The Overdose...

Sometimes, right in the middle of something, you get an epiphany; an awakening of some sort and realize that it was all in your head - the words that he said, the things that he did... They were probably there, but you just misread them; or did the mistake of reading too-much in them. It's like being on a drug and then, when you think you can take just a little bit more; the overdose strikes. That's exactly how it happened with me and Glasses...
Again, against the advice of my friends, I decided to spend some time with Glasses; I was rationalizing and justifying my wanting to hang out with him by telling myself and my friends that I was doing him a favor by helping him out. But I knew that was far from the truth; I just needed my "Glasses Fix". The first mistake that I did was spend four consecutive days with him, which usually started at 5 p.m. and sometimes didn't end till midnight. He needed help with his apartment, so I offered to help him get it together. I would be lying if I said I wasn't having a good time, in fact, it was pretty enjoyable. As I leaned against his kitchen counter and watched him shelf away the goods we had just purchased from the grocery store; I realized how much of a "coupley" week we had together - it was like we spent four days "playing house". The four days we spent together made me comprehend how much I wanted to do those things with a boyfriend, not a friend. I walked towards the couch in the living room and waited for him. He then appeared and sat on the couch opposite to mine. Throughout the time we spent together, I got the feeling that he was sending me mixed signs and signals about what we meant to one another. As music wafted into the room through his laptop, he patted the empty seat next to his and said: "Why are you all the way there? Come and sit here, I'm not going to bite you." It was comments like that and his offer of whether I wanted to move in with him in the beginning of summer that made me cautious about the things I said and did whenever I'm around him.
After spending most of the afternoon and evening together, he suggested we have dinner in Gemmazeh. It was at the restaurant that it hit me of what an idiot I was... By the time food was served, we had run out of things to talk about. Mid-way through the main course, he started to simultaneously text his friends and ask them what they were up to; flirt shamelessly with the waiter in front of me; chain smoke; and gulp down his wine like it was apple juice ("You sip wine... not gulp it!" My mom once said to me. I wanted to share that with him but thought he was too drunk to appreciate the humor behind it). As I watched him 'demonstrate' his multitasking abilities, I couldn't help but wonder why it took me so long to realize what a big mistake this all was. I was a bit mad because it took me a while to realize what I really was to him... Nothing more than a "time-filler". He'd needed someone to hang-out with because he was feeling down about breaking up with his boyfriend in New York, and everyone knows misery loves company and that is exactly what I was: company. Who else is he going to ask to hang out with him? Why... No one other than single, pathetic, and desperate Gary! Who else was ready to drop everything and meet him whenever and wherever he wanted? Why... no one other than Gary! Like an epiphany, it all came to me right there... I was no longer allured by him, in fact, he looked sloshed and drunk. The wine that had tinted his lips a soft pink hue might have made me melt a day before, but the effect had worn off me. Now, he just looked pathetic; but I looked even more pathetic. I had allowed myself to fall head over heels over someone who wasn't even worth it; who wasn't even remotely interested in me. I couldn't wait to get out of the restaurant and head home; luckily he ordered the bill without even asking if I was ready to leave.
Classy...
On the way back to his apartment, neither of us spoke. He had his hands deep inside his pockets; occasionally removing them to reply to a text from a friend. Once at his place, he turned to me and said: "Okay, bye budz!" And with that he walked off.
Budz! Wasn't that the nickname of that basketball playing dog, "Buddy"?
Budz!
I watched him being engulfed in the darkness that surrounded his building and I knew that whatever feelings I did have for him were now completely over. His parting words were all I needed to hear.
As I drove back home, the bustling streets of Beirut never asleep, I thought about the week I had with Glasses and I came to the conclusion that I did learn something about myself: I am ready for a serious, long-term commitment; one that includes not playing house but actually living in with someone - taking those steps that a real couple does; however, I wasn't going to do that if I wasted my time with the douches I've been hanging out with. As I got into bed that night, I made a vow to myself: I will never allow myself to become weak like that ever again; I will no longer be as naive as I was. A part of me was glad that I didn't act on those misread signs that he was giving off - I would have been horrified if he had rejected me point-blankly to my face.
The overdose... Those four days were all it took to get my dose of Glasses that was enough to get me off my bad habit... Now, it's time I start to detox him from my system.

