Mummy.

I've seen my mother change from an artist to the typical Pakistani aunty right before my very eyes. My mother was a poet, a painter, a writer and an intellectual but nowadays she's too busy complaining about the 'beghairat masi' (disrespectful maid) to do any of those things. She was an avid reader of the English classics and Urdu poetry. Her shelf is full of Tolstoy and Jane Austen and she knows all of Faiz Ahmed Faiz's works by heart. But the shelves remain closed and she rarely recounts any poems because she's too busy having the kitchen made. She doesn't cook anymore, the 'beghairat masi' does, but feels the need to have a spotless kitchen, equipped with all the modern appliances that the 'beghairat masi' does not know how to use so that she has another reason to call her: 'beghairat.'

My mother and I used to share a special bond. It was as though we were the two ugly ducklings in a nest full of perfect swans. We never conformed, we just couldn't but lately it feels like she has. You should see how she speaks with all of her other aunty friends, planning 'rishtas,' making bets on how long Shabana's daughter's wedding will last and going 'HAAWW' whenever she hears mention of all the supposed indecent behavior 'aaj kal ki larkiyan's' (girls these days) display.

My mother isn't the woman she once was. Now she's just another pretentious desi aunty. I want her to look herself in the mirror and see the person she has become. The person she used to be would never approve. I love my mother no matter what but I can't help but hope that she returns too her non-pretentious self. I want her to be like me, I want her to remain an ugly duckling.

... Nothing

Not that I've been studying much. But these exams really need to end. I'm literally just waiting. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... Yes, I'm counting the seconds even though I know I won't have anything to do once my exams end but that's the thing... I don't want to have anything to do. And I may not be doing anything but I want to not do anything and know that I will not have to do anything for a while.

I don't want to 'have' something to do. I want to do what I 'want' to do. And that's really stupid because I really don't know what I 'want' to do. So I'll do nothing.

Books will be published about me and people won't even know that the book they just bought is the biography Halal Meat. They think that they just bought an empty notebook with empty pieces of paper but what is my life but an empty piece of paper? I can't write on myself and I won't let anyone else write on myself so I'll just continue to be: Nothing.

Destiny?

The description of your path was carved in stone the day you were born. You will be surprised to know how elaborate and accurate this description actually is. Some call it 'destiny' or 'the will of God,' but God didn't carve this description. The people around you did. Your name, your clothes and your cradle had all been picked out long before you were snatched out from your mother's womb.

Soon after, you were brainwashed with teachings of 'propriety' and 'mannerism'. You still hold a knife in your right hand and a fork in your left. Your parents chose for you a school and you were taught 'responsibility' and you still fulfill all of your supposed 'responsibilities.' You do your homework, you do your chores and you try your very best to 'make your parents proud' and what makes your parents proud was written in the description that they and the rest of society carved for you at birth.

I'm nineteen, but I don't feel as though I've really made many choices. I fight for what I believe is right but I rarely win my battles. No matter how many tears I shed, no matter how much I argue and no matter how much I rebel, I cannot change what has been carved on the stone. I loose my battles because I am an empty piece paper and, despite the rules of  rock-paper-scissors, a thin sheet of paper stands no chance against a hard stone.

I realize now that what I want isn't going to change what I get, but that doesn't stop me from fighting. I refuse to allow the carvings define my life knowing full well that in the end, they probably will.

Identity.

As I'm sure many of you have already heard, Obama has finally affirmed his support for same sex marriages. When I first heard the news I was ecstatic. 'The President of the United States of America supports my cause,' I thought and I did a little bit of extra reading trying to figure out how this came about and how this would impact gay rights in the USA. When I say, 'a little bit,' I actually mean a lot. Eventually, I stopped researching and asked myself one question. WHY?

Why do I care about the gay rights movement in the US? Obama's statement is never going to affect me or my rights in anyway. Maybe I follow the US gay rights movement so closely because I can associate myself better with Americans than I can with Pakistanis. The ideology of the average Pakistani is so different from the views I hold. It's more than just my sexuality or my religious views. It's everything. We belong to completely different worlds. I dream, think, and even write this blog in a language that the average Pakistani can barely understand.

