A First Kiss

            I decided to ignore the warnings, the stories and the rumors.

            I kissed him goodnight, in the middle of downtown Beirut.

            Everything I expected from a first kiss was there: the pounding heart, the butterflies, the thrill, and the joy… But one unexpected thing happened.

            When we opened our eyes, we saw a policeman calling us.  We just ignored it and walked away, until he started screaming.

We ran. We acted like we were guilty of something, like what we did was wrong, like we were criminals, caught red-handed.

            Luckily we both got home safely. Stripped of all dignity, humiliated, scared, annoyed, confused, but safe.

            Today, whenever I pass by downtown Beirut, whenever I think about him, hear his name, whenever someone ask me about my first kiss, I do not remember touching his lips, running my hand through his curly hairs or trying to control my pounding heart.

No. I just remember the angry and disgusted voice of a policeman, the awkward looks we got while running in the crowded street and our awkward laugh while saying goodbye like what just happened was the most normal thing in the world.

            I think about how no one should ever have to face such humiliation. But then the Dekwaneh abuse happens, and what I thought was the worst kind of humiliation possible, an incident I have been afraid to share for a year now, seems stupid and ridiculous.

            I open my diary, read what I wrote that night, one year ago, and try to put myself in their shoes, multiply this page on a diary by a hundred, by a thousand.

But I can’t.

            Instead, I just do what I would have done if I had to face a similar situation. I write. And today, I am sharing what I wrote, to everyone who has ever been humiliated, by a person, by a city, by a country.

The Ink

Because the first time I really felt free was that day spent at Brighton while seagulls were peacefully gliding above the pier.

Because Elphaba didn’t let anyone pull her down, she flew away when everyone told her she couldn’t even if she is always seen as wicked.

Because Jonathan Livingston reached the highest skies by leaving his flock, flying alone and reaching every limit.

On a finger that will stay ringless as long as I’m in my country, the seagull will forever stay. 

I have had this dream of flying away for 4 years and when it finally hit me, I started having doubts about it. Why would I ever leave home? It did not make sense.

And then, thanks to Mr. Chakhtoura and Marwan Charbel, I came back to my senses.

I want to leave the country I have learned to understand, the city I have grown to love, the people with whom I have spent my life because of them.

I think that fighting back can change something but how absurd is it? To fight for a justice that is given to me elsewhere? To fight for rights that are as basic as the ones we are fighting for?

At the end of the day, I am just checking another box on my calendar, another number on my countdown.

“The Motherland don’t love you. The Fatherland don’t love you. So why love anything?” (Vampire Weekend – Ya Hey)

But then I read this:

“Think about the experiences of marginalization, oppression, and violence you may have lived though, and learn about the ones you haven’t. Take your time to realize what kind of world you’re living in. In whatever way you can, learn to fight back”

            Discrimination only fuels your power to stand up for what you believe in. The world we live in is far from being even close to perfect and for an Idealist like me, it is every man’s duty to help it reach this utopia.

            Fight, fight back, in whatever way you can.

Marathon for Equality.

I can't stop stressing about how important it is to raise your voice, to speak out.
It helps you let go of your emotions and lets others identify to your story. 
Now is the perfect time to do so.

Join the Marathon for Equality!

If you're short on inspiration, just read what happened in Dekwaneh again and let that anger control your fingers. Write about homophobia, the LGBT community in Lebanon. Share anything you feel like sharing.
If you still can't find inspiration, think about food! (It seems to always work for me...) The three submissions with the highest number of "Likes" will win a dinner for two at Bardo.
Once you're done, send your article to raynbow.org@gmail.com to share it on the LebIDAHO website and the Lebanese LGBT Monitor.

Winners will be announced on the 17th of May, the International Day Against Homophobia.

Don't forget to spread the word. Use the hashtags #LebLGBT and #DekAbuse.

A Call to Arms

We are scared because the law is not on our side.
We hide because the law is not on our side.
We pretend to be someone we're not, we live this double life alternating between the person everyone wants us to be and the person we really are. We live for those couple of hours every week during which we can be true to ourselves, whether it is by writing in our diary, on our blog or spending the night in a gay club. But eventually, we go back to hiding our true identity because the law is not on our side.
We try to fight, we do it in secret, behind our mask, our anonymity. But we quickly lose hope because our efforts are fruitless in a country like this one, where traditions are so rooted into everyone's mind that even the most logic reasoning cannot budge it. We stop trying, eventually, because the law is not on our side.

