*This is a work of fiction, inspired by real events

He was a beautiful man, with profound eyes filled with pools of copper and a jawline so sharp it stung to look at. I met him through mutual friends – we were at one of those free music festivals Atlanta loves to throw during the spring. “Bijan,” he answered, unsmiling, when I asked for his name.

I had to ask again to hear him over the off-tune indie band playing nearby and the surrounding cliques’ overlapping conversations. I grinned. “Does that mean you’re my hero?” I teased, playing on the Farsi meaning of the name, trying to help him relax. I know what anxiety is like. He merely grimaced and replied, “Yeah.”

My girlfriend smiled sheepishly at our exchange. “Bijan comes from Persian parents as well. I thought I’d introduce you, because Middle Easterners can only date each other, right?” That was a joke, I learned later that evening – Bijan was gay.

We went out for dinner after the festival ended. I ordered spaghetti with tomato and basil sauce, while he opted for mozzarella cheese sticks and a dirty martini. “Yeah,” he said, between licking the salt off an olive, “I used to have a boyfriend. Handsome, tall fellow. A godsend in the gay community – to find a guy who wanted to be exclusive AND was ‘manly’ enough for me to take home without having to come out? Bless. Things didn’t work out, though. It is what it is.”

His demeanor was ambiguous- I couldn’t determine whether he was really nonchalant, or just resigned about the situation.

Bijan wasn’t actually from Atlanta. His parents lived in Nashville; he was here doing his Master’s in Public Health at Emory. He wanted to help impoverished men and women of color in urban communities with commonplace STI’s receive necessary treatment and prevention. Bijan was an intelligent student, but didn’t receive enough funding for his studies. Fortunately, his parents were wealthy enough to fund his degree, housing, and other needs while he built the foundation for his life.

I was fond of Bijan. We didn’t hang out much after that night, but we made time to get cappuccinos or go to shows a handful of times over the next few months. Those few times, we talked (argued) about religion, local occurrences, and epidemiology. I admired him for his pure intentions – he truly believed he could “make the world a better place” through his research, despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles world health organizations often faced, like lack of funding or permission to send aid into certain areas. He had faith that goodness would prevail. But that faith appeared to be nonexistent when it pertained to his own life.

“Yeah, my parents have a list of women for me to meet in the occasion I don’t bring one home before I turn 27,” he’d lament. “Muslim, or Coptic Christian. They really expect me to carry the family name, because I am the ‘man of the family.’ Pardis, my only sister, is older than me, but she eloped with a guitar player a few years ago. Extraordinarily cliché, but aren’t we all? I don’t know where she is now. Anyway, they’ve cut her off and now it’s just me and Parsa, who is still in the 7^th grade.”

Bijan spoke quickly, like he wanted to get a confession with a sheikh or priest over with, like I was about to assign him a punishment for simply existing. “They can’t get over the fact that they came here from Iran to have a better life, that they managed to literally go from rags to riches with their business, and they still managed to have a ‘fuck-up’ for a daughter. It puts so much pressure on me and Parsa to be great, to be venerable characters in the narrative they’ve imagined and ingrained in their heads. It’s why, despite the legalization, I will never be able to marry the man I love.

Because what the hell kind of Iranian can tell their parents, that their son has a husband? I would bring dishonor upon my entire community.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You know, I haven’t made many friends I like here. It’s hard for me to trust people. I feel like everyone lets me down. But I guess telling you all this doesn’t really make a difference.” Bijan confused me sometimes, as well, but when I prompted him for an explanation, he rarely conceded. I chose to enjoy his company, nonetheless, and take what he would give me.

I never got the sense that Bijan was a particularly happy individual, despite his aspirations and fertile inner life. Then again, very few are. Yet, nothing could prepare me for the letter I received early this year from – of all people- Bijan’s mother, stating that he had killed himself and left me a note. She didn’t write anything else, except that she hoped that Bijan hadn’t portrayed her and her husband as ‘bad people’ to me, and that they had tried their hardest to do everything they could for their beloved son.

Dearest Laila,

I hope this letter reaches you well, given the circumstances. If you’re reading this, I am gone. There is nothing you could have done. I want to thank you for being a wonderful friend during the short time we knew each other. In a different life, with different neurobiology, I might have loved you more than a friend. Alas, it was not meant to be.

I write this, because I want you to know. I need to validate to myself that my act is not entirely selfish.

When I was 23, I contracted HIV from a hookup. At least, I want to think it was from a hookup. Unless my ex cheated on me, then I got it from him. It doesn’t really matter though.

Yeah, yeah, I know: HIV is incredibly treatable, to the point where it doesn’t even have to shorten your life expectancy, you just have to take antivirals and enzyme replacement therapy, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because HIV is the last straw for me. It’s the last straw on top of being atheist, on top of being gay, on top of an unforgiving world. I’ve been ready for this for years – the universe just told me it was time.

My father once said that he would rather me have cancer than an STI. I took that as indication that he would, façade and obligatory consolations aside, honestly prefer me dead than shameful. Everything about me is shrouded in shame. This, my death, is my gift to my parents: they can tell their family I died of a broken heart, of mental illness, of anything else, rather than the ugly truth. And maybe it’s true: maybe I am a product of my own relentless self-destruction, a product of gin, sex, and blasphemy.

I am not blaming anyone. Some people weren’t just meant for this world, not human enough, too human. I truly believe I will find peace after this. I’m going to sleep – for eternity.

With utmost love,

Bijan

I did cry. Sobbed, in fact. And I was furious, absolutely enraged, at his casual tone in the letter. Did he not understand the depth of his actions? Did he not understand the implications for his family? His poor brother, now all alone in a cruel world?

His mother didn’t leave any contact information in her note, which is just as well. I had no desire to speak about Bijan ever again. I could only imagine how he completed the act- was it here in Atlanta? Did he blow his brains out, leaving his roommate a grotesque final image of him? I shuddered, and prayed to forget Bijan’s beautiful face.

I eventually reconciled with the fact that I couldn’t call Bijan again, and would never again listen to him talk about his work, or his family, or anything. That he was gone, never to return.

