lɔg, | 1. | a preliminary discourse; a preface or introductory part of a discourse, poem, or novel. |
| 2. | an introductory speech, often in verse, calling attention to the theme of a play. |
| 3. | the actor or actress who delivers this. |
| 4. | an introductory scene, preceding the first act of a play, opera, etc. |
| 5. | any introductory proceeding, event, etc.: Appetizing delicacies were the prologue to a long dinner. |
| 6. | to introduce with or as if with a prologue. |
Before I complete my thoughts about what has transpired, I have to address something that I thought about before so many times, and ties into what is to be told on this blog.
One of the readers asked me to talk about Ramadan where I live. Ramadan where I live, in the United States, consists of nothing out of the ordinary in my regular daily life, until sunset. When the sun goes down, let the games begin! The Muslim housewives within a 30-mile radius of each other welcome guests and host feasts in hopes of upstaging all the other women. The bustling of preparation, cleaning, sending husbands (and sons, like myself) off to the grocery store is heard in the background during the daytime, but the true fruits of these efforts don’t blossom until sundown, only to leave these houses full of leftovers that could feed an entire homeless shelters. Not only is this a time to show off their culinary abilities, but to boast about their children, husbands, and lives. Also a time for the men to talk about what Arab men love and hate most: politics.
During one of these food-filled evenings, bored as I was, did my best to ignore the meaningless chit chat that was not going to bring peace to the Middle East (a concern to the expatriate men) nor solve the “problem” of a Muslim mother of four in the community who got a divorce from her abusive husband (a calamity among the obedient wives). What I saw were families enjoying themselves, a father holding his son and feeding him as he spoke to his friends. A little boy addressing a woman unrelated to him, not even from the same country, by the name “aunt” (khala). Little girls running around and receiving candies from their “uncles” (3amo). As many criticisms I had of how families function, and of these families specifically, they remained families, and they functioned nevertheless, something that I could never have. Or could I?
As much as I’ve bitched about how restrictive my environment is, how restrictive my parents are, how restrictive I am to myself, if I were allowed the freedom to be openly attracted to whomever I pleased, do go out and about and chose who I wanted to be with emotionally and physically and be able to chose what degree of emotional and physical interaction my relationships can go…what kind of queer would I be?
Reflection #1: I’m the father holding his son and feeding him, speaking to you at the dinner table, you my friend, my companion, and the love of my life. You and I - taking care of our son, raising him and giving him the best childhood possible together, living under the same roof together, sleeping on the same bed together, and going through the same trouble and tribulations of life together…
Reflection #2: I’m the guy you see strolling downtown and at the club. You’ve heard about me and my notorious escapades. I impress you with my superficial aura, my body, my fashion, and you wonder I’m checking you out behind my D&G sunglasses, until I approach you to add you to my repertoire of meaningless fucks…
(Hope you readers didn’t mind the role play.)
I’ve explained it all before, I’m between a rock and a waterfall. I’m in no position to choose either lifestyle or "reflection".
As I will describe in my upcoming blog entries however, I think I’ve managed to both be crushed by the rock and slip fatally down the waterfall…
