How Did I Get Here?

It is quite interesting how a small, seemingly irrelevant event could trigger an intense, prolonged train of thoughts!

The triggering event(s) here is trying to get a man to sleep with me on a late November night. This included the use of manipulative actions to get my flatmate relative to leave the place for me for the night, and making several calls to finally get the man in question to meet me! It was unsuccessful, twice to be accurate, as my failure with the first man made me try to attempt to make up for it with another.

Then my ever lasting question made its presence quite clear, “so what happens next?”

The answers were not very favorable. They all led to gloomy and unwholesome thoughts. How would I make it alone? Can I really do without intimacy as I claim? Do I deserve this? Is there something I can or I can change about myself? The list goes on.

My awareness of how limiting and nerve-racking it was to be living with this relative of mine is higher than ever before. My growing feeling/realization that I am a person whom people hardly find charming on first encounters was immense. My want of sex was not insignificant. The episodes of rejection-upon-meeting scenarios were on the rise. My observation of my changing figure and receding hairline was painful. Such was the context of my triggering event. The result, therefore, was intolerable.

I honestly cannot see it getting better anytime soon. I am losing faith. I kept thinking “have little expectations, or better have none at all!” This doesn’t seem to take me anywhere. I feel/felt immersed in self-pity.

Another question is also of great interest and consequence. “How did I get here?”

Thinking of my development, when I was a naïve, shy boy. A very sensitive one who hardly raises his voice, to a boy in crisis because of the guilt and shame instilled by his sexuality, then curiously and expectantly venturing into the world of queers, then faced by initial pains and shocks, all the skepticism and distrust were confirmed in my personality. Then becoming savvier, but all the while seeing all the absurdities of the world growing more visible and clear. Having close friends who suffer from clinical depression is not of great help also.

I come to believe the world a cruel, absurd place. Am I on the verge of depression? Do my prolonged hours of sleep indicate anything?!

A friend’s remark was that I think too much, expect too much; that I should live my life without thinking of consequences. Whether I can achieve this, is a completely different question.

Nocturnal awakening!

I had to write. It’s almost 5 am and I should be sleeping. I am having one of those nocturnal awakenings, so filled with thoughts and emotions. Gotta take them out somewhere.

I just finished reading some posts from Manal and Alaa blog. Truly inspiring. Lovers struggling for their country? What more could inspire someone like me? I was truly surprised by the self effacement they did on their blog, it could be thought of as pretentious, but I can’t help find it endearing. My dear friend Sheraz told me about this blog before and that she found it amazing on one of our discussions about activism, love and Capricorns.

Cannot get mind off thinking about historical context and time boundaries. What does it mean to have such a blog in 2005? How does it feel to memorize oneself 10 years ago? I am writing here in an attempt to document my life and self. Is it for me or for others? Is it my way to leave a mark? To be remembered? What do humans have this need for recognition?

I am changing. My warm Christian friend Joe notices it. We met a couple of days ago and he noticed my changing attitude towards civil society work. He could sense I am more satisfied there and that I am not juggling between it and my presumed career. Who was I 10 years ago though? A God-fearing teenager struggling with the discovery of his attraction to men? Freefall to shame as someone dubbed it. I loved to read and watch American shows on our local TV.

15 is the age I proclaim for my puberty. 2^nd secondary school student. We hardly ever used the internet then. I think I had chances to watch some satellite (when it was analog) with my friend Mena. We explored western music then. All the pop stuff!

Internet? I am sure it wasn’t before 2001 when I had my own pc. Internet was very slow then. Our first attempts were at that link.net office. I had an intense crush on a guy called Mahmoud. He was beautiful. I saw him on a recent visit to my hometown. Does he remember my stares?!

Private lessons, lots of them! Staring at guys and feeling desperate to connect with other guys, guys who looked cool and “in”.

I really want to meet my 15 year old me. I want to hug him and make him feel safe and accepted

Ahmed is back. How could I see it coming? He made his mind up to leave to pursue studies in the UK a few months ago. He left a month and a half ago. His departure must have affected me deeply, I think. We argued and got on each other’s nerves a lot, but we knew each other so well. It’s so strange how relationships/friendships dynamics work. It’s hard when your closest people leave and you feel disoriented and confused. It made me more fearful of intimacy and more aggressive to other friends, or skeptical of the whole affair.

