Last June in Toronto we celebrated Pride and Rememberance. Hundreds of People gathered to honour and remember members of our community lost to the battle with HIV and AIDS. Thousands more celebrated one of the biggest lesbian and gay pride celebrations in the world.

Pride. A word as alien to some members of our Asian lesbian and gay community as the North American culture that they try to embrace and find a place in. In much of the Asian culture, homosexuality is one of, if not the greatest, crimes against the centuries-old concept of "saving face." I still remember with sadness my mother's response to my coming out. She told me it was the greatest shame that had ever happened in our family. Twenty years later, her words still trouble me.

More than a few out gay Asians have retreated back into the closet after being diagnosed with HIV to avoid further embarrassing and alienating their loved ones. Some have died keeping their double secret. Gay people move and lose themselves in the relative anonymity of the big city. A great number move into an established gay community for support and a sense of belonging.

Some find it, others do not. How does one find support and acceptance in a community whose language they do not speak? Many Asians with HIV and AIDS are further isolated simply because of a failure to communicate. How can they access quality health care after their diagnosis when they can't even communicate with their doctors? The medical terms and instructions associated with medication and side effects are confusing enough to a native English speaker. To those with a basic or almost non-existent grasp of the language, the process can be quite terrifying.

The same language barrier prevents some from accessing government and other social services aimed at improving and prolonging the lives of people with HIV and AIDS. The process of finding someone to intervene on their behalf, and at the same time preserve a sense of confidentiality, is almost too great a task. Some, with no permanent residency status to give them a sense of security, opt out altogether of any form of social and government support for fear of deportation.

Remembrance? How does one remember the names of members of our community whose lives were deemed so shameful that they chose to remove themselves from their families without explanation for fear of being rejected by the people who mean most to them. "Died after a long illness...," or "died suddenly...." These are some of the words used instead of the A-word. Most Asian families would rather hide behind these quaint euphemisms than acknowledge the gay lives of their sons and daughters.

There is a park in the heart of the gay ghetto where a memorial stands in honour of those lost to HIV and AIDS. Among the hundreds on the list are but a bare handful of Asian names not because our community is lightly affected, but because almost two decades into this worldwide epidemic, the shame attached to it is still so great that people still prefer to die in anonymity and isolation.

I have sometimes been accused of being too vocal and forthcoming about my health status. Undoubtedly, some friends, and even some members of my family, would rather that I keep things a little more discreet. But my life as a gay man has been built upon this foundation: I am proud to be in a loving and nurturing relationship with a partner of 14 years and proud of my contribution to the most culturally diverse city in the world. When the time comes, I do not wish to leave this life nameless.

Pride and remembrance. As we celebrate the gay community"s own cultural diversity, please take a minute to pause and reflect on the Asian lives lost to this health epidemic. By remembering those that have died and those that are still with us, we validate their lives and work towards permanently removing the shame that prevents us from remembering their names.

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