Runtu He said that everyone was very proud of me

Runtu : He said that everyone was /  http://proza.ru/2023/11/26/729 / very proud of me for serving so honorably the USA

Ic;ne mondiale du web: Black Lives Matter and Indigenous Australians: Lotus Glen Correctional Centre: _ Australian Gays in Prison: QLD: :

2017_ The-Stanford-Prison-Experiment _ Black Lives Matter in Prisons: QLD and Indigenous Gays in Australia: Prisons in QLD _ Рюнтю Юри _ Runtu _ Writer _ Journalist Yuri Ryuntyu _ Gay Culture in Prison: QLD: Cairns _ Stanford University: academician Yuri Ryuntyu _ academician Iouri Runtu _ Gays and Prisoners in QLD_NSW_ TAS_ACT: Gays in Prisons: LGBTQ _ Lotus Glen Correctional Centre _ 2012-2017 _ Gays in Prison: QLD: Australia : 2024

     2015 : UN : Gays 'projects : USA _ Australia :  Stanford University : academician Yuri Matthew Ryuntyu : BIO : Personal Science Subject: Stanford University : Australian Gays in Prison : Lotus Glen: Correctional Centre: _ Prison for Gays in QLD _ NSW _ ACT _ LGBTQ _  Prisoners : Black Gays in QLD _ Black Lives Matter and Indigenous Australians _ The-Stanford-Prison-Experiment _ USA : Рюнтю Юри _ academician Uri  Runtu _ Writer _ Journalist Yuri Ryuntyu _ Gay Culture in  Cairns _ academician Ryuntyu Yuri_ academician Iouri Runtu _ QLD_NSW_ TAS_ACT _ Australia 2012-2017: LGBTQI – Cultural Gay Projects: 2024: since the 1st of September 2012 until the 1st of September 2017:  USA _ Australia _ Russia _ NZ _ UK – _ Black Gays in Prison: QLD :  Gays in Prison : QLD _ Australia: Lotus Glen Prison : QLD _  2012-2017

    QLD : Australia : Queensland’s parliament on March 22, 2017  passed an amendment to the criminal code to remove the so-called “gay panic” defence-homophobic law) for accused murderers trying to reduce their charge to the lesser crime of manslaughter.

     2017 :  “Queensland’s criminal code must not be seen to condone violence against the gay community, or indeed any community,” said in a statement the Queensland’s Attorney-General and Minister for Justice Yvette D’Ath. “The passing of this legislation sends an important message that discrimination is not acceptable and that we value the LGBTI (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual, and intersex) community.”

      South Australia is now the only state allowing the “gay panic” defence.


    Being labelled a homosexual can bring about your death even if you're not one.

     That law is a danger not only to homosexuals but a danger to anyone – anyone can say he made an advance on me and get out on manslaughter.

   Ic;ne mondiale du web: Black Lives Matter and Indigenous Australians: Lotus Glen Correctional Centre: _ Australian Gays in Prison: QLD: : 2024


Статья ' На 2017 - Узаконили Браки Лесбиянок - в Австралии ryuntyu'   / http://www.proza.ru/2017/11/15/260 / 2017 - Рюнтю Юри / Yuri Ryuntyu Australia/ Австралия /   

Статья ' 15. 11. 2017 Австралы - Узаконила Браки Геев Дома / http://www.proza.ru/2017/11/15/268 / 2017 - Рюнтю Юри / Yuri Ryuntyu Australia/ Австралия /   

Ic;ne mondiale du web: Black Lives Matter and Indigenous Australians: Lotus Glen Correctional Centre: _ Australian Gays in Prison: QLD: :



2023 - Русско-язычная Культура в Австралии : TikTok : Мои 110 книг на русском-французском-английском языках - печатаются и издаются в России - США - Австралии: 1990 - 2021 | yuri ryuntyu | uri runtu | рюнтю юри |Iouri Runtu | http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2019-09-30 |: Hео-трансцендентальный театр : 2022.


                After I had showered the second time,
              my mom asked me if she could get anything for me.


“Yeah, I could really use a Coke.”

I had been drinking two to three litters of Coke
 a day in El Beni, and I hadn’t had any for more than 24 hours.

“All right,” she said. “We have to do some
shopping this afternoon, so we’ll get some then.”

We went back to talking about my mission,
with me showing pictures and the few small souvenirs I had brought home.

“Can we get that Coke now?” I asked.

“Sure, just a minute,” Mom said and asked me about a quena I had brought home.
“Can I have the car keys?” I asked. I really needed a Coke.

That evening the stake president came to our house and formally “released” me from my missionary service.

He said that everyone was very proud of me for serving so honorably. And then he left. I was just me again, no longer Elder Williams, missionary.

At church on Sunday, it was testimony meeting, meaning that anyone who wanted could get up and speak from the pulpit.

I still had a really hoarse voice, but I told them how happy I was to be home and how much I had appreciated the letters I had received over the last two years.

I was wearing a sweater Benita, our cook in Cochabamba, had knitted for me, mostly because it made me look heavier, but people still told me I looked gaunt and unhealthy.

And since I could barely speak, everyone assumed I’d picked up some horrible disease in Bolivia.

