#letterstoanonymous

[yeahletterstoanonymous]

letter to every human with a heart

dear wholehearted friend:

i only write to you when i feel helpless. i wish i could believe in some sort of god to pray to, but sadly, i have seen so much awfulness that made me refuse to believe in anything like that. Or to be honest, i only feel god when i’m with my loved ones, when i look at my male lover, and look, and i look, but i feel a small, tiny, helpless, beautiful god. a god like me; a god like him; a god like you, my dear anonymous, sending me sweet notes and making me feel that my prayers are heard, that i matter.

please bear with me!

recently, the not-my-president Al-Sisi made a contract with APCO a lobbying company that supports gay rights, to enhance Egypt’s image in the U.S. especially in D.C. this recent contract came after the American Administration cut the military and law enforcement aids to Egypt. APCO makes me - as a gay person who-probably-doesn’t-matter-much to their  billion-dollar-company, feel confused and enraged. why would they shake hands with the homophobic, the cruel, and the unjust. i can’t breath. i know four people were arrested. the fourth is my best friend and he’s bailed out, and the sentence trial will be next january. he’s facing at the least four years in jail. 

and because i’m not allowed to ask my-not-president how could he invest more than a million dollars on lobbying in D.C., i turn to you, my friends, gays and allies. we’re scared, and some of us are killing themselves. i’d be a liar if i said i didn’t think of it. J.K.Rowling said once in a speech at Harvard or Stanford commencement, that as she worked in Amnesty International she learned that there’s always a burden on the democratic countries’ citizen to push their countries to make difference in places that are hostile and cruel. 

my president paid more than a million dollar in order to improve his image in the U.S., and i’m sure he used a pro-gay corporation to bring us down, but NO, we’re not down, not yet, and we’re still super gay and super eager and hopeful to make the slightest difference.

here are a few things you probably didn’t know about Egypt, APCO wants the media that surrounds you to tell/sell you something untrue. 

1. 95% or more of females in Egypt are forced to Genital Mutilation, some girls bleed to death. here’s a link from WHO, and another from a local newspaper that luckily has an English version. Here is a 119 pages profile. 

2. The human rights profile in Egypt by Amnesty International, and to summarize it: arrests, and torture to activist, bloggers, cracking down on NGOs and civic-education organizations. Egypt jail people without charges or trials. 

3. Egypt isn’t safe to peaceful quiet LGBTQ members. So far hundreds of gay trans persons are arrested, left to rot in jail. They’re even passing an anti-gay bill. The Egyptian police uses social media and dating apps to lure homosexuals and arrest them. The arrested were sentenced from 3 to 12 years. Twelve years. 

as a person who is living in a free country, you can help a great deal. 1) spread the word. don’t let it stop on your ears (or eyes). 2) reblog this. 3) shares the articles and the pieces i left as references. 4) use this Amnesty petition to send to our idiot president and his clown prime minister. using just your email, the letter is ready. 

[c-error]

Every blue moon..

I'll stay up tonight To watch the blue moon Because no one realizes how important it is to me, The phases of the moon, Except you  I wish you were still here To enjoy this night with me But you're already in the stars With a better view And yet you watch me

As I watch the moon Because no one realizes how important this is to me  Except you

[yeahletterstoanonymous]

dear anonymous wherever you’re:

what is home to you? how do you recognize it? is there any landmarks? do you ever feel lost and scared in there? or is it all about warmth and security? 

this is my home, where i live. this is a tunnel 3 minutes from my home, when i see it, i know i am near my home. i was once beaten up in this same spot; my jeans were torn down the knees and my favorite shirt was torn in two halves. and this is how i know i really am home. this is my home. i often avoid this spot and take a different route, but this doesn’t mean i never pass this awful spot by a lot; this doesn’t mean i never think of it a lot. but still, this is my home. this is where i was born; this is where i cry my eyes out; this is where i cut myself; this is where i lay awake and sleepless for hours, or asleep for days. and when i’m away, when i leave my country, i long for the noisy smelly streets; i long for home, for my bed, my pillow, for my books, or even the tunnel near home. 

i was beaten that time because i was told i was a khawal, which is an Arabic slang for faggot, and i decided to stand up for myself and insult the guy back.  when my mum asked me what happened, i made a mistake of telling her, she laughed and said “well, we failed at raising you as well disciplined man. i hope you learned a lesson.” when i told my friends, they told me i shouldn’t have answered, which made me feel like it was my fault. but i know they only said that because they love me and they don’t want me to get hurt. i was beaten up after that a few times more, there’s a party allover my body, and i was never able to file report for two reasons that were fueled by my anxiety and fear 1) it could lead to be a case against me, when my attacker claims that i’m homosexual, which would lead to anal tests and torture and whole mess of series of humiliation. 2) the charges could easily fall off the attacker because i’m mentally unstable and i have razor scars allover my body. of course there’s a probability things will go perfectly well, like an American gay movie and i will see justice. but part of me knows home and knows there’s no justice for people like me, justice was killing them, but because ‘where is the fun in that?’ they don’t do it. 

