ERASMUS FAMILY

How do you sum up something so monumental in just a few hundred words? This is what I’ve been pondering all week, since I left my friends on the Victoria line and headed back to Exeter. I’d spent the weekend in London with some friends I met on my year abroad and, as the bus crawled down the M4, I couldn’t help but reflect on what was a really incredible 15 months. It’s funny to think that just a year or so ago, I had no idea what was waiting for me.

Moving abroad is daunting and tough, and it’s difficult to fully appreciate the magnitude of it until you’ve done it. However, it’s made a whole lot easier when you meet people who you can ride the wave with. On my very first evening in Spain, my flatmate bundled me out and I met people who are some of my closest friends. It was pure luck - at least, that’s the way I like to look at it: not many of us planned to end up in Alcalá, but I’m so very pleased that we did.

I think that’s what is so special about Erasmus, and what makes it such a unique experience. While thousands of 20-somethings around Europe embark on a semester abroad, your actual experience is a one shared between very few people: a sort of dysfunctional family, if you will.

So, as the old saying goes, friends are the family we choose, and in this instance I can only agree. I guess you could say this is a thank you and a love letter of sorts, to my Erasmus family. Thank you for the tinto de veranos, the llao aos, the night bus, The Coffee Train, The Green and the many, many vodka limóns, the trips away and most importantly, all the chaos which ensued. I would have and would be completely lost without you.

Maggie John

When we think of homophobia, the image that comes to mind wouldn’t be originating from within the LGBTQ+ community itself. However, as a bisexual woman, I have found that most of the biphobia I’ve suffered has come from myself.

Internalised Homophobia, in simple terms, is discrimination against one’s own sexuality and a denial of its existence. It is born from our heteronormative (‘straight’) society that classes straight relationships as the norm, heterosexuality as a necessity and homosexuality as a sin.

For many years, I struggled to come to terms with the fact that I was bisexual - attracted to two or more genders - or that I even liked women at all. I denied it, hid from the truth and attempted to run from it. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t change who I loved or what I was.

“But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t change who I loved or what I was.”

As many other LGBTQ+ community members can attest, discovering that you’re gay can feel like something is utterly wrong with you. It can feel as though you are dysfunctional, broken and unlovable because you feel differently from those around you.

We fake who we are to fit in and even try to believe the lie ourselves. After all, it would be easier to be straight, wouldn’t it? It would be easier to push the ‘abnormal’ attraction aside and do as society expects from us.

“We fake who we are to fit in and even try to believe the lie ourselves.”

This is called internalised homophobia, and it is more common than you think.

It’s no shock that, according to a study by LGBTQ+ charity Stonewall in 2018, 1 in 8 LGBTQ+ people between 18 and 24 attempted to end their lives in the UK alone. Not to mention that over half of LGBTQ+ people have experienced depression, myself included.

The world is not kind to those deemed ‘different’ from society’s definition of ‘normal’: straight and cisgender. Even though at this point in history it is easier than ever to come out and be accepted, these emotions and feelings remain consistent.

The idea of being queer is still (quite frankly) terrifying when homosexuality is a crime in nearly 70 countries. It’s hard to accept yourself, even if those around you would welcome your identity with open arms.