You’ve Got Mail

If you are holding the mailbox key in your hand, it would take exactly one second to slip it into the keyhole and slide open the mailbox revealing its contents. No mail? Another second to slam it shut and lock it.
As we walk down the stairs, she hurries her step, leaving me behind as she makes her way to the mailbox. Finding letters in there is like an early christmas for her; she loves getting mail.
She has the key in her left hand, but as she gets to the mailbox she stoops down and peers in through the slot to see if there is anything in there. It seems that there is because now she’s got her right hand up and she’s pushed her fingers in through the slot. She’s fishing around inside there, trying to grab hold of the letter and pull it out. As soon as her fingers close around the letter, she lets out a little grunt and yanks it out. It’s not perfectly aligned, so it takes another yank or two to pull it out the whole way. By this time I’m standing at the front door, holding it open, and waiting patiently for her to finish fishing our mail out of the mailbox so we can go. She’ll do this every single time, despite having the key in her hand. And she defends it by saying it’s faster! In fact, she’ll peer into the mailbox every single time she passes it, almost like it calls to her. Even on Sundays, when she knows there are no deliveries, she’ll check.

And most of the times, I’ll just be holding the door open and admiring the view, smiling at the silly insignificant things I keep learning about her. This is just one of the little secret behaviors that I am privileged to have a front seat to. And I feel so lucky and blessed to have the opportunity to learn these things about her.

-Dima

عم تشتّي

شي مرّة رقصتي تحت الشتي مع حدا بتحبي؟

Haunted

Bou3a, w bobrom la teni mayle men el takhet, bas manna 7adde. Bnem wa7de bel takhet ele shahrein bas kel yom el sobe7 bas ou3a ba3dni bensa. ba3dni bi awwal la7azat el wa3i bet2ammal 7es bi dafeha.
B2oum, bettalla3 bel notifications 3al telephone, w ma be3teref 7atta la7ale eno 3am nabbesh 3a shi menna. Akid ma ra7 ykoun fi shi menna. Elna shahrein ma 3am ne7ki.
In fact ele shahrein ma shefta, ma sme3et khabar 3anna. Ntaha kel shi. Ma badda tkoun ma3i. No2ta. Ele shahrein ma shefta, bas bshoufa kel yom.
Bas odhar men el bineye, bshoufa 3am to2ta3 el tari2. Bobrom la ettalla3 btetla3 bent el jiran. Ana w meshye bshoufa bi taraf 3ayne we2fe 3a janab, bobrom byetla3 7adan gheir.
B2adde nhare bel sheghel, bensa, beltehe, ma bkoun 3am fakker fiya abadan. Awwal ma ed3as barra bol2at lam7et 7adan ata3 eddemi. Albi btesra3 da2eto, nafasi bi 3alle2 bi sodre. Bemshe asra3, la la7e2a w kel el wa2et 3a2le 3am ysarrekh “bala habal, mesh hiye”, bas min seme3? Bla77e2a, btetla3 mara ma khassa wla men areeb wla men b3id.
Ele shahrein mesh sheyfeta bas bdal shoufa. Seknetni. W akid hiye 7ayeta mkamle 3adi, w mabsouta, w 7a2a ma ykoun badda tkoun ma3i. Bas ya ret 3a2le bi battel yla3ebni hal le3be. Ya ret byo2ta3 nhar bala ma etkheyala li meshye eddemi.

-maskouni

Middle School Tomboy

Saying I was a tom boy in school doesn’t even come close, but the interesting thing to me now is why. Why was I a tomboy?

Before I tell you that, let me explain the how. We’re mostly talking about middle school here. When I say I was a tomboy I mean I was a bit “debshe” but not in looks, more like in behavior. I loved doing reckless things: sliding down the stairs, jumping off a wall… I always found little acts of personal endangerment that I could do.

Now if you can imagine the how, let me tell you the why. I did it for the attention…of the girls. Years before I would realize that a girl could actually have feelings for another girl, years before I had my first lesbian experience and years before I would even begin questioning my own feelings and behaviors, I yearned for the attention of girls.

It wasn’t until my last two years in school, when I was actually old enough to understand the concept of attraction that I realized I was attracted to girls. And it wasn’t until very recently, many years later, that I thought back to the stunts I’d pull back in those earlier school days in front of a group of girls and saw them for what they really were. I remembered how I’d feel when the girls would crowd me asking if I was alright, and telling me how cool my jump had been and I appreciated what my inner self had known all along. I’m just sorry it took my conscious mind so long to catch up.

