Nothing ungovernable, it’s more like a hum. The hum of I’m not feeling at my best, of can’t get that argument out of my head, of what if, what if, what if; a hum that I eventually forget is there at all, even though it never ceases to soundtrack my every move.

I’m maintained and restricted by the ability to tune out whatever is suboptimal. By now I know it’s a common early-childhood survival skill that, while seeking to conserve me, grants me the capacity to self-destruct. When I was younger, I would only hear the quiet it gave me. These days, the hum.

Nienke, Mehdi, an anonymous friend, and I attend the annual Pride March. It’s the city’s first two-week Pride festival in Amsterdam, each week organized by a different organization. With a naturally intersectional and radically-inclusive interpretation of the term “queer”, I am pleased Queer Amsterdam is taking care of the annual Pride Walk.

On Friday, I tell colleagues over office drinks why we still need Pride. The fact that I had to write “an anonymous friend” instead of the name of a person I love and admire illustrates my point beautifully.