Mou2assasit El Darak Kella Sawa
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Is it weird to “need” happiness for a man who isn’t your flesh and blood, who isn’t your lover, who for that matter, may not even know he influenced you more than anyone ever has…?
December 2010, at the gym of my alma mater in Ain El Mraysseh, a significant part of my cognitive “space” became dedicated to an officer in the Darak[1].
Everything that I am, he is not. Everything that he is, I am not. Finding myself being mesmerized by a guy who is practically different from me in everything, maybe hurts me more than the “is-he-or-isn’t-he-gay” cat and mouse game we have been playing for the past 11 months.
Two Lebanese men, one from Beirut, the other from the South. Religion, society and educational Level create barriers between these two young men that have become more than gym acquaintances but less than anything more concrete.
The looks across the glass door lasting more than a few seconds, the lighting of the eyes when they meet, the confusion in the lockers while they are both in their boxers preparing to shower, opening topics just to talk about anything, giving each other the overall look from head to toe… could I be seeing what I want to see or is the chemistry really there?
It hurts…
Not being able to get a definitive YES without risking the fragile friendship that sometimes is the only thing I look forward to at the end of the day…
The fear of not seeing the smile on his face when he sees me feet away coming out of the elevator…
Missing his simple “Darakeh” interpretation of topics…
Missing his macho attitude of competing with me male-to-male in everything from bench weight to intellectual capacity…
It hurts…
Seeing this guy’s perfection, knowing all his imperfections and not caring…
Going crazy wondering why he would treat me differently than all other guys…
The cruel satisfaction of seeing jealousy in his eyes when he sees me with a girl, or at least convincing myself that this is what I’m seeing…
He’s a 31 year-old handsome man with a steady job from Beirut, from one of the conservative social and religious circles of our dear country. Yet the fact he’s not religious enough to give up drinking at White and the fact that he talks about hanging out with the guys and male friends, all make me hopeful.
Why hopeful you ask?
You can say I am being stereotypical or judgmental, but these facts give me hope that what he is giving me are genuine hints he wants me. Men his age and from his background are married or, at least, engaged. He is not, and I can’t fathom a sensible reason why.
I know it all may be a figment of my desire and imagination, but the chance of him being closeted and in pain like me and trying his best to communicate it with me in his Lebanese macho way, warms my heart. No, it melts my heart.
This is why I “need” this man to be happy. With me, with another human being, the idea of him not being happy crushes my soul.
Is that love? Is that an immature infatuation? Is that the result of the ramblings and excessive analysis and emotional attachment of a 25-year-old Lebanese engineer breathing Beirut?
I don’t know. What I know is that these feelings I am having are noble. And for the first time in my life, I began to love every single member of the Armed Forces in Lebanon because of my Darak officer.
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