the calling

Am I finding my calling? I write this from below the dark layers of the dark beast. Would I ever forget that quote from yesterday's film? I dragged him to come with me. he warned me it will depress me. he was right. he was talking about his interferon experience, but somehow I related. He describes how everything changes on the drug. He feels he now needs an effort to do anything. To breathe. To move his arm. The will is there but the energy not.

Let's go back to the calling. I am not sure why I went there. I should preserve my energy more. That's a recent resolution. It was about refugees and harendt and other stuff. I listened and when I spoke I wasn’t listened to. I wasn’t seen. It's a familiar dynamics. I just didn't expect it to happen again in that context. I run into my Syrian friend, we are happy to see each other. The performance begins. The boys are stirring my emotions. The lyrics move my tears. Many tears. My friend hugs me, supports me. but she cracks too, especially when she thought about her father. 

One of them steal our eyes and our hearts. His eyes shine. He feels his place in the world. He knows he's beautiful. I want to go back after the break but I don't. I decide that's it, and that it's better to hang out with my friend and smoke and unterhalt. On my way out, three of them are on their way too. We walk together and talk. One of them turns me crazy. He awakened what I thought I lost forever. The changes were not only emotional but also physical. We exchange numbers and I know this would get me in trouble. But I go for it, I can't but go for it. 

The shocking realization because of this encounter haunts me. I am power driven. Just like white people. I enjoy the rush, the exploitation and invasion of less powerful people. I am not joy driven like some of my friends. And that's why I am miserable here and that's why I am feeling better since my power is coming back again. I am like them which means I should understand them which means I should forgive them. 

But this is my doom. That's the important thing. He's my doom.

one for my libido

Thos ones goes to my libido.

You sank into my life pretty late. I remember and I know that the act of remembering is always tricky, I remember that my early sexual encounters did not come out of lust. They stemmed from a desire to connect. To validate my desire to be with a man. They were mostly forced on me and I felt that I had to follow suit. I remember fantasizing about my first crushes was mostly emotional rather than sexual. 

Even the loss of my anal sex virginity was an act of pragmatism. A possible revolt against my younger optimism and idealism. As if virginity is something that had to be rid of, regardless of who takes it. I did busy myself with how to achieve pleasure but my relationship with pleasure wasn't strong, was rather mechanical. 

I remember there was another moment of revolt. One that centered my body and my pleasure. I remember reading Raoof Mas3ad and being engrossed by his portrayal of sexuality. I did seek pleasure and that allowed my libido to surface. To take hold. 

I had a project to queer my sexuality. I never experimented with female bodies, but I tried to break the prevailing notions of gay sex. Those influenced by body shaming, ableism, racism and classism. This process of liberation took dangerous turns at moments. I wanted dangerous sex. I found freedom in that. In having sex in a forsaken train carriage off a railway station, with a impending risk of being arrested or even killed. Libido is a will to life but there was probably also an underlying desire to die. However, I call these days 'days of freedom'. 

After my escape, I realized that my sexuality is taking a different turn. One where my sexuality is being limited by racism and fetishization. I realized that I had little sex with whites bodies and that now most of the sex advances come from white men. Sex began to lose its allure.

It's very hard though to diagnose my loss of libido. My escape has influenced my sexuality in various ways. But also affected the whole of me. Old traumas and new ones, and ones that are being made everyday. The stresses that I encounter. Is it my depression making me lose you? Is it my medication? Is it the weather? Is it the kind of people I sleep with? Is it the kind of sex that I have now? 

What do I do to get you back? Leave this country? Get off medications? Put myself at risk again? Stay with one guy hoping that I would get it up with him every time he initiates sex?

I can say that I am at a point where I am just going on saying to myself that I can just do without you. That it's okay to let you go. I say to myself, that losing you opens the door for other ways or relating to people, maybe saves some drama, or saves my sexual health. Part of me resists. I want you because I want the thrill back. I want you because I want to enjoy the chase.  

Should I fight for you or let you go?