-tomboy

 

 

The Girl Next Desk

She swivels on her chair to face her colleague on the nearby desk, and her skirt rides up just the teensiest bit revealing an extra fingers’ width of her thigh. Her blond curls fall effortlessly around her face and as she swivels she pushes one strand of her back, her hand moving swiftly to tuck it behind her left ear revealing a big smile when it no longer blocking the view.

She’s not looking at me, but I’m looking at her. I’m often looking at her. In the lull of the day when I don’t have that many a task to complete my mind often drifts away into make-believe worlds where I tell her I’m into her and she falls into my arms. I have watched a romantic movie too many I guess!

During the day we interact quite a lot. We have the friendly “how was your weekend chats” or the “sheesh that was a long meeting chats”. Occasionally when our work schedules permit we have our lunch breaks together. We’re friends at work, and it’s easy to make small talk or to complain about our bosses; all employees bond over such things. But each time we ride the elevator together alone, it gets a little harder for me to breathe. My stomach tenses up; butterflies they call it; on the verge of nausea I call it!

I observe her quite a lot, and her interactions with others. I’ve learned quite a great deal about her. I know what the perfect date would be if I were to take her out. I know what jokes will make her laugh and what makes her feel better when she’s upset. What I don’t know is whether or not she’s gay.

Really, it doesn’t matter if she’s gay or not, because we’re colleagues, and you don’t shit where you eat so to speak. I could either make a move, and oops she’s not gay, now we have to continue to work together pretending there is no awkwardness. Or I could make a move and hey, she is gay and wants to give it a go, but then you have the office romance drama. Or I could do nothing and just continue to daydream about making her moan like never before…

I’m not silly, I don’t think I’m in love with her or that I’m going to die without her. I just have the hugest crush. And although nothing may come of it, at least I’m never bored or sleepy at work.

 

– Desk3aShmelik

Liar Liar Pants on Fire

I messed up. I messed up and I shouldn’t have. I was such an idiot. And now Gihane won’t take my calls.  Trust is a precious thing. It takes time to build it, and with her it was even harder because she had been hurt in the past. She didn’t give her trust away easily. In fact, somewhere around our 2 month mark she explicitly told me not to disappoint her in the trust department.

We both agreed that honesty was the best policy. We just tell the truth. If we’re not interested in the other person any more, we just say it. If we find someone else attractive, we tell each other. We don’t let things grow in the background until they explode. We act like responsible adults who willingly got into a relationship, and not like creatures trapped in something they can’t escape.

It all sounded good in the beginning, but one of the hiccups was that she was jealous. She easily felt insecure if someone new entered my life. She was well-aware of this, and apologized for it, and truth be told she was working on it. As time progressed she was gradually becoming more comfortable with me and my interactions with other people; they became less threatening. But still, she would worry when I was out without her. She would wait up for me and want to hear every detail of my night.

And in comes Lama. I met Lama a short while ago at a work event and found her to be really interesting and fun. We had coffee, we had lunch, and pretty soon we were often planning to meet up. Note that Lama knew I was in a relationship and we weren’t into each other; we were just friends. But, for some stupid inexplicable reason I decided not to tell my girlfriend. This thing with Lama was easy and light, and I didn’t want to weigh it down with the frown of my partner and minute by minute analysis of every interaction we had.

So I’d be going out for a drink with my sister, but actually see Lama. I’d be just texting a common friend, whereas in reality I was texting Lama. I felt bad about it, but I was convinced it was harmless, after all nothing was happening. We even often spoke about Gihane!

And then it all exploded in my face. Gihane found out. I still don’t know how. Maybe my phone, maybe a friend told her… all I know is that she found out and now she won’t take my calls. I tried to explain that nothing was happening, but that doesn’t sound very believable since I kept it a secret. The only time Gihane has responded to me was to say that even if nothing was happening, it is obvious that our relationship is screwy if I feel the need to keep such a thing to myself.

I’m sitting here mocking myself. What an idiot am I? How could I have done such a thing? Was it worth it? What do I do now? These questions play in a reel in my head. And then I think to myself “congratulations, you’re a liar!”. And I am. I can’t excuse myself outside my own head. The voices that justified my behavior lose their power when their words are spoken out loud.

Fuck. I messed up. Please answer my calls.

