A letter to whoever hasn't told anyone yet

I'm writing to you. I don't know your name or where you're reading this from. Maybe it's Madrid, where I live, or Bogotá, or a village where everyone knows what time you leave the house and who with. It doesn't matter. I'm writing because there's something you still haven't told anyone, and it's who you love.

I'm not here to tell you to tell. That's your time and your decision, and nobody who isn't living your life has the right to hurry you. Some people say it at fifteen and some say it at sixty. Some choose never to say it out loud and live just as whole a life. There's no queue you're late for.

What I want to tell you is something else. It's why I make songs, and why I think they can keep you company in the meantime.

What a song does when nobody's looking

A song has one advantage over almost everything else: you can put it on with headphones and nobody knows what you're listening to. You can listen to a song about an ex without ever having had a boyfriend. You can listen to one about pride on a day when you don't feel any. The song doesn't ask for credentials. It doesn't ask whether you've come out yet, or whether you're sure, or whether you've got it all worked out. It lets you be.

That may not sound like much, but sometimes it's all you need. A little while in which someone, even if it's just a voice in a pair of headphones, talks about something you feel too and treats it as normal. As something you can talk about out loud, even with a bit of wit.

That's why I write the way I do. On PLANETA GAYFOLK there are songs about love between men, about exes, about liking yourself a bit more and about everyday life. And almost all of them have humour. Someone might ask me why so much humour when the subjects can be serious. My answer is that laughter keeps you company too. Some days a sad song sinks you a little deeper, whereas one called «La vecina cotilla» (The nosy neighbour) gets a smile out of you on the bus. That smile is yours. Nobody can take it from you, even if they don't know where it came from.

A planet with room for everyone

When I named PLANETA GAYFOLK I was thinking of a place. A style of music as well, but above all a place. A planet you can reach where you don't have to explain yourself at customs. There's room for the one who's absolutely sure and the one who doesn't yet know what to call himself. Room for glitter and room for tracksuits. Room for whoever lives in a big city and whoever lives where the word "gay" is still said under the breath.

That idea is told across three albums. The first is called «Descubierto un nuevo planeta llamado GAYFOLK» (A new planet called GAYFOLK has been discovered), and that's what it's about: the moment you find out there's a place where you can be who you are. The second, «Ojalá se pudiera viajar a GAYFOLK» (If only you could travel to GAYFOLK), is the one about longing. About looking at that place from far away and wanting to be there. And the third, «El día de la liberación» (Liberation Day), is the one about arriving.

I'm telling you because maybe you're in the second album. You know the planet exists, but you haven't arrived yet, or not completely. I want you to know that album is yours too. Being in the longing is part of the story, and it isn't a minor part or a waiting room. There's a lot of life in there. There are loves lived by halves that count all the same. There are songs for that moment.

And if you're still in the first one, just finding out the planet exists, that counts too. Nobody starts with the third. Nor is there a date by which you have to arrive: everyone goes at their own pace, and the planet isn't keeping score.

What I don't know

I'll be honest with you: I don't know your situation. I don't know whether your family would understand, whether your neighbourhood is kind, or whether your job is a safe place. From the outside it's very easy to say "just be yourself", as if it were as simple as changing your T-shirt. It isn't. Sometimes keeping quiet is what protects you, and that doesn't make you any less brave, or any less anything.

I'll tell you something else, in case it helps. What you feel doesn't need anyone's permission to be true. Maybe nobody else knows yet, and it's still every bit as real as any love story in a film. It doesn't become real the day you tell someone. It already is.

What I do know is that songs reach places people can't reach yet. A lyric can get into a room nobody else gets into. And if one of mine manages to make you feel less alone for three minutes, or makes you want to dance in your socks, it's done its job. I don't ask any more of it.

The trilogy is a free download, no sign-up, at mikesaintlouis.com/descargas. You don't have to give your email or your name. I like it that way, because I know some people don't want to leave any trace of what they listen to, and they have every right. You download it, you put it on and nobody's any the wiser.

And if one day you decide to tell someone, or decide not to, the planet will still be there. It doesn't close. It has no opening hours and no guest list. There's room, and your place is being kept for you.

A hug from Madrid,

Mike Sain't Louis

mikesaintlouis.com