I am okay

I am okay. Surprisingly “okay”. Which means I could have been doing much worse. But for now I am okay. And I have to be grateful.

What is going on to me was a pressing question a few days ago. I went over to my friend’s, discussed our hopes and fears as usual. She made dinner, I offered a little help. An hour later I was falling asleep, I had only had two puffs of that beautiful joint. Why am I falling asleep now? I spelled it out in that sleepy phase. I said I want to get married. As in the traditional sexist sense of it. Going back from work for a cooked dinner by your partner. Staying in and not wanting to socialize or mix with others. I never thought I’d verbalize that ever. This warrants an investigation.   

I am overworked, too stressed, underrelaxed. I am traumatized and frustrated. I have to admit it all to understand what’s going on with me. 

My job is taking its toll on me, it’s emotionally draining. It’s changing me. I go through intense human experiences. My friends tell me it makes me categorize life more easily, which augments my lower tolerance for bullshit. I am doing well at work. It’s all the other questions of what’s next and what’s the current toll! It’s anxieties of being underpaid and underappreciated. It’s the concern about always working on shaky grounds.

My social network is on shaky grounds too. My relations with closest people are drastically changing. One in a committed relationship and those usually suck your friends away.  Another is increasingly sentimental and extravagant and it hurts me that I cannot tolerate it. And the last friend I spent too much times physically together but our hearts and minds in completely different places. How scary is it when you feel that the most important social investment you made is those very alliances that seem to be falling apart? Yes, I am ready to open and explore and I can but what the hell? It is scary.

Yes, the revolution was scarring. From the emotional rollercoasters to the grinding moral questions. From the fearless stands on the frontlines to the fear and trembling at the sound of any bang. From dealing with refugees everyday to the looming and hateful specter of becoming one some day. 

And what of intimacy? I do have more appreciation for it, partly for the pragmatic aspect of it, for better time management. People can be such a waste of time. And what does frustration create? Unsafe behavior. 

A desire to annihilate oneself sometimes overtake me. A wish to expand and explore sexuality creates situations where one is compromised. When the public seems noisy and fruitless, you want to go inwards. You want to revolt against yourself. What better grounds of revolution than the body and its limits of pleasure? Writing on pleasure and danger of sexual encounters is one of the deferred wishes.

After all, I am okay.

Can you hear me?

As if I need more trauma and pain. As if I was destined never to escape the chest-tightening thoughts. I went there because I thought it's the chance to immerse myself in sensual pleasure. I thought sensual pleasure could be my refuge from emotional ache.

You were out there enjoying yourself. Then, it wasn't very nice. The assholes were bullying you. It was nothing but sexual and physical harassment. And no it's not a cliche. Just because you're deaf and can't properly speak, this brings out the viciousness of others.

I always wondered what is it about vulnerability that brings out cruelty in people. I now firmly posit that vulnerable people bring out the worst in others. Vulnerable people can bring out monsters.

I saw those two boys at the metro one time. They were talking in sign language and they were cute. They were laughing in between the signs. It was beautiful watching them, but I started thinking of what's missing them. I always think of what deaf people miss out on. Yes, they're complete people. Maybe they need nothing. They're not disabled, we're the barriers. We prevent them from realizing their potential.

Back to you. You were being bullied. I was getting furious. I wanted to stop but didn't know what to do in order not to make the situation any worse for you. I found myself taking you by the hand and taking you to the other side of the room. I started kissing you. I don't usually kiss so passionately. What was it about you?

You pause and you tell me you love me. I tell you I love you too and then you tell me "you're just saying". Yes, I am just saying. How do you ever answer being told I love you!

It was an intimate encounter. I usually have little of those and don't really seek or cherish them. This one was nice though. We have a little chat. That part about Muslims and Christian melts my heart. Your talk of your fiancee and your job highlights the gap that we were bridging by virtue of conversation and intimacy.

You asked for my number. I was confused. How would we communicate on the phone? You said something about texting. I didn't mind anyway. You called me yesterday. I wasn't available, but you still thought of me. That's what matters. You thought of me, didn't you? Can you hear me?

The Salafi who shagged me

I was exhausted and hesitant. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to go, and if it was the right time to do it. I did it anyway. I was on the metro anyway. At some point, I realized I had a stalker. I wasn’t sure how to handle it. Should I tell him to come with me? Should I ignore him? I got off the metro and I saw him trying to figure out which direction I was going to. I kept walking and then looked back. I couldn’t see him. He lost me and I felt bad about it. He followed me all the way there, only to be lost in the diverging crowd. 

I kept going on towards my mission. I arrived there quite easily. Once I walked in, I realized I was arriving later than should be. I shrugged it off and got inside. It wasn’t very promising or diverse inside. I thought the prospects of making something out of this night were meager. I think an hour passed doing basically nothing until he showed up. He looked twinky and terribly cute, which can be an intimidating thing. The exchange of stares was promising though. I caught him alone a few minutes later and started a conversation. A few sentences into the conversation, we were making out. We walked into a private room. We started having sex; good passionate sex. It was over a while later and then came the awkward moment. We didn’t know each other and it was time to have a conversation!