Bijan was an astounding man that touched my life, and broke my heart with his demise. I wish his tale was a unique one, but I know it’s not, because suicide is the leading cause of death among young adults in the developed world, and I know that a high percentage of suicidal individuals never seek help, and I know that many people of color believe suicide, death, is the honorable way to go when they’ve disrespected the culture they come from.

And I wish for the next generation of humans on this planet to be more merciful to the gays, to the different, to each other, and I wish for the next generation of humans on this planet to cater to those who don’t know how to be alive in their communities, or anywhere else. I wish for a more forgiving world, one Bijan could have lived in, flaws and all.

The very first week of my freshman year at university, I joined a sorority. My mother was in a sorority, all her friends were in sororities. For me, this felt like the pinnacle, the first and most important choice of my college career. These were the girls I was picking to be my best friends, my closest confidants, my “future bridesmaids.” I bought the Tory Burch sandals. I monogrammed my whole life. I drank the Kool-Aid.

My first year in my sorority was everything I could have wanted. I made those close friendships. I took all the perfect pictures to make my life look like a Insta-dream. I partied hard and threw moral reasoning to the wind. Everything was good.

Then sophomore year came around and I started to feel that tug. You know, that sickly feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you things aren’t right? It didn’t happen immediately, but it crept in slowly and it was undeniable. The girls I was living with, the girls who I called my “sisters” had completely different views about life than I did. And the more my views developed and pulled away from the views they had, the more they began to ridicule me. My beliefs about politics, human rights, religion, sex, everything…felt like a target on my back. My freshman year I had been consumed with a desire to fit in, to be well liked. And I had achieved it!

But at what cost?

By the start of this year, my junior year of college, a time when most people’s relationships with the people around them have solidified and grown deeply rooted in mutual love and respect, I felt like an island. Here I was, 20 years old, stranded in a sea of people who seemed to know exactly who they were and what they were about, totally isolated. I didn’t feel proud of my beliefs because they weren’t what my peers found praiseworthy. I wished all the time I could continue living like the girls I wanted so desperately to embrace me. But I knew I couldn’t change the values that were so integral to who I was as a person. The only thing I could do if I wanted to find those true friendships was to make a change.

So I struck out on my own in search of acceptance, fearing rejection. I don’t believe there are many things more lonely than putting yourself out there, trying to find friends when you feel like you have no one by your side. I felt like everyone around me had already found their place, like everyone knew where they fit and I was the spare part that wasn’t needed by anyone.

The secret to getting through those moments of utter loneliness is to understand that the way that you are feeling is a lie.

No 20-year-old has it all figured out. Everyone can use more friends. If they think they don’t, they’re lying to themselves even more than you are. And you are not, not, NOT a spare part. You are a vital part of the world around you. Your beliefs, your thoughts have the potential to make your school, your workplace, your sorority a more diverse and understanding environment. You are unique, you are special. You are someone’s child, someone’s student, someone’s neighbor, someone’s friend. You can be someone’s parent, someone’s spouse, someone’s teacher or coach or boss. You have the power to speak life into the existence of someone who feels dead inside, to be an example of what it looks like to be brave and step out in favor of your beliefs, to look at rejection and say “you can’t keep me down forever.”

I found an organization who’s description spoke to my heart about what I was looking for. And then I found another, and another. I invested time in these places, and I planted seeds of friendships. I dug deep holes for my seeds and buried them far below the surface. I nurtured them with care; I helped them grow over coffee and long conversations. I delighted when they sprouted little blossoms of laughter, and I rejoiced when what started out as small buds among thorns of tears and shared sadness bloomed into the most beautiful flowers of trust and companionship.

This year, I learned that it’s okay to feel lonely sometimes, but you don’t have to stay there long. You are not a rock. If you feel repressed or unappreciated, you don’t have to hunker down and tough it out. You can move, you can grow, you can start all over whenever you want. I promise there are people out there who can’t wait to know someone as amazing as you.

Growing up, I evaluated from a kid who played mass at home and preached to the family congregation in a non-understandable language, to a lapsed Catholic who pretended to sleep on Sundays. It worked from time to time, but my parents got me on this.

Sure, I was baptized, received Holy Communion and was confirmed, and I was learning about the Catholic faith in School, at home and even at mass through the priests preaching. But, becoming a teenager made me drift away from Catholicism, not in the way of leaving Church or not attending mass. I was just not interested in this topic, nor did I realized at that time, that God is a friend of mine, someone who strives for a relationship.

I grew up in a traditional Catholic family.

As a family we attended mass every Sunday, we prayed the rosary and faith was kinda important for my parents. I remember days, when my mother would come up to me and my brother, telling: “It would be nice if we would pray the rosary together.”

We knew that this kind of prayer wouldn’t be short, what means, when we accepted the invitation it would be more like: Hm, we would rather continue playing PlayStation or watching television instead of sitting down twenty and more minutes for the rosary.

My parents were good people, and all they tried was to live their faith and share it with us. We knew the commandments, the sacraments and some prayers, but I must admit that my relationship with God was similar to a machine you mostly find on train stations. I would put in as many prayers as I could, mostly before exams and after them, praying for a good mark or something else. Imagine putting in prayers like coins, pushing the button and waiting for something good to come out.

My prayers were rather one-sided, if you compare it to a relationship with a friend. How else should it be, because I never heard that the big mysterious invisible guy sitting in the clouds could be a friend, someone who strives for a relationship with every individual.

I never thought of God as a friend.

I never enjoyed school, mostly because of mathematics and physics, but after finishing it finally, I found the freedom to pursue my goal of being a graphic designer. And I did it. And I worked for a while as a designer in Frankfurt, the major financial center of Europe.

At this time I went to mass in a Croatian community near Frankfurt, mainly because I would meet there a friend of mine. But, one Sunday morning at mass, while standing in line for Communion, the choir sang Adoro te devote from Thomas Aquinas.

The words hooked me immediately and did something to me I can’t explain. After this experience, I attended mass every Sunday, no matter if my friend was there or not.

Reason? I had met an old friend again: Jesus.

But, I started to feel like I was in a wrong place at work.

I felt a kind of restlessness in my heart. Like the priest-theologian Michael J. Himes writes in his book Doing the Truth in Love, restlessness is the path to joy, which keeps you hungry. It is a gift of the Holy Spirit, which drives us to always want more, to give more and to seek God.

This restlessness brought me to the enormous desire of working and serving in the Church, but not as a priest. I came to the conclusion that I should study theology, but I had to go back to school and get my A level, the general qualification for university.

In this period, I drifted deeper into the Croatian Catholic community by working on their new website. I even started to write for some religious websites, and found out that writing, journalism and media can make an enormous impact on people. I loved to communicate this way.

Well, through the time I met new friends in Church, attended mass on a regular basis even throughout the week and started to read the readings at mass. Years before I was probably the most shy person on earth, and I couldn’t imagine to stand there in front of five hundred and more people.

My brother always asks:
“What has happened to you? You are like a new person, not the old one, the shy boy who couldn’t even look at people.”
Indeed I changed radically, but the upcoming months and years were full of up and downs, tears and failures, situations and moments with no hope. Without faith, I wouldn’t come through. Failing the exams, being lost and not seeing your goal anymore felt like darkness. St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the French Carmelite nun, experienced also moments of darkness. “If you only knew what darkness I am plunged into!” she once said to the sisters in her convent.

But, faith strengthened me, and after all these up and downs, I finally got my matura, which opened the door for university and my desire: theology.

Throughout these years I learned that God wants to be in a relationship with us. He communicates with us in many different ways: through emotions, feelings, memories, desires and prayers, but also through people and happenings in our daily life. Not to forget, relationships are also a way of communication God uses.

Through my girlfriend, I learned that prayer is not always a quiet moment in your room, but living your life and being aware of his presence. Through her, God showed me that prayer also means to be and to live, to enjoy time together, to laugh and live his love through our lives. It means being aware of his presence and love. “Imagine God looking upon you and smiling”, the Jesuit Anthony de Mello once said.

With an open heart, you can find God in All Things.

You probably know some of these desires: becoming a better person, loving more and so on. It’s not about having visions or experiencing tremendous miracles, it’s about having an open heart which let you find God in All Things.

This is the real miracle that happens every day.

When you walk to the train station, to school, to work or wherever else, try to experience his presence. The wind rushing through the leaves in autumn, the snowflakes in winter, or the wonderful sunshine in summer.

Knowing that God is your friend, walking with you, makes live much more interesting, for you have so much to discover. Here ends my piece, but not my way, not my life and not my searching.

How about you? Are you already on the way?

Mario Trifunovic is a student of Catholic theology in Frankfurt/Main. He is writing on English and Croatian on his website called, “Think outside the box”.

No matter what day it was, as soon as dusk struck, I always called up Kumar, “Hey, come out!”. He would hang up the phone quickly and meet me outside. Then we would start on our blissful journey into the neighborhood which lasted until the sounds of chirping birds fainted and the appearance of the moon changed from dull white to shiny yellow- a brisk walk.

The walks started during the autumn of 2012, when I first saw a girl from my terrace; she had fair skin that glowed in the dim rays of sun under the red sky, blonde hair that tempted me to run my fingers through it and just the right amount of innocence on her face that drew me to get to know her. She was in her school dress walking down the street with a green guitar key ring suspended at the bottom of her bag. I froze.

Did she live in my neighborhood? Did she move here recently? Why had I not seen her before?
So I called up my friend Kumar and said, “Hey come out!  We have to go for a walk”.

We started walking to discover where exactly this pretty girl lived in the neighborhood. After following her for a few minutes we discovered she lived right next to the shop where I usually bought my groceries. After she walked inside her house, Kumar and I walked around hoping if she would come out to get some biscuits or brownies. She did not come out that day. There was this strange feeling of ‘premature love’, often stated as ‘butterflies in stomach’ warming my heart. I wanted to keep walk around.

The next day I called him again, and we walked around hoping I could get a glance of her. The third day and the following days we walked around the same place, hoping she would come out. As we walked, I talked to Kumar about how I wanted to be friends with her. We plotted a few plans–one day while she would be returning from school I would approach her and ask her for her annual school magazine. I believed asking for her name would be a bad way to start a conversation as it would lead nowhere. I wanted to know her. I wanted to talk to her. So I approached her, “Hey I actually love reading poems and stories. Can I borrow your annual school magazine? She replied saying she does not have one. That was a disappointment. Kumar and I kept walking around her place. Some days she would come out with her sister to take short walks and seeing her around would make my evenings.

In a cold autumn evening, clenching my thin jacket, I enjoyed the tinges of happiness and excitement arising in my heart whenever she came out. We never talked but only smiled at each other.  I never knew this quest to get to know her would lead us to a routine of everyday walks, which themselves led to conversations, friendships and discoveries.

Something was awaiting for me and Kumar- an experience that would open new paths for us in life.

It was not until I started walking I noticed the beautiful elements Sanepa (the place where I lived) was adorned with.  It was full of trees, small houses and smiling faces. The parrots had built a nest on a tree right next to my house, and we heard them chirp with other little birds. A few men in the local store chatted while staring up at the bulky white clouds under the blue sky. The streets smelled of leaves. If one concentrated, they could hear the faint sound of motor bikes and cars humming amidst the sharp and sweet sounds of birds. An old woman from her terrace smiled at us and said, “Here comes the two brothers again”.

A walk after a tiring day in school was all I needed to complete my day. I dropped my bags, ate a snack and called Kumar. No matter how many historic events I had to remember for a test the next day or how tired my legs were from soccer practice, I always managed to squeeze in some time for a walk- a walk that never went in vain. Once I had fever, and I had to lie to my mom saying I would stay inside Kumar’s home but going for a walk. Without my notice, these walks were gradually helping me form strong bonds with Kumar and myself.

When I walked, I felt like I gained something. Kumar and I spoke about everything that happened throughout the day. We talked about everything that was happening in our lives. For three days we talked about the football tournament that was held in his school. He and his team had a good start on the game the first day. The second day they had tough opponents, but Kumar scored two goals in the final minute as a heavy rain of luck showered them. They disappointingly lost on the third day. We debated on what tactics and strengths should have been applied for them to win the match. Later, when medals were awarded, it turned out that he was the highest goal scorer of the tournament. We rejoiced at the news and as I looked up to the clear sky, saw smiling faces everywhere, and smelled the leaves my feet softly crunched, I felt happy. It was the kind of happiness that aroused from the energy drained during walks.

It was during these walks I learned about Kumar. Through the conversations we had I discovered the soft sides in him. “I once got a chocolate in school but I did not eat it. I brought it home and shared it with my brothers and sisters. My grandparents got impressed and they gave me another chocolate”, Kumar told me. The stories that are not brought up while joking around with people in school were a part of our conversations. While the conversations led to enormous laughs, they also led to debates and arguments that intensified to verbal fights. I recall an argument about the conveniences of iPad and iPhone that lasted for three days. In a loud, sharp voice Kumar would try to bring up everything he knew about each of these devices struggling to put his points in a coherent way. (Critical thinking and debate was never his thing.) He raised his hand, moved his wrists, and curled his fingers in a naïve way as he tried to explain his points. “I learned this technique from my grandfather, it adds intensity to what I say”, he had once told me.

The men, the old women and the passersby would smile at us, as if they were assured that we were not arguing but sharing ‘knowledge’. I too argued with much zest trying to overcome the ‘intensity’ with which he spoke. We argued freely without having anybody to judge our opinions. Words, false facts, self-righteousness, anger, and failed attempts to suppress each other flooded our arguments but they never went in vain.

Our bond was as dependent on our fights as on our common sense of humor and honesty.

We were birds set free every time we stepped out for walks. The streets beneath and the sky above formed for us an enormous space where we let out our emotions, thoughts, and jokes. His freedom to speak led him to share how much he hated the dramatic fights and quarrels in his family. I speculated on the norms and ethics of his family, compare it how I was brought up and try to find reasons for why the fights happened. This also in turn helped me realize how much freedom I had in my family.

His family came from Rajasthan, India. Thus, he always had to live in a culture where he could not enjoy the freedom to do things the way he wished. His daily routine was scheduled according to the ease of his family. A ‘No’ from his grandfather meant a ‘No’- there was no question of trying to convince him thereafter. He had restrictions to what he was supposed to eat and drink. A pure vegan had his first sip of Chicken Noodles on the streets of Sanepa. He lit his first cigarette there. He spoke with his heart out, without any fear of anybody criticizing him for what he spoke. As days passed in this fashion, we were gradually learning about our lives, our family’s lives and everything that we shared and did not share.

I was growing up. When I had a bad day or felt stressed out, I would turn up for a walk. Since, Kumar was in 10th grade now and could not come as he had extra-classes during evenings, I went for walks alone. When I walked those heavenly streets I was accompanied by an interminable chain of thoughts. Words, poems and dialogues formed in my head as I gleamed at the red evening sky, smelling a mix of dust and flowers while a dog barked and birds chirped. I tapped into my deepest concerns about life and tried to meditate on where my passions and interest lied.

It was difficult to be in an environment where every parent wanted their child to succeed and not know what I wanted in life.

During sole walks, I would try to find what my dreams were. I was flooded with many answers when I pulled out a thread- a neat thread where the answers to my questions about life were lined up. Thoughts like racism, poverty, love, religion, and life hit me. I swam in these thoughts as I was discovering the realities of life around me. This was a phase when I was struggling to know myself better. An uncle once asked me what I would want to become. (A general question every stranger asks you the first time you are introduced to them). With a certain amount of hesitation and the compulsion to utter out a profession, I said “Engineer”. Why I said engineer I never knew- but likely because my dad was one and engineering was revered by the locals around me.

With questions and answers swarming in my head, walking helped me discover myself. The simple act of taking steps forward and exercising your leg muscles led to an enormous transformation in my soul and mind. The perspectives on life I carry today were shaped as I dug on religion, life and love during walks. Every time I needed an answer I went out for a walk. My passions and desires were revealed to me because of the conversations I had with Kumar.  I got an idea of the kind of person I would want to be. I wished to be as happy in my life as I would be on the streets of Sanepa. I dreamed about doing something with music, philosophy and writing.

It was through the talks I had with Kumar that I learned about my inner desires. The walks shaped the perception I have had about life. The walks would give me time to think, and time to talk. It was through thinking and talking I would be able to raise questions and try to answer them. “Why are there unfortunate people in this world?” “Maybe they are not as unfortunate as you think of them to be.” Kumar replied. I could think only when I moved and the walks helped me best. I can recall the days I walked down the same streets twice a day, because I needed ideas to write my application essay for college. They helped me write down everything from the introduction to the concluding paragraph. I had developed a certain kind of love for everything that was around me when I walked.

Not until today I had realized that while I was walking down the streets I was falling in love with everything I observed around me- the birds, the sun setting, the cold breeze, the smiling old woman, and Kumar.  Just a simple act of walking led to me to open myself, and talk about my fears and my passions. It helped me connect with the environment, people and with myself. I became more positive and found joy when I was surrounded by sounds and smell of nature. Through these walks I developed the idea of ‘home’.

A month has passed now in Paris, and I can honestly say that I’ve barely went out for a walk. After four years of being together, Kumar left for India to continue his education and after a month of his departure I left for France. During the month that he left, I found myself stuck in between phases where my body demanded the physical act of walking every evening but my heart somehow resisted the urge to go out. Some days, when the resisting force of my heart overcame my desire to go out, I usually sat on my terrace – there was no way I could stay away from clouds, trees, breezes and sounds of nature. I could not understand the urge of my heart and was not brave enough to question the force of nature- change.

My days were changing.  Something was preparing me for the days coming ahead. I would never walk again, or to be more precise I would never walk the same way again.

During the last two weeks in my hometown, I stepped out to walk, and the old woman from her terrace said, “Thirteen days remaining now and you will leave too.” I could not comprehend how much our walks had had impacts on us and the people around us. For four years, Zappy, my dog, made sharp cries of annoyance and desire to go out with me when he heard the sharp creaky sound of the main gate opening. I wonder how the old woman, watching us from the terrace must have felt as she watched over us for four years. I can barely tell if it helped her reminisce of her golden days of youth, where she too must have played in the fields or have had friendships that were now long lost due to death or distance. Nevertheless, I am assured that when she watched over us, she too felt the strength of our friendships, the happiness of our laughter, and the proximity between two who used to fall in an unrequired argument one day and meet the next day again, only to argue with more reasons and intensity. She misses us, I know.

I took my last stroll on 28th August 2016 (alone), and left for Paris, France.

Today as I wake up to the sound of alarm clocks beeping continuously, I rush to make my breakfast, I hurry up in the bathroom, check my bag for all the important books and folders and walk to the metro station, with no sunlight warming my body. Throughout the day I work to complete my assignments and as soon as I reach home I am burdened with the weights of cooking, washing dishes and cleaning my room. I barely find time for a walk. When I am walking to my school I see around and felt empty. I see people in rush– a suited up man skating his way through the busy footpaths while adjusting the strap of his laptop bag on his shoulders. I hear the hum of a foreign language that keeps reminding me that I am away from home.

A few days ago when I tried to go out for a walk in a park I missed home more than I ever did. No matter where I turned my head, all I could see were foreign faces, children screaming, old sculptures and a replica of an alligator with it’s mouth open- I could not walk. It did not feel natural.  With every step I took I forced myself to walk for a few more minutes hoping I would get the tinge of feelings I got in Sanepa. Nothing felt like the way they used to be. I stopped and I sat down.

The journey that started with the quest to get to know the beautiful girl in the neighborhood had ultimately ended falling in love with nature and forming bonds with Kumar, myself and home. When a person asks me what I miss the most, the glimpses of streets are the first to flash before my eyes- the streets of love and freedom.

I’ve often had people tell me that as you lose more and more people to death, Heaven just starts to seem that much sweeter.

February 8 was the day that Allen Nasworthy died after losing a battle with depression. That Monday is engraved in my mind as a day I will never forget. I’ll never forget sitting in chapel that morning when I got a text saying, “Emergency, please call me!” followed by another message saying, “please call me ASAP.”

As I processed these words in my mind, I began to feel sick because I knew exactly what I was about to hear. I knew what I was about to hear, but I didn’t want it to be confirmed. I’ll never forget hearing those words, “he’s dead.”

At that point I felt like my world came to a screeching halt. Everyone’s world around me continued on as they hustled to class, but all I could do was sink to the ground on that sidewalk and cry like I’ve never cried before. All I wanted to do was jump in my car and drive from my school in South Carolina down to camp.

As those hard words sunk in, I felt like my heart was breaking.

I sat there on the back steps of the library as memories of Allen flew through my mind. I felt like I was in a nightmare and just couldn’t wake up. As I called my family and close friends I could barely get out “Allen is dead” simply because it didn’t seem like it was really happening. I’ve never lost anyone really close to me before, so this feeling was completely new to me.

After the initial grief subsided for the moment, I went into immediate denial. In my mind, there was no way that Allen was dead. He was simply out restocking on Red Bull, and at any moment, his headlights would crest that hill pulling into Fortson. Everyone would realize that they were wrong.

After denial, my next reaction was anger and bitterness, anger that Allen had done this to his family and to his friends. Didn’t he know how many people out there loved him and cared about him? How could he do this to them? Allen was the life of the party in whatever setting he was in, but he didn’t tell many people about his inner struggle with depression.

Allen fought very hard, but eventually the lies of depression won the battle.

I returned home from college that Wednesday and immediately drove down to camp. As I turned onto Fortson road, it finally hit me that this was really happening. As I walked around the center that night it was eerily quiet. The animals stood there quietly, the pond didn’t stir, and the trees didn’t blow. Fortson didn’t feel like Fortson. It felt like it knew that its keeper was gone and wasn’t coming back.

That Thursday was hard for so many people as we all traveled to the little church in South Georgia and said goodbye to our dear friend. The world and especially Fortson 4-H center would never be the same without him.

My connection with Allen Nasworthy isn’t like most others. I met him in March of 2015. I went to Camp Fortson with my teen group while I was in high school and fell in love with the place. When I first contacted UGA about working there over the summer, I met Allen who was the Center Director. Allen was so helpful with the whole process of getting hired and starting work there.

When I met Allen in person at the beginning of the summer, I never dreamed of the friendship that would begin. When I started my summer helping out around the center, he was just my boss, but by the middle of the summer, he was so much more than just my boss.

He was my friend, and I was so thankful for him.

He was my friend that I could laugh with, joke with, or have serious conversations about life with. Allen was awesome. As many know, it didn’t take long to get to know Allen. His smile was so contagious, and no one was a stranger to him.

As my summer working at camp drew to an end, I was disappointed to leave but enjoyed getting updates from Allen all the time on how things were going. I enjoyed getting crazy snapchats from him and reading his random hilarious texts.

Almost every break and weekend that I was home from school I always made it a point to stop by camp, walk around the pond, see the animals at the farm, and sit in the office and talk with Allen as he worked tirelessly. A week before Allen died, I was home from college for the weekend, and he told me to stop by and say hey.

Wow, what I would give to have known at that point that it would be the last time I would ever see him.

I would’ve stayed and told him how many people genuinely cared for him and loved him. I was worried about Allen as I knew he was struggling and knew that he was starting to distance himself from those around him, but I never dreamed it would lead to what it did.

Before I pulled out of Fortson that day, Allen shook my hand, looked me in the eyes, did that mischievous smile that only he could do, and said, “Hey, I’ll see ya later”. This stuck in my mind for some reason because he had never done it before.

Looking back now, I realize that this was Allen’s goodbye to me.

Every day Allen pops into my mind at some point, and when he does, I thank the Lord for the opportunity I had to know him. Even though I only knew him for a short time, he impacted my life greatly. He taught me so much, and I will always remember it. Thank you Allen for the impact you had on my life in those short summer months.

I am so excited to be going back to Fortson this summer. It is going to be hard passing his house and office everyday, but I think Allen would want it. We, the camp staff and counselors, are going to work together to put on a summer program that would make Allen look down and smile.

The last thing Allen ever said to me was, “You a great friend bud.”

This phrase is short, but it is something that I will cherish forever. On April 24, 2016, I will be joining many of Allen’s family and friends as we walk in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s Out of Darkness Walk in Memory of Allen Nasworthy (you can check out my fundraising page here).

Casting Crowns once sang in one of their songs, “So when you’re on your knees and answers seem so far away, you’re not alone, stop holding on and just be held. Your world’s not falling apart, it’s falling into place. I’m on the throne, stop holding on and just be held.”

