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MidReal Story
My Forbidden Love
Scenario:I hope to move to Germany to start my MSC. I am a gay boy and expect real love. But my parents don't know about this.
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Ethan
He is a student aiming to pursue an MSC in Germany while balancing personal challenges. He is ambitious, introspective, and hopeful. Ethan struggles with the decision to move to Germany, leaving behind a failed relationship. He is gay and cautious about coming out to his family. The journey represents a chance for a fresh start, both academically and personally, as he navigates life as a gay man in a new country.
Eva
She is an acquaintance of Ethan from university events. She is friendly, openminded, and supportive. Eva notices the tension between Ethan and Matt during social gatherings and privately advises him to consider moving on from the relationship. Her observations contribute to Ethan's realization that he needs a change, leading him to contemplate making significant life changes, including potentially coming out to his family.
Eva's Family
They are a welcoming family that takes in Eva when she was homeless. They are kindhearted, compassionate, and understanding. Eva credits her strong bond with her family over the meals they share and the love they show her, which contrasts sharply with Ethan's anticipated struggles at home due to his hidden sexuality. This diversity highlights potential support networks for LGBTQ+ individuals.
I had always wanted to learn German since I was little.
When I saw the movie Schindler’s List for the first time, I was shocked by the German language spoken by Liam Neeson.
After that, I began to study German seriously.
When I was in high school, I bought a textbook on German and practiced every day.
My score on the German test was always number one in my class.
In my university life, I chose German language and literature as my minor.
I also joined the German language club, where I met Leon and other friends.
Now, it was time for me to harvest what I had sown.
I would get an MSC in Germany, and hopefully find a real love there.
This was my dream.
But this was not known to my parents yet.
I had told them that I wanted to go to Britain for my MSC, which they agreed to.
As for telling them that I was gay and looking for a love of my life, I was not sure if they would agree.
I could not tell them now because I still needed their help with regard to tuition fees for my MSC program abroad.
I sit at our dining table, picking at my mother’s homemade dumplings while rehearsing the speech in my head.
The steam rises from the bowls, filling the kitchen with familiar scents of ginger and soy sauce.
My father reads the newspaper between bites, and my mother keeps adding food to my plate.
I clear my throat, interrupting our usual dinner routine.
"Mom, Dad, can I talk to you about something?"
I start with my academic achievements and language skills, carefully explaining my decision to study in Germany instead of Britain.
My mother’s chopsticks freeze midair.
My father lowers his newspaper, his expression unreadable.
Silence stretches across the table, and I brace myself for their response.
My father’s face darkens as he folds his newspaper with deliberate slowness.
My mother’s chopsticks clatter against her bowl, and she begins rapid-fire questions in Mandarin: "How much will it cost? How far is it? Why can’t you study in Sri Lanka instead?"
I explain about the scholarship opportunities and the prestigious programs, but their expressions remain fixed.
My father interrupts, his voice firm.
"Moving to Germany is too risky, too far, and too expensive. Remember your cousin Wei? He studied abroad and came back different."
The way he says "different" makes my stomach clench.
I stare at my untouched dumplings, knowing this conversation is far from over.
I grip my chopsticks tighter, forcing myself to meet my father’s stern gaze across the table.
The familiar scent of soy sauce and ginger that usually brings comfort now feels suffocating.
When my mother starts clearing the dishes, I raise my voice slightly, something I’ve never done before.
"I’ve already researched the costs. I can show you."
I pull out my phone and open the detailed budget spreadsheet I created.
I scroll through the figures, my thumb trembling slightly against the screen.
"Apartment costs in Munich are reasonable if I find a shared place. And I’ve looked into part-time jobs on campus to cover living expenses."
My father’s expression hardens as I mention the university’s international reputation.
My mother pauses by the sink, dumpling bowl in hand, as I continue scrolling through the figures.
"And there’s a scholarship opportunity that covers most of the tuition fees."
My father sighs deeply, and my mother turns away, but I know I've planted the seed of possibility.
With trembling fingers, I pull up the scholarship email on my phone and slide it across the dinner table.
My father adjusts his reading glasses, scrutinizing every line while my mother hovers behind him, peering over his shoulder.
The kitchen falls silent except for the gentle hum of our refrigerator and the occasional clink of my mother's nervous fidgeting with her bracelet.
I watch my father's expression carefully as he scrolls through the document, noting how his eyebrows furrow at the funding amounts and relax at the university's prestigious name.
When he reaches the deadline date, he looks up at me and taps the screen with his index finger.
"Two weeks," he says.
I lean forward in my chair, my back straight and shoulders squared despite the racing of my heart.
"Yes, I've already drafted my acceptance letter," I tell them, pulling out a folder from my backpack that has been sitting by my feet.
Inside are the forms I've been obsessively reviewing for weeks - housing applications, course registration, and visa requirements, all neatly organized with colored tabs.
My mother peers over my father's shoulder as he flips through the papers, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
When he reaches the financial documents, I point to the highlighted sections showing my savings and projected income.
My father finally sets the papers down and looks at me, his voice softer but still cautious.
"You've thought this through more than I expected," he admits, glancing at my mother.
She nods slowly, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of pride and concern.
I watch as my father carefully gathers the scattered papers from the table, smoothing them out with his large hands and returning them to their designated folder.
His movements are methodical, just like when he used to help me arrange my homework on the kitchen table as a child.
My mother bustles around the kitchen, already making mental lists of things I'll need - winter clothes, cooking supplies, medicine.
As my father pulls out his laptop and begins researching German banks that offer accounts for international students, I feel my chest tighten.
He types "Munich student accommodation" into the search bar, and I lean over his shoulder, translating the German websites into English for him.
