I am still questioning my motives of
being in this post-apocalyptic city. Am I here to learn Arabic? I’m not. To
have fun? I’m not. To make friends…well, I’ll stop the nihilism there.
There is one Danish girl who is magic.
Yet, there is another. A handsome man. My accolades for him run barren. There’s
really nothing nice to say about him, but I feel bad glossing over his
goodness. He helped me with my Arabic homework, kissed me on a bench in front
of the Mediterranean, and took me to a fun nightclub called Prague.
He was prompt in his delivery, but what
he is delivering is beyond me. At first I thought it was caprice, but I was
wrong. Then I thought it might be sex: wrong again. Now I realize that the only
thing I got was confusion and anger. I revel in the latter as it often manifