SUICIDES IN BILBAO
| Dear Henry, My name is Fernando and I'm 17 years old. First of all I'd like to congratulate you for your magnificent achievement in creating The City. I'd like to tell you about Fermin and Ivan. Ivan was a school-friend of mine who killed himself last month because the boy he loved had shot himself. Ivan went to the same classes as me. I got to know him five years ago when I moved to his school, and he was one of the people I made friends with most quickly. I used to go to his house, and we'd play tennis together and, in particular, go to the cinema. We rode to school together, and spoke on the phone every day, not that we had anything interesting to say-just the usual stuff about school and so on. Two years ago, I realised I was gay and told him and he took it well. He didn't tell anyone else, and it didn't bother him, and I loved him all the more for it, as a friend. Last Christmas he told me that he was gay too, and that he liked a boy at the tennis club where he trained, and didn't know what to do about it. I wanted to give him all the help I could and printed out some pages from the web, especially ones from The City. And one day he phoned me. He was very happy because he'd asked the boy at the tennis club out and he wanted to introduce us. Fermin was very pleasant and kind, and it didn't surprise me that Ivan liked him seeing as he was so fine, and they started going out together quite often. I didn't get to see Ivan so much, but we still talked on the phone and he'd tell me what they were up to. From time to time we'd go to see a film, and it pleased me to see Ivan so happy, although I often got cross with him because we didn't see each other as much as we used to. One night Ivan's father phoned me. He was very angry and told me that I was a little poof and he didn't want me to see Ivan any more. That night I was really upset and couldn't sleep. The next day I managed to talk to Ivan and he told me that he'd told his parents he was gay and they'd hit him. I said he could stay at my house but he didn't want to. And to cap it all, his classmates had found out and wouldn't leave him alone. He knew how to look after himself, but they just wouldn't let it drop. At first he was angry with me because he thought it was me who'd told them, but it was his brother Igor who's a couple of years younger. Things began to get complicated. Fermin was beaten up at his school, for being gay, and they dumped him in a dustbin. The next day he hit two of the people who'd beaten him up, and he got expelled from school. He wanted to chuck in this tennis too, but Ivan changed his mind. The next month Ivan constantly phoned me to tell me how things were with Fermin. Sometimes they got along fine, other times they had problems. Although we saw each other every day at school, he didn't want to speak to me there because the others would have picked on me, although sometimes we'd talk. One day, at the 11 o'clock break, I found him crying and wanted to ask him why but he went off. I thought it must be my fault, but some jerk in my class told me that "a poof from Urdaneta" had shot himself in the quarry near the woods outside Bilbao. I went straight home to phone Ivan, but he wasn't in. Then his mother, Andrea, phoned to see if he was with me. I said no but I'd let her know if I saw him. That same night she called me again and said that Ivan had shot himself in the quarry. I cried the whole night and didn't go to school the next day. I know that if I'd followed him that break-time it wouldn't have happened. I hope this might be of some use for your website, and if not it doesn't matter. I only wanted to tell you what happened to my best friend Ivan and, if anyone gets to read this, I'd like them to know that Ivan Pardo once lived and he was a person anyone would be proud to know. Many thanks, Henry, and keep up the good work. Fernando. PS I found a photo of Ivan when we were on a school trip. It was nearly four years ago but I hope it'll do. And while I'm at it I'd like to tell you some more about Ivan, in case it'll help you know him better or at least know who Ivan Pardo González was. And if something in this letter helps complete his story or lets you draw some conclusions, so much the better. He was 17 years old when he killed himself. He was a very happy guy, one of those people who seems to have everything under control, and who never lets things get on top of him. When he did what he did I couldn't believe it. It's something he'd never do. It was as if they'd told me Mother Theresa of Calcutta had spoken out in favour of Hitler. Ivan always saw the positive side of things. He'd give you the courage to do all sorts of things you wouldn't dare to on your own. Or you might just hang out with him. He got on well with everyone, apart from the kind of stick-in-the-mud who thinks that if you're full of energy and always on the go you must be a bit weird (but Ivan wasn't weird). He'd always be the first to join in whatever was going on. He was the kind of person you always wanted to have around you. Sometimes we'd be at his house or mine and not be doing anything. But it'd never be boring, even if it sounds it. He'd help anyone who wanted it. And he never bore a grudge against anyone, whoever it was. But not everything was marvelous, obviously. We our disagreements, of course, and he was rather pig-headed, but you couldn't help liking him. My reason for telling you this is that because our society is so hypocritical I lost the most wonderful person in the world. And it wasn't just me - it affected everyone he knew. When I think about him branded "poof" just because he was different, I'd like to say "screw you" to the world. Ivan Pardo wasn't just the best friend and the finest person who ever drew breath, he was the victim of the very people he helped so much. And because of them, I've lost him. If I have to declare war on our society I'll do it. Since last month, there hasn't been a single day when I didn't blame myself for not talking to him that break-time and not following him when he went off. I should be weeping as a write this, because I was hypocritical and stupid, and I failed the person I loved best, and now it's too late. We've all been deprived of the noblest person there ever was (for that's what he was to me). I hope you'll never know what it is to lose a friend, and not just a friend in name only, but a friend indeed. |
READERS' COMMENTS
| I'm Erik and I'm writing this at 5 in the morning because I couldn't sleep a wink and I went on the internet and visited your site. What a shock I had when I saw about the suicides in Bilbao. I swear to you I cried when I read that letter. People are bastards. What's it come to when being gay is considered a sickness? Well at least it isn't for me. Being gay is the best thing that's happened to me, and if I could I'd shout it to the ends of the earth. It sucks that society hates it. Poor Ivan was certainly a good lad. And Fernando had to put up with shit too. Would it hurt them so much to accept us as we are? For example, my parents have seen The City, and they've found out I'm gay, and they told me off for it and - get this! - they're sending me to a psychologist. It sucks. And tell Fernando that I know what he feels on losing a good friend. When I 'lost' my friend Juan Pablo I cried for months. Eventually I found someone who could comfort me (but his name is a secret!). [Translator's note: the original text is ambiguous, but Erik is probably saying that his friend Juan Pablo also committed suicide] Well, thanks so much for listening to me. Best wishes, Erik PPS: Keep on in there, Fernando! Erik (E-mail: harrymaniaco2000@yahoo.es) |