a german again

I kept nagging my friend to leave. It's easier for him to get hooked up. He has got the total arab hunk look. Popular product on the gay market. He is staying because he wants to keep his optiions about. He already got a hot guy hooked on him, but he has eyes on another sexy guy. I wanna go home and sleep. It's been a hard week between working and learning german. I'm turning into a zombie and there's nothing this zombie wants more now than a good long sleep. 

The guy on the next table is smiling another time. Maybe we saw each other before and he's smiling to validate that old encounter. Or maybe he's high on something and he sends his smiles to signal the high he's having. I begin to put my jacket on preparing for the impending coldness on the street. 

He steps towards me. staring into my eyes with a smile that's now taking over his face. It was a comforting warm smile. he talked me into staying and having another beer. I didn't feel ashamed telling my friend that I'm staying after all. He would have also done the same whenever he gets a real chance. 

I am curious where he's from but I feel it's rude to ask. I am thinking he could be turkish? Souther european? Those turks can be so confusing, they can look so white, especially when they have the hipster attitude. He said he's german and my heart dropped. I had stop giong out with german guys a while ago. Two of them broke my heart already. The one who disappeared after we had three intense dates. And the other kept me as a toy while he tries to get his ex boyfriend back. Many other encounters made me feel bitter and angry, the distance they kept, the lack of empathy. I thought no more of them. 

The conversation was warm and I was thinking if I would change my mind. Give them another chance. This one right here feels very warm, and he kisses really well. He's not so big so I won't be scared of him physically overpowering me. I enjoyed the kisses and his compliments about my eyes. I started wondering, is this how our relationship can begin? Right this moment at a cruising bar? Maybe this when love is born. 

We go to the dark room. I'm more attracted to him. I love the feel of his body. Yes he doesn't have the drive to please. A problem I have encountered all too often. However something in me felt empowered to tell him what pleases me and he was happy to oblige. I feel like I try to regain the old slut spirit, the one that was more adventurous and fearless. The one who cruised on Cairo streets. 

He asks me if I want to go with him and my heart is fluttering even harder. So maybe there's actually something here, he doesn't want to end it the level of a dark room hookup. I pretend to consider shortly but in my head I already said yes. I am happy that I'm finally going to get to sleep next to someone. I'm surprised by the fact that my body is actually able to have with him sex one more time. 

When we wake up he says he's going to ikea to get new furniture for his new flat. The one I envy heavily. The pain of the search for the flat grips my heart when I think of how far it is for me to achieve the goal of having such a place for myself. I wondered why he is not offering to have sex wi th me again. I thought we both implied it in our jokes about being hungry and eating last night. Is this the beginning of rejection? Is this when I begin to feel less in this relationship? 

He suggests a breakfast together and my hopes go high again. But I didn't know that this will soon completely changes. We talk on the way there about egypt and asks me

Do you go back?

No I haven't since I came here.

You don't want or you can't?

I can't

Why?

Because I came here through asylum.

What does this have to do with it?

I realize at this point that he knows nothing on the matter of asylum.

He asks me questions as I explain to him the asylum process and rights you get denied from when you apply for it. He listens without commenting. Without saying anything about how that must have been hard for me. of how it's painful to think of the separation I have with my family. It wasn't until later when were having our breakfast when he began talking about his struggles living in south america and how he missed good techno music and was mad about the lack of air conditioners that I realized that I was expressing my understanding and support for his feelings while he didn't give me the same thing. It wasn't until then that I realized how he failed to provide any sympathy or support. I started to notice that I censor myself to avoid raising issues that will break our bond. I notice that he asked me if I work for the third time and this irritates me. he offers to pay and I ask if he's sure. I think for a moment, I don't want him to pay because I don't want him to feel that he was superior to me. I don't want to him to assert his power even more. However I quickly decide to let him do it. Why should I reject taking our money back?

As we walk to the station, we smile to each other. How our feelings beyond our smiles have changed so quickly. He leans to me and gives me a kiss I know I will miss. I realize that we didn't exchange phone numbers. I know I will miss this kiss but a part of me is quite relieved.