As part of the homecoming process, I had to go to doctor and get some specific tests for parasites and tuberculosis.

 Before I left Bolivia, I had taken a couple of doses of worm and amoeba medicines and had taken a stool sample to a lab, so I knew I was “clean.”

I sat there in my temple garments, which by that time were worn through and a light orange colour, wondering if I had done any permanent damage to my body.

The only concerns the doctor had been a large cyst on my back and a smaller one on my nose, which he said would have to come off.

I was a little more worried about the dentist.

 Having seen Bolivian dentistry, I had avoided the dentist completely for two years, and I was sure my mouth would be full of cavities.

 But the dentist found no problems and no cavities, so I was mightily relieved. I really hate dentists.

Greg came over, and we went out for a Coke and sat in my dad’s car talking for a long time. He had been home almost six months, having opted out of the six-month extension.

“Why didn’t you stay?” I asked.

“My mission president found out that I was good with ‘problem’ missionaries, so I spent almost a year babysitting people he had trouble dealing with.

 I would have stayed, but I knew it would be six more months of babysitting. I just couldn’t do it.”

His parents had travelled to Finland to pick him up, and they had travelled around Europe together for a couple of weeks.

 He had spent Fall semester at church-owned Ricks College in Idaho, and he would be going back in a couple of days.

“I don’t think I could have handled Bolivia,” he said. “You guys went through some serious shit.”

“Yeah, but you guys didn’t teach or baptize,” I said. “I don’t think I could have handled that.”

“Oh, who cares, anyway?” he said. “We both got through it, and we’re back.”

He started telling me about his girlfriend, a girl from Indiana he’d met in school, and I found myself wishing I had someone like that to come home to.

I had completely shut off all thoughts of girls while I was gone, and that week, it felt like two years’ worth of pent-up hormones had come spilling out of me.

I was having all kinds of trouble keeping my thoughts “clean”; not even singing a church hymn helped.

By Sunday I was berating myself for being such a lustful man, but it was time to give my official report to the high council, a group of twelve local leaders, all men of course.

I gave them a brief overview of all my areas and told them a few highlight stories.

For some reason, it felt really natural as a returned missionary to sugar-coat the experience.

Not once did I mention having a suicidal companion or nearly getting killed or even the living conditions.

I just talked about the Bolivian people and
how it had been my privilege to bring the gospel to them.


All through my report, I was thinking that
 they could all see through the facade.

 They knew that I was a boiling cauldron of
 lust who was unworthy to stand before them like that.

When I finished, all of them shook my hand,

 and one of them, his voice quavering,

said, “I haven’t felt the Spirit so

 strongly in a long time.

 You must really have been a wonderful missionary.”

The shame burned inside of me, and I excused myself and walked out.

My homecoming address at church was a bit of a mess.

 President Nichols had always said, “Don’t give them a travelogue. Preach the gospel.”

So that’s what I planned to do.

 I chose as the subject the Atonement
of Jesus Christ, meaning His sacrifice on the cross for our sins.

When I arrived, I saw on the program that I was the only speaker.

The bishop had wanted me to plan the meeting and choose the speakers,
 but I had never gotten the message, so I was it.

 That meant that I would have at least 35 minutes at the pulpit alone.

This was a problem since I had prepared for only 15 minutes.

The bishop’s counsellor, who was the father of my friend Rob, introduced me by reading the letter President Nichols had written. It was pretty much a form letter listing the areas where I had worked and the leadership positions I had held.

“John’s mission president has written something in the margin that I’d like to read,” he said. “‘How we love this young man! He will always be a son to us,'” he read, and I was suddenly overcome with emotion just before I was to speak.

I managed to pull myself together and step to the podium.

I had my voice back by then, and I talked about Jesus and what He had done for us.

When I finished my talk, I looked at the clock and realized that I had more than twenty minutes, so I gave them a travelogue, describing the towns I worked in and the spiritual experiences I had.

 I finished ten minutes early (Dad was grateful), and it was over.

I got a job the first week back at a gas station out in Moorpark,
 working for the same man I’d worked for when I was a teenager.

I sat in a bulletproof glass booth at a self-serve station.

It made me feel isolated, but then
I was pretty isolated everywhere else, too.

I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself.

Social situations were totally awkward,
and I could barely force myself to talk to women.

 My bishop told me I should attend the singles ward, so I did.

But it wasn’t any better there.

I would sit in church on Sundays in a panic, feeling totally ill at ease.

“You look really lost,” said Jon, a guy from my home ward.

 He was the stake president’s son and had recently returned from a mission in Arkansas.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“That’s pretty typical, but you get over it.” He smiled.

From that Sunday on, Jon sat with me
in church and introduced me to people,
 inviting me to activities and parties,
 to the point at which I felt like
I was sort of normal again.

I would be heading to
BYU again in a few weeks,
 and I was glad to feel
like Bolivia was behind me.


10 Пьес автора и Стэнфордский университет США : / http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2022-02-26 / Iouri Runtu: French / Юри Рюнтю : Russian / Uri Runtu: English : Yuri Ryuntyu / Canberra ACT Australia / Celebrities RU Telegram : 2022 .


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