“My name is David Filippi. I’m from Guatemala, I’m 33, and I live in Madrid. I’ve been living with my diagnosis for four years and six months, but the story really begins long before I ever heard the words seropositive.

I was diagnosed with HIV in May 2021. I was 28. I was in a four-year relationship, and my partner had already been in the hospital for weeks. What started as a Helicobacter pylori infection spiralled into eight stomach ulcers, a rigidity attack, meningitis, and later toxoplasmosis. One day, the doctors decided to test him for HIV, and it came back positive.

I still remember that Wednesday morning. I was about to start work when he called, crying. He said, ‘Perdóname… I didn’t know. Forgive me. The doctor just told me I’m HIV-positive, and I think you might be too.’

I hung up and called a friend who worked in an NGO. I needed a test immediately. When it came back positive, my first thought wasn’t about myself. It was: I have to hold it together for him. I need to be well so he knows we’re going to survive this together.

On August 17th, I had my follow-up blood tests. On August 24th, he died. The ulcers, the anaemia, the internal bleeding, his body couldn’t take any more.

A few days later, my doctor told me I was already undetectable, that I couldn’t transmit HIV. That moment should have felt like relief, but it was bittersweet. The person I loved wasn’t there to hear it. He had already lost the battle.

In February 2023, I moved to Spain. I packed my grief, my diagnosis, my fear, and came looking for a better quality of life. In April, I found Apoyo Positivo, and they invited me to a group for people who were recently diagnosed. That’s when something shifted. I realised I wasn’t as alone as I had once believed. I learned to loosen my grip on the pain of the diagnosis and the pain of losing him. I repeated the group and met people who changed me. Their courage gave me mine. In October 2025, I finally made myself visible on social media. I let go of the silence, the secrecy, the shame.

But it hasn’t been easy. I’ve faced discrimination. I kissed a guy once, and when I told him my status, he recoiled in horror. He said he would go to the clinic the next day to get tested just because we had kissed.

My own brother told his children and his wife that I was forbidden from entering their home. That they weren’t allowed to hug me. That if I showed up, I should be stopped at the door because I was ‘sick’. Because he thought I could also make them sick.

I learned about U=U in Guatemala, but at the time, I didn’t really understand it. I thought my life would never be ‘normal’ again. Now I know better. Now I know I can and must live an everyday life. HIV doesn’t limit me. It doesn’t close doors. It doesn’t define where I can go or who I can love.

If I could go back and speak to the David of 2021, I would tell him: Your life is not over. It’s barely beginning. Don’t collapse. Don’t let anyone, not even your own family, stop you from living. Breathe. Live. Enjoy your life. You are entering the best chapter of it.

My activism is simple but meaningful. I accompany people to the hospital when they are newly diagnosed or returning to treatment. I share on Facebook so people who aren’t on Instagram can still learn. I want people living with HIV in silence to know they’re not alone. That there’s a path forward. That healing is real. That life continues.

My goal is to educate and break down stigma and discrimination. I know it’s slow work, but with constancy and heart, it can be achieved. Knowledge has become my tool first for myself, and then for anyone who needs it.