LGBT persons wrote letters to their families. The organization’s volunteers read them and made videos.

Dear Mom.

I remember, I changed my hair color and came home, waiting for your tears, cause any change of my appearance, any change of my body both inside and outside during the puberty, any new cloth, any opinion and views which I’ve said was alien for you and dad.

But you were happy that time; my light-colored hair was interesting, you were taking photos of me. It was beautiful to you. I was surprised about that and was delighted.

Then we had so much fight at home, we’d seen so many tears – me and you. In that “we” we’re often just you and me.

But you’re feeling bad that the girl who was given the life from your womb isn’t living by your tested rules. You’re feeling bad I was wearing something with red ribbon instead of cotton nightie bought by you.

I, in turn, was feeling bad having no opportunity to tell you that appeals like “burn, kill, expel” were related to me. I love the girl. I’m happy with her, despite the challenges we face.

We’re studying, living together, making love, we’re getting all the fellows to marriage, and wish one day we’ll become a family too. And how many times you offered us different tasty dishes, but I’ve felt bad, cause I’ve hugged her in secret while I was washing in the bathroom. I didn’t want to interfere with your luxurious table with my love. And I couldn’t tell you that nightie with a red ribbon was her present. And I was so happy in your cell phone’s photos because you love me, despite my hair not was in your preferred color.

And I think – would you love me as much as you do, if my happiness color will be so unexpected as my hair color was?

Would we stay in that same “we”?