According to, “existentialism is a philosophy concerned with finding self and the meaning of life through free will, choice, and personal responsibility.” I understand it as a journey; a way to find oneself in any way that is comfortable, yet possible and realistic. For existentialism, “the belief is that people are searching to find out whom and what they are throughout life, as they make choices based on their experiences, beliefs, and outlook.”

Through Kito Diaries, I try to confront my hard truths by baring it all, even though behind a pseudonym, making sure that I am as honest as possible, and hopefully have an effect on at least one person. Someone said last week that ‘Carl’s Existentialism’ doesn’t seem to match with the weekly content. At first glance, I was a little down by the remark, but then after some self-scolding, I realized that I can’t help what people think. I can’t guide people to look beyond the surface and deeper at meanings that may or may not be hidden. It deeply pains me that whoever that person is could willingly type those hurtful words and call them criticism, let alone constructive criticism.

Anyway, I am not looking for a bone to pick. I consider the title an art, because I entirely came up with it. ANYONE who writes on this blog is an artist in himself or herself. The fact that people can take a time out of their day to construct ideas, characters, be they fiction, nonfiction or poetry, is a feat not easily accomplished. So if you don’t understand something, it’s okay to put in your little two cents, but endeavour not to put down the work read. #SpreadLove


I never understood why people used to call me girly. Up until JSS1, I always thought of myself as free spirited boy.

I didn’t care what people said or thought, and I did as I liked. All that changed in the second term of JSS2. A cold, stormy night – when all of us in my set had our own rooms with no one from any other set cohabiting with us – marked the beginning of the carefree Carl turning into an overly-guarded, sometimes depressed young child, afraid of everything and a victim of blackmail.

There were twelve of us in my room, and some irrelevant guys were playing with each other. They were ‘kwaving’, touching some other mate who was already asleep inappropriately. Some of those not involved in the play threatened to tell the sleeping student in the morning, while others laughed hysterically at the ‘joke’. It was a cold night, and I was in my bed, under my cover cloth, in my singlet and undies, admittedly a little turned-on by all of them jesting and touching each other. In my corner on the bottom bed of my bunk, I turned away from all the ruckus and tried to get some sleep.

Then I felt it – cool, smooth palms gripping my buttocks, and attempting to turn me around. My body, in its slutty mode, turned around, and I was facing the dark, nicely chiseled face and sparkling white teeth of MotherFucker (MF). (I almost want to put his name here to ruin his life, but I think I’ll stay my hand) At this point, my heart began to race, and I felt light headed. Before I could say anything (I’d intended to quietly tell him to leave my bed), he kissed me. All the walls I was attempting to build fell to nothingness. I was instantly so fucking turned-on I almost exploded. Then he reached for my ass through my pant, and any hope of restraining myself fell away with my walls. I couldn’t fight him. I didn’t want to. I gladly welcomed all parts of him, and I reached for his dick. After some kwaving, he slipped back out of my bed and I drifted off to sleep, satisfied and drained by all that excitement.

The next morning, there was no mention of what happened in the night. We dressed up, went to eat, had classes, and then siesta. See, I think Cupid was gambling with my hormones that afternoon during siesta, and made a mess of his gamble. When we got back to the classrooms for the afternoon prep, the konji overtook me, and all modicum of sense flew out of my head. I got up from my seat, and went out to find MF. I met him going through a book in the corridor. I motioned for him to follow me to the toilet area. When we got into an empty stall, I pushed him to the wall, and began ravishing him with kisses, reaching for his dick while I did.

A split second after I realized that he wasn’t returning my advances, he shoved at me, hissing, “What are you doing?” In that moment, I knew I had FUCKED UP! He attempted to leave the toilet stall, but I struggled to hold him back, whispering “Please…” He pushed me away, went out to the corridor, and called the first person he saw into the toilet.

As though the Fates were out to punish me for my indiscretion, that person was my arch nemesis – Sinister Bastard (SB). SB was a classmate, one of those I never really got along with in class.

As the two boys walked back into the toilet, I tried to catch MF’s eyes, mine silently pleading with him not to say anything. My eyes started filling with tears when he refused to meet my frantic gaze and began telling SB what had just transpired. As he talked, I dropped my head to the ground and sobbed quietly, my body awash with shame.

When he finished, I looked up at SB, at the look of horror on his face, as he loudly said, “Fucking fag! I’m going to cast to the principal.” I immediately fell to my knees, pleading with him vigorously that he not tell anyone else. He eyed me and slightly kicked me away from his leg. Then he spat, “I want your tuckshop for the rest of the week, and you better not do this again!”

“Okay, okay. No problem,” I hastily and tearfully agreed.

Satisfied that he owned me now, SB turned and left the bathroom. MF followed after him. And just before he disappeared from the threshold of the bathroom, he turned around and smiled at me. I paused in my tracks. The smile was the vilest, most devastating thing to behold. Just the night before he had initiated what I thought was like a silent agreement between us, and here he was, smiling at his destruction of me. I turned around to one of the stalls at the back, and cried my entire being out as quietly as I could. Then, I got up, dried my eyes as best as I could, and returned to the classroom for the remainder of the prep.

That day began the downward spiral of my life in high school. Perhaps SB and MF went on to tell others, perhaps they didn’t. But I suddenly became a target for bullies. It didn’t help that I was effeminate, a tendency I strived to change. I was taunted and beat up a number of times, and was scorned by the seniors as well.

I don’t know if my life would have being different if MF and SB hadn’t emotionally scarred me, but one thing I know is clear, the way I feel now as I write this, now after all these years have passed, if I saw them in a car accident and the car started to burn and I was all the avenue they had to safety and life, I would turn to my empowerment playlist on Spotify, and nod my head to the music while watching them burn.

Tack så mycket för att läsa.

Till next session!

Written by Carl

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