This text has been so helpful to me. Even if we feel like our world is falling apart, we know that God is holding us and that He’s going to get us through. If you’re fighting depression, DON’T GIVE UP! Talk to someone and get help, because you are loved whether you believe it or not.

Psalm 34:17-19 “When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.”

Meet Manuel Vivanco. I went to school with him from 3rd-5th grade and then we went off to different middle schools. Our friendship was lost for a few years until Facebook brought us back together in 9th grade.

From 9th grade on we would talk on a regular basis. Karate, girls, sports…you name it! He loved watching me do karate and would constantly ask me about my journey to getting my black belt and the tournaments I would compete in.

In 2012, I vividly remember being on the phone with him upset that I lost the jissen (a form of sparring in Taido Karate) championship in overtime. He told me that I did my best and that he would be at the tournament next year to watch me get first place.

In 2013, I injured my ACL and could not compete in the tournament. I promised Manuel that I’d be healthy so he could watch me compete the following year.

The next week, I pulled into my parent’s driveway, took out my phone and got on Facebook. What happened next shocked my world.

I read a post on Manuel’s wall posted by one of our friends from school. It said “Dang bro…I can’t believe you’re gone. This isn’t real”.

My heart skipped a beat.

Gone? What? No. This is a sick joke.

I immediately went to his Facebook page and saw that hundreds of people posted “RIP” “We will miss you” “Love you, man.”

Next, I call his phone. It goes to voicemail.

I text him. No response.

Reality hits.

He’s gone.

I walk into the kitchen and I am hysterically crying. My mom immediately runs in and asks what’s wrong. I am so traumatized I can’t get my words out. It did not seem real.

I tell you all of this to set the stage of why my karate tournaments are so important to me now. From that point forward, I dedicated my tournaments to Manuel. He is no longer with us so I promised myself I would compete and win for him.

1 year later, I had his name henna tattooed on my ribs in honor of the Karate tournament. I made it to the finals and lost. Again. I walked away from the tournament feeling defeated and let Manuel down. I promised myself I would come back the following year and win it for him.

In the 2015 tournament, it was an international friendly between USA and Japan.

I made it to the championship again and not only lost but I was disqualified. I had lost for the 3rd time, embarrassed my Taido school for fighting too rough and let Manuel down once again. I came away from that loss humiliated, embarrassed and angry at myself.

In this year’s tournament, I made it to the final’s once again and finally took first place after an epic match that went to double overtime. When Uchida Shihandai blew the whistle to signal I had won the match, I had to hold back my emotions. I had promised Manuel for years that I would get first place and it finally came true.

After I was awarded the trophy and my friends congratulated me, I went into the locker room, I closed the bathroom door and I cried. I cried out of happiness of winning, sadness that my friend wasn’t there to see me but most of all I cried because I finally made true on the promise I made to my friend.

You could read this and say, “This guy needs to not take Karate so seriously!” and yes…that could be argued. But promising myself I would take first place in his honor was a way to cope with his death.

The point of this story is two-fold:

1. Never give up. I lost in the championship 3 years in a row. 1 match I lost in overtime, the other my opponent destroyed me and the 3rd time I disqualified myself. All 3 losses hurt and made me not want to compete again. I could have called it quits so I would not have to face the idea of losing again. The thing is…that is no way to live life. In fact, defeat is healthy. It motivates us to train harder and keeps us humble.
2. Everyone is fighting a battle that we cannot see so go tell someone you love them. Manuel had struggles just as we all do. He struggled with addiction and depression. I tried to be there for Manuel as best as I could but his death is no one’s fault. I beg of you to go find that person in your life that you know needs a friend, needs a hug, or just needs someone to talk to. You never know how long you or the other person has left on this earth so don’t wait to talk to them some day. Make that day today.

Manuel,

Buddy…I miss you so much. I think about you often and randomly find myself with tears flooding into my eyes at the thought of you no longer being with us. I want you to know I strive to live every day like it’s my last. You had your struggles but you had such a great heart.

You are missed deeply. Thank you for your kindness, your inspiration, your love and your support. I love you, man.

When you decide to become a college athlete people tend to tell you all of the horror stories that come along with it. They tell you about conditioning, the long nights and early mornings, and the responsibility that comes along with it. But what they don’t tell you about becoming a college athlete is that…

You’ll be blessed with a roommate that has been such a blessing in your life. A roommate that started as a walk on but worked hard and did everything it took to earn a full scholarship. You won’t know that the girl that you were too afraid to say hey to outside of Jervey will be your teammate and road roommate. They don’t tell you that your roommate will help you through one of the most difficult times in your life. And they don’t tell you that Vee will become a part of your family and you’ll become a part of hers.

They don’t tell you how competitive and determined your teammate will be. How she’s one of the first in the gym and one of the last to leave. They don’t tell you that she’s so selfless and will go out of her way to do things to help you. That she’s shy and quiet when you first meet, but one of the goofiest people you’ll ever meet. And they don’t tell you that if you ever tell Nelly that she can’t do something, she will prove you wrong.

They don’t tell you that you’ll have a hairdresser on the team that runs House of Beauty. That she is the most girly and prissy person you’ll ever meet, but she’s also wiling to listen and offer helpful advice with whatever you’re going through. They don’t tell you that MK will come to your house whenever you have a rough day and bring Spill the Beans to make everything better.

When you decide to play a sport in college, they don’t tell you that you’ll meet someone who wears Nike all the time. You wont hear that her laugh is contagious and she has the best taste of music. They don’t tell you that she’s competitive at whatever she’s doing. And they definitely don’t tell you that Lex will dance at any moment.

They don’t tell you that you’ll have an Italian teammate that is one of the funniest people you will ever meet. She’ll tell you exactly how she feels no matter the situation and make you laugh while doing it. They don’t tell you that she works so hard in the classroom and is one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet. You won’t know that she can sing almost every song that comes on the radio, but has no idea what they mean. They don’t tell you that Franny has the meanest Euro step in the game.

They won’t tell you that you’ll have a Canadian teammate who knows how to have a good time. You won’t know that she will say whatever is on her mind no matter who is around. They don’t tell you that she’ll try to get everyone to listen to Dancehall and that Sirah is one of the kindest people you’ll meet.

