[Original] Soy visto cuando sin importar quien soy, tengo acceso por igual a todos los servicios de salud que reciben personas distintas a mí la salud garantiza, mi vida y el ejercicio de ella con igualdad me devuelve la dignidad.

[English] I am seen when, regardless of who I am, I have equal access to all the health services that people other than myself receive. Health guarantees my life and the exercise of it with equality restores my dignity.

[Original] La catedral de sant Gallen me hace recordar que ser queer siempre ha sido un desafío por el entorno familiar profesional de trabajo, cultural y profundamente religioso cuando vivía en mi país de origen a ese desafío agregó hoy día ser una persona refugiada en un nuevo país, donde debo aprender un nuevo idioma, adaptarme a una nueva cultura y en mi caso particular en el cantón donde vivo que es a simple vista bastante tradicional conservador y quizá no muy abierto para inmigrantes que además somos queer.

[English] The cathedral of St. Gallen reminds me that being queer has always been a challenge due to the professional, cultural, and deeply religious environment of my family when I lived in my home country. Today, I add to that challenge the fact that I am a refugee in a new country, where I must learn a new language, adapt to a new culture and, in my particular case, to the canton where I live, which at first glance is quite traditional, conservative and perhaps not very open to immigrants who are also queer.

A suitcase… It stands before me like a sealed past. No matter how far I go, its contents always follow. Beneath it, a few boxes of pills. Small, silent witnesses. Each one a proof of the day my body whispered, “endure.” Every pill swallowed feels like a little less hope remaining. And on top of the suitcase, a shadow falls… My shadow. But sometimes even I don’t recognize it. Because this shadow isn’t only mine. It’s the system’s weight pressing down on me. For being “too much,” for being “different,” for daring to be “seen.” To be queer, to be a refugee— it’s to breathe and drown at the same time. You want to live, yet each day you live feels a little more like dying. Health, you say? Here, health is not a right… It’s an exam. You must leave a thousand identities behind just to pass through one door. Say “I’m trans,” and their eyes change. Say “I’m a refugee,” and the doors close. Sometimes I sit beside that suitcase, staring at the pills… Each one whispers to me: “Hold on, your place is still not here.” But even my shadow exhausts me now. Because sometimes, even your own shadow abandons you. Still… A quiet sentence runs through me: “They broke me, but I’m still here.” And that sentence becomes the heaviest suitcase my heart will ever carry.

[Original] Bu binanın önünden her geçtiğimde, hem umut hem de korku taşıdığımı fark ediyorum. Bir mülteci ve trans kadın olarak, sağlık sistemine adım atmak bile bazen cesaret gerektiriyor.  Bu yüksek duvarlar bana hayatımda sayısız kez karşılaştığım kapıları hatırlatıyor: Ya açılmayan kapılar… ya da beni yanlış anlayan insanlar. Yine de, her aydınlık pencerede bir olasılık görüyorum; birinin beni yargılamadan veya sınıflandırmadan dinleme olasılığı. Bu binanın önünde durmak bazen yalnız hissettirebiliyor; bazen de iyileşmenin mümkün olduğuna dair küçük bir işaret.

[English] Every time I walk past this building, I realize I carry both hope and fear. As a refugee and trans woman, even stepping into the healthcare system sometimes requires courage. These high walls remind me of doors I’ve encountered countless times in my life:  Doors that either don’t open… or people who misunderstand me.  Yet, in every bright window, I see a possibility; the possibility of someone listening to me without judgment or classification. Standing in front of this building can sometimes feel lonely; sometimes it’s a small sign that healing is possible.