WORLD WORLDWIDE EUROPE BELGIUM PEER - THE PINK REBEL - By Luc Schrijvers - Part 6 - 5 March 2026.

 We drove back home. I had my fingers crossed but...I never told anyone what happened. From then on, the smell of cigars makes me puke.

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I didn't want anything to do with that Maurice anymore. I wanted miles of distance between us – is that what he is really like? Should I therefore collect the seat money?

I became very suspicious of him. Even when I put on my priestly robes to play... it wasn't the same anymore. I had lost something, my priest's robe was no longer my… friend. The fun was gone. Something had broken.

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After the boys' school, on to the vocational school.

Wood, metal, electricity... None of it interested me. Electricity wasn't too bad, because at least I didn't get dirty there.

We did occasionally have world orientation, a subject in which people were central and where we learned about society and the world. That was different and very interesting.

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I didn't understand my body.

Why don't I think about girls?I racked my brain. I did not get it.

My friends had a lot of “dirty books” going around… They were passed around at school and in the woods at home. There were naked women in it. The pages of those books were wrinkled, dirty – none of it bothered me. I did not get it. I did participate, as if.

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“Writers, you call this good work?” a teacher shouted.

He threw my work on the ground, it completely broke. I had no passion or even desire for this craft - and apparently it was visible.

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I was no longer a child. I noticed myself getting more and more, even though it felt wrong, started thinking about boys. This got me excited. Sometimes I thought about girls too, but it wasn't the same. I felt so guilty – I always felt dirty – my body was doing things I didn't want – I was washing like crazy – no one was ever supposed to know this.

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“That I can't hear you anymore!”, a teacher shouted.

I had just received a blow to the ear, and so had a comrade. I don't remember exactly what we had done. We often got a slap from different teachers.

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Someone shouted “OMO!” on the playground.

I was shocked. This is not possible. Who discovered this

- how? I didn't tell anyone, what - Even more people shouted: “OMO!”, “OMO!”

I didn't understand - tears welled up in my eyes, how did they know -

“Do you know that washing powder? Funny, isn't it?" someone asked.

What? Washing powder? What?

“OMO” was the name of a detergent. No one said “gay!” called. They had “OMO!” shouted, not “gay!”

No one said “gay!” called upon me.

“Ooh! Haha yes, ha ha, very good,” I said. My mouth smiled along, but my eyes were still staring around. Blind panic.