The weight of their unspoken approval settles over me, a silent promise that I am not alone in this journey.
I pack my room while my parents hover in the doorway, their anxious eyes watching my every move.
My mother insists on folding my clothes into neat bundles and placing them into the suitcase herself, as if the act of touching each item will somehow keep me closer.
My father double-checks the documents I've laid out on my desk - passport, visa, health insurance cards.
The airline ticket to Munich sits on top, a one-way flight leaving in two days.
"More dumplings," my mother insists, stuffing them into the corners of the suitcase as if they'll provide extra protection against the unknown.
My father hands me a thick envelope containing euros he's exchanged at the bank.
I notice his hands tremble slightly as he passes it to me. When I zip up the final bag, the weight of reality sinks in - I'm actually leaving.
My mother suddenly pulls me into a hug, her grip tight as she presses her cheek against my shoulder.
"Be safe," she whispers in Mandarin, her voice trembling.
"I will, Mom," I assure her, trying to keep my own voice steady.
My father steps forward, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Remember, we're just a phone call away," he says, his eyes full of both worry and encouragement.
I stand in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by half-packed boxes and memories that cling to every corner.
Through the window, I watch as the moving van pulls up outside, its large doors swinging open like a mouth eager to swallow everything inside.
Downstairs, my parents bustle around the kitchen, their voices muffled but urgent as they discuss last-minute details.
My hands tremble slightly as I fold the rainbow flag deeper into my backpack - a small act of defiance and a beacon of hope for my new life in Germany.
"Jing, are you ready for lunch?"
Mom calls from downstairs, her voice cracking with unspoken emotions.
I zip my bag shut, straighten my shoulders, and take one last look at the familiar walls that have witnessed countless laughter and tears.
I step into the hallway, leaving the door ajar as a final gesture of farewell.
I wheel my suitcase through the bustling corridors of Heathrow's Terminal 2, following the signs that lead me to international departures.
My parents trail behind me, my father carrying my backpack in one hand and my mother clutching a bag of home-cooked food for the journey.
As we approach security, I turn to face them one last time.
My mother reaches out and straightens the collar of my jacket, her fingers lingering on the fabric as if she's memorizing every detail of this moment.
My father hands me my backpack, his eyes red-rimmed from unshed tears.
"Call us when you land," he says, his voice gruff with emotion.
I nod, unable to find the words to express everything that's swirling inside me.
With a final glance, I turn and walk towards security, not daring to look back for fear of losing my nerve.
I stand in line at Munich Airport's baggage claim, my eyes heavy from the long flight and the emotional goodbyes that still linger in my mind.
My phone buzzes with texts from my parents, but I barely register the words as I shuffle forward with the other passengers.
Suddenly, a jolt from behind sends me stumbling forward.
My carry-on tumbles to the ground, its contents spilling out onto the floor.
I turn to see who collided into me, only to find a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at me.
The stranger - a tall German man with tousled dark hair and a charming smile - apologizes profusely in accented English.
"Entschuldigung, bitte. I am so sorry."
I nod, still dazed from the impact, and bend down to gather my belongings.
He kneels beside me, his hands brushing against mine as we both reach for my fallen passport.
For a moment, neither of us moves, our gazes locked on each other's hands.
I stare at our hands, still touching over my passport, before pulling back awkwardly.
He smiles again, this time extending his hand properly.
"I'm Lukas," he says, his voice warm and gentle.
I take his hand, feeling a jolt of electricity as our palms touch.
"I'm Jing," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
We gather the last of my scattered belongings in silence, our hands occasionally brushing against each other.
As we stand up, he glances at me with a curious expression.
"You look a bit lost," he says, his words laced with concern.
"Are you new to Munich?"
I nod sheepishly, suddenly aware of how rumpled I must look after the long flight and the commotion at the baggage claim.
My travel clothes are wrinkled, my hair disheveled from the plane ride.
"Yes, I just arrived," I admit, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability.
Lukas smiles again, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Well, I've lived here my whole life. If you need any help or want someone to show you around the city, let me know."
He pulls out his phone and offers it to me.
"Here, give me your number."
My heart skips a beat as I hesitate for a moment.
Matt would never have allowed me to exchange numbers with a stranger like this. But something about Lukas's kind demeanor puts me at ease.
I take his phone and enter my number into his contacts list.
"Thanks," I say as I hand it back to him.
"I'd love to explore Munich with a local guide."
Lukas grins, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
"Great! I'll text you soon and we can plan something."
As Lukas turns to leave, he pauses and looks back at me with a thoughtful expression.
"By the way, what brings you to Munich?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.
I hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. "I'm starting a new chapter here," I say softly, the weight of those words sinking in.
Lukas nods understandingly, his expression warm and genuine.
"Well, I wish you all the best," he says.
"Let's meet up soon and celebrate this new beginning."
I stand by the airport exit, my luggage cart loaded with bags, watching Lukas's tall figure weave through the bustling terminal crowd.
His dark hair bobs above other travelers until he reaches the sliding doors leading to the outside world.
Before stepping out, he turns and waves one last time, flashing that disarming smile that has left an indelible mark on my encounter with him.
My phone feels heavier in my pocket now, carrying not just his number but also a coffee invitation for tomorrow.
I step out of the airport terminal, the crisp Munich air hitting me as I continue to think about Lukas's smile.
Movement in my peripheral vision makes me freeze.
Through the crowd of travelers and taxi ranks, I spot a distinctive red jacket and a mop of messy brown hair.
He stands near the taxi rank, scanning faces and checking his phone.
My hands grip the luggage cart tighter as I duck behind a concrete pillar, my heart pounding.
The sight of him here shatters the illusion of a fresh start.
I realize that some ghosts follow you, no matter how far you travel.