sell your body

"I don't like Germans. Why should I sleep with them without getting paid?"

"You won't make it here in Germany unless you sleep your way up."

Two statements. Two different people. Two different privileges. Two worlds apart. Same city.

We learn something from sex workers. There is a fuck you world attitude about them that you can't resist. You know they survive things you can't even imagine. They survive better than you. They're stronger. They made it that far. You have to listen up and learn. When she describes Germans as disgusting, you know she has a point. A very spot on point. She knows their worth. She knows how cheap they are. How greedy. How far they fed and still feed on the bodies of brown and black people. She is the one who sees them for what they are. It's the brutal honesty of sex workers that 

 I move to the second statement. It was the bourgeoisie student. The privileged one who speaks German already. The one who resists the language of antiracism, who's reluctant to call white people white. It is his moment of disclosure. He sold his body to get ahead. To get a job. A promotion. A flat. Or even a visa. It was his shame that was preventing him from admitting the truth about Germany. Because he played the game with them. He sold his body and he tried to cover it up. He made them look better than what they are because he was ashamed of selling his body. Those bourgeoisie fantasies and lies. This self-centering that fucks us up and eats us alive.  

February must end

Everybody is touched by Giulio's brutal and tragic death. How do I explain my particular feelings around it? How it hits a certain chord because I am seeing Gianmarco. How he looks like him, two Italians venturing with their researching eyes into oriental lands. They approached though with more love than condescension. How possible is it that the fight I had yesterday with Gianmarco is about Giulio? The day he the news of his death came out, I avoided meeting him. It was too terrifying to think of talking about it.

Do I find reasons to push people away? Do I hide behind politics? Why did I grill him so much about cultural appropriation? Was that really why we were fighting or was something else, something deeper? 

He tells me I am distant, and he is right. I feel like I have tons of reasons to be distant. One was the virus. Now that we got this off the chest, I have the boyfriend thing. I have no real qualms about seeing a guy who has a boyfriend, especially that he couldn't be further away from not only berlin but all of europe. But maybe it does make me anxious. Why does dating make me so anxious? I'm too anxious to even know what I really feel for him. I was looking forward to see him that day, even though we had met only two days before. Is it the February effect? The need for warmth and cuddles to make through the long painful berlin winter?    

back from california

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making sense

I wanna make sense of what's going on. What's going on? It's almost one year for me here in berlin. A year and one week to be exact. There is a lot of things going on. I had found out about a certain café a year ago and told my friend about it. He said it's exciting that berlin has all of those opportunities. I said meh. I do feel it now. Yes it's amazing. Berlin is full of opportunity. Too full maybe. To be the point where you are always unsure and insecure. That kind where you always fear you are missing out on something else. I wanna be in all places and fuck all men. 

But wait. I wanted to fuck Roberto. The weird german white guy with the blue beard wanted him too. The party was coming to an end. We were up there in that dark room. The music was amazing. Or it could have been the ecstasy. Me and the whitie were playing. I can't remember if his Turkish straight friend was there or not. And opposite to us Roberto was fooling around with this stupid and nasty looking white American with a hot body. We couldn't help but watch. They were watching too. The lights are going up. The music is going into the last loops. Don't turn it off please. We have to get out of there. The music is over. 

I catch him at the garderobe. It all went so easy. The Croatian shows up and he asks me if I'm in love with him. Are you jealous already? Why do you spank me on my ass? Why are you so charming? Is it because you're a Taurus? Is it because you share you cigarettes so generously? Is it because you immediately understand that being separated from my family hurts like hell? Is it because you gave me that gentle stroke to my knee? Is it because you kissed me firmly? Is it because you said I'm hot? Is it because of the way you said I'm hot? 

Could I have said no to that line of coke? Definitely not. Not after I had just shared my rape story. His questions were smart, but I don’t want questions. Not about my rape. Silence is better. You better learn that everybody. Don't ask too much, or better still don't ask. The whole night I annoyed his white privilege. I get a kick. What kick does he get out of it? Yes, it's the kick of having a brown friend. He praises me for being critical but he don't take criticism, don't own it. White people. Make whatever you make out of them. Hot sex. Intellectual exercise. My options are open. 

The 17 year old refugee kid asked me why do white old germans in their neighborhood stare at him. I didn't know how to answer. Should I say the truth? Should I make it lighter? He will know the truth. He probably already knows the truth, but just asking for reaffirmation. 

I declined the invitation to speak. I have to say no sometimes. You can't always say yes to white supremacy. There has to be a no. but you have to choose when. If you say yes then you need to play with it. I may regret this. But I also may have regretted speaking. They couldn't keep reassured. I didn't feel safe. Sometimes you need to take an act of self love, oder?

White  thirst concerns me. But is it just white thirst? Or is it a thirst for all men? And there are too many attractive men. I am pretty open with sex. I mean I am pretty open to different bodies. Especially if we meet face to face or in bars or in dark rooms. Online dating reinforces everybody's prejudices, including my own. But yeah, having the Syrian boy lick my feet at ficken was awesome. I don't know why. Also slapping and choking the white guy downstairs was good. But why did I feel sad on the way back home? Was it the om kalthoum induced schmaltzy? Or because Roberto hasn't written to me? Or because the white hipsiter looked cute. Or because I wanted to fuck more. Or is it because of the tension in my POC circl

revolution and hope

It feels like the revolution somehow, but can we compare anything to a revolution? But there are parallels. The buildup of hope, the trust in your fellow compatriots, but the oppressors were stronger, and the anxieties ran deeper. You open up and surrender to the role of a struggler, the role that tears you apart but also affirms certain privileges, regardless of how oppressed you are. The hurt is deep when the project/revolution fails. Can you ever escape the self blame? you called for it and encouraged people to stand up and fight but the losses were great. Whether on a personal or a general level. 

The disillusion sinks in and you yearn for despair. But still despair doesn’t come. Even though the hope is deeply shaken. You can't let go. What do you do now? Where do you seek refuge? Do you bury yourself with oppressors? At least oppressors are clear to you by now, you had to learn it and get used to it. But when the hurts come from allies, there is nowhere to run to. No safe place. No refuge. 

And that's why I had to escape, but there's no escape now. You're stuck. You're torn between the many places you think you belong to. Fuck belonging. Fuck hope. Fuck me for trying. Fuck me for not trying hard enough.