We walked out of the place together as he asked me to spend the rest of the evening with him. I didn’t mind, maybe there lays the adventure, I thought. His personality started to unravel slowly. He mentioned working at an Islamic library. I asked if he was a Salafi. “We’re all Salafis”, he answered. That answer was enough confirmation. He told me he was in Tahrir often as we started to have a political discussion. He talked eloquently (but not convincingly) about his views on democracy and how a state should be. I let my prejudices aside and just listened. He used religious references to stress how God should be the ruler of Egypt and God’s words should be the constitution. Then, he mentioned state security and detention. I was even more curious.

He told me of his ordeal of being arrested by state security before the revolution, for his affiliation with Salafi groups. He was interrogated by the police and was asked if he thought Mubarak was an infidel! He wasn’t afraid of revealing his real views and expressed him vehemently. He was immediately sent to detention and was tortured mainly by electrocution all over his body. He was released a few days later but he was given a certificate that he was unfit to serve in the army. This means that he would continue to face a lot of problems accessing employment and losing all chances of accessing government employment.  After hearing this story, I knew well that I won’t be doing any confrontation to his views. Not that I didn’t have the energy, but I wanted to let him keep talking and talking. 

I couldn’t help but wonder about what made him soften his views or lead this lifestyle; especially because he told me that being tortured by the police didn’t make him any less determined.  He then told me of why he “regressed”. It wasn’t police torture that made him question the ideology, but it came from within the Salafis themselves. It was being lied to be a well-known Salafi sheikh that was a shock to him.  He couldn’t believe that the sheikh who was followed by thousands, even millions was such a deceitful person. It wasn’t until then that he started to further explore his sexuality and meet other guys. 

I won’t hide it. I was really taken back by this guy. He was salafi in his core but no longer dressing like one. He was only 21 and came from a provincial background in Mansoura. It’s obvious that he has been struggling with education as he holds a middle degree and struggling to get a decent income. It’s not hard to relate to this guy. He’s like any of us; wanting to believe in something, wanting to change his surroundings, and frustrated with the limited opportunities life has given him. Despite all the stereotypes about Salafis, he was a sweet, sincere kid. He kept trying to hold my hand while walking down the street and I was the one reluctant to do it.  

We may meet again. I don’t know how it would go then. I don’t know if I’d reveal more of myself. I know that I hope that he reveals more of himself.

Hello, stranger!

Hello stranger! You could have been my friend one day. You could have been my enemy another day. You could have meant the world to me. You could have been inside me. I might have picked you up from the street one time. I could have slapped you. I might have stalked you. You might have broken my heart. We could have secretly held hands on the street. We could have stolen a kiss on a mountain top away from the eyes of nosy tourists. You could have hurt me. You could have deserted me. We could have cuddled, couldn’t we? We could have read to each other. I could have taken you to my hometown. I could have shown you my old diaries. You could have listened to my whining, my pain. You could have laughed at me. I could have deceived you or took you for granted. You could have surprised me. You could have taken me to old places I didn’t know about. You could have cooked for me.

We could have been together, stranger!

Random

As he looked at my asshole before he pushes his dick in, I slightly shivered and felt warmer. I felt ready and open. I picked him up from the street, yes I did it. I had the guts. We stripped in front of each other to our underwear. We stared at each other for a moment, and then we embraced each other. When he was about to come, I told him to do it outside. He told me it was the best thing ever to have it inside. I couldn’t say no.

It was years ago when we first met. His slippers had just gone off. We spent the day together, and we ended up in my bed. We fucked and the next day, he and my friend fucked. He confessed his love to my friend a few days later. It was the flame of jealousy eating me up. Sexual jealousy. After all these years, he meets my friend again. They fuck. I know we can’t fuck anymore. I have changed. They fuck. I burn.

I was sweaty and sick. He knew I had sore throat. He was still willing to eat me. I felt ugly and redundant. I felt I was shrinking. Why can’t I respond to his beauty, I thought! He did all the right things. He even complimented my hairy feet. He took me to dinner and we talked everything including movies. We didn’t kiss goodbye but I know he wanted to. I still feel ugly.

Do I really want to fall? To surrender control? To be thrown on the pavement while passers-by crush me with their heavy shoes? I don’t feel I am there. Maybe I need to crush someone. Maybe I need a bit of acknowledgement. Maybe I need a touch of grace. Maybe I shouldn’t do anything at all. Maybe I should need nothing.

You’re a god of beauty. You look into my eyes and give me a hesitant smile. We unexpectedly meet at the party. We stare at each other across the big room. We talk and you tell me my feminism will make our women become whores. I fall to the trap and feel teased. You were bluffing, of course. You ask for my number. We hug and kiss goodbye. You are not there anymore. Where have you gone? Oh, it was me and you, standing at the doorsteps of happiness.