My Hands

You can tell when some people are either lying or nervous because they give off a sign; for some it may be a nervous giggle or laugh, for another it might be a twitching eye; but for me, it's my hands. I may pretend to be acting all calm and collected, but in fact, my hands would be all over the place; I would start to talk with the use of exaggerated hand gestures, flailing them around. Lately, I'd been trying my best to put some distance between me and Glasses; but, me being the idiot that I am, I decided to see him the past week. All throughout the time we were together, I tried my best to seem nonchalant, poised, and aloof about him; but my hands were telling another story.
For the past week, I had been doing all the things to keep him off my mind and when I thought I'd be alright seeing him again I found out how wrong I really was. My hands they start shaking with anticipation again and they don't seem to understand. Whatever peace of mind I had about him was shattered. My hands just don't seem to grasp the idea that I'd never be able to run my fingers through his hair; I'd never be able to trace the contours of his face with the tips of my fingertips; I'd never be able to cup his chin and bring his face close to mine for a kiss; I'd never be able to wipe away those tears from his face; I'd never get the chance to run my fingers up and down his back, feeling the thrill of knowing how close he is to me; and I'd never get to know what it must feel like to hold him tightly in my embrace.
My hands long to reach out to his; quietly trying to break the shield I had built around myself for so long. For you see, my hands only agree to hold his and they can't seem to let me go... But my hands will never get to hold his the way they want to. We touched, just once when he banged his hand, and once our skin met he pulled away as though he was burnt.
My hands wave to him goodbye, watching him embrace another; all the while knowing, they'll never get to touch him like his lover can.
My hands...
They just won't let me go....
My hands just don't seem to understand...
My hand only agrees to hold his hand...

Afraid...

This weekend we celebrated my grandfather's 91st birthday. As my grandfather (or Dede, as we call him) blew his candles, he started to cry. When my father asked him why the sudden outburst of tears, Dede replied by saying that he just realized he was getting closer to dying. I found it so surprising that at 91, after having lived a sufficiently satisfying life, my grandfather was petrified of dying... And then I asked myself: Why are we really scared of death?
As I lounged on my bed that night, I thought about the reasons people were so afraid of the grim reaper and the answer dawned on me... People were afraid of being forgotten, of life moving on without them, of realizing that your loved-ones might mourn you for a while but eventually they will learn to continue living without you. It's upsetting to know that the world will keep on going on as though nothing has changed, with or without you. It's like being invited to a party, but for some reason you were unable to attend it. You get upset because you missed out on the catfight, the bitching, and the fun gossip that was raised that night. Party-goers might ask where you are, but after a while, they just forget that you're not there and continue to enjoy the party without you.
Think about the ancient Egyptians, why did they build those enormous pyramids? Yeah, they believed in an afterlife; but they did them because they wanted to leave a legacy - something to be remembered for. The same was true about Achilles, the immortal soldier. He knew he was immortal, but he wanted to leave a mark in the world; that's why he fought in Troy, the battle that eventually got him killed (the poor thing did not know that his one weakness was his heel...) We are not scared of death... We are scared of being forgotten. It's plain and simple, albeit a little self-centered too if you really think about it. American poet, Maya Angelou once wrote in a poem "People might forget what you said; they might forget what you did; but they will never forget how you made them feel." I truly believe that that is real. At the end of the day, I really don't care if someone made a million dollars before dying - it's important to know what he did with that money that really counts. Maybe he donated it to charity, or maybe he spent it all on hookers and hash... Perhaps that is how he wanted to be remembered. However, this quote did stir a dilemma in me: If people act in ways to be remembered, is anything they do then really altruistic or is it just for "show"? Some might say: "Who cares? As long as they are doing something..." But it would be interesting to explore the real motive behind their actions, I suppose.
Being highly intrigued with the topic of death - I know, I can be morbid at times, and I was having a rough weekend - I decided to ask my sister Leah what she thought about people's fear of death. I asked her if people's "death-phobia" was a rational one. She shrugged her slender shoulders and answered my question with one of her own: "What's the purpose of life anyway?" She then turned on the E! Channel, signaling the end of our very "philosophical debate" - The Kardashians were on and Kourtney's water just broke. But I was too engrossed with the new issue Leah had raised: What really is the purpose of life? Is there a unity to it all or is life a fragment of different vignettes of our lives, randomly collaged together to give us a semblance of unity? Was everything that happened to me in the past, meant to happen? Where there two diverging paths in the concrete jungle that is my life, and I have taken the wrong path at one point? I know I have met a lot of disappointments (sorry all the guys I went out with... You were all sad excuses) along that path... But I couldn't stop but picturing my life as a short movie montage with cheesy music playing in the background. I'm not expecting an answer to these questions, I know they are rhetorical and up for debate; but I enjoyed contemplating about them throughout the day. "Food for thought," as my cultural studies teacher Mr. Smith would have labeled them.
Death... It creeps on us and no one can avoid it. No one is spared, we are all going to end up six feet under one day - there is no need to sugar coat it or beat around the bush about it. However, Existential Psychologists and Philosophers once wrote that accepting death and learning that our fate is to die, that is when we start to live a genuine life. We start to live the life we want for ourselves, not the one dictated by those around us. I always find the question: "What do you want to do before you die?" so annoying. I'm not sure what I want to do next week, let alone think about the things I want to do before I cease living. I always answer: "Not have to answer this question." I think living life by following a "list of things I want to do" is not fun anyway... It just seems so "organized" and pre-planned".
Death... We all flirt with death... We all get a taste of what it would feel like to have the world continue to go on without us... We do it every night we fall asleep. For if you come to think of it, death is just a deep sleep... And as far as I'm sure, no one is afraid of sleeping...

