Sad Fuck - Either way?
I heard this once from one of my Taurean gentlemen. One who was a self-declared "bisexual". And who at that particular point in time was "consorting" with a member of the opposite sex which he called his "girlfriend".
His verbal abuse had little effect on me then, for I don't derive my self-worth from my sexual "conquest" either with this sex or the other.
But the underlying notion that heterosexuality maybe the only condition by which people can/will achieve happiness/fulfillment puzzled and annoyed me a little.
In every sense of fulfillment, socially, psychologically, culturally, I would say sexually but that will be open to debate.
And this abuse conjured other memories. Other feelings I long hid. And when the events of this post transpired the words resonated with something I felt/was feeling.
It took me sometime before I could summon the courage to write this post.
For its about facing your demons, and I had to face mine one more time writing it.
You are sixteen once. You are young once. Then you age, you realize and understand. Understand what exactly happened when you are sixteen.
Thats what memories are for.
You never truly realize how much fragile and tender you are when you are still budding like a seed about to burst with roots and stem.
You only sense the momentous change, the intensity, but you never get to understand the how or why the change takes place.
And when you are fragile and tender, your memory, your body, like a smooth surface is easily scarred.
Anything can leave a mark. Anything leaves a mark.
The heart can beat many a times, as a child, mine did twice.
But there are certain individuals, whom upon meeting them, crossing paths with them, we know this is a life-altering experience.
This was the case with my gentleman.
A visionary of restless, ambitious nature. Fierce intelligence and many talents.
Yet ambition remained the one guiding force behind all that he did.
I fell in love with way he perceived the world. In the way he understood the world and rationalized life.
That was endlessly inspiring to me.
And to find someone who made me feel the same way, was close to impossible. I never did.
I never allowed anyone the emotional or intellectual waiver to actually get to move me or inspire me. Others might be superior in many ways, but they do not necessarily make me feel the same way.
He did.
I would spend years before ever getting him off from my under my skin.
Not without a dear price.
His restlessness coupled with ambition led him to a life of "austere" religiosity.
How and why, is beyond the scope of this post.
Naturally he wanted me to follow suit. With out much guessing I did not. Not without a fight. A long, rancorous, mean fight.
In which we stopped talking to each other at all.
I received his news through common friends. And just before we no longer spoke to each other news of his wedding were filling the air.
For a long time I didn't hear any news, then that same friend, broke the news that he actually has a child now.
Needless to say I was devastated. He always said he wanted a family. A proper biological family. One that is socially accepted. He lamented he could never have this in a same-sex relationship.
Having no contact with him, and thinking this will be the end of him for all time, I swiftly turned the page and "moved on".
But Fate has a strange way of arranging things.
A friend of mine (who also by coincidence is one of those who settled down, got married and had a child of his own) was doing research on the variety of Islamic organizations/groups in Egypt. And surprise surprise he asked my help if I could actually give him any contacts.
Being a dear friend and asking me incessantly, I agreed to email my long, lost gentleman caller.
It would be the first time in a long time that I actually write to him.
And I send him a long email expecting the worst.
He sends me one line, "call me" along with his number. A typical answer.
And I do.
And I only realize how much I miss him.
How much I missed his voice, his laugh, his words. The slight sarcastic tone he used. How he made fun of me, and how he loved it when I scream back at him.
And we talk. And I ask about his child. And we exchange parental tips even.
And he invites me to his new house (something I predicted once in a short story I wrote while I was still on speaking terms with him. That he would one day get married and invite me to his place).
And he asks me the classical question, "don't you like children?", I tell him of course I do. And he answers confidently, then you should get married and have your own!
The pride by which he spoke of his married life and his new role as a parent could be little concealed.
And I didn't expect him to do much effort either.
But again it hit me, this compulsive heterosexuality. The assumption that is the only legitimate form of human relatedness.
And it struck me how far was I from sixteen.
And how far was the world I knew then from the one I know now.
And how different is he, and how different am I.
And part of me writing this, is because of him and part of him (is it the right part? the wrong part?) I will always carry around with me. My suitcase of memories..
In some deep crease in my mind, in my memory. Hidden away.
