white guys

We do have some moments of intimacy. Are they really? I don't know. That was what went through my head in that sudden somber moment on my home with my white friend. We were laughing at some sort of inside joke that we developed over our six months old friendship. and I thought to myself, is this what my life is becoming? Having fleeting intimate moments with a white guy? Where is the warmth of my friends back home? The ones you trust. The one your world shatter when they betray you. The one who you have also power dynamics with, but theirs don't erase your existence. 

I can't believe I am dating a white guy. Is eastern European white? He still fetishizes. Still misunderstands. Still labels. Why am I being with him? Because he likes me? Because I feel safer sharing a bed now? Because he accepted my hiv status? Because I like his ass? Because he pays for the fancy dinners I can't afford?

Is it even a good idea to date white guys? But where are my homies at? Why are they so hard to be found? Am I just looking in the wrong places? 

And what is exactly wrong with white guys? Why is it so hard being in harmony with them? Why is it that the first time I failed to get it up in my life was with a white guy? It was with this Frenchie who I thought was beautiful. But still I couldn't get that thought that he wants to fulfill his white fantasies of being ravished by the arab man. 

Maybe it is the arrogance. The all knowing attitude. The sense of entitlement. The knowledge that him and his ancestors oppressed and continue to oppress.

When they want you, it's a problem, because you're a fetish from Arabian Nights book they read in elementary school. And when they disagree with you, they can depress you by the sheer amount of racist bullshit they can come up with.

The entitlement things is quite intriguing. Is there something about growing up a white male that makes you view the world as a property? What's with this emotional aloofness? This non-availability. That guy I found beautiful had no quibbles expressing that he needs a break from making out with me. What? Why? Who says that?

Also who asks after making out if I wanna wipe out Israel?

Who makes out with you then say I wanna see you again, after he comes back from a two month long travel? And I should be waiting for him to come back and save me? Is that supposed to be sweet? Because it doesn’t feel like it.

How do you engage in a meaningful relationship with a white person? Whether it was friendship or a romantic relationship, especially the romantic relationship, when you're  a killjoy, a reminder of privilege, a disruptor of peace?

How do I keep passion and avoid the dick softening effect of their fetishization? Should the oppression/privilege dynamic serve as an aphrodisiac? Is that a sustainable situation?

I just feel I want to fight their white privilege back, even if they're a boyfriend. Particularly if they're boyfriends.

in the dark

should i talk about my nightmares? my utter disbelief in a better future? my damning loss of hope. i guess the depression is real.

this knowledge that progress doesn't bring "happiness" is all too real. what am i doing here? saving my life? avoiding arrest, torture and slow death? but is this life?

dark clouds scarecely interrupted by shy sun? attempts at conversation with different people that feel mundane and repeated? going to new places without any real excitement? hugs and intimacy that doesn't bring any peace of mind? people too scared to touch, to open up? sleep that doesn't bring comfort? familyless life? a ghost of deportation? a dreadful sense of boredom? a knowledge of worse days to come? a fear that the breakdown is coming and it will be ugly? knowing that it doesn't get better? anticipating many boring days to come? anticipating much worse racism experiences?

how do i go on and why? how do i put an end of it and why? that suicide vision that came to me at a club while trying to get high was too scary. why was it scary? it must have gotten to my mind for a reason. was it reading the hours? or that novel before, beer at the snookers club? the vision was really dark. grim. fatalistic. like my nightmares.

nightmares of being outed. nightmares of not being able to leave egypt. nightmares of renewed chances of goodbyes. but these goodbyes are harder, because we were more aware of the horrors to come. of the lack of redemption or reconciliation. of the extent of loss and the pain of separation.