Loving a country that doesn’t love me back

I’m a gay guy living in Bangladesh and I don’t have a story to tell. To tell a story you require actual things happening in your life. And nothing ever happens in mine. For something to happen in your life, you require to actually be a part of the world. But living in a place where the majority of the people are homophobic, I’ve got no choice but to stay closeted and shut myself off from the world around me.

When I look at the people I know – friends, family and acquaintances – the only thing that ever comes to my mind is that, if they knew I was attracted to men, they’d hate me, they’d be disgusted at my very existence. They’d at the best case scenario think that I’m mentally ill and at the worst case scenario think that I’m a twisted, perverted, creature of sin, the emissary of the devil himself. Doesn’t matter how loving or kind they are right now without that knowledge.

I am always living in a state of paranoia, scared that people might find out, scared that it might end my life. And I don’t have to look any further than the Facebook comments section on any major Bangladeshi newspaper articles about LGBT people to validate that paranoia.

It’s weird how scared I am of getting murdered in a hate crime despite thinking about committing suicide every once in a while. Life seems pretty pointless without love. And all the more when you know that the chance of finding somebody in the future is extremely low too. Gay people are already a minority and on top of that, most of us are closeted. We don’t have the privilege of asking someone out on a date without the danger of risking our safety.

Sometimes I think about trying to leave Bangladesh to a country more accepting of gay people. But I don’t think I’ll be able to do it. I’m burdened with a sense of nationalism, doomed to love and live in a country that won’t ever love me back. At least not in my lifetime.


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