbor was, at least in my opinion, one of the really good-looking women in our year.

The final, but crucial, point was our good relationship. Although we had already been in school together for two years, we hadn't really had much to do with each other. It was all the more surprising that we got along so well right away. Maybe it was simply because we were the only ones from our old class in this class, or maybe it was just because I never made any hints or advances.

This reminds me that the last time I obviously approached a girl was in elementary school, and on the other hand, the last time I was asked if I wanted to go out with a girl was in seventh grade. After that, the topic at school was kind of over for me; after all, I had enough other things to worry about. But that's not really what's going on here either.

The possible reasons and causes are as diverse as the blades of grass in a meadow. Ultimately, the only thing that matters is that we got along well without any problems and, much to the chagrin of our English teacher, who eventually cost me my good manners bonus, we were only focused half the time, while we spent the other half talking about all sorts of things.

Our breakfast break, which I had regularly spent with my friends in the schoolyard since the beginning of eleventh grade, fell exactly between these two hours. The reason we forced ourselves outside even in winter was simply because, on the one hand, we had two smokers in our class who wanted to indulge their addiction, and, on the other hand, because, with the exception of a few classes, we had fairly different schedules, so we could at least see each other regularly and exchange news.

That was also the case this morning. We arrived at the farm relatively early, as our English room was conveniently located and the walk was short. The two smokers, who had also been attending English class in the next room, immediately began indulging their habit, while the rest gradually arrived. In total, there were eight of us, half of whom were couples, while the rest were either single or dating outside of school. Our topics were mostly similar. It was either about the previous night's results, the next date on the pitch, or just the everyday grind of school. Every now and then, the topic was broken up and expanded by an upcoming or currently taking place birthday or the associated celebration.

At some point within the first five minutes of this morning, I lost track and only vaguely understood what the rest of the conversation was about. As so often in the last few days, this thought had crept into my head again.

It started ages ago. I can't remember exactly. But it was in fifth grade and it was just interesting, exciting, all of the above. Back then I didn't worry about it, I didn't really give it a single thought. It was just the way it was and I liked it. I don't remember exactly when I started to worry about it. The thought was still there, but somehow I, or rather my head, had decided that it just couldn't be happening. So the thought was limited to the few minutes before I fell asleep and was later followed by other thoughts that passed judgment on the whole thing.

This certainly helped me never stand out. I couldn't even remember the usual remarks everyone was told, because as far as I knew, I was never the target of such comments. And that's probably both the blessing and the curse of those who blend into the gray mass and never really stand out. No one noticed, because before anyone noticed, I was always busy with something else. And yet this inner conflict was tearing me apart more and more. Somehow, it was no longer enough for me to just be there, never risk anything, never stand out.

Suddenly I was back in the conversation and as I looked at the faces around me, I realized that each of them was someone, embodied an image, that they had all taken a risk at some point, except for me. Everything was represented: the music lover, the athlete, the practical person, the clown, the clever one, the one with her own mind, the one who would always strive for what she probably couldn't achieve, and me. That was it, in that exact moment I noticed the difference. I could describe each of them with one word, or depending on my mood, with several words. But I couldn't do that for myself. The only thing I could have mentioned would have been my constant presence, or the quiet one, the reserved one, the one you quickly lost sight of after school.

As I realized this, I overheard what my friends were talking about. To be more precise, I heard just one word and immediately became alert.

For some time, a rumor had been circulating at our school. He had landed one of those dream women you find in every school. But it hadn't stuck. At some point, someone had started the ball rolling. Maybe he had been seen with another boy. Ultimately, the how and why didn't matter. The rumor persisted, and as is often the case with unsubstantiated, superficial knowledge, it spread across an entire schoolyard within a twenty-minute recess and through an entire year, if not half the school, within two lessons. This topic had just reached us, or rather, one of our two smokers had brought it up, even though I had rarely seen such topics discussed in our circle. Accordingly, the response to her no longer-newsworthy news and the question it posed was muted. My mind chose precisely this moment to assert its own will.

I was just imagining how they would look at me, what their words would be if I were to say it right there to their faces, when I noticed that everything around me had gone silent. Only slowly did I realize that I hadn't just been thinking, but had also answered the question while my mind distracted me with a pleasant carousel of thoughts.