I often imagine myself arguing over issues such as gay rights with republicans on American talk shows but I could never imagine arguing over anything with a conservative Pakistani on any of the Pakistani political talk shows. Perhaps because, it is physically impossible (for me) to disagree with someone politely and culturally unacceptable for me to disrespect anyone who basis their views on Islamic texts and since the vast majority of individuals in Pakistan justify their views through Islamic texts, I can't really discuss anything openly.

I used to feel this urge in my gut to do something for this country, to bring about a positive change but I don't think I care anymore. It just feels like too much work. I have the greatest respect for the handful of individuals who continue to fight to bring about liberalism in the society (Miss Marvi Sirmad, you are absolutely amazing), but I just don't have the strength to continue to fight anymore. I call myself a Pakistani, but am I really a Pakistani and if I'm not a Pakistani, then who am I?

Who am I?

Discomfort

I can't stop thinking about you. I wonder if you're thinking about me or if you even like me. All of it is pointless. I can never really have you. You love someone else and the hour we spent together isn't going to change that. You probably haven't even thought about me after that night, have you? When you looked at me the way you looked at me, everything was perfect. But I can't think about this. It's just not right. I just can't fall for you. It would never work. It is best if I cut you out of my life completely. After all, we've only met once. We don't have to meet again. But I know that won't happen. I will meet you again. I must.

A Gay Couple in Pakistan

Trust me I'm more amazed than you are.

As rare as they may be, as hard as they may be to find, gay couples do exist in Pakistan. I had the absolute pleasure of meeting one such couple today. R and A (an openly gay couple would have been too good to be true) have been together for the past ten years. Their bond requires no piece of paper, no stamp of approval by society. Their sexualities remain hidden from the rest of the world. I complain about not being able to come out to certain friend and family members, they simply don't feel the need to tell anyone. I find the society around me to be oppressive, they are completely blind to the views of the people around them and because of their lack of vision, society doesn't seem to notice their love.

Two men holding hands or hugging in public are norms in our society. Every day we pass such men, never suspecting that their relationship would be of a sexual nature. Perhaps my fear of society is just simple paranoia. Perhaps my discontent is completely unjustified. After all, I've never been harassed due to my sexual orientation. People are unaware of my orientation unless I reveal it to them. R and A live together and manage just fine.

I sat with the two for quite a while and I noticed not a spec of fear of being discovered. Society may be completely unaware of their love but to me, their love was obvious. In the way A would look into R's face as though he was asking 'are you OK?' to the way R's dark masculine arm would occasionally grasps A's fair smooth elbow as if to say 'I'm not that old, you don't have to worry about me yet, but I still love you.'

R may be twenty years older than A, but there seemed to be no signs of miscommunication between the two. In fact, the two barely spoke to each other at all during our meeting. There mouths no longer need to move in order for them to communicate. The two know one another so well that each part of their bodies can speak a language that only the other can understand.

I know the above paragraph is full of cliches but R and A's relationship can be used to make the cheesiest love song known to man. R and A will never know exactly how happy they've made me. I am now hopeful that I too will find a way to make peace with this society and although I have always claimed that long term relationships aren't right for me, I still can't help but hope to fall madly in love.

I spent only a few hours with the couple but I feel as though during that short period of time, the couple changed me from a pessimistic realist to a hopeless romantic.

Have you ever thought just maybe?

I wish my life was the music video of a Taylor Swift song. I know it sounds stupid but I desperately want to tell someone 'You belong with me.' A friend of mine has been going through a rough patch in her relationship with her boyfriend and she's extremely upset. I know I should feel sorry for her but I just feel envious. Envious because she has so much drama in her life. So much spice. She gets to be upset about her relationship while I'm stuck in my head thinking about questions which don't really have answers. Like the purpose of my life. Who really knows the purpose of their life? No one does and it's pointless thinking about it but I just can't stop.

I wish I could just shut that part of my brain off and think about the things that other people think about. Relationships, celebrities or even Pakistan politics seems to make more sense than the thoughts in my head. I don't think that will ever really happen but for the next four minutes and twenty seven seconds I'm going to be Taylor Swift in her new music video. Hopefully, these pointless questions won't pop into my mind then.

With One Foot Out of the Closet

Around two months ago, I came out to a friend of mine. Surprisingly, we weren't that close. I didn't know him too well at the time but I knew enough to know that my sexuality would not bother him. He would never judge me. 

He was complaining about how messed up his life was and how he felt that no one could relate to his problems because other people's problems seemed minute compared to his own. I argued that we all have problems, even myself. He asked me to elaborate and I did. I did not plan on coming out to him, it just sort of happened. I still don't know why I decided to tell him, maybe it was just to prove that I had greater problems then he did or maybe, I just felt ready.

Coming out to him didn't really feel like such a big deal. It felt good and after having come out to him, I came out to a whole bunch of my friends and all of them have been accepting. It was more difficult, however, to come out to myself (I know it sounds so cliche, but it's true). Even though I had my first sexual encounter at the age of fourteen, I don't think I actually accepted my sexuality till much later.

When I was younger (back when I still believed in an invisible man who watches over everything), I, like many other people, tried to 'pray the gay away.' Needless to say: It didn't work. I eventually gave up prayer altogether for reasons not related to my sexuality. I've maintained that my belief in God has always been weak and I was perhaps, destined to become an atheist. But maybe that's not true. The other day I went to the mosque for Friday prayers (Yes, I go for Friday prayers to make my mother happy) and when I raised my arms for dua, I automatically whispered 'God, please make me straight.'

I found this quite surprising. I realized that at some point in time, I actually believed that if I pray, my homosexuality would go away. Sitting in that mosque, it all came back to me. How I hated myself for such a long period of time. The day I considered committing suicide. Why? Because some invisible man in the sky didn't approve of me?

Maybe my sexuality may not have been the last straw that lead me to abandon my religious beliefs, but it certainly sowed the seeds. I couldn't be happy with myself and be religious at the same time. Some argue that Islam doesn't forbid homosexuality but to be quite frank, I don't think it matters. Just the fact that I could hold such strong views of hatred towards my own self due to my religious views is just, for lack a better word, CRAZY!

I don't want to hide in this closet anymore. I describe myself as a 'coming out of the closet whore' to my friends because I just can't stop coming out to them. Each day I come out to someone new and it's dangerous. Homosexuality is a taboo in Pakistan and if I tell the wrong people, I could get killed. I just can't stop myself. I want people to know. I want the world to know. I'm no alien, I'm not an incarnation of the devil, I'm just a homosexual. I don't want anyone to go through that period of low self esteem that I went through. The clerics can hate us all they like but they can't change us and God can't change us. I don't want to stay in this closet anymore but I know that as long as I live in this country, I can never completely be out of it. I have one foot out of the closet but the other will always remain inside.

First!

I have a whole bunch of exams coming up. Exams which will determine which college I attend but instead of studying, I am here; starting my first entry on my blog.

I don't know why all of a sudden I feel this great urge to write. Perhaps it is because I simply am not happy or I have so much to say and no one to say it to. Or rather no way that I could ever reveal the problems I face in public. You see, I am a homosexual living in Pakistan. I am a sinner, Allah hates me and I will burn in hell. Well, that's what they say. I disagree... I question the very existence of a God, let alone the existence of one that is so evil that he would burn a man for being who he made him to be.

However, I am not here to prove that God does not exist (sufficient proof already exists for those who are willing to view the issue with an open mind). I'm here to figure out why I am here. Over the coming weeks and months, I hope to write down the many 'emo-ass' thoughts that pop into my mind. Analyzing them and trying to figure out what I am trying to figure out so that I can figure out what needs to be figured out. Here, I will express openly what I cannot express in public. If the purpose of college is to 'figure' things out, then I have been accepted to Halal Meat College early and classes begin from today. What's the point of studying for my school exams now?