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.
