once or twice a year—tops—eric let’s himself shed a few tears. it’s not that i’m an unemotional robot, or that i’m so strong that nothing phazes me… on the contrary, i’m generally an emotional wreck who bottles up my depression or euphoria or grief or self-doubt or contentment into a tiny little bottle which i lock away in my cabinet of secrets [on the shelf just to the left of my wardrobe].

last friday, i invited many of my friends to join me for the candlelit vigil for david morley, the man who was murdered during a random violent homophobic spree the previous weekend. this random violence the previous weekend really shook me up, not just because it hit close to home [and could've very easily been me], but because it served as a wake-up call to me and my refined delusions for what it means to be young and gay and free in big-city london.

to be honest, i was quite pissed off with most of my friends for not attending the vigil. it could have been any of us, coming home from soho in the wee hours of the morning. it could have been me, or any of my dearest friends. i get chills just thinking about it—lives ending, lives changing, lives ruined.

i met atif and scottish david on old compton street, where i expected there to be maybe 50-100 people outside the admiral duncan [a gay landmark, site of the soho bombings 5 years ago, and the pub where david morley worked and made many friends]. i was quite shocked to see several hundred people jamming the streets outside the pub, silent, hugging, quietly laughing, holding candles and flowers.

eventually the horde moved down old compton to st. anne’s cathedral, where there were easily over 1,000 people… in the church, in the courtyard, spilling out down the roads in every direction. i was warmed by the compassion, by the silent anger that i saw in everyone’s eyes.

even i forget sometimes that being gay is not about sex and clubbing and being witty and being fashionable and drugs and pretentiousness and the gay scene and leather daddies and making fun of lesbians and 17-year-olds with glitter and glowsticks.

it’s about a shared struggle, a definite struggle, that we gays encounter daily. about homophobia… be it senseless violence or murmured rudeness or descrimination in the workplace or stereotypes in the media or just constantly having to defend who you are. even in london, even in 2004.

we stood there, silent, reverent, motionless for an hour, listening to david’s friends, listening to the powerful singing of the london gay men’s chorus, as the candles dripped onto our hands and our shoes. i looked around, behind me into the endless sea of mourners. i looked into the eyes of the leather daddies behind me who were trying to be brave and funny and campy and witty, but what i really saw behind those moustaches were wounded puppy-dog eyes… and i overheard sobs coming from them as they recanted stories of their lost friend.

although most of my friends couldn’t be bothered with attending, i was so incredibly heartened to see loads of young people there… most of whom had looks of shock on their faces. coming from san francisco, i’m well aware of the battles that were fought before my time. i poke fun of pretty much everything, but you’ll never see me harsh on the old queens and the generation that came before me. they were the ones that fought for our rights. thanks to them, the world is a much safer, healthier and easiesr place for me to live my life in.

the vigil ended, we wiped our tears and the three of us debriefed over coffee. since my stint at the magazine ended, i’ve had entirely too much political activist mojo percolating inside of me, and discussing homophobia and violence with atif and scottish david helped a little bit. but, i still feel like i need to do more, much more.

justice will be served, and it’s very reassuring to live in a city where a story like this garners so much attention from the media, the mayor, the police.