lesbian lebanon osashob

I’m Just Tired, Nothing More

The alarm is going off; it must be 6 already. I bury my face into my pillow and feel about for my phone with my hand. I get hold of it and swipe the alarm off. I groan as my brain stops fighting to go back to sleep, and with a smile across my lips I turn to face her saying “good morning honey…”

No sooner do the words escape my mouth that my mind catches up to them. I am frozen in bed for a moment, the smile is gone, and I am fully awake. The reality that my dreams carry me away from doesn’t seep back in slowly as many have described it; rather it slaps me hard across the face. One moment I’m waking up happy and turning to greet and possibly embrace the love of my life, the next I’m painfully aware that I am the sole occupant of my bed.

When this happens in the mornings it sobers me up and knocks my cheer down a notch or two. The rest of the times it happens don’t even cost me a second anymore, I just carry on as if nothing had happened, a skill I’ve learned mainly due to the frequency I suppose. After getting out of bed I put my water kettle on to make coffee, I always think to ask her if she wants coffee or tea this morning. Throughout the day I’ll think of things to tell her, things to show her. I’ll be out with my friends and think I should get going because she’ll be waiting for me. I’ll be in the supermarket and I’ll pick up a jar of pickles to get her; her favorite snack. She would eat those pickles straight out of the jar and I wouldn’t kiss her until she brushed her teeth because pickles are just gross! But in the supermarket I’ll pick a jar up, take a step away from the shelf, then realize what I’m doing and put the jar back down.

And when I come back home from work, the first few seconds when I walk through the door I always expect to see her. Every day I expect to see her. The apartment is so empty now. The whole world is so empty now. Everything in the world serves only to remind me of what I lost.
But as I said before, these thoughts don’t stop me. My day goes on, my life goes on day by day.

Time heals all wounds. There’s no “moving on” handbook or one-fits-all solution. We move on each in our own way and most of the time despite ourselves. Most of the time it just happens to us, perhaps due to a hundred small things we’ve tried to do each day, but it just happens; you wake up one morning and you just know that you’re starting to feel better.

I’ll get there. I know I will. But right now I’m still here. The pain is still fresh and the tears still roll down sometimes.  Actually they’re rolling down right now because I’m on my laptop and clicked on something or other and now I’m staring at photos we took one day… silly photos… we were laughing so hard that day…
My thoughts and my tears are interrupted by an incoming call on my phone. I take a deep breath to calm myself and pick up.

-Hi mom. How are you?

-I’m good hayeti, enti keef?

*random tidbits of unimportant conversation. the house. cleaning. the neighbors.*

-I’ll talk to you soon mom.

-Shou beke ya to2breeni? Mesh 3ejebteeni elek fatra… sawtik medre kif. Akid you’re ok?

-Eh eh mama, don’t worry. I’m just tired. I love you.

*We hang up*

Mom, there’s no one I’d rather hide my face against and cry. There’s no one I’d rather have consoling me. And I know you can tell something is wrong and I know you’re worried. But I know you well enough to know I could never tell you. I love you too much and I don’t want you to suffer simply because I am suffering.

I have to hold my tongue and remain silent. And until I am better, whenever anyone asks, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day after all, I woke up early, 6 am…

-Lira

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lesbian lebanon osashob

Summer Love

For a while we pretended there was nothing there. We pretended we didn’t feel the electricity that built steadily in any room that held us both. We pretended that the accidental brush of a hand didn’t give us goose-bumps and the thought of seeing each other didn’t give us butterflies. We pretended for what seemed to me to be an eternity. And finally we succumbed and it was my salvation. My sanity would have surely crumbled had I had to keep the pretense up any longer.

It was an amazing summer that we spent together. And although we grew closer every day, we never spoke of this evolution in our relationship. We weren’t together, we weren’t friends with benefits, we had no definition; we were just happy. The need to define things further didn’t seem necessary considering the fact that she was leaving at the end of summer. She lived abroad, and would be going back come September.

At first this didn’t matter.  It was what it was and nothing more. Each day we spent together was blissful. We learned so much about each other. With every curve of her body that my fingers traced, with every eccentricity in her behavior that revealed itself, I fell for her. I loved that she took forever to wake up in the mornings, that she could drink her weight in wine and not seem drunk. I loved the way she’d twirl her brown locks around her fingers when she was impatient with me.

I was back to pretending. She was traveling. There was no point in telling her I loved her. She might not feel the same way, in which case things between us would never be smooth after her departure, they would just be awkward. And if she did feel the same way, what then? It had only been a few months. Would we be willing to discuss long distance and the commitment that entails on what could easily be categorized as a fling?

I didn’t tell her and she didn’t tell me. We spent out the remainder of her days in Lebanon enjoying each others’ company when we could. We spent one agonizing night together on the eve of her trip back. You could sense the words being trapped behind sealed lips on both sides, but neither of us uttered them. And the next day she was gone.

I tracked her flight. Her connection was delayed. I refreshed the page every ten minutes and watched the little icon of a plane make its way across the continents. I knew it could be over. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing her anytime soon. Of course that saddened me, but only to a certain degree. Mostly I was content. Every day of the summer was a pleasant memory, a warm memory. The best summer of my life.

-yakhne

lesbian lebanon osashob

2 Degrees of Separation

I don’t know how girls in Lebanon do it; how they meet each other. I mean, I can understand meeting one girl who turns out to be gay, or two. Bur for those that are never single for long, where do they meet each other?

If you’re going to tell me that there are organizations or activities or spaces that lesbians frequent, then I’ll say sure. In fact, I frequent a number of those. What I’ve realized is that it’s usually the same people though that you find at those places time and time again. You get into closed circles where anyone you’re interested in was previously involved with at least one of your friends, and things get complicated.

I know, there are a number of pubs and clubs that cater to LGBT people. But seriously, am I the only that walks into a lesbian bar and immediately senses the cliques? It’s always groups of girls sitting together seeming to have a fabulous time. You either go there with your own group of friends and have a fun night with no added expectations, or you go with the intent of meeting someone but have no idea if you’re going to put your foot in your mouth when approaching the cute girl sitting at the table with 4 other girls laughing and drinking and judging you as you approach.
Alright, I’ll admit that finding it difficult to approach someone because they are sitting in a group is based on insecurity. But come on! Walking up to a complete stranger and trying to flirt with them IS intimidating!

I have friends who tell me that there are large lesbian communities in their universities. I guess I should have gone to a bigger university. I can’t relate to that at all. My college experience was strictly daydreaming in class before running off to work.

Gay men have it way easier. I mean, they even have mobile applications to help find each other. And yes, I have heard of Brenda. I’ve tried it in fact. It’s not really that good. And I get it, lesbians are every straight guy’s fantasy right? So it’s almost impossible to keep such applications clean and safe.

Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. But how I feel right now is that I am connected to every lesbian I know by at most 2 degrees of separation. And well, I don’t want to shit where I eat so to speak…

-Frustrated Lesbo