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I lived my childhood with a feeling of total solitude that I lacked the luxury of even understanding. When I then became a young man, and understood the reason for this solitude, I became certain there was something loathsome inside of me; something exactly like the monstrous insect that Gregor becomes in Kafka’s famous novel. I was fully convinced that if this internal ugliness of mine took over me, and became visible to other people, it would suffice to see me meet the same fate as Gregor himself: my mother would be disgusted by me; my father would want to kill me; my sister would be ashamed of me in front of other people; and friends and loved ones would transform into predatory beasts seeking to tear me apart, or perhaps throw me “from height.”1
**
Of course, I didn’t come to know all this through self-examination in the philosophers’ or Sufis’ manner. First, before anything else, it came in daily doses—bruising but not deadly—of external rejection and ridicule; of something almost but not quite like hatred. Before I became aware of my entomological reality at the end of high school; the fact of my being a man “afflicted with the sickness of attraction to males;” I experienced the consequences of my failure to perform my social masculinity. I made a number of grievous mistakes between the ages of seven and ten that turned me at lightning speed from a shy or “sensitive” child in people’s eyes to a boy whose strangeness was blended with something of… effeminacy. I preferred feminine dolls to masculine cars, and sitting with the girls and the timid, weak boys in the yard of my mixed elementary school to running around with the strong, naughty boys. I imitated old Egyptian actresses, swinging my hips to dance like my aunt’s daughter more than once in front of the family. The response didn’t take long: my father tore off the heads of the poor dolls in the house after a fierce scolding, and the strong boys at school broke my nose on one occasion, and my teeth on another. I felt a suspicion creeping into the hearts of relatives, and a distress in the eyes of my family as they lauded other children: “How beautiful it is for a boy to be brash and daring!” After that, words like “girly-boy,” “faggot,” and “sissy” were thrown at me; words that make me feel anew as I write them now that they’re marks branded onto my skin. Even now, as I approach the age of 40, I still feel despite myself the shame of that moment, the shame of a boy being the effeminate “type,” and thus a legitimate target of torment.
**
1. A reference to certain Islamic texts which mandate this as a form of capital punishment for male same-sex relations. The Islamic State (ISIS) organization has inflicted this punishment on several occasions.
https://www.aljumhuriya.net/en/content/i-“abnormal”
It's an incredible piece that poignantly captures what life is like for gay men in Syria, this was written for LGBT people in the Arab world and was translated rather beautifully by Alex Rowell.