Pride/ LGBT

I do street photography and my series, come together, develop and group under concepts, most of the time, on their own. But this series is an exception. I decided to start this series a long time ago, for a personal and very powerful reason, my daughter.

Once my daughter wrote:
On the most emotional gay day of my life, I was in New York. My family was staying in my uncle’s apartment in Queens, with him and his boyfriend. It was 2017.
Six years ago, my uncle Ignacio immigrated to America. I remember my mom waiting at Miami International Airport. I felt her nerves subside when she saw Ignacio, getting off the plane from Havana. I did not understand, then, that Fidel Castro’s regime was homophobic. I did not understand the animosity that existed in Cuba for people like Ignacio, and, as I would discover, people like me.
One night, when I was thirteen, I cried to my mom that the girls at school called me a lesbian. She said to me, “Y que? So what? You think ‘lesbian’ is insulting? Your uncle, my brother, Ignacio is gay. So’s your tio Humberto. And I’m proud of who they are.” She told me about when Humberto came on the Mariel in 1980. Cuba’s government sent out an announcement for homosexuals to be shipped to New York. My tio boarded that boat, and got off in the world where he grew his dreams.
My mother's words changed me. From one day to the next, I sprouted a rainbow backbone. I stood up to my bullies. In high school, I joined GSA, connected with kids going through what I dealt with in middle school.
When in New York, I wanted to see The Stonewall Inn, the place where pride was born, where Marsha P. Johnson, a transgender activist, sparked the 1969 riots for gay rights. We took the subway. Walking through Greenwich Village had me nervous. Would I be disappointed? What if it wasn’t everything I wanted it to be and more?
It was. As we approached, I could hear the calls of queens inside. I saw the neon sign proclaiming: The Stonewall Inn. There was a door decorated with the word PRIDE. My mom told me to pose for pictures. Standing there, surrounded by rainbow flags while my family photographed me, I felt accepted. When my little sister jokingly said, “cry,” I burst into tears.
I thought about all those kids inside the closet because their friends and families won’t understand. People kicked out of their homes, because their families think they are too “sinful” to be called sons and daughters. I thought about Matthew Shepard, a boy who could have been my friend. A normal gay kid who they found tied to a fence with no life left in him. I thought about Brandon Teena, a young man who had nothing except a dream and a girl. Who got a bullet through his head because some evil transphobes deemed him diseased.
How could I understand what it was like for him, for Matthew Shepard, for any oppressed person whose only sin was being born in the wrong era? Some people must choose between losing their families or losing themselves. I was standing in front of a rainbow door with my family taking pictures of me. I thought, why? Why am I here breathing, when there are people in the ground who don’t deserve to be there? I realized that Stonewall is not where pride was born.
Pride was born in the eyes of a young Marsha P. Johnson when she tried on her first dress in secrecy. Pride was born in the hearts of those who sailed to America on the Mariel. Pride was born in the heart of my uncle on that boatlift. Pride was born from the homeless, from the sick. Pride was born from sorrow.
I hugged my mom. I realized I need to be more grateful for my family. I took their love for granted. My mom took me to a gay bar. That's the kind of acceptance some people only dream of. I must keep that love in my heart. And spread it out. To others.
Updated:
Since writing this college essay, I’ve grown and come to understand myself as being bisexual. It has been a long journey filled with confusion and adversity, but I will never forget the support of my mother and family, as well as the gay activists who fought and paved the way for me. I am in a relationship with a man who loves and accepts me for who I really am. It all started with learning to love and accept myself.
Some people think that bisexual women who are in relationships with men don’t belong in the LGBT community, but I exist to say we are here, and our voices and life experiences matter. I love men and women, and regardless of my choice of partner, that will never change. I will be a vessel of love until the day I die and continue to work towards LGBT acceptance, human rights, and awareness.