this is home. and if you’re wondering how do i live, or rather, how do ‘we’ live? well, it’s not always bad; it’s often bad, but not always. humans are creatures of habits; it’d surprise you the things that you could get use to. but speaking for me, i live in intervals of the intervals of time; i live in between the seconds, the awful seconds; the soft moments my boyfriend and i steal a kiss in an elevator, or when i push him to a wall in an empty dark street and feel him up with my hands, or the moments when he says ‘jeez, i miss you!’, and i’d laugh because he’s not christian, but i also what he means, or the moments when we disagree on some topic or a book we both read, or even the moments when we’re mad at each other but we also miss each other so we meet and sit in silence looking at the sun being swallowed by the sea, or when we make really bad jokes and he say you know what we should do? we should write a book titled by ‘the art of bad jokes’.  i live for these stolen kisses and touches; i live for seeing him laughing loudly, and for a moment, i’d stop, the world would pause and everything would drop dead except for his voice and his whole body and look and look at him unable to believe how beautiful he is, how sweet, how natural, how adorable! that i wonder if he’s real or did i just made him up in my mind. i live for these, and i collect them in a loop, like a prayer beads. interval in physics (excuse my science ass!) is a longer length of time that can be divided into a number of shorter periods of time, all of the same length. the sum of these intervals is what I call time. i choose to live in a different time, precisely, different set of intervals. and this is how i survive. 

best! <3 

[yeahletterstoanonymous]

Dear anonymous:

My best friend got arrested two days ago, probably. He's not even gay. I just knew yesterday. We don't know where they took him; we don't know what charges did they press against him. It's not getting better. I managed to erase my hard drive, my phone, my laptop, and everything. I'm staring at my PC screen, my computer is entirely empty, and I feel I've just lost my identity, and I'm asking myself who I am. It's so strange. I'm feeling so many strange and new feelings.

I'm telling myself that's silly. My identity is in my head and my heart, not in the laptop or my phone. But who am I? I'm a boy from somewhere on earth, somewhere awful, dirty, and unsafe. I study DNA sciences. I wanted to be a great scientist and be the first gay to win a Nobel prize. Alan Turning, Francis Crick, J. Michael Bishop; those are my inspiration. I won first place grand award in my country's national science fair, and I represented my country in the international fair in the U.S., at the age of eighteen. I thought I could make difference. ISEF slogan was to 'inspire to the change the world'. But I should have known better. They didn't mean my world, they probably were talking about their world or some other world I don't know about. But where I come from, it's different.

Maybe we are over. Let's say they succeed in scaring us and terrorizing us. They are wrong. "We don't like jails, but we aren't afraid of them." ~ Mahienour Almasry. They are wrong. They think it will end with us, but they know nothing. History doesn't forget, and tomorrow they will be other gay Egyptians who will fight once again. It doesn’t end with us. They know nothing about us but that we are filth, and that's because they're ignorant and arrogant. They don't know the history, they can't stop the inevitable.

[yeahletterstoanonymous]

Dear anonymous: 

This letter won't be long. I'm very tired. I'm trying my best to treat myself gently. I don't want to do anything; I can't do anything - both all along. 

I want to live, though I think of dying so often. 

Love & Peace.

A friend. 

[yeahletterstoanonymous]

Dear anonymous:

I hope this letter finds you well wherever you are. 

I’m writing to you because no one seem to listen, or rather to listen without judging. I’m writing to you because I’m often quiet and alone, and I’m just a weak lonely human being who wishes to scream and break up the silence. I will write to you about my life and I wish it won’t be boring. I know I could talk to God, but since I don’t understand how to reach him, or you can say lost my ways to him, I prefer to write to you. I understand it now. Perhaps God doesn’t really exist after all except in our minds. We are always lonely and tired; we need to talk to someone every now and then to relieve our chests from the troubles that busies it. We humans are so pathetic indeed. The reason why I’m not doing that, praying to God like the rest of people, is that I don’t really like the God everyone on earth is worshiping. I think he’s not a good God; he asks people to kill each others and have no mercy. I don’t like that. I understand that my decision isn’t scientific, because liking an idea doesn’t necessarily mean that this idea exist exactly as disliking an idea doesn’t mean that this unwanted idea doesn’t exist. The existence of God and other ideas is independent from liking them or disliking them, yet this is my choice and if he really exists he can do whatever he wants to me he is God anyway. 

I hope you find my letters amusing with all of the pain and laughter and the essentials of the human weakness.  

Love & Peace. A friend. 

[c-error]

Searching For Reason

Conscious thoughts become the existence of our reality

I wish for truth

The facts

The desire to be reassured

But I'm given nothing

Nothing but false lies

And you don't even understand this anxiety

Why?

Why do I stay?

And tolerate this abuse

[c-error]

Sigh. Filled with dissappointment again. You can only hurt someone until there's nothing left to hurt. And I need you to understand something. I wrote this for you and only you. Take it to heart. It could help you in the near future.