They don’t tell you that you’ll have a teammate that doesn’t talk much, but when she does she has something to say. She can be closed off at times, but you’ll learn more about her as time goes on. They won’t tell you that she’s strong and fast and takes no prisoners on the court. You won’t know that even though she barely spoke her freshman year, you could pick her laugh out of a crowd of millions. They wont tell you that KP is an observer and one of the funniest people you will ever meet.

For some reason they fail to bring up the teammate who seems to never run out of energy. The one that is everywhere on every play and is one of the hardest working people you’ve ever met. You won’t know that she has the funniest facial expressions and always has a clap back for whatever you come at her with. They don’t tell you that Li is full of random facts for every day.

They fail to tell you that you’ll meet a guard that came in ready to make an impact on the team. They don’t tell you that she will always be one of the best-dressed people that I’ve ever met. You wont know that she looks out for the people around her and has a heart of gold. You won’t know that Dani is leaves an impact on someone everywhere she goes.

I wish someone would have told me that I would bond with the freshman in just a few months and they would feel just as much like family as the people that I already spent a year to two years with.

I wonder why no one told me that I would have a teammate from “Bawdimore” who is absolutely hilarious. They didn’t tell me that her dance moves are terrible but she makes up for it by how much she enjoys dancing. You won’t know that she’s scatterbrained and sometimes you have no idea what she’s talking about until you ask more than once. They don’t tell you that Jaia says whatever comes to her mind no matter how it comes out, but she’s one of the best people to be around because of her amazing personality.

They don’t tell you that you’ll meet someone with such a STRONG southern accent that she has to clarify what she’s saying. You won’t be told that she is one of the most down to earth people that you will ever meet. She may not say a lot, but if you listen hard you’ll hear Kobi’s quick and funny comments under everyone else talking.

You won’t hear about the girl who’s completely independent and seems to have everything together. They don’t tell you how hard she works to get what she wants. They tend to leave out that your little sister Kayce is all about the team and brings so much energy to every practice and workout.

People fail to tell you that you’ll meet of one the most random people that you’ve ever met. They don’t tell you that she has a nickname for everyone that matches her bubbly personality. If you watch closely you’ll find her dancing to whatever song is playing. When see her you can pick her out by her love of socks and her curly hair and after you meet her you’ll never forget Chyna.

You’ll never hear about the girl from Cali who is one of the coolest people you’ll ever meet. You won’t hear that she’s so selfless and cares so much about the people around her. They don’t tell you that you’ll love her style and the way she dresses, but most importantly you won’t know that SiSi is a hard worker in everything she does.

What they don’t tell you when you decide to become a college athlete is that you’ll be blessed with not only teammates, but also a family.

Her eyes could snag mine from across the room, around corners even, and when she was nowhere to be seen, I would scan the scene like a metal detector on a beach, waiting for the sensation the discovery of her would bring. “Bbbeebeebeep” my heart would sing. There she is, in my head I would say.

She lit me ablaze in the cold and gray of December. She dazzled me from the core—a wild headband atop bourbon ringlets, a body, facing fiercely the frigid air, enwrapped in lace revealing just enough to require a double take, but concealing enough to send the imagination into frenzy. She would eventually stop rummaging through her purse for menthols and place her gaze in my path, eyes meeting mine behind the fog of her first drag.

Natural gravity would pull us nearer to one another through the crowd, seeing only shoulders of those moseying, aimlessly, around.

Not us. Our movements had purpose. She would greet me by drawing me closer in, a pocket in the bone-chilling wind. Easing each other’s goose bumps, we would relax our bodies for seconds in the warmth of our enfoldment. Only friends can hug like we did—without measure of elapsed time, unapologetic for being still in a moving mass.

In the dark hues of winter, sheer joy felt by the presence of one another gave glow to our path, and we would lock arms to insulate the heat flowing from our bodies. Of course we could ramble on and laugh about small things in our small lives, but only after showering each other with compliments, exchanging cheer, and sometimes clasping hands. Our conversations could be as shallow or deep as we were feeling.

We could detect the mood of each other through just the lifting of an eyebrow or quivering of the chin, and then, without a millisecond of hesitation, I could pour out the pulp, whatever was left over from the whole, and she would listen. Spring arrived, and we welcomed it in bandeaus and tattered daisy dukes. Still floating along upon our companionship, we reveled in the freedom of the season. No longer did my friend shiver beneath the lace enwinding her.

Finally, her ecru honey skin, in all its fine radiance, was no longer enfettered by the need for covering.

What a shame it was for our friendship to end once we were no longer separated by lace and layers. My sun receded as abruptly as it appeared. A tiff, a squabble, a slip of sour tongue—whatever it was—it caused her to be gone for the rest of spring. Still to this day, I don’t know what she looks like in floral or how big her umbrella is.

After a time, there were a series of August apologies. With a valiant effort to sooth the sting of words we wished we could take back, we did what we could to rekindle the ember of our friendship. I saw her for the first time since spring at the nearing end of summer. She was stuck in between the seasons, struggling with the middle ground of the year’s mood, and unknowing of whether or not she would be melting underneath the cotton by the time the sun shone directly above us at midday. We were both troubled not only with our fashion choices, but with things we never found troublesome before.

We searched for words in petty conversation about our longing for fall weather and what classes we were taking. In the midst of the transition between summer and fall, our eyes met far less than they had in winter, but when they did, the moment was frostbitten with regret.

Our hugs were rare, brief, and plagued with rigor mortis.

The ember was dwindling. The sharpness of the breeze reminds me of winter’s fast approach. White clouds drifting all around, but not the ones from her cigarette. I try so hard to enjoy hot cocoa and long fuzzy stockings, but there’s a specific warmth missing from this season of cold. I see her headband bobbing up and down in the bustle of the crowd, but her gaze never crosses mine, and we pass like strangers.

Our flower bloomed in the winter, but withered away in the rays of spring, and by summer, it was dead. I hang the wilted flower upside-down on the door of my bedroom to serve as a reminder that the seasons change.

(Written by Kimberly J. August, Esq.)

This story is a snapshot of my Godson, Devon Gales, and the relationship he shares with his Godfather, Coach Gantt. This story is the inspiration for the book project they are working on about Devon’s life and injury; their relationship and the commitment to clinging to faith in the midst of adversity.