I have two jobs. Downtown and Heliopolis, my favorite spots in Cairo. It’s my first to be alone at an office. I invited Mark over today.

Homophobic crimes and gay activism? Maybe I’m braver than before. What happened to Y was scary and sad. Is it a good cause for me? Would I do it for a bunch of self-hating queens?!

I passed by Beanos today. It’s been 2 years since I first met F and we sat there. He became the reference point for the possibilities for passion. Beanos was closed. I couldn’t see the couch where was sat. When will I run into him ba2a?!

Again, it’s so interesting to track what one was concerned of and interested in over the years. What is my thing now? More existential and nihilistic tendencies? More career confidence than ever and lack of faith in everything?

More writing/exorcism sessions needed.

Intimacy?

I am in a complicated relationship with intimacy! As a young boy growing up to discover the cruel reality of being gay in a community that crushes whoever thinks/feels/etc. differently, I remember that I always put feelings first. Feeling of love, understanding and appreciation came first. My first crush was very platonic and sentimental. The discovery of sex came much later, but that’s another story.

I always had this idealistic, utopian outlook on love and relationships. I always believed that human communication comes as a firm priority for happiness and wellbeing. What made become so skeptic about it now? I still value it highly, but I just don’t believe it in a way. Like a standard that you never achieve, like a god that never hears, like a promise never fulfilled.

Was it past experiences? I always question that impact they had on me. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the illusion of love and the first experiences of pain and heartbreak leave their scars forever. I am over those guys who hurt me, the friends who no longer care, but I guess deep inside they left a stigmata of insecurities.

I look at myself, what I do, and how I am dealing with others, and I become sure that intimacy and closeness freak me out; particularly when it comes to romantic attachment (as opposed to friendship). I am reluctant to make a real move towards Monti. I ignore Mahmoud and never call him back. I refuse to see Maro who just says he misses me and wants to see me.

I am literally giving myself no chance of good things to happen to me. And I’m scared. I am frightened. By intimacy? By the possibility of loss? By heartbreak?

I have to break the cycle. I have to rid myself of the fear. It is keeping me from fulfilling my true capacity and potential.

El Sakka Mat!

I just finished reading Youssef ElSebai’s novel El Sakka Mat (The water man is dead). It’s another train journey to my hometown that I do to diminish my sense of guilt towards my family, and because I terribly miss my little sisters and feel that I should spend more time with them.

The novel’s central theme is death, friendship and coming of age. Although it is quite a classic I never had the chance to read it before. Probably because I know of books more than I know books firsthand. And although I read it over a long time span of 2 or 3 weeks, it was a real emotional journey. The characters are so simple and real. The little boy’s jokes and thoughts crack me up laughing. The father sadness and resilience shakes me and the events of the novel bring me to tears.

I can’t help but wonder, can one really overcome the trauma of death? We basically live in a state of denial about it. Truly believing in death, but hardly ever contemplating our own mortality. It is such a frightening thought. Even more confusing, is if you are very aware of your own mortality, what do you do about it? Indulge in physical pleasures? Treat everyone nicely and give them your best? Or fuck them without remorse as we all end up dead?

Do you pursue your dreams as hard as you can or you simple teach yourself to let them go? After all, nothing remains of you but a decaying corpse.

A strange feeling/thought has been overtaking me lately. Questioning the efforts I make, questioning my priorities. What should one dedicate his life to? Being a person of high ideals, I chose to work in area of work that serves that cause. It’s great to help others, try to motivate them, try to empower them. But my sense of limitation and being finite overwhelms me at time. It’s not crippling, but it makes me unable to know what’s right or wrong; what should be and what shouldn’t, what to advise people; what to seek and wish for.

It would be easier if I just believed in a guarding God, looking out for us, rewarding the good and the modest. I just believe him not to exist. I don’t think there’s a plan or a scheme of any sort. It’s all random and chaotic.

We just have to take our chances and do our best!

“What is that ‘best’?” remains the question.

Misfits

Constantly trying, always doing my best, making an effort to conform, to fit in. fucked up values, standards and norms. What the fuck is normal, functional or sane?