You're My Drug...

Hey...
With that one little word in that simple text message all my resolve melted - I was hooked on him again. Every part of me urged me not to respond to that SMS, but like an addict, my cravings to see him... to be with him... took the best of me. I replied to the message, my body itching all over.
"Gary, don't see him. You know he's a jerk, he just calls you when he wants something. He knows what buttons to push..." My friends repeatedly told me, but I wouldn't listen - No... I didn't want to listen. It's like telling a cigarette smoker that smoking causes cancer; they know that, and yet they still smoke anyway. It's the same with me... I know he's bad for my heart, but I still go for him anyway.
"It's the last time I do this, I promise!" I said to my friends, knowing deep down that it was the farthest thing from the truth. I had made that promise the last ten times already... And I hadn't stuck to it then.
He strolled casually towards me, a sly sexy smile lingering on his lips, his hazel colored eyes twinkling behind the dark rimmed glasses he wore.... My heart was pounding frantically in my rib-cage, it felt as though I had snorted a line of cocaine. My hands were sweaty, butterflies nervously fluttered in the pit of my stomach... I was high on everything that he did and said, feeling as though I had just smoked a joint... Nervous about seeing him, yet feeling relieved to know that he had showed up.... He was a sugar-high I couldn't be without, making my head dizzy with child-like giddiness....
I'm drunk on him... and like alcohol he made my judgment hazy, making me want to say things I wouldn't normally say... My inhibitions low, I fight the temptation to run my fingers through his light brown hair... I become a slave to my habit, feigning for his attention... All the while thinking... He's my drug and I can't get enough of him...
When he's gone, I start to feel the withdrawal kicking in... My body - no... my heart - aches... I was crashing... Guilt and a sense of shame start to take place of the excitement and high I once felt only a few hours ago... Why had I done this? Why had I agreed to see him? I felt remorse, the same kind an individual who had been dieting for months suddenly found himself binge eating...
Like an addict, I always tell myself that I can quit whenever I wanted; however, I know that is not true... I can't quit loving him. The only way to stop this addiction is to go cold Turkey; it'll be like trying to quit smoking, I just stop it... Or maybe, I need love rehab... I'm no longer sure. But maybe a part of me enjoys the rush of feelings I get when I'm with him... I would rather feel 'something', then constantly feel 'numb'. Maybe I'm a masochist; I enjoy torturing myself, setting myself out for a heartbreak... Or maybe I'm just an idiot...
Whatever it may be... I just know that he's my drug...

Somebody To Love...

