January 1995

Went to an Assyrian New Year's Eve party and had a wonderful time. Men and women danced the Sheikhani, holding hands, weaving through the hall. I'm proud to say that mom was the most beautiful woman in the room!

Here, at a distance it is easy to feel that all my dreams will come true. In Chicago they are shattered even before I arrive. Just broken. I worry about things I shouldn't. I worry now and I worry future. How will I manage in this world? I wonder. Am I strong enough to be gay? I wonder. How will I live with the fear of AIDS for the rest of my life? I wonder. God should only make the strong gay. I suppose it's all in one's own attitude. If one wants to survive he or she will survive!

The climb up is gradual but constant. I accept life. I'm going to stop inflicting pain on myself with self-effacing behavior. God be with us every step of the way.

Read "The Color Purple", and of course loved it!

Reading "To Kill A Mockingbird". What books and music can do to a person's soul. There's a storm. It's lovely. The streets are practically flooded. Went to a movie with some young Assyrians and fell in love with them- so polite and courteous. But tonight I feel displaced and disconnected from other Assyrians because of my sexuality.

In Chicago again. Brandon and I had a good time last night, but I realize that I can't live like that anymore. I paid for it today with a hangover. But who wants to be lost and alone? It's better to be lost with friends.

I'd like to get published. A book of poems, or something.

Some of us seem to take the longer way to our destination, and the path I'm on may be a dirt road but it sure is scenic. Michael and I went to dinner at Penny's Noodles. We also went to a coffee shop on Halsted where we read and played Battleship. 'I don't remember Battleship being this much fun when I was little,' I said. Michael agreed. I'm not going to recap everything about tonight like a schoolgirl. It was just a wonderful night. There is still a touch of sadness in me, but I know that God is in my life even though I don't live like a true Christian.

Restless. I don't want to want Michael. To wait. To be a fool. To be disappointed. I tried to read but it was futile. I can't comprehend what I read.

And when I called mom and couldn't help the tears she asked why I am so emotional, and said, "Why are you crying… like a girl?" I hung up with her, up to my neck in words I did not get to speak. Holden Caulfield of "Catcher In The Rye" inspired me to get on a bus without a particular destination. Rode on cold streets feeling sort of nonexistent there in a mass of people. I picked up Chinese and took it to Michael who was waiting for a call from a prospective employer. We ate quietly in front of the television. Although I would practically do anything for Michael I do not know how to approach him, or talk to him about my feelings, so I grew confused and frustrated and left abruptly. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked out. Went to Unabridged and bought a book with what little money I had left. The bus ride home was depressing and lonely. The streets looked so ugly from the window. I told myself to be strong and not so emotional, words mom had instilled in me that now sounded and felt pointless. Struck up a conversation with a neat little old woman from Minsk who spoke with great difficulty.

I'm quite immature when it comes to relationships. I hold a grudge against my father. I have a love/hate thing with all my friends. I don't trust myself. Someone I know says that the fact I know I am directionless is itself direction. But how can I believe this when I trust no one? I simply don't have the energy or maturity to continue to see Michael. It's not him, it's me- I am crazy. So, the next easiest thing to do is to just ignore it, but the thought of being alone, or drunk, or in this apartment, or a third wheel with a straight friend kills me. Kills me. Maybe I should just stay in and write a book.

I have been working part time at Blind Faith Café in Evanston, and last night I attended the holiday party there. Soon I was feeling better. We drank. They had karaoke, so I sang "I Will Survive" and everyone danced. Nate, a young straight co-worker, tried to flirt and tell me that he's experimented with men, but David had already told me that they'd fucked. But I let Nate carry on all night in this manner, laughing to myself at life and the funny things people do. I gave Daniel, a Latino dishwasher, a blowjob in the employee bathroom in the back of the kitchen during the party. He wanted me to play with his nipples while I sucked him off. O.k. So I'm immoral, brazen, and promiscuous. I loved being just an object for those minutes in the bathroom. It turned me on greatly. And I wonder why every day is a struggle to like myself.

Eli's visiting from Norway. She and Jim are serious, I guess. We had red wine and falafel. The room was lit only by candles. We talked about Norway and Iran. Our foreign bond. We walked to Marcelo's and it was so good to see him. Marcelo kissed me tenderly on the cheek and I felt loved. Came home at three in the morning and Bell told me that Michael had called.

Only very late at night can I write fluidly and expressively. Maybe it's that I am tired and my mind is slowed down and cannot get befuddled by too many phrases, words, and overzealous thoughts. Needs are not met.

It's wonderful that after all these years and so many differences Lisa, Eli, Marcelo, and I can hang out and laugh. But where is Melisa? Why doesn't my heart feel the emptiness? Why has it been so long since I've thought of her? I know she'll be fine and that we'll meet again and it will be as comfortable as always.

Danielle and I left the boys back at the studio and went to the diner on the corner for a late dinner. Danielle put a new perspective on things by advising me to take control of my uncertain relationship with Michael, to be more assertive. It made sense when we were stoned. It's funny how my inhibitions are lost late at night. So the plan was made that I would call him, go over there, and profess my undying love to him- or something similar. Soon I was in a cab and headed over to Michael's who had been very nice on the phone. When I arrived my touch was cautious and insecure. I felt inadequate. Some days earlier a friend had brought up the possibility that maybe Michael is not demonstrative because he is sick. I had not thought of that. We watched TV and at one point I moved to talk to him, to tell him just how I feel about him, but I could not get the words out. I muttered a syllable, but he did not hear this over the sound of the television. Contrary to what Danielle had said back at the diner there was now no ball and no court. Everything was a mystery. Still, I should be honest, I thought. I should express how I feel. But I felt like an idiot. My high was wearing off and I felt tired. We went to bed, slept. No touch. No nothing. I dreamt that in the middle of the night Michael leaned over and kissed me passionately. Silly boy. He got up late for work, kissed me on the cheek, and said, "Stay as long as you'd like. Just put the dog in the cage if you leave." So, there I was. Alone. back where I had started. I got up and I cleaned. I vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen floor, dusted, and called Brandon who told me to take the advice that I'm always giving him: To communicate. Before I left the apartment I left Michael a note that thanked him for letting me crash over but that I needed to talk to him about something. I know I'm playing games. I see it, it's clear in a distorted way. And it's not fair.

In the kitchen I watched Lena struggle to cut a cabbage in half. I suddenly felt such empathy for her. I looked at her small feet, her buxom behind, her dyed hair, and something about life revealed itself to me just then. Something small and quiet for which I have no word.

I know I am one of billions struggling and dissatisfied with life.