November diaspora snippets

I need physical intimacy. Never thought I'd miss being hugged so much. Just saw a silly video of a young white boy standing at an American beach carrying a sign 'kiss me I'm desperate'. Makes me think I should do the same here. Where would one go to ask for free hugs? They don’t have to be free by the way. I can give back affection and attention. I want nonsexual hugs. I miss holding my friend's hand while crossing the roads in Cairo. We'd do that then we won't let go of each other's hands. We'd cling to each other. Sometimes I felt anxious though. I felt the burn of the stares at us. Sometimes I was like fuck it. I think I grew bolder with time. I miss those hands. Even that anxiety.

She said I'm experiencing the fluidity that comes with travel. I said but I'm not feeling fluid. My gender expression is the same. My sexual preferences are the same. I can dance on the streets here. I can switch hips when I want to. I still feel I can't/don't escape who I was in my home country.

I shared the photo. I wanted to feel important. I wanted people to feel I'm important. By having an opinion, by giving an impression that I'm doing things. The caseworker kept sharing information, sounding really smart and eloquent. I was in her place in the past. It was me the journalists sought to speak to. Now I'm just sitting there, keeping my opinions to myself. I'm just an interpreter here. And soon I will be the asylum seeker who's trying to access services and advocate for his rights. I'm flipping sides and exploring what it means to be helped instead of the helping one.

The erotic is life. Life means nothing if you don't feel raunchy, horny. White people don't usually turn me on. On Cairo's streets, I'd be turned on so easily. I got cruised by a white guy at a club's urinal the other day. My first cruising experience here. I ended up sucking three guys dicks in a dark room. All was well except the uncut dicks I'm not used to sucking. After I'm done I felt something was missing. A certain vibe. A sense of challenge, maybe? You don't feel you're breaking any taboos here. Skin color isn't the only thing that makes it lackluster. It's the whole context. Sex feels better when it's an act of resistance.

In your new city, you don't have friends. You do have friend but not friends friends. Not the people who understand you without finishing your sentences, the people who understand your cynical jokes, the people you actually have inside jokes with, the ones you have long history with. And you realize it's so exhausting. To be always be on guard. To always be making such an effort. To not be able to share what really goes on your mind because you're too careful making a good impression. 

stay

I read about Tim Cook. I discover Herbert Marcuse. I look him up. I find a trailer video showing puddingstrasse. I discuss him with SL. He talks of Adorno. Adorno's quote was on my wall in my last home. It said: The highest form of morality is not to feel at home in ones own home. Berlin, are you giving me signs?

poor boy

All of a sudden he recoiled and got up in bed. We were in underwears. His young smooth body still shined in the dark. He asked if there was a camera in the room. I wondered what kind of game that was.

The game has started a bit before, when I saw the boy walk slowly and stare me in a downtown street. I stopped, leaned on a car and waited. There's a lot of waiting in cruising. We talked and he offered to take me to his place. I offered my place instead. Told him I live with others. Thought that gave me more safety. 

When he said he's currently off his work (which is a vendor at a shop somewhere) I grew more anxious. I felt if he's jobless now, he's more keen to make money.

At home, I offered him to shower, his feet were unclean because he wore flip flops. I didn't really mind his dirtiness. It was more of a way of making him vulnerable and for me to feel more in control. Him naked in my bathroom. I also had a kick of the idea of seeing him naked there while I'm still fully clothed. 

He admired my view as they usually do. We stared into the abyss that is Cairo and started touching each others. Leading up to bed where after a few caresses, he recoiled.

He told me he was taken home by someone off the street and ended up being abused by four guys. He said he's too scared to do anything. I didn't want to stop but I didn't argue. He then asked for some of my liquor and ten pounds to get himself dinner. He said he goes lots of nights without dinner.  He said he hates that he is asking for money and that he'd pay back.

I gave him what he wants. I couldn't argue. I didn't want to. What is the use of arguing anyway. For a moment, I was angry that I had paid for sex that I didn't have. But then I wanted to give him more money than he asked for. But then I drew a boundary and let him go into the busy street.