Soulmates... Monogamy... Somebody to love...
These three terms kept me mostly busy during the weekend, I spent most of my time just thinking about them as I listened to depressing country music and watched Beirut drown in rain... And for some reason, it got me thinking...
Soulmates... Do they really exist? Is there one person out there for you? Are we destined to meet that one special person who is out there waiting and looking for us? What if we have already crossed paths and somehow missed each other?
Two years ago, I was really interested in understanding more about soulmates so I had done an extensive research on the subject and I remember reading that the Aztecs believed that we are all old-reincarnated souls and that we carry fragments of our past lives' history, temperaments, and loves... So we spent our whole "new life" trying to reconnect with individual's from our past - even our loved ones; therefore, the Aztecs really did believe in soulmates... They are out there and we always manage to find each other again and again, no matter how far and near we might be. For some time, I had managed to find comfort in that thought... But is my soulmate in Lebanon? I would spend a good portion of my time, imagining my soulmate is out there looking for me, wondering what I'm doing.... But another thought came to me, are my parents really soulmates? Were my parents old souls that had managed to find each other and be together? For some reason, although my parents do love each other, I have difficulty believing that they truly are soulmates or truly meant to be together - they are vastly different from one another. What if someone is dating another individual, but has managed to find that one person who he knows and can feel it in his bones that they are meant to be; should he be true and follow his heart and risk everything by pursuing a silly idea like soulmates?
Can we love just one person? Can we make a promise to ourselves to just love one person? I'm not promoting polygamy or anything, but I just think that it would be a lie to tell someone that you'll love them and just them. This conversation sprung up when I was talking about relationships with a friend mine and I was vehemently arguing about the "value of monogamy," but I started having second thoughts later on. What if I'm dating this amazing guy, but somehow I manage to find another great guy - why should I have to choose between the two? Why can't I love them both? What if the second guy happens to be my soulmate, but I do have feelings for my boyfriend as well? This brings me to the concept of monogamy...
I think monogamy in homosexual relationships are very difficult to maintain and to keep, and that's because there is nothing that "officially" binds one person to another. I'm not saying that there needs to be a law that binds individuals to one another to maintain a relationship; but in heterosexual relationships there are "consequences" for breaking such a vow. Charles Darwin, the evolutionist, said that in order for males to survive they need to sleep with as many women in order to ensure the survival of their genes; however, he adds that society "condemns" such sexual behaviors and that is why monogamy is present. Gay men are wired the exact same way as heterosexual males - they have the basic wiring: needing to sleep with as many individuals to ensure survival, but without a need to establish "monogamy", gay relationships are almost impossible to keep.
At the end of the day, I'm not sure whether such things as soulmates, the "one", or the "love of my life" really do exist and that they are out there waiting and looking for me... It's like spending a fortune on Astrology books that talk about the compatibility of different star signs with one another and after a while you start to realize that it's all bull. With time, I started to come to terms with the notion that believing in soulmates is also a crock of bull - it's a delusion that we entertain ourselves with; a rationale we use to describe why we are still single and alone. Oh... I'm single because I just haven't found my soulmate yet. What if we've spent so much time and energy trying to "find" our soulmate that we have actually missed a great opportunity with an amazing guy who's right under our noses?
Is there somebody to love? I'll be an optimist and say 'yes', but will it be a long-lasting love affair? Will he be your soulmate? The answer to those I'm not quite sure. But if you're like me and think that you "deserve to be loved" and that you "need to be loved," than I'm going to tell you what I've been told many times before: Love happens when you least expect it... So till then, just love the one you're with! And if you're alone, you can always love yourself!

The Tricky Question...

We've all been bombarded with tricky questions; ones that put us in a tight or difficult situation. Such as: "Do you like my new haircut?" You're thinking, "Um... no. You look like crap!" But instead you smile and say, "Are you kidding? I LOVE it! I'm surprised you haven't cut it like that ages ago!" Although you may "sugar-coat" your real opinion about certain issues, there are some topics its not as easy to cover up "nicely" with words... I know what I'm saying isn't new - it has been around for decades, but this one particular "tricky question" was brought to my attention this past weekend...
I met a guy - let's call him Curly - this past weekend for coffee. I'd met Curly once before and I had shelved him off as someone very young for me; however, we continued keeping in contact via the magic of Facebook and text. During our coffee date, the conversation flowed really easily up until Curly asked me a question which I had difficulty answering.
"Gary, when do you know you're in a relationship?"
I, for once, was actually having difficulty providing an answer. And the question really got me thinking... When does one know they are in a relationship? Is it after the first, second, or third date? Is it the first time you kiss? The first time you sleep together? The fact that Curly was staring deeply into my eyes expecting an answer didn't make things any easier for me. However, Curly took my silence as a sign that I wanted him to elaborate on his question. He cleared his throat and added, "Well, I've been 'seeing' this guy for two weeks now... We made out and everything... but I'm still not sure if we're dating or not. So, do you think we are?" There was such a naivety in the way he asked me the question, I felt as though he wanted me to say: "Yes Curly! You guys are dating!" But for some reason, I couldn't find myself sugar-coating this time... maybe it was because a little part of me was disappointed. It turned out Curly just wanted to see me because he wanted me to impart my "gay experience" as he called it.
"I think you're in a relationship when you guys agree to be exclusive; like in only see and be with each other," I replied. But then I thought about... How unromantic... How very "legal"... They don't show you in Hollywood Romantic movies the characters asking if they are "exclusive" or in a "relationship"... they just happen to know... I know there are no rules or guidelines for relationships, but for some reason, trying to figure out whether you're in a relationship in the gay world is much harder. It's like trying to decipher an ancient riddle... Are we or are we not dating? And I think trying to sugar-coat the answer to that question is not as easy as telling your friend a little white lie about the horrendous predicament her hair is in... You can always change your hairstyle (hair grows back), but its hard to mend a broken heart...
Feeling a little dejected and down... I was supposed to meet IT guy on the weekend too, but there was "unforeseen obstacles" in the way... So I was feeling a little pissy when I went to visit my grandmother (or Meme as I call her) on Sunday. I was pretty much sulking and huffing and puffing.
"What's wrong? Why making all these elephant noises?" Meme asked me. I couldn't exactly tell her I was upset because I'm gay and can't find a decent douche to go out with... I just told her that I was feeling a little lonely and that's when my Meme took me by the hand and dragged me to the hallway where she has a mirror.
"Two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth - open up... full set of teeth, two arms, and two legs... Everything seems to be in place, nothing missing. Don't tell me you're upset until you've lost either a limb or any other body part! There is nothing for you to be upset about!" She then swatted me playfully on the upper arm. I couldn't help but crack a little smile... Maybe because I knew my Meme was right. I really had no reason to be upset... Everyone feels lonely from time to time, but its not exactly a reason to get depressed about.
The following morning as I was getting ready to head out to work, I looked in the mirror and a tiny smile spread across my face. "Two ears... Two eyes... One nose... A mouth with a full set of teeth..."
I may not know when I'll find that special someone with whom I'll know we're in a relationship without having to ask him "Hey guy I've been with for a month now... Are we dating or what?", but I know he's out there somewhere... I've just got to keep a positive attitude and who knows... We'll meet someday...

