My Friend!
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It’s funny how fast time flies. Four years have passed since the day we got drunk in Trafalgar square, you with your bottle of white wine and me with my red, sitting on the freezing floor but too intoxicated to give a damn. It took me five years of knowing you and one of living with you to finally spill the beans. I knew you wouldn’t mind and you would love me all the same. And just as I expected, you took me by the hand and jumped into the London gay scene with me. I still don’t understand how you managed to meet straight men each and every single time we went to Soho.
I was so lucky to have you near me when I walked into my first bar. You still laugh at how afraid I used to be, and mimic with a chuckle what I used to say when I gave a cute girl eye contact: “Hasse rah Ighba.”
Today, I just dropped you off at the airport. The house is empty without you. But I’m glad you came to visit. You have been hearing about my childhood stories in Africa from the day we became friends. I only moved back here one month ago, and already, you’ve managed to visit. It’s the first time in a long time that I take a huge step in life without having you by my side. Right now, you’re probably on the plane on your way back to the UK, annoyed that they didn’t give you a window seat.
Will I be able to do this?
When I was a child, Africa was beautiful because I didn’t know what being a born-in-Africa Lebanese lesbian meant. It already sounds complicated enough and now, I’m afraid. I’m much older and I know too much. My kind is not accepted here! My dear friend, I know it was my decision to cut the umbilical cord and set you free. We were so close our friends felt like divorce children. But doing this without your support is going to be much harder than I anticipated.
- Contributed by Galinha
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