Written April 4, 2025
Happy birthday, E.

The UP Fair season has just concluded.

I told myself ‘I wouldn’t volunteer this time’—not even for a night. Life was too heavy for me, and the idea of spending one evening under the bright lights felt like demanding more than I could give.

But somehow, on Thursday night, I found myself standing among thousands of people gathered for a night of music and advocacy in the bright-lit, lively Sunken Garden. I attended UP Fair: Quests.

This time, not as a fairgoer, not as a volunteer, and definitely not as an officer of the program.

I was there to cover a story– one that would hopefully capture the interest of our readers. Yet, I felt terrified. It had been years since I last wrote for a publication, and returning to the field made me feel like a stranger to my own passion—anxious, unsure, timid. I looked around the crowd and asked myself: Where do I begin? Who is worth listening to? How do I tell their story with the dignity it deserves?

Then I saw someone.

Amidst the joy of people vibing to the music, and the buzz of the concessionaires, he stood there—alone. That wasn’t strange on its own—plenty go solo to UP Fair—but something about him drew my attention. His anxious glances, his restless posture.

Was he lost?

I doubted it. He wore the same lanyard I had.

Our eyes met. And in that instant, I felt it. This could be the story.

“I’m here for the advocacy this night is promoting,” he said proudly when I approached him. He confirmed he came alone but said it was fine.

With his permission, I continued asking questions.

“Like many couples, my ex and I used to dream of our future,” he began. “As gays, we’ve been through so much. Hiding in the closet, being merely tolerated by our own family, hearing insults– being called defects, virus spreaders. We’ve even experienced physical violence. The worst? It happens anytime, anywhere.”

But they resisted–quietly, daily.

They had once dreamed of a world without discrimination, where queer people were treated as human—just like anyone else. They envisioned a future of safe spaces, where respect was unconditional. They wanted to volunteer at HIV and STI support houses, promote awareness, encourage safe sex, and teach the things so many are deprived of because of shame, judgment, and fear.

“Oftentimes, we’d talk about our desire to help others like us,” he said, a soft smile breaking through. “To teach about HIV, STIs, safe sex. It’s something many of us never get the chance to learn without shame hanging over our heads.”

That smile—gentle and full of love—seemed to carry all the memories they’d made together.

I hesitated but still asked, “What happened?”

He nodded. “Our love wasn’t enough to save us from our problems. In trying to fix things, we lost ourselves.”

It was a general answer, but it hit hard. I felt my throat tighten, the sting behind my eyes building.

Then, without warning, a hand tapped my shoulder. I looked up.

He was gone.

All I knew was my friend was with me, comforting me as tears silently streamed down my face.

It hit me.

In search of a story to capture… I found one.
In my own memories.
It was my story all along.

I went home that night feeling fulfilled.

The anxiety, the feeling of constantly scanning the crowd in fear of seeing him, being near him, but never able to speak or hold him again, he was gone.

Gone, because I finally realized something important.

Just like the technical difficulties that momentarily halted the program but were eventually fixed, my life hasn’t stopped yet. It only slowed down. I still fought every day. I still moved forward—through sessions with my psychiatrist, counseling, weekend trips home to the province, tearful nights, and the stress of budgeting the last of my money every day.

They didn’t exist for me to surrender. They were hurdles I was meant to face.

And just like that night, courage brought me to UP Fair: Quests.

The courage that a lot of queer people struggle to realize and embody, amidst different social stigmas and institutional limitations. The courage that the LGBTQIA+ community carry within their hearts and celebrate as a community. The courage that empowers love to foster, not just towards another, but also to their own selves.

Until now, it’s hard to sustain this courage, let alone love—when the world seems to treat the problems faced by people like us as less important than other issues.It is hard to move forward, always providing “grace” for meaningful discussions, when there are hundreds—if not thousands—of people who are vulnerable and are victims of discrimination, abuse, and even unjustifiable deaths. It is not enough to fight in the arena that these conditions and institutions maintain, it is time to dismantle them.

The queer community’s courageous uproar and demands for equality and in turn, liberation has always been set aside, but I along with them continue to persist because we believe that this love is real, and no one can ever disqualify it as something wrong.

The specter that haunts me in my memories till the night that Quests happened—my lover—may have gone our separate ways, but my love for him remains embedded in my soul. And it is funneled through every step to the goal we have always wanted to achieve.

We may not be together anymore—
But I will continue fighting for the passion we shared.

These are our Quests.