Falling For the Friend...

I've always made awful decisions concerning which guys to date... I've always gone for the guys that are unavailable, messed up psychological, emotionally immature - even some that are intellectually immature, guys with substance abuse (yes... I had even gone that low once), and even straight guys... My gaydar isn't always working too good for me... But the biggest mistake I've made so far is falling in love with a friend of mine...
It started off as a simple crush and then it became a sort of obsession - a need to know what he's doing, whom he's hanging out with... I would bite my nails when I send in a text message and wait anxiously for his reply. "Okay... it's been twenty minutes and still no reply... Why isn't he responding? Is he out with someone else? Is he intentionally avoiding me?" Of course, I would not know when to stop... so I would start calling him and shutting off after the first ring. When he wouldn't respond back to either the call or message, I would get beyond hysterical. But the thing is that the reason why I feel in love with my friend (let's call him Glasses - mostly because he does wear them!) was because everything seemed so simple and easy: we knew each other, we were comfortable being around each other... All the ingredients to cook-up the perfect relationship were there. And there is even a corny saying that goes like: The basis of all relationships is starting off as friends first.
But is that really so?
I would picture myself with this Glasses and I couldn't imagine or see myself ever having sex with my friend... Can we really get physical with each other? Can I really see my friend naked? God! Who am I going to nag to if I felt weird about having sex with my best friend? My other friends? These ideas have come to me more than once or twice...
But then I started to wonder why I fell in love with my friend in the first place. What was it that drew me to him? Was it the fact the he was always there for me? Always willing to listen to me even though I was bitching about something so trivial and juvenile? Was it because he was the shoulder I needed to lean on when I was feeling down? The truth is that the answer to all these questions is Yes... My friend was providing me something that I was lacking, but a part of me always knew that I was confusing my friend's role. I was seeing him as a boyfriend when the truth of the matter is that he was only a friend.
Glasses and I would go to lunches and dinners and he would always call them "non-dates," but a part of me wanted to always ask: "Why can't this be a real date? Everything is perfect..." The conversation is always flowing and there is no awkwardness between us...
When my other friends would ask me if I had a crush on Glasses, I would always scoff and outwardly deny my feelings for him: "Me have a crush on Glasses? No way! You are so wrong... we are just friends!" But I knew I was always transparent about my real feelings for Glasses.
Even though I've tried convincing myself that my feelings for Glasses are just my way of dealing with the fact that I'm lonely and trying to make a relationship out of nothing, I can't but help feeling jealous seeing Glasses on dates at Bardo or sipping wine with a stranger at the bar... Or stalking his Facebook page once a day at least! [Who is this guy he added as a Friend!?! Hum... he likes his photo, huh?]
For now I'm trying to put my feelings about Glasses in perspective... We're just friends.... But why can't I stop thinking about him? And Ugh... Why hasn't he replied to my text about meeting him tonight for dinner?