– Ashamed Liar

Keep Her Mother Happy

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It’s been a while since the last post. Truth is, with everything going on in the world right now, our spirits are low. Just a few seconds online, or on tv/news, and we read about so many atrocities  and injustice and blatant inhumanity that we just want to curl up in bed and cry. But the stories are still coming in, and it’s sunny today, so we’re going to snap out of it.

– Yakhne

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Whats app on my phone is calling for my attention; 3 notifications in a row. I pick the phone up, it’s her mother. She just happens to be cooking one of my favorite foods this weekend so I should plan on coming over. She always remembers me when they’re going to make Wara2 3areesh.

Her mother is sweet and thoughtful. Ever since my parents traveled and I was left to tend to myself in Lebanon, she gets in touch often to check in with me and see if I need anything. And whenever she’s worried about her daughter, she dials my number.

The other day things got awkward for me, I’m not big on expressing emotions, and she told me she loved me; I was like a daughter to her, we were family she told me. If I ever needed anything I could count on her. And she ended by telling me that her daughter and I had something special, such a close relationship, and that we should stick by each other.

The fact that her mother trusts me so completely to take care of her daughter is really something else for me. I never want to lose that. I never want to betray that trust. I want her mother to know that she’s safe with me. That I’ll look out for her. That I will never abandon her. That she’ll always come first with me. It’s just the simple truth.

It’s Christmas eve and I’m at their home sitting at their table, a welcomed guest, an extended part of the family, loved… I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and can’t help but realize that in truth I am the corruption, the mistake, the symbol of the worst thing that she wants to keep her daughter from doing.

The truth is that if her mother knew what we were to each other, that trust she has in me would shatter in an instant.

– Double Agent

 

My Confession

I told her. I finally told her after a year of suffering, but I regret doing it so much it hurts. She was my biggest crush and we’d grown to be the closest of friends. It had been a year and I was almost over the whole thing, except that I had a hunch that told me she had always known.

I wanted to let it out of my system, I thought that since we were friends, and shared so many secrets that all will be well. But apparently that wasn’t enough.

After my confession, she went into a state of shock. Took her almost 2 hours to reply back. And boy, I wish she had never replied. She said she didn’t want me to part of her life anymore. That she thought I was gonna change and get over those feelings I’m having, this phase i’m going through. She was totally chill when it was other girls I talked about but when it became her she couldn’t take it.

Today, I lost one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life. But I’m not sure if that’s what she felt. I feel relief, but simultaneously pain and betrayal. I pray upon a time where I wouldn’t have to justify my actions and hide in my own shadow. Upon times when I can be me and nothing else…

-Mess

Enough with the makeup and skirts talk mom!

My parents didn’t know, so when she came over and spent the night it was just a normal sleepover. We had sleepovers often. I hated the duplicity, but I wasn’t ready to tell my parents at the time, so the girl my mom thought was my best friend was actually my girlfriend and the (at the time) love of my life.

There was this one time when she’d slept over, and the next morning we had coffee with my mom. It was pleasant; everyone was making small talk. The same topics, university and work and the weather. Then my mom, in true form, looked at my girlfriend and asked her if she was single, to which she answered yes. I hoped that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t.

My girlfriend was pretty, and dressed pretty too. Dresses and skirts and make up, not too much but just enough. She watched her figure, she applied moisturizer. “Why can’t you be more like her? ” my mother asked. Then she looked at, let’s call her Gina, and continued “I keep telling her that if she doesn’t fix herself up no one will be interested in her! She’s always leaving her hair unkempt and wearing baggy jeans! She never takes care of her skin or her face! Look at you, so beautiful. But my daughter, she’s so smart and intelligent, but she’s gaining weight and she doesn’t look after her figure. Who will want to marry her? “.

I could have died. I felt myself sinking lower and lower into my chair. Would this ever end? And Gina, she enjoyed it. She agreed vehemently with my mother, nodding her head in all the right places and beaming a great big smile. Every couple of minutes she’d look at me and throw a sentence my way like “We can go to that beautician down the street.” or “your mother is absolutely right, you’re getting older too!”.

I can tell you it was mortifying, and awkward, and I did not get to the bottom of my mug of coffee that day. There was suddenly a pressing reason for us to leave the house, right away! I can also tell you that Gina paid for every moment of enjoyment she had during that little morning chat…oh did she pay!

-Warde