Groups of cool kids, circles of fashion-crazed queens, successful professionals. What a cruel mill one has to survive. Victims of fashion and body fascism. Guys and girls who look fabulous and are totally “in”. How about being fat, ugly, shy, meek, disturbed, paranoid, out of fashion, depressed or poor? Why are we cursed to be always trying to function? To fit in to a society that always contradicts itself? How about a bit of non conformity? How about some confusion and uncertainty? Don’t fucking call me insane. I don’t want your sanity or your fucked up bourgeois values.

Do I have to lose weight for you to love me? Do I have to be fawning so you can hire me? Do I need to wear Louis Vitton so you can appreciate me? Is it necessary to have perfect skin so you would go out with me?

Suicide seems like a sweet wish sometimes. Now is one of them.

It wasn't July.

Life is a series of disappointments. The greatest disappointment is getting used to these.

What happens when people, who only have their sexual orientation in common, get together?

To start off, they may only have that in common, but they’re different when it comes to everything else other than that. They could come from different backgrounds, classes, areas, religions, preferences, beliefs, attitudes, sensibilities, and whatever more. You name it.

Sexual orientation aside, other factors come into play. Power balances/imbalances ensue. There are the ones who accept their sexuality. There are the ones who deal with others considerately. There are the ones who carry a baggage of insecurity. There are the ones who don’t conform to society expectations. Every one of them comes with a baggage.
The power relations take forms. You could have power because you’re a top, wealthy, bitchy, socially apt, handsome, masculine, etc. but that’s not all. There are the ones who do not have those entitlements. However, they are savvy enough to put the situation to their best interest. And who know how to get to their aims.

It’s a jungle. It’s life. Survival of the fittest.

Then we arrive at casual encounters. Two people who are going to perform the intimate act, which happen to know nothing about each other. They might end up not liking the actual version of each other, physically that it. They end up getting frustrated as the hope for an offload diminishes. They might have pity sex. They might actually have great sex. But what comes next? They have missed the process of getting to know each other; of building up the tension to the point they want to share this level of intimacy. Can it work? Apparently it has worked for some. I don’t think it works for me. I don’t know what works for me for that matter. But having it all at the first encounter? Seems like putting too much of myself out there. I wouldn’t like to take it further. How do you sit to a table with someone to have a conversation after you already fucked?

I have no idea why I’m writing these thoughts. Or maybe I do. I know for a fact that I dedicate a lot of my thinking analyzing my interaction with others. For the most part, I am not satisfied. My idealistic view on relationship still clouds my judgment. However, I do believe that I settle for what I have. I have always had friends that I didn’t completely love. I had them because I had to have friends. I learn in a very slow painstaking process. I never had someone to educate me. I have to do that myself. Life is doing it for me.

I grow uncertain. Uncertain of what I would be; of what I would have; of where I would end up.

All I can do is try.

The more I grow the less I know.

Body

How much more can this body take?

Maybe it’s time to face my demons. Have I really been ignoring them so long? I thought I was tackling them all along, wasn’t I? Was I overwhelmed? Was I in denial? Or I was just taking them down little by little?

How could I let my knee problem get so bad? I had the injury in January of 2008. It’s only got worse now. It’s even harder when I hang out with those little perfect boys. I look at them and see the energy and the carelessness. The boyish arrogance. I never had any of this. I was dealing with other demons back then. The shyness and awkwardness; my sexual inhibitions and social inaptitude. I still carry on the heritage of those days till now.
And I wonder if I could take it back? Would I do it again? Who would I have been?

The body grows more and more imperfect. It should never be perfect, I know. I know it better than anyone else. The blemished skin of a teenager and the balding of a 30-something man; I have them combined. And I missed those years of playful childishness. No more to return.

How can I feel so old?

These demons seem light compared to other serious shit. What is my purpose of being in the goddamn community of gays? If I claim to be jaded and apathetic about finding an intimate partner, then is there any hope for me? Is it always going to be random fucks? It seems to me that this would be nothing short of time-wasting.

I chose to work in an area that manages to get the interest of discerning people. What they don’t know though, is how poorly paid I am. I even failed my expectations, not to mention my family’s. What if my poor mother knows I have left them behind to get these few pounds? Would she understand that I’m hanging on there to get to a better place? Would I actually get to the position I fancy? When? Isn’t about time to have more tolerable living conditions?

Do I need a change of body or a change of heart?!