making sense

I wanna make sense of what's going on. What's going on? It's almost one year for me here in berlin. A year and one week to be exact. There is a lot of things going on. I had found out about a certain café a year ago and told my friend about it. He said it's exciting that berlin has all of those opportunities. I said meh. I do feel it now. Yes it's amazing. Berlin is full of opportunity. Too full maybe. To be the point where you are always unsure and insecure. That kind where you always fear you are missing out on something else. I wanna be in all places and fuck all men. 

But wait. I wanted to fuck Roberto. The weird german white guy with the blue beard wanted him too. The party was coming to an end. We were up there in that dark room. The music was amazing. Or it could have been the ecstasy. Me and the whitie were playing. I can't remember if his Turkish straight friend was there or not. And opposite to us Roberto was fooling around with this stupid and nasty looking white American with a hot body. We couldn't help but watch. They were watching too. The lights are going up. The music is going into the last loops. Don't turn it off please. We have to get out of there. The music is over. 

I catch him at the garderobe. It all went so easy. The Croatian shows up and he asks me if I'm in love with him. Are you jealous already? Why do you spank me on my ass? Why are you so charming? Is it because you're a Taurus? Is it because you share you cigarettes so generously? Is it because you immediately understand that being separated from my family hurts like hell? Is it because you gave me that gentle stroke to my knee? Is it because you kissed me firmly? Is it because you said I'm hot? Is it because of the way you said I'm hot? 

Could I have said no to that line of coke? Definitely not. Not after I had just shared my rape story. His questions were smart, but I don’t want questions. Not about my rape. Silence is better. You better learn that everybody. Don't ask too much, or better still don't ask. The whole night I annoyed his white privilege. I get a kick. What kick does he get out of it? Yes, it's the kick of having a brown friend. He praises me for being critical but he don't take criticism, don't own it. White people. Make whatever you make out of them. Hot sex. Intellectual exercise. My options are open. 

The 17 year old refugee kid asked me why do white old germans in their neighborhood stare at him. I didn't know how to answer. Should I say the truth? Should I make it lighter? He will know the truth. He probably already knows the truth, but just asking for reaffirmation. 

I declined the invitation to speak. I have to say no sometimes. You can't always say yes to white supremacy. There has to be a no. but you have to choose when. If you say yes then you need to play with it. I may regret this. But I also may have regretted speaking. They couldn't keep reassured. I didn't feel safe. Sometimes you need to take an act of self love, oder?

White  thirst concerns me. But is it just white thirst? Or is it a thirst for all men? And there are too many attractive men. I am pretty open with sex. I mean I am pretty open to different bodies. Especially if we meet face to face or in bars or in dark rooms. Online dating reinforces everybody's prejudices, including my own. But yeah, having the Syrian boy lick my feet at ficken was awesome. I don't know why. Also slapping and choking the white guy downstairs was good. But why did I feel sad on the way back home? Was it the om kalthoum induced schmaltzy? Or because Roberto hasn't written to me? Or because the white hipsiter looked cute. Or because I wanted to fuck more. Or is it because of the tension in my POC circl