Last night, a Thursday, I wanted to spend time alone in public. I wanted to go to a place where I could sit, have a drink, read my book, maybe eat something. It was 11pm at that time and I drove around, parked in front of several possible places. Then I opted to return home, eat cheese and break, and continue working until 2am.
I could not do it. I feared that if I had gone in alone, that I would be seen, treated, and considered a prostitute. I did not want to feel even worse that I did.
I am frustrated at being in Amman, not being able to spend time alone in public (except at the gym), and always, at all times, wherever I go, I am seen as a sexual object, not permitted to be in public spaces, and treated for what my presence in these spaces makes me- a whore, an object that should be at home, away from this male world.
All I want is to be left alone, not constantly fighting, reclaiming, and insisting. Every time I leave my house I am making a statement. My body in public spaces in Amman is a political statement.
I just want a class of wine, a salad, fries in public without the statement.
Posted on 22.08.2008
6 comments | 144 views
I wrote this short thought/story on November 25, 2007
As I was leaving Damascus behind me, the city that always has promises of love and tenderness, I try to read my book, and I all could see in front of me are your eyes; soft tender in the morning light and conversation. I think of my life as the heroin of my book is getting a facial. And then from the speaker to my right I hear “ah ya lilee, ya hudn el sahara. Let the sun shine over our path, and promise us life, and that you’d take us to happiness." And I smile large and I can hear your voice now, generous, encouraging, and comforting. And I miss you. My friend.
Posted on 27.03.2008
1 comment | 154 views
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