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Do I need to have security detail every time I run out to get milk at the corner store for me to know what I’m talking about? Or do I just need protection when I hold hands with, or dare to kiss the man I love in public? Tell me… when will enough be enough?

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If a space that was designed for us to revel in our queerness, our brownness, our language is wrecked, where else can we go? And the answer is nowhere.

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So mourn, and send support, and watch the news, care for your loved ones, and I will too, but things have changed and that is why this is about me, and why I am writing to you. This is about me because I am a part of a country that is broken and hurting, where people are scared to go to vigils, or sporting events, or school.

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“I am moved to tears yet again as I struggle to put our experience into words. In spite of a few hateful, broken human beings in this world who can all too easily legally get their hands on mass assault weapons – people ARE kind.”

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While these shootings were happening I was in a gay club in Montevideo. I was dancing, drinking and having fun with some friends. It could have been me.

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It’s a strange kind of sadness that runs deeper than one would expect, the ache of lost humanity against someone who merely exercises their right of loving who they love.

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These are the names of the innocent human beings who died in the June 12th terrorist attack on Pulse Nightclub in Orlando, Florida.