Death and Sex

It has been often written that our existence  is based on a mix between the desire to death, to be annihilated, to go extinct. And the desire for life represented in the libido, to have sex whether to enjoy it or also to reproduce and recreate life. Perhaps a certain balance is needed to preserve our emotional stability. But it's also possibly a lens through which we can analyze human behavior. 

If we look at the state of exiles through this lens, we can make new observations. If we begin by death, since it's the heaviest topic, we can immediately think of the recent Syrian refugee suicides, whether the ones who took place in Lebanon, Germany or elsewhere.  This cannot be dissociated from the layers of trauma caused in the home country, on the road, or the new state of exile. 

Looking at death from another angle, and particularly examining the state of burial rites practiced by Syrians in diaspora reveal a grim reality. Those who wish to bury their loved ones or relatives face several hurdles whether in europe where there are laws that restrict muslim burial rituals, whether through temporary grave rentals as in france or the obligation to use a cascade as in parts of germany. In Lebanon, turkey, Egypt and Jordan, Syrians face similar hurdles in relation to hostility from host communities, and the general financial exploitation of refugees. 

Apart from the legal and societal hurdles, the act of burying in diaspora carry heavy notions. It's a harsh reminder of the inbetween state. Would we still be here in the future? Should we smuggle the body from turkey to Syria so they can be buried in the homeland? So that we could visit their graves when we're back? Would we ever be back? Where would we die and where would we be buried? 

Looking at the more positive notion of desire to live, we can observe that escaping into exile is an act of life preservation. People flee because they want to survive and eventually to thrive, and because they want their children or loved ones to have a better future.

In exile, we see thriving artistic and cultural spaces, you see people experiencing new tribulations but also passions and are posed by major questions that stimulate the psyche. The new space enables many to express freedoms and enjoy encounters they would have had elsewhere. I'm particularly intrigued by the case of Antonio Suleiman, who's a Syrian who sought asylum in germany and starting making porn films. 

Of course porn is seen in different ways, and indeed there are problematic aspects to porn. And then again we're faced with many abolitions who believe that all sex work can naively be eliminated from the world. Porn tabs into human deepest selves and their most unseen. The sexual fantasies, memories, practices and exchanges we never divulge or disclose. It helps us connect, discover and access pleasure. 

Antonio Suliman is creating pleasure and is using his body to please, also as a way to earn income. He went on to say "Yes, I used my body. I used it to show that this body can make love, can have sex, and does not only exist in order to die." He speaks about the Syrian condition and the suffering faced at home and the racism faced in the exile. Indeed now the Syrian body is imagined as a dead or maimed body or a body carrying the threat terrorism. Suleiman changes that by inspiring desire and celebrating the body and its possibilities.

fragments of my story

My story is getting lost. My energy is drained. Mein Jugendzeit ist vergeudet. Among the constant triggers. Among the hectic working hours. Among the interactions at german class. Among the several talks I'm going to give. 

I am failing to stop and breathe. To marvel at the beauty of the moment. The warmness of that touch. 

The way ivan smiles at me. the way the Italian girls share with me their joints. The fleeting moments at the school's corridor. The growing smile on a client's face. The moment I feel I shared something with one of the young refugees. A new place I discover. Something new I discover about myself.

Racism is marking my mind and body with its toxicity. 

That time Jens forced me to do counseling in german. The time Lars brought a client to me while I'm having lunch. That time victim blaming was spread out during a work meeting. The complicity of my colleagues in covering up for sexual assault. 

I am a fighter. A fighter growing old. Fearing loneliness and loss. Away from my home and family. Trying to find meaning. And when I gave up on meaning, I try to find pleasure. And both of them seem so hard to reach. 

I keep an open heart. I think of Gianmarco a lot. I dream that I am slapping him. I have a lot of rage. I have a lot of sadness. I'm tired of narratives being twisted at me. whether Rebecca or the colleagues do it. Whether it is my friends or the media. 

