Saturday, 28-June-2025



Interestingly, I don’t think I’ve ever actually been to a pride march.

Now, I’ve been to countless meetings of the Northeastern pride club, supported them in a few adventures, but… yeah. Growing up in Massachusetts, Pride wasn’t really a thing that I considered. Mass legalized gay marriage ages and ages ago, and I’ve just taken it as normal fact, I guess, especially having lived in such stereotypical cities as Boston and Portland.

Andrea, on the other hand, grew up in a slightly less egalitarian community… To the point that she’ll tell a story about, during Bulgaria’s first Pride March, having to pause and wait for a Molotov cocktail that had been thrown in their path to burn out.

So, very understandably, attending Dublin Pride was very important to her. And, thus, to me.



Pride march in Dublin wasn’t what Andrea expected.

It was huge. It was organized, and there were rules about who could walk. The whole city turned out for the event, it seemed, with absolutely no one and nothing protesting against the walk. We couldn’t even join the march, officially, without joining an “official group” who had registered (and donated…) to the organization of the event.


So we joined. We walked. I took it all in, and then we got burgers. It was… normal? Normal.

And that’s a good thing, in my mind.