December 1994

Michael says everything happens for a reason. I don't know that I believe it. What is the reason for rape and hunger? We sat at Roscoe's Café and shared a wedge of cake. He said, "Let's say you and I are dating for three years and I make a friend and spend time with him. Would you be able to trust me?" 'You and I both should be able to have all sorts of intimate relationships with people. We shouldn't deny ourselves and each other.' We talked at length about this. I am always drawn to strange people, people who are different. 'Michael, I want to see you again,' I said from across the small round table. 'And again, and again.' He laughed with beautiful blue eyes that seemed to shine, "O.k. O.k. O.k." 'And if you ever want to or need to stop just tell me,' I added. I feel both comfortable and curious with Michael.

The first snow. Michael and I walked in this, talking, laughing. He brushed the snow off my car. When he got back in the car I kissed him. I feel safe. This is new.

Adult child of an alcoholic. That's what I am. I realize that there are patterns in my behavior, that I drink and smoke too much pot, blow off my responsibilities. Something has ruined me and now I have to fight it. California, take me for a month and lose me in your nature and beauty, return me whole, new, and ready for romance, life, school, work, family, accidents, good times, secrets, and revelations.

Right now I don't want anything to do with Michael and wonder why I am drawn to sadness.

I will make a point of not meeting men anymore.

In California listening to jazz. Mom and I went out and got a Christmas tree. I'm eating a pomegranate.

Mom and I decorated the tree. I wondered what exactly is so horrible, so wrong with being gay? Who do I have to convince anymore? Who? Thought about Michael.

I sipped wine while mom and I smoked a cigarette and bonded. An Assyrian engineer who lives in London has been calling mom. I encouraged her but she refuses to pursue it. It feels like we are at last like friends. I told her I am proud of her. We've been eating delicious meals. I kissed my great-grandmother today who lives down the street with her daughter, my great-aunt, Clara. I kissed her because I never do and she is getting very old. I choose to be less distant with family.

I'm having a very ordinary time. Thank God.

Mom's anger at the past is deep and raging. I try not to adopt it. We looked at old pictures of us as a family in Iran. A time so enchanted and distant from here and now. Everything for a reason? Hmm. Does pain carry a reason? Maybe I'll learn some day.

It's amazing what a glass of homemade red wine can do. I feel fabulous. I love that I am so far, far away from my own life in Chicago. I feel I understand Michael more now, perhaps from a distance. The games I've learned to play with myself and others I set aside tonight.

Visiting with other Assyrians where tables are filled with chocolates, fruit, nuts, raisins, kada, tea, Turkish coffee, and well, isn't that enough? From here it's difficult to imagine my other life and all the disappointing things I always end up doing to myself. Mom and I had an argument and she said, "You think everything always revolves around you!" Who knows? I certainly don't like my reactions to things mom says. They're usually rash behaviors I've learned over the years. Mom's got her bad habits, too. I seriously wonder if I'm capable of having even semi-healthy relationships with others. This is certainly nothing I can take on right this minute. Only time can allow me the knowledge and the strength to overcome this fear of relationships. Michael has come into my life for a reason. I've already learned plenty.

Christmas Eve. I sing. Mom-Suzie, mom, and I exchanged presents here in Modesto. I ward off negative feelings toward others by bringing in feelings of love. Last night we went to a church in Walnut Creek where we met many Muslim Iranians who had converted to Christianity. It was the weirdest thing to hear Iranians celebrate Jesus in Farsi. In Iran we had plenty of Iranian friends, and as well as everyone got along there was always an ever-present difference in faiths. Now in church I felt almost shamed by the faith these Iranians had in a God that was supposed to be mine by birth. A faith so much stronger and larger than my own.

Mmm, Turkish coffee as I write. Mom's been fascinating and full of surprises. We were sitting in the light that comes in through the windows in the afternoons and enjoying some coffee when she said out of nowhere, "Your father and I used to drink Turkish coffee together." She said this without venom, without any kind of rage. It was almost alarming, but wonderful. One of mom's friends read my fortune. She held the small cup at an angle and looked into it with narrowed eyes. She said that I would marry someday. Mom said, "Inshallah." I got inwardly angry that mom would still hope, and in the car asked her not to do that again. 'This is not a game. This is my life,' I said turning to look out the window. And wondered just how much pain she was feeling just then. But soon we were ourselves again. No drama. Thank God. Only memories. I feel fine. I feel safe.

In this diary life is like a story. I am safe in a story. But from the tip of this pen up it is reality. Every person on his/her own. It's true. No matter how many friends one has, no matter how tight the family bond, you're alone in finding yourself, making your own life. And that is truly frightening to me at times. In this world I am so insecure. I spend time preaching to myself to be fearless, but I finally realize that humans have fears and doubts, and it's not realistic for me to expect otherwise from myself. I would think a part of my brain would have to be removed for me to be fearless. Who knows what the future holds and God knows I've spent many a night agonizing senselessly over it, but life is life- wonderful and mysterious, cruel and demanding. But there is a trick to it, remain calm and be grateful. Fear comes, fear goes. It visits all and is the unwelcomed guest to every human being. Finished Gloria Naylor's "Bailey's Café" which was excellent. Though at one point reading it I knew that our experiences as gay men are not the same as those of black people. When you're black your entire family is usually black as well and understands your struggle, shares it with you. Your mother, your father, every sibling, and your own children. When you're gay it's a shock to your family, and a disappointment. You're not willingly accepted. How nice to have a gay family of one's own. To share the same experience, a similar history. How empowering! But I have hope for us and ask God to protect me from homophobia and self-hatred. I ask Him to take care of me even though I doubt Him often and do not abide Christianity's tenets.