Right now I’m in the air – I’m on my way back to Georgia from Kansas City, Missouri. The College Student Media Convention was fun. Learned a lot, met some new people, did some thinking—now it’s time to get back to the real world, sadly.

I think I need to leave the south. As much as I love southern hospitality, humidity, southern drawls, “bless his heart,” I-285, MARTA, my family, my roots, my friends and many other wonderful qualities, I am ready to leave. I don’t think I’m ready for New York or something like that, but I am ready to leave. Of course I know in the west and in the north racism and homophobia exists, but it’s not so in your face and present in everyday life. Maybe I’m lying to myself, but every person I’ve talked to from the north has said that racism is not an issue. People talk about it, people are racist, but people don’t walk around with confederate t-shirts like the civil war is about to start tomorrow. I’m tired of talking about race; I’m tired of defending why I want to study gay rights/history. A friend of mine said that he didn’t understand why gays were always complaining and whining about discrimination. He’s gay, but he doesn’t understand what the big deal is. I’m not sure if he was serious, but I’m sure there are plenty of people who think along those same lines. Or they may wonder why I usually will question someone who is in a frat and ask them about their frat and how they deal with blacks and gays. Guess what—I’m an African-American gay male. That’s my life. That’s my reality. I didn’t ask for it.

I’ve had bad things happen to me. People have called me faggot. I’ve had faggot written on my dorm door. My brother use to make fun of my effeminate characteristics. I didn’t like sports—I was the last person picked for a team in gym class. I’ve had rocks thrown at me. I’ve lost friends. I will probably live a lonely life. I live in fear that one day I won’t get a job. I live in fear that one day my family will disown me when they learn the truth. I can’t get close to people. I won’t let my wall down.—all of this stems from the fact that I am gay. Those were the cards given to me by someone and I do the best fucking job I can to make life as happy as I can.

I want to know where I come from; I want to know about the culture and title that has been placed on my shoulders as a homosexual male. The next time someone says, “Gosh Miguel, you are always talking about gay stuff” or “Why are all the papers you write about deal with gay issues,” they will just have to understand that I am a gay man. Just because they may feel uncomfortable with who I am doesn’t mean I should silence who I am. I am tired. I had to live most of my life hiding who I am, I sure as hell am not about to go back and not talk about it.

My heart hurts and I don’t know why.

Well, we are approaching the Savannah airport, it’s time for me to pack up my crap and get off the plane. Back to the grind.

Good day!