Are you still waiting for a revolution?

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I sit at an overtly gay house.
I see women who babble on about a revolution and I smirk.
I see women bonding together into a group hug and I cringe.
I remain in a bubble of egocentrism and enjoy an abundance
of personal theories on human behavior. Not mine obviously,
I am almost clueless in that area. I observe and study my
new found friends at Meem. What makes them so attached to a
supposed “revolution”? Do they need  a reason to socialize?
Are they filling an emotional void?

There is no such thing as a revolution that is yet to happen. I keep theorizing. As I’ve become acquainted with some of the ladies’ personal stories and struggles I realise it has been ongoing for years. With every outrageous anecdote I hear, I start to see lines traced on a map. A drawing that if followed with a trueness to one’s self, could only lead to an uprising on a personal and social level… the revolution!

I see women offering unconditional support to each other.
I see survivors of many forms of ignorance and oppression. Women who have rebelled against their families and defied the social norms.

On a personal level,  I have begun fighting at the age of five when the kids at school made fun of my short height, and I had to stand up for myself and say “Mbala! Ana bsaff el 12eme!”1. And the fight, like a fatal virus,  keeps mutating into new forms , the hardest being my acceptance of myself.

Now, nearly four months after meeting these lovely ladies (and boys!), I am not sure I can express how I feel for them in words. “I love you” fails to contain the emotion. I try to express it in a hug. Whenever I see a couple of people hugging, I latch on like a parasite and call for a group hug. If it happens that I’m away for two days, by my fault mostly, I throw tiny lesbianesque tantrums. I’ve become an emotional pest.

My mind wanders as I admire their looks and I cannot help but see how beautiful each and every one of them is. I see beauty in their flaws. I am infatuated. I would suggest we enter a group beauty contest but I’m afraid that would get my derriere whipped. Perhaps I should make such a suggestion…

I see delicate beauty marks.
I see marvels in theirs eyes,
I see vivid sparkles .
I see the ocean.
Sometimes I see China.

At Meem, I have found long lost friends back from my babydyke days. I’ve met freedom fighters who battle tirelessly. Rebels surfing the winds of social change. Some persist on fighting with one kidney.

I see arms of thought, film and poetry.
I sit at a home pounding with love and overflowing with affection.

The revolution for these women is innate. And by joining their knowledge and capabilities together, I see no stopping to it.

My friends, my loved ones, let’s keep “celebrating that something has tried to kill us but failed!”

Happi Women’s Day!

1- Yes I am in Grade 1

Phoenix is a self-centered and sarcastic soul incarnated, perhaps by accident, in the bodi of a woman. As a writer with a temper, she replaces her "y's with an annoying “i” for aesthetical purposes and lives to crack a joke, at the expense of others. Her paranoid nature makes her sensitive to plants, animals and people. Ironicalli, after making fun of the Meem lesbians for years, she found a warm home there and is now renowned as its veri own emotional pest. She enjoys reading the paper with a hot cup of black tea while nude, more often than not.

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