Now, thanks to Antoine Chakhtoura, the law is on our side. For once we can fight back with confidence and hope because every single decision he took was wrong and illegal.
And for that Mr. Chakhtoura has my sincere gratitude.

His accusations had no proof and he refused to investigate.
His raid and his closing down were illegal.
His arrests and his questionings were illegal.
His verbal, physical and sexual abuses against  Lebanese citizens were illegal.

Everything he did was morally and professionally wrong.
Fighting back became so easy.
This is why I am asking each and everyone of you to join us. Spread the word, raise your voice: tweet, blog everything that passes through your mind with the hashtags #LebLGBT and #DekAbuse and we will share what you have to say.

What happened in Dekwaneh last week? Read the article on NOW Lebanon.

Share this flag & spread the word!

A Transition

This is how my life feels right now. This totally useless phase you have to go through even if you don’t know why.

You have to sort all your possessions in three different categories. The things you want to take, the things you want to leave for later in life and the things you will never need.

You have to sort your memories in your mind. Forget and let go of all the boring details of your past but cherish the moments that shaped you, let them leave their scar.

You have to sort the people around you. The ones who don’t need to know where you’re going and what you’re going to do, the ones who need only a simple goodbye and the ones you have to spend as much time as you can with because you can’t really say goodbye.

But there is the laziness, this complete and utter indifference that you feel towards your duties.

So you do nothing.

You go back to your calendar.

27^th of March. Four months, twenty days left.

Go back to square one and repeat for the next 143 days.

The Siblings

The sister: “Oh really? I’ve known for two years! Oh, and I kind of read your blog…”

The brother: “Wow. So you like dicks as much as I like pussies…. That’s weird! Oh and, you know that half my friends are gay, that’s cool… Oh and, you know that you should always protect yourself… Oh and, you know that… “
(Yeah, we might have been both drunk at the time. It was a fun conversation)

When your brother is the person you always set as a role model, when your sister is an inspiration to you, when you have siblings who love you that much, I feel stupid for taking that long to come out to them.
Now, whenever my father starts with his hate speeches, I will have someone to look after me, someone to prove that everything my father believes is wrong, someone to act…

An Ode to Beirut

Beirut is every old building, every skyscraper. Beirut hides in every dark corner, every lost street, and every spooky alley. Beirut has a thousand ways to reach the same destination; it is a maze of stairs, sidewalks and highways linking every corner of the city to the other. Beirut is in the street art, from the shocking statements to the sweet messages on the walls; it is the colorful posters and ads; it is the face of a martyr standing in front of his flag.

Beirut is the laundry on the balconies, the laundry on the rooftops. Beirut is the electric cables bursting out of random places. Beirut is the coffee shops, the library, the supermarket, the butcher’s and the mall.

Beirut is the minaret and the church bell.

Beirut learns to ignore the fact that it woke up to the sound of a dozen cars honking simultaneously. Beirut is the never-ending constructions.

Beirut watches the sunrise behind the cement jungle as it’s waiting for the school bus. Beirut is the smell of coffee in the streets and the sound of two coffee cups thumping against each other at 6AM.

Beirut watches the sunset at the waterfront, waiting for the grey polluted sky to turn red. Beirut is the blinking lights of the boats leaving the port, the deafening sound of the planes landing in the airport.

Beirut is the sound of thousands of generators buzzing three hours a day. Beirut takes electricity cuts into consideration while scheduling its day. Beirut gets out of the most relaxing shower even if the water stopped running just after it poured shampoo on its hair.

Beirut is the cursing of an angry man at the TV every day at 8PM. Beirut loves being a mess and makes everyone talk about it. Beirut is a drama queen.

Beirut is every glass of alcohol poured on a Saturday night; Beirut is the cigarette smoke rising until it reaches the moon.

Beirut never sleeps because Beirut can never do everything it has planned.

Beirut is the old man, smoking his arguileh, playing tawleh in the middle of the road. Beirut is the fake boobs, the fake ass, the fake nose, walking besides a lost child in downtown. Beirut is the veiled woman and her almost naked friend.  Beirut knows all about the cab driver’s life after a 10-minute ride. Beirut is the neighbor and his son, the cousin and her dog, the co-worker and his girlfriend, the hairdresser and his mom, the old high-school friend and her husband; Beirut is a family.

But Beirut doesn’t need people’s company: Beirut just needs the city.