I have a snapshot of Devon Gales and Coach Bryant Gantt in my head that replays repeatedly like the reel in a silent movie. Coach Gantt is feeding Devon pecans. The vision of this in and of itself is enough to make me laugh uncontrollably, especially since I’m privy to the massiveness of Coach Gantt’s hands and the overwhelming UGA Championship ring he wears with great pride.

However, my laughter quickly subsides once I embrace the tenderness of the moment and how it came to pass. It occurred early in Devon’s rehabilitative process but it speaks volumes of the wonderful relationship between the two men.

Coach Gantt was asked to sit with Devon while we ran errands and he agreed.

While we were away, Devon decided to get a snack and he struggled with accomplishing the task but Coach Gantt, stepped in and feed him.

That’s my snapshot, Devon so vulnerable and determined; and Coach Gantt so big and strong; but sitting together sharing a tender moment filled with camaraderie, empathy and compassion. Devon comfortable with allowing him to help, not prideful or embarrassed; and Coach Gantt figuring out how to offer assistance without being emasculating.

Prior to this snapshot, for months I bore witness as men watched Devon struggle with mastering basic tasks during their visits with him at the Shepherd Center and their response was to ignore his effort and wait until the medical staff or a female caregiver intervened.

Never to help. Their hesitation grounded in sexism, culturalism, but mostly because football isn’t for wimps and their own inability to acknowledge their fear.

Nevertheless, Coach Gantt an imposing man looked past all that, stood in his fearlessness, and found the balance. And Devon met him without hesitation or reservation; and so their balancing act began.

They found common ground in a relationship that is more than Coach/Athlete or Mentor/Mentee.

They are forever intertwined and so connected that the relationship of Godfather/Godson seems a bit inadequate when I think of them together.

However, God is definitely in the relationship they share. Coach Gantt is old enough to be Devon’s father but is still a boy in so many ways because of his love for this game that is part battleground, part playground is able to offer life lessons to this man-child as he navigates the world.

Devon the eager student that absorbs Coach Gantt’s lessons like a sponge not realizing he is teaching as well. He is offering Coach Gantt lessons in courage, strength, and living a life that completes his worth. Their relationship will transcend time and it will bear fruit because it is strong and exists for a purpose bigger than itself, it exists for GOD.

Devon and Coach Gantt have challenged everything I thought I knew about faith, unconditional love, hope, and men.

Ultimately, the book we’re writing is the result. It is not only the story of Devon Gales and Coach Bryant Gantt but also the story of how GOD has hardwired us all for glory.

We all have the capacity to be a part of something far bigger than our own small existence. This book will inspire young men to be brave, believe, trust, and commit to something bigger than themselves.

It’s been almost 6 years since I met the girl I fell in love with. And finally I’m writing about it.

I’ve been confused these past couple weeks. I’m lost. I get these waves of emotions. Some days I’ll be good and some days I’ll get this knot in my stomach. I start questioning everything. What could have I done differently? What could have I said differently?

I had no plans to have a girl best friend, nonetheless, fall in love with her. But it changed my life. Falling in love with your best friend is scary. You get so close to this person that you can’t see life without them. You need that person just like you need air. It’s like they’re a part of you. And I think that’s when you know you’re in love. When you realize they’re your other half.

It always seems like someone eventually falls in love in a best friend friendship.

I happened to be the one to do so. Head over heels. The whole nine yards. I think I fell in love with her because she was my best friend. Not because of her looks, but because of how powerful our trust was. I told her everything and vice versa.

We knew exactly what was going on in each other’s lives. But what was unique about us was that our brains were the same. Our thoughts, the way we acted, and the ways we talked were all identical. It was the weirdest/coolest thing. We could finish each other’s sentences. We already knew the answer to the questions before we even asked. We had some sort of telepathy, kind of like we had super powers.

It’s hard to tell your best friend that you’re in love with them. What happens if they don’t fall in love with you back? What if they just want to stay best friends? You’re putting a forever-lasting friendship at risk. In high school I wasn’t really a patient kid. If I wanted something, I had to of have had it right then and there. Why wait for something when you know what you want?

“You’re like a brother to me”, were her words after I told her how I felt.

You see, she fell in love with the guy that didn’t give her the time of day, but would talk to her just enough to keep her in check. Like he wouldn’t really talk to her in person that much, but the minute he texted her it changed her whole day. It was the classic high school girl story. Falls in love with the a******, because the chase is a lot more fun than the good guy that’s just waiting for her.

He was smart. I was dumb. It’s weird being best friends with someone who knows you’re in love with them. I thought if I kept being her best friend that maybe she would eventually come around. For some reason I thought if we kept on getting closer then maybe she would realize. I think the opposite happened. The closer we got, the farther my chances got.

I think the only regret I have was that I never truly believed I could have her. I did everything for her. Got her soup when she was sick, gave her a ride whenever she needed one, etc. I was like a puppy—I would get so excited when she gave me attention. But in the midst of everything I did, I never told myself that I could actually get her. It was always “I’ll never get a chance” or “This is going nowhere”. And these past couple of years I’ve realized that if you can’t even believe you can get something then you never will get it. Not just with girls, but just whatever you want in life.

Months and months went by and we always went back and forth.

Some weeks we were good and some weeks we didn’t hear from each other. It’s like we would say to ourselves, “Welp this week we aren’t talking.” And then it became a game. Not officially, but we both knew it. Whoever caved to text first was the loser. But every time we would talk—she ended talking about her guy problems. I didn’t want any part of that. I think that was the worst part of everything. Hearing all her guy problems when there wouldn’t be any if she chose me. I was getting kicked while I was already down. I couldn’t deal with it.

I just wish she had perspective. That was the one thing that we never really were on the same page about. She’d always get mad when I didn’t want to talk to her, but she didn’t realize that in order for me to get over her I had to stop. It’s like a drug addict needing to go to rehab. In order to be sober you have to stop . . . She was my drug. And I kept coming back for a hit.

What I’m scared about—is my future. Do I think about her my whole life? Does it ever end? I compare her to the girls I talk to. How bad is that? I still think about what we could of been. More than I should. My body feels like something is missing. It just doesn’t feel right.

I still feel like we’ll find our way. When she’s mature. I know she’ll come to her senses one day. I’m just scared it might be too late.