My gentleman caller would use a different a different lingo, but the meaning remain the same.
Religious metaphor or ghetto talk, its all the same.
His verbal abuse had little effect on me then, for I don't derive my self-worth from my sexual "conquest" either with this sex or the other.
But the underlying notion that heterosexuality maybe the only condition by which people can/will achieve happiness/fulfillment puzzled and annoyed me a little.
In every sense of fulfillment, socially, psychologically, culturally, I would say sexually but that will be open to debate.
And this abuse conjured other memories. Other feelings I long hid. And when the events of this post transpired the words resonated with something I felt/was feeling.
It took me sometime before I could summon the courage to write this post.
For its about facing your demons, and I had to face mine one more time writing it.
You are sixteen once. You are young once. Then you age, you realize and understand. Understand what exactly happened when you are sixteen.
Thats what memories are for.
You never truly realize how much fragile and tender you are when you are still budding like a seed about to burst with roots and stem.
You only sense the momentous change, the intensity, but you never get to understand the how or why the change takes place.
And when you are fragile and tender, your memory, your body, like a smooth surface is easily scarred.
Anything can leave a mark. Anything leaves a mark.
The heart can beat many a times, as a child, mine did twice.
But there are certain individuals, whom upon meeting them, crossing paths with them, we know this is a life-altering experience.
This was the case with my gentleman.
A visionary of restless, ambitious nature. Fierce intelligence and many talents.
Yet ambition remained the one guiding force behind all that he did.
I fell in love with way he perceived the world. In the way he understood the world and rationalized life.
That was endlessly inspiring to me.
And to find someone who made me feel the same way, was close to impossible. I never did.
I never allowed anyone the emotional or intellectual waiver to actually get to move me or inspire me. Others might be superior in many ways, but they do not necessarily make me feel the same way.
He did.
I would spend years before ever getting him off from my under my skin.
Not without a dear price.
His restlessness coupled with ambition led him to a life of "austere" religiosity.
How and why, is beyond the scope of this post.
Naturally he wanted me to follow suit. With out much guessing I did not. Not without a fight. A long, rancorous, mean fight.
In which we stopped talking to each other at all.
I received his news through common friends. And just before we no longer spoke to each other news of his wedding were filling the air.
For a long time I didn't hear any news, then that same friend, broke the news that he actually has a child now.
Needless to say I was devastated. He always said he wanted a family. A proper biological family. One that is socially accepted. He lamented he could never have this in a same-sex relationship.
Having no contact with him, and thinking this will be the end of him for all time, I swiftly turned the page and "moved on".
But Fate has a strange way of arranging things.
A friend of mine (who also by coincidence is one of those who settled down, got married and had a child of his own) was doing research on the variety of Islamic organizations/groups in Egypt. And surprise surprise he asked my help if I could actually give him any contacts.
Being a dear friend and asking me incessantly, I agreed to email my long, lost gentleman caller.
It would be the first time in a long time that I actually write to him.
And I send him a long email expecting the worst.
He sends me one line, "call me" along with his number. A typical answer.
And I do.
And I only realize how much I miss him.
How much I missed his voice, his laugh, his words. The slight sarcastic tone he used. How he made fun of me, and how he loved it when I scream back at him.
And we talk. And I ask about his child. And we exchange parental tips even.
And he invites me to his new house (something I predicted once in a short story I wrote while I was still on speaking terms with him. That he would one day get married and invite me to his place).
And he asks me the classical question, "don't you like children?", I tell him of course I do. And he answers confidently, then you should get married and have your own!
The pride by which he spoke of his married life and his new role as a parent could be little concealed.
And I didn't expect him to do much effort either.
But again it hit me, this compulsive heterosexuality. The assumption that is the only legitimate form of human relatedness.
And it struck me how far was I from sixteen.
And how far was the world I knew then from the one I know now.
And how different is he, and how different am I.
And part of me writing this, is because of him and part of him (is it the right part? the wrong part?) I will always carry around with me. My suitcase of memories..
In some deep crease in my mind, in my memory. Hidden away.
My gentleman caller would use a different a different lingo, but the meaning remain the same.
Religious metaphor or ghetto talk, its all the same.
Comments