two conundrums: the two orientals and dating

two dichotomies i would like to discuss here.

first we look at the oriental conundrum. well, it sounds like it's about the east but it isn't really or is it? there must have been something about these guys being "eastern" that drew me to them. the eastern european for reasons related to their daily life experiences in today's germany. the fact that they're stereotyped and in some cases exploited and abused. of course that's a blank statements, we need those many times. his hungarian background gave him some appeal. we kicked off however in the wrongest way. he did stereotype arabs and egyptians in such an open way. somehow i decided to let it go and give him a second chance. this is how you get by when you live in white countries. one has to get laid, you know. the other being an ossi. and despite his bad english and his pride about being german, (wtf really), i saw some charm.

what was the conundrum about though? i think it's about giving and holding back. the hungarian being the one who gave. i held back. i was trying to give the ossi. he held back. i'm sure it is not this simple. i may be preoccupied by how white guys show and withhold emotions, and how that's related to their sense of privilege and entitlement. however, there is another thing that i couldn't escape. i got attracted to the unavailable one. the one he gives too little but expects me to always run back. and we do run back. that's the way we are trained. to fall when there's no giveback.

but then this first conundrum leads me to the second one. the one that goes deeper. am i dateable? or how do i deal and survive in this dating environment?

i remember the cairo days, when i grew more and more convinced that my feminist identity, and the fact that i wanted to extend that into my personal life, created a situation where i can't really deal with dating anymore. i remember that moment i was out on a date with this guy who did believe women and men are entirely different species and i was getting angry beyond repair.

i'm back to dating now, well it is more of an option now. it's a good thing, no? i should be happy or grateful, no?

now i feel that i am slowly coming to think that my refugee identity also stands in the way. i am bound to be seen as victim. at the same time, i am bound to be seen as an intruder. also to be seen as the exotic other. i don't feel optimistic that i can get the race thing out of the dynamic.

maybe i do have some saviour thing. maybe i wanna fix people. maybe that's why i am attracted to the ossi. or other white guys. maybe that's part of the appeal.

on the bench

Run, baby, run! You're late for your deutchkurs. Six fucking minutes until the next train? What will I tell this new teacher? I need to convince her I am the best student. How do you say excuse my tardiness in german? Ouf! The class is closed. There is no course today. Fuck me, how could I forget? I'm turning into a piece of the german machine.

What do I do next? Go to a museum? Lie down in a park and read this heartbreaking cross generational novel? I rest on a bench and think.

She drags her luggage behind her. Is she looking at me? Yes she is. She's even talking to me. She yells maybe you can help me. People don't talk much to strangers here. At least that's my view as someone who lived till the end of his twenties in Egypt. She casually sits next to me, I need to find a cheap hostel, she says, less than 20 euros.

I work my smart phone without much questioning. I am curious of course. Here's this hot blonde in hot shorts, just next to kurfurstenstrasse, the sex work neighborhood, with a bag and nowhere to stay. I don't ask where she's from. I don't ask about her job. Why the hell am I wondering if she's a sexworker? Hold your assumptions. I try to bury them.

Oh god, another stranger is talking to us. He comes and sits next to us on the bench with a glass of wine in one hand and a hash joint in the other. He waves the joint, and asks if we would like to share it, since we're sitting on the bench he likes to sit on. Without hesitation, I say thank you that would be great. She declines when I pass it on. He heaps on her advice and suggestions from his old experience as a Berliner.

He gets a call. It's my therapist, he says. He wants to change our appointment. He goes to talk to him. The therapist certifies his 'mental illness'. He gives the papers to the concerned authority. The authority decided he's not eligible to work. Another authority decides to keep him on state support. It's not much, he says, but enough to keep me alive and happy.

Is he homeless? I don't know. What's the fuck? Stop it with your silly assumptions. It's his rebellion against the horrible society that forces people to work and not live their lives fully, he says. He says he has friends on the streets, he goes to this and that bar, he takes coke or hash, no herion, and he's a fan of mushrooms, comparing the European varieties to the Mexican ones. Something about 

Grandmother and Grandfather shrooms. Sharing is wealth, he says. If you don't have someone to share with, you're a poor man.

He pulls the where are you from question though. The bubble breaks. The girl is  Polish. I am Egyptian. He says, a beautiful woman like you won't have trouble finding a place to stay. She says she's been to sharm el sheikh! Who is this girl? And why is she getting closer to me on the bench? Is she coming on to me? And why do I find this guy suddenly attractive? When he mentions his wife and lovers, I ask him how many are they.