Beirut is my best friend drinking a bottle of wine on the sidewalk and laughing her ass off at something that doesn’t even matter. Beirut is my lover smiling and making me forget everything around me.

Beirut is the city you cannot explain, the experience you cannot share. Beirut is the place you can’t shake off your head.

Beirut will always be here, but you won’t. Beirut won’t miss you, but you will. Beirut creates, but you follow. Beirut happens, but you are. Beirut doesn’t need you, but you do.

Beirut is where you were; Beirut is where you are.

Beirut isn’t where you will be.

This is why you crave it so much.

Because Beirut is where you will always want to be.

Optimism

My day started with an email from my dad giving a very homophobic and insulting point of view about same-sex marriage.

Luckily, I have learned to be immune to all this and forgot all about it when I came back from school.

However, as I was having dinner with my family, something about gay marriage came up on the news. So my dad had to ask us if we received his hilarious email. I didn’t answer because I was not in the mood to have this talk again, but oh no, he insisted.

So he starts saying the exact same things he has been saying for 5 years about the bible, god and society to then turn to polygamy, pedophilia or whatever.

I didn’t give him any attention until I realized he was not saying what I expected him to say.

He was talking about freedom, freedom to live your life as you wish. He was saying that two men or two women could love each other.

I just wanted to shake him and ask him what the hell he smoked, drank or inhaled... until he decided to give his opinion about adoption. Did I ever mention that he didn’t believe in evolution? So he went on and on about how god created a man and a woman and each of them have a role in the child’s upbringing.

My sister and I gave up ten minutes later. You just can’t argue with a man who believes the universe was created in seven days.

But I was smiling. I was happy because two years ago my father didn’t even believe that two people of the same sex could love each other, because two years ago he wouldn’t even listen to us when we tried to talk to him about it.

This is when I remembered what my sister told me a couple of weeks ago:

“I’m trying to get dad used to the idea that you might be gay, to help you come out to him.”

She did a great job and I love her for it. 

Grandma's Tea Party

I'm more of a coffee person but this kind of tea party looks pretty fun.

You know the feeling when you discover a new awesome band and they only have around 2,000 likes on Facebook and you think it's really unfair because they're awesome so you want everyone to know who they are because they deserve it?
Well, this is exactly what I'm feeling right now so I'm sharing Grandma's Tea Party's music as much as I can!

A Wise Man Told Me and Lyrebird are my favorites but the whole EP is really great and has been on repeat since Tuesday.

Check their music on Soundcloud!

Humans of the World

I have been tweeting about Brandon Stanton's Humans of New York for months now but some things are too good to be shared on Twitter exclusively.
When I really like something it ends up on every social network page I own, so here we go.

This TEDx Talk was given at Columbia and these truly were the most inspiring 15 minutes of my life.
If I could sum it all up, it's  about how the media is a business like any other: it shows you what you want to see.
We all know that deep down but never try to see the other side of the story. This is where Brandon's portraits come in.

Now what do you think about when I say "Lebanon"?
Kids playing in the souks? An old lady walking in the streets of Ashrafieh? A man and his tarboosh selling kaak or coffee on the street?

Well, this is exactly the kind of pictures you will find on Humans of Lebanon. This is how you know the people behind it failed to grasp HONY's idea which they were apparently inspired by.
I hope the page is going to evolve and show more of the Lebanon we do not know.

Don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to see a portrait on my Facebook timeline. Humans are awesome no matter what.

The Year of Karim

I take New Year resolutions very seriously.

2012 was all about discovering my world and trying new things.
Since all my friends felt like leaving Lebanon at the same exact moment this summer, I was left alone in Beirut. This is how I discovered the city, by walking aimlessly in the streets with my laptop and a book. I got lost quite often but it was worth it. The camping and the hiking also helped since I got to discover the hidden beauty of the lost and abandoned wonders of Lebanon.
The year was also full of first times, things I never imagined would have happened. And I don't regret a thing.

And here comes 2013, the year during which I graduate from high-school. It is already meant to be amazing so I thought of the perfect resolution: Build unforgettable memories.
So when my friend got me an awesome Polaroid, I immediately started taking pictures of everything we do, whenever we go out. The plan is to fill a whole wall with these.

Also, luck seems to be on my side.
Yesterday, we had the traditional New Year lunch at our place with the whole family (and by that I mean no less than 50 people). So, like every year, mom hides 3 coins in her famous and delicious kebbeh arnabiyyeh and look what I found in my plate...

This means that 2013 is going to be as awesome as expected!