The time I danced with the sex worker on the stage. The time I went out and flirted with the greek hottie. When I danced with haidar. When I sang along with katia. 

That time my teacher told me she gossips about me with her boyfriend. That time I had to cater to my colleagues white tears. That time faris turned me on. That time I bond with humeyra. 

Im losing my story. What are the memories brought back to me by reading guapa or even better by in the spider's room. That time I flirted with Michael Jacob and with Sepehr. That time  that the Italian neighbor was rude to me. that time I went to the Russians house but he had lost his weed and hada to go out.

Something about Durban

I want to write about Paris. But this reminds me that I didn't write about Durban. So I'm going to try and begin with that.

Durban Durban. I was so stressed out, as I'm usually when I travel these days. It was a long fight to get there. I basically got outed in the process. 

The whole luggage thing destroyed the trip. I was stressed about clothing and money the whole time. This took away from my planning energy. I felt sapped.

But let's try to remember the good times. Meeting the beautiful Moroccan, Tunisian and Lebanese friends was very heart warming. I have to visit Morocco soon. I think it will replenish my energy and full my desire to be in a country that gives me life. 

That night I spend with Zak. That hot Armenian guy. The guy that tried to hook me up from in front of the Frenchies hotel. When I made friends with the Nigerian, and got hooked up by another just in front of him. That whole police station incident. Dancing to the beats of afrohouse while completely stoned. I think I even masturbated in the toilet. That kiss with the trans guy. Making out with the beautiful woman. Grinding with the south African girl at the bar. Evading sex with the frenchies. Having my feet massaged at the positive lounge. Meeting the trans mama and her girls. Other short endearing encounters during the conference. Bussy and the south African young boy. 

On a deeper level, some reflections arose. Being there is a strong reminder of the privilege and protections we have living here. As positives and otherwise. I remember being mad at not being able to take the metro, and how that reminded me quickly of how spoiled I got.  

The energy of being openly positive gave me the impulse to disclose to two Berliner friends. Maybe it was the weed I smoked though. 

The off experiences with Bob and Sadiq made me feel that being with a person of color is not everything. Maybe I am saying that because of how I felt about Gianmarco and that I was trying to convince myself that it can work. It's true that being with a nonwhite is not enough.

Istanbul healing

Getting fucked by the Capricorn jewish guy. It was unexpected. He had spent all those night sleeping naked next to me. for no obvious reasons he said he wants to give me pleasure, to make me feel treated. He wanted to give me a hammam experience. He had just been there and felt fetishized. It turned him on. We disagree on that part. 

the last three guys who made a shot at my ass have something in common. They're all jewish. I don’t know what this means.

To my ever increasing surprise, he went on and fucked me. it healed me. I hadn’t been fucked for such a long time. He even made me come twice. It was good to feel desired. To make me feel that my ass matters. My ass attracts and gives pleasure.

That Syrian picked me. yes maybe he's desperate. Maybe they all try to look more glamorous than they really are. Maybe that's why they try to look glamorous in the first place. To camouflage their insecurities. 

I had met him the night before. He hardly showed attention. Even after I tried to impress him by my egyptianness. The next night we run into each other. We're forced to kiss each other. He gives it more heart than I expected him to.

 i sucked syrian dick on the floor of that turkish club?

i think it was good because i was so surprised it happened. like i saw the guy the previous night and he didn't pay me any attention. then i see him again and i hit on him and he responds hard. and because i was finally flirting with another arab. and because i got chosen by an arab. im so traumatized by sexual politics of germany. so an arab guy flirting with me warms my heart. i should open myself to that more. Seek it more. i really think that can improve my sexuality, because now i have libido problems and i know it's because of white gays/gaze, but it came back to me in Istanbul, also in athens

 actually this realization is scary

like i feel fetishized with him and that turns me .but with a syrian guy im not viciously fetishized and it's not like all insecurities will be gone but that's a major one, but it's hurts me to seee arabs here running after whites. it triggers me. you know this was even written about in black feminist thought? the trauma of black women that black men choose white women