three bleeding holes

Woke up with a stream of dry blood leaked out of my mouth. It was stuck when I tried to remove it. I don't always like to wash my face. I don't want to get out of my room to go to a shared toilet. I had removed the right side of my wisdom teeth. It's pretty gruesome. Of course the anesthesia didn't work for me so I had to endure the pain. I look at the stain of blood on my pillow. When will I get rid of this pillow cover and get a new one? There must be a date. There must be an appointment. There's always a system here. I missed the last appointment and can't bother to find out the new one.

Last night, as I got up from the german toilet, I also discovered blood. There were a few drops of blood in the toilet. I always had those mixed feelings about the german toilets. They have this shelf where the shit rests before it gets flushed so it can be inspected. This allowed for very good viewing of the blood drops. Suddenly I remembered that that happened the night before. I had dismissed then as result of the bleeding going on in my mouth. That it would normally reach the anus at some point. 

But no, this is something else. Those blood drops look too fresh. Too real. I don't know what this is. Is it hemorrhoids? Is it a fissure? Is it CANCER?

My body betrays me again and again. How can this body be of any use now? What use is it when my two most important holes are bleeding? I can't fuck or suck. What use a body is if it can't fuck or suck?

but wait a minute. the post doesn't end here. i rebel. i refuse the betrayal. i go cruising at the park. what better rebellion than random cruising. was it the guy with a beard? i don't remember. it was a white guy anyway. not the best dick stimulator. there was audience. as always with this park. a devlish looking guy encouraged me to fuck him. i did. it was getting dark. my dick feels wet. i dry it out with a tissue. the tissue looks vaguely darker than usual. i look at it again when there's good light. it has to be dark. it was red. his ass was fucking bleeding. what a nightmare.

their whispers

I just heard them whisper. This couple at the library. I am sitting here looking at funny articles and serious ones. I am just passing time. This should be done reclining in bed. This sofa at the library is my bed. 

I heard them whisper and I remember the other whisperers at the neukolln café with free wifi. 

They made me so angry with their whispers too. I couldn’t make out why I was so angry. Well one of them was vocal but speaking in german. The other was practically voiceless but yet he was speaking. And I thought am I angry because they're a gay couple? Because I cannot understand what they say? Because I cannot overhear them and scrutinize their relationship?

But I think now I get it. Now I know why I am pissed off. It's because they have a connection and I don't have it. I don't have anyone to whisper to. They have a secret they don't want the world to know. And they can have it and keep it and whisper it. I can't. I don't.

December disapora snippets

I made it to the film. Oh yes I did. My hosts declined without telling me that they did. I had to inform them that they did and that I accept their unsaid apology. My Palestinian friend took me there after I indulged in his shopping. It was a well accepted exchange. He gave me warmth when I most needed it and there were thrilling moments of exposing oneself, and also dreadful moments of having to hide the truth and fear of being shunned from the growing attention. But I made it to the film. And from now I know it will always be a big sin if you promise to take me to movies and you fail to deliver.

I feel I'm rushing into the option of becoming a refugee. There will always be a what if, no? what if I had met the right people early on? What if there was another route to explore? What if I had more time? 

I am surprised by how intense my weeping bouts can get these days. I always was able to stop them when I wanted to. I'd continue to feel sad but I could stop them in the past. Now they just blow me away and I feel shattered. 

I miss being able to buy single cigarettes without getting a whole pack. Now I sometimes half-smoked cigarettes off the streets. If you stand long enough by a bus stop, somebody would get rid of their unfinished cigarette to make it to the bus. Abdella bought 3 marlboroughs from a street vendor. I used to buy them, the light ones, then I switched to yellow merits for some reasons, including wanting to be healthier and peer influence. I couldn't buy imported cigarettes when I was in minia or matrouh. I had to buy local ones, like Cleopatra for example. That cigarette I bought in matrouh was the one leading up to sleeping with the drug dealer boy. Cigarettes are stories and companions. Cigarettes are their very own type of pleasure.

message to a friend

Hello habibi, I wanted to reach out to you with some thoughts as I felt I was unable to communicate them earlier. I want you to be sure I'm grateful for your help and support through this critical phase I'm going through. I am aware I put pressure on you, your private space, your relationship and your time and that's not a sacrifice everyone is willing to make. It's not news to you that I am having a very hard time, dealing with my hiv positive status, my displacement from home, my uncertainty and lack of control over the simplest things in life these days. I know it's a phase etc, but I am quite vulnerable and there's no drama about it. I have to lean on you these days and forgive me if I ask too many questions or seem doubtful or whatever. I am trying to accept my new situation and your motivation is very important to me and your support means the world to me. 

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.