I felt slightly relieved we didn't fuck. Then I felt frustrated, angry, tired. And then I wanted to stop feeling anything.

little boy

Little boy is quiet and shy. Little boy has a crush on a little girl. They part ways and he sees her years later wearing a veil. He wishes to say hi but he can't. Little boy is being hit on by boys. Little boy likes to read books. The boy's dad gets sick, seriously sick. His mom starts cheating on his dad. He becomes angry and confused. His dad passes away. He's still confused. Why is he not sad as he should be? Little boy is older now. He is yearning for a handsome boy, a smart boy. All these boys just want to have some sex. He feels ashamed about what he does with other boys. He feels one day he'll be older and all this will end. That he'd have a family and become normal like all the others. He can't quit, he can't change. Little boy feels lonely and dissatisfied. He hasn't found the kind of friend he wanted. He plans to leave his hometown and he does. The young man finds a job. He gets another job to please his family and fulfill the expectations of making money. He doesn’t have much time but he begins to forge friendships. This gay community is not easy to deal with you know. One sad night his knee is injured and he decides to quit one job. Little boy is radicalized by Cairo, that monstrous city that grinds its people. He wants to change the world, he wants to work in human rights. Little boy travels and lives abroad for a few months. He feels vocal and confident. He's more sure he wants to change the world. He changes his career. He travels more often. He feels he's doing something and needs to do more. Revolution breaks out. This is the moment long waited for. It keeps getting harder and complicated. This fight is too draining. The trauma is creeping in. the failed revolution, the difficult work, the challenging friendships. It all sinks in. He finds some pleasure in being radical. Radical sex encounters makes him excited.  He feels sick and finds out he's got HIV. What's the little boy to do? Quit it all? Leave his home and family? Become less radical? Become celibate altogether? Should he come out about it? Can he change the world? It's the end of life as he knows, but what will he make out of it?

the end of the affair

One major reason I'm angry is the discovery of the naiveté of my feelings. The dire lack in my experience. I've been told friendships end. I've been told they become something else. Something materialistic and parasitic. 

I'm also angry because fate wasn't kind on this one. Yes things happened over some months, but they did all happen in one year. And that's hard to bear.

Y gone to northern lands. A cheating. M cheating too, with much deeper consequences. Sh and the realization of impossibility of reconciling our friendship and her relationship.

I've been working out forgiveness. Trying to let go of the anger and resentment. Trying to be less bound by justice and more by understanding. Oh I've had some crucifying days.

What's crucifying about all this? Why is it so hard? I guess it's easier to accept people sail ship and lay their anchors elsewhere. It's all very congruent with the temporary alliances theory of friendship. Not so easy to accept witnessing your friendship fall apart in front of you. Your feelings change and your memories are re-written in light of all recent darkness.

A sudden void is staring at you. Endless moments of bitterness and pain. A fear you'll never trust again. You'll never try to love again. You'll be alone as you grow old. There's no one to rely on. I can do the relying on myself part but who would listen to my complicated stories?

The most impending feeling I get upon those thoughts is leaving the country. Why would I stay here anymore? A major reason; the people, the loved ones, ceased to exist.

Failing terribly failed by others shatters your world. but that comes in many colors and shades. Either because you never mattered. Or because you were never understood. Or you were important but not that important. Or that your intentions were misunderstood. Or that you weren't cool enough as a friend, or not fit enough. Your interests didn't matter.

But then there's also the part where you, yourself, were full of shit. You probably weren't open and accepting enough. I wasn't supportive enough.  I was a bit too controlling or a bit of a control freak.

And to avoid unabashed self-criticism, I've been brave. I give myself that. I was honest, most of the time. I did care, for complex reasons yes, but I did fucking care.

New beginnings to come. Something to be happy about. Sounds too theoretical for me right now. All I can feel is that heaviness lying over my heart.

All I wanted is to be understood. I guess that was too much to ask for.