“I think that’s good.”

“What do you like?”

“That he’s gay too, if he really is.”

“What, you like that?”

"Also?"

“Well, I am anyway.”

I had actually said it, and seven pairs of eyes were staring at me. So I did what seemed like the only right thing to do in the situation. I walked back to school as calmly as I could, ignoring everything else that happened along the way.

That's basically it. The next clear thought I had was ten minutes ago. At least I was smart enough to bring my backpack, so I can at least eat something while I sit here in the park, racking my brains to figure out what exactly possessed me to get up this morning. Their reactions were clear. I could read it in their eyes. It was as if I'd thrown off my coat and they'd really spotted me for the first time. And they hadn't liked what they'd seen.

It'll be difficult, and I don't know if I even want to tackle it. But I have to tackle it somehow if I don't want to give up. I can't go back to the gray mass, and I don't really want to anymore. When I think about it, it was and still is a good thing. And since I've started down this path, I should probably continue along it a bit further.

Do you know them? Do you know those days when it's best to stay in bed? Those days when even waking up is torture because the room is so cold? I've had those days too. Last week was one of those days.

Today is somehow different. The window was open again overnight, but somehow the cold doesn't bother me as much today. Of course, it could be because I got up voluntarily. Well, maybe voluntarily is the wrong word. I was forced to get up a little earlier; after all, mornings take a while, and a nice warm shower early in the morning is kind of a must. On the other hand, the rest goes pretty quickly, since I've already thought everything through.

We had arranged to meet on Saturday, but by the time I went home on Friday, I already knew I wasn't going. I had enough to do anyway. My mother would probably be scratching her head and wondering what the hell was going on with me, but there was nothing I could do about it. I knew what I wanted. Although, I'd actually known that for a while. What I knew was that I finally had to do it. The first step was quickly taken, and by dinner my new hairstyle was met with surprise, as I had always avoided going to the hairdresser before.

My mother was also more than surprised by my second idea, but luckily I was able to convince her, and so the next morning we were on the train, heading for the big city. A few hours and many astonished glances later, we were back, and I immediately started cleaning out my closet. I spent the evening alone, thinking, even going through all sorts of terrible scenarios. I played the same game on Sunday until I finally fell asleep sometime after midnight.

Now I'm standing in front of my school. It's been completely overhauled inside and out, so to speak, and I'd love to turn around immediately or hide in some hole. It feels good to be myself; it's truly liberating. Still, I'm not alone in this world. One way or another, my environment influences me, reacts to me, my words, my actions, and that's precisely the reaction I'm afraid of right now.

It would have been nice if they had reacted differently, supported me in some way, told me that we're friends either way. Regardless, as soon as I graduate from high school, I'll be out of here, and until then, I'll somehow survive all of this. You can also look at the positive side of things. At least now everyone knows my name, even if I probably got a nickname to go with it. If that's what they want, there's nothing I can do about it. They should conform to the norm and merge into a gray mass, deny their individuality, and stop thinking things through and immediately judging.

Well, and today I'm sitting here. There are a few less of us now. I've become true friends with some of them, but I've also excluded some of them from my life, and with some of them I've kept the relationship the way it was before. The music lover, for example. We never talked much, but I think, today as before, that I can rely on him. None of our original pairs are intact anymore. The sportsman isn't as athletic anymore, but he's already in a relationship, so we can be a bit more relaxed with a clear conscience. The one with her own mind is still there too. There were a few moments when we would have liked to bashed each other's heads in with a smile on our faces, but we've become good friends, and we can't get rid of her. The clown and the practical person are still around too. We see each other rarely, but we always find something to talk about. They're still good friends, just like they were in school, and if I'm not mistaken, they've committed themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. The other two, and many other familiar faces from back then, have vanished into the fog, which I only regret on rare occasions. But new faces have joined them, and to be honest, I wouldn't want to miss them. There could be more, but then I probably wouldn't have the time to recognize their peculiarities, to discover the people behind the facade, because even if there are only a few, it's still difficult to see through them.

It still exists today, the vast, gray mass, and there are moments when I am a part of it. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally, but at the very latest when I become aware of my surroundings, I am no longer part of the mass, and when my thoughts follow the flow through the tram window, I let myself be carried along by it, for it will guide me to some destination.