Every single soul created shares a bond with every other soul created, and that’s how I felt about him…
Being a teen, being a gay teen even in itself is a mind f++k. But being a south Asian gay teen living in a largely homophobic society was a whole other mentally unwell space to be in. That was me, basically.
This is an account that I know will resurrect unprocessed trauma. Slim and I shared chemistry lessons. We sat next to one another on a bench, he was to my left, and another friend was to my right. Most days I would awaken excited to know that in a few short hours I would be in lesson sitting next to Slim. ‘Do you get it?’ again he asked me. Is my utter confusion that apparent? Impromptu quizzes, frikkin hated those. But this guy seemed to whizz through the questions, get them all right, and then sit back and read ahead for the next lesson. And so he would explain concepts to me. Fair hands. He always talked with his hands, gesticulating in that characteristic Arab or Italian way. Another time in the library during a group study session, he seemed to get the concept of molarity in solution, but it eluded me. I was put on the spot because in his attempt to explain concepts to me, he was making it apparent that I came to pieces around him. Was that when my latent resentment started bubbling? Or was it the fact that I could not do anything about how I was feeling. You obviously can’t see me, dear reader, but I want you to know that my eyes feel hot and wet. If my tears dared to fall, they would be very salty. Salty, because even after all this time I am haunted by the anger and anguish I felt trying to suppress feelings. Feelings that are natural for all living things to feel when they love. I just wanted to feel close to him, and do nice gestures for him. I didn’t exactly expect anything in return from him. It’s so strange how people can give unreservedly for those whom they love. It’s dangerous.
We shared D&T lessons together, and we were project buddies. I mean, we had no choice because there were only four of us taking the A-level! One project was to assess London architecture. I spent an entire day with Slim. We walked and talked about lots of things, as he shared personal things about his family, his past and even his own dreams and wishes. I remember a few days prior I lent him my DVD of Miss Congeniality starring Sandra Bullock, who played a clumsy Tomboy FBI detective that had to go undercover in the Miss USA beauty pageant to thwart a terror attack. It’s my one guilty pleasure. Oh, that and Mean Girls. Shut up. He obviously was reluctant to watch it, being such a macho boy, but he eventually caved in, and he enjoyed it he said. Anyway, on that trip we were walking and talking and I tripped on the pavement and the bagel I was chomping on smashed into my forehead as I fell flat on the floor. He was in stitches and the only thing he could say was ‘Man, you remind me of that character Miss Congeniality so much’. Anyway, it was Autumn term and walking all over London wasn’t appealing, so he had a good idea to get on the top floor of a double decker bus and make observations as it drove through the city. Genius. We sat next to each other. Sometimes knees knocked, other times it was shoulders or elbows. Occasionally the bus made a sharp turn and I would go hurtling towards him, other times he was shoved up against me. Lord knows how much I was affected. Back then can you imagine what I was thinking? Like why were these brief touches making me feel queasy and fluttery? I never felt this with Habz or any number of my female friends. Sigh…
I think Eid was nearer Winter back then (it rotates throughout the year) and I suddenly sprung on Slim that ‘I’ve got you an Eid gift’ to which he politely said I didn’t have to, why did I etc etc. Religious celebrations usually mean a day off school for us. I have never ever gone to school during Eid as I spend the entire day with family. But Slim said that it was boring for him during the daylight hours and after morning prayers he would just go to school to revise or whatever. This year I had to go too. Mum was confused, like why? Anyway, I was allowed to. It was the perfect place to exchange Eid gifts. I bought him a book on something. And I bought him little brother a magnetic building kit thing that was really cool back then. Slim often told me stories about his younger brother, with whom he was close. I don’t know why, but I wanted to get him a present too, in an attempt to impress Slim. I wrapped them in shiny wrapping paper, tied a bow and cut out little labels from brown paper and wrote a cryptic clue on it to make them guess what was inside. I felt so nauseated on the bus journey there. Nothing else was on my mind except him.
***Just to let you know, I have come back to writing the latter half of this entry after a 2 month hiatus. Emotions stirred about this one and first true love of mine , rendered me incapable of composing. Quite literally motivation for this blog dissipated, like what was the point with all this. Dissenters are still spewing homophobic rhetoric, faith leaders are still negligent of forging a way for the gay Muslim to live a life separate from life-long celibacy. But Allah guides. Genuinely in Tahajjud I prayed for the guiding hand to that which will prove fruitful, including this blog. And look, here I am typing away. Type, type, type. Let’s back to it, much to be told***
I was churned into butter it was a wonder how I walked off the bus! Made my sweaty and palpitating way to the library where the holiday revision session was being held. I presented the gifts and it floored him. The guy was speechless. I mean, my gifts were pretty sick. OK, so my turn. Unprepared, he was sorry, but promised tomorrow. Now, I’m not the same as them other people who are like hey whyyyyy, OMG you shouldn’t, argh I HATE surprises, awkssss x1000; nu-uh, I vocalise my glee and sweet anticipation. In my heart there was a feeling, a feeling that he knew my mind and would take efforts to surprise me. I mean I planned his gifts for weeks, and I am sure beyond sure that he was also similarly preoccupied. Tomorrow came and in the library at break time he reached into his bag. What could it be? An engagement ring? STOOOPPPPP. Purple and red, square, clear plastic film wrapped box, OK this looks familiar but no my imagination is playing tricks. That wasn’t my imagination, but recall.
MILK TRAY.
A frikkin milk tray box?!?!£%^^&%$?????
What in the history of anti-climax is going on here?? Bruh. He confesses he literally did not have time because of after-school this and homework that. As if spitting on my neck and throwing me balls first down a giant cheese-grater wasn’t insult enough, he was like oh I didn’t have time so I got this chocolate for you on my way to school this morning. Does the brother know? Does he KNOW the feelings in my mind right now. ‘Aww, nooooo, you actually didn’t need to get me anything. Really, thank you, who doesn’t like Milk tray?’ I managed. OK so at the time I was obvs miffed. What did a box o chocolates cost back then? like a fiver in today’s currency? But 2 decades later and it dawned on me; what do guys get as gifts ordinarily by way of apology? Chocolates and flowers! I could hardly blame him for the social learning of our patriarchal culture now could I.
I feel like this was all in my head. I mean, that phrase makes actual neuropsychological sense because everything is indeed interpreted in the head. I recall just feeling so helplessly shitty thereafter. Nobody knows how hard it was for me. And words on this blog cannot do justice to my feelings. Have you ever genuinely cleaved your heart to remain steadfast to your beliefs and values? Because that is what was being asked of me. Imagine, these feelings, totally seeming to me as though it were the most natural thing in the world to go upto a guy and say hey I like you, can I have your number? But instead you feel that feeling of swallowing a really large massive food bolus that got lodged in the throat, you swallow and swallow and focus solely on that food bolus and how best to get it down. No water to hand. Just sheer will power not to panic whilst this thing that feels like its choking you is choking you, but it isn’t choking you because it’s not the wind pipe that’s blocked, so you take a breath and realise that you can breath after all and it wasn’t the end of the world, or your life for that matter.
Do you know what I mean?
The Pragaymatic Muslim
Ahahha. Thank you dear reader. Please do forward this on to those whom you think may benefit. High school is…
Oh can’t wait for the next part. Very captivating.
Merci beaucoup. If it pleases you then I will strive to compose more. Please spread the word and invite others…
I like reading these!
[…] about how to suppress and repress the dark thoughts and suicidal ideations that plagued me at the turning point…
The Pragaymatic Muslim 
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