Being Hinksch

For all my childhood and most part of my teenage years, my parents run their own business - a radio and TV station in a small town in the middle of nowhere in Brazil. I have many memories from that time, and I'd like to share two of them.  The first one was the end of a month: my parents were always extremely stressed at the end of a month, because that was the time they would have to pay their employees. And they always made sure to pay everyone on time, regardless of how that would affect their personal finances and our life at home. I remember the end of the month being the tightest part for us, which is usually the other way around when you work for someone else. But my parents always said that they had many people that depended on them, and they could not let those people down.  The other memory was at Christmas: every year they made a campaign asking those in need to send the station letters with what they wanted for Christmas, and those who had enough to adopt one of th...

I am writing a new book, and I am almost finished now. Before I publish it, here is a little teaser: the names of the chapters. Happy holidays! Chapter one: Anywhere but Brighton Chapter two: When you least expect it… Chapter three: ...the unexpected happens Chapter four: Do you want the truth to come out? Chapter five: Everyone is innocent… Chapter six: …until proven otherwise Chapter seven: Nothing to see here Chapter eight: Let me get this straight Chapter nine: No parent should see their children die Chapter ten: I know who did it Chapter eleven: The ripped pieces of cloth Chapter twelve: This is just the beginning

I look at you and see someone I don't wanna be. And it's taking me too long to realise I'm better off alone. This is the first verse of a very popular song in the gay world in my early 20s, when I started to go out. The song, surprise surprise, is called Alone, by Offer Nissim. It is a great tune, and it brings me amazing memories of my younger days. But it also makes me a bit sad, mainly because this was my song. A song that at least 4 different guys sent me, saying they thought about me when they heard it. I will give you some context, which is also probably an attempt to justify myself: I spent my teenage years closeted. I knew I liked boys, but I was terrified of the idea of being gay. I grew up in a very close minded, sexist and homophobic environment, and being gay was one of the worst things someone could be. I constantly heard some people close to me saying they would rather have their son being a murderer than being gay. That gays should be taken away from society,...

I don't normally do bandwagons on social media, unless it leads to something meaningful - help a cause, a campaign. Even then, I try to do it my way, so I can keep my uniqueness and my individuality. I won't go into the importance of uniqueness and diversity on this text, but if you know me well enough, you should also know that speech by heart. Back to bandwagons, a while ago I decided to break my rule and try the new trend on social media: ngl, a service where people could send you anonymous questions. Yes, part of me wanted to have some fun, but there was also a part of me who thought I could reach more people, especially those who felt the need to be anonymous. What started as a fun game turned into a way for someone to send me hate messages. I was truly shocked when I opened the page one day and found many messages with a very hateful and angry tone, all seemingly coming from the same person. I don't know exactly who that person is, but I have a very good idea of where...

I was chatting to a friend about social media, and how everything on it is fake, staged, a display of happiness that is not only unreal, it is also unaccessible. Amongst many other unreal and unaccessible things present on social media. And I thought about my main instagram profile, how it creates this curated reflection of my life - or better, a part of my life. Of course, one cannot show all of one's life on social media. But here I am, defending the idea of being more real in the unreal world, when my own feed is not. This idea stuck to me, bothered me, made me think.  I could start whining on instagram as well - I already do it here - but it would clash with what's left from my old OCD diagnosis when I was younger, which almost obliges me to apply order and method to the world. Instagram is for pictures, and descriptions of said pictures. Some people post images of text, and I have nothing to say about that because it's their feed, so it is none of my business. But I co...