Jay Hawkridge Poignantly Reflects on Identity, Home, and HIV
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In a moving Instagram post, HIV activist Jay Hawkridge reflects on the intersection of identity, home, and HIV.
Last year, in my mind, Leeds only meant one thing; pain.
I grew up close by. In mid-2020, between a virus that was stopping the world, and another that had, for the last few months, stopped mine… I began to wish for familiarity.
I visited Leeds in what would become the cruellest summer of my life; possibly the only part of my story I’m not brave enough to share yet. All you need to know is, trust is a two-player game, and all the warmth I’d spent months curating was wiped away in one spit-take.
I’ve long struggled with my identity. Not quite feeling like I fit in in most places. Convinced that I have to act certain ways to be included, disappointed that I’ll never know if the man across the table from me is listening to what I have to say… or simply counting down the time until I call it a night, and he can offer to walk me home.
I’m more myself than I’ve ever been; infinitely more-so than this time last year, when I told you all the same thing. Being so publicly honest on the internet has backlash, and some people aren’t receptive. Of all the things I’ve been called the five months… one thing I’ve noticed, is that people have stopped saying these things to my face.
I’m surrounded by more solidarity than I’ve ever felt. The life I’ve stumbled into, the path I’m carving daily, and the people that I’m meeting along the way; my heart has thawed, and I’m not trapping myself in a cage anymore, afraid of what’s outside.
When you start looking at life with self-love, your environment blooms. Leeds, I’m home.
Hawkridge has used TikTok and Instagram in incredibly inspiring ways to advocate for HIV prevention and educate.
@jayhawkridge Growth takes time. Consistency. Discipline. You got this ❤️ #hiv #livingwithhiv #bestself #selflove ♬ original sound – Jadyn McHenry
In a recent article in Gay Times he writes: My first memory of exploring my sexuality was when I was 12-years-old. I would spend hours up after ‘going to bed’ watching softcore videos on YouTube. ‘Surfer Boys Kissing’ would be my go-to search, always making sure I deleted the browsing history afterwards, (which was an implication that at the time I viewed this behaviour as something I wasn’t confident of). My self-discovery continued. It was deep in rural Yorkshire at my local library where I found an overlooked donated book containing a gay plotline. Seeing an opportunity, I stole it and read it cover to cover; it was a transformative, quite-gritty adult novel full of promiscuity and sex with strangers that showed me a different world. This opening shifted into an Amazon-fuelled gay erotica rabbit hole; one packed with short storybooks of late-night affairs, making a move on your brother’s fraternity mate… you know, the usual. I only discovered explicit video porn after my first physical time, when I went searching for tips on how to make it a better experience for both myself and my then-boyfriend — something I had to learn myself.
@jayhawkridge #ittakesonetime to catch HIV. If it happened to you or someone you love, would you judge them the same as you would a stranger? #hiv #hivtoday ♬ Cornelia Street x King of my Heart – DJ Rog
So, it doesn’t surprise me that Durex’s #MySexMyWay survey discovered only 14% of LGBTQ+ respondents found sex education in school a positive experience. With something as personal as sex and identity, it’s important you have access to a variety of outlooks and experiences – something most curriculums just don’t offer. There’s one day that stands out for me, which changed my entire outlook on who I am and forced me to open up about my sexuality – possibly before I was ready. It was a Thursday afternoon and the class of 30 all gathered around for our Citizenship lesson. This was a weekly half-baked class that covered all bases from finance and society to sexual health, without actually teaching you anything that would provide you with any lifelong skills. We were all given stacks of green and yellow cards in the middle of our tables and asked to pick one up for every closed question we were asked. The scenarios posed to us could range from ‘Could you fix your bike chain if it broke?’ to ‘Do you help with DIY around the house?’. In the end, it turns out that the green cards represented a ‘masculine’ answer, while the yellow was ‘feminine’.
His frank and powerful prose is powerful and propels his message penetrating the miasma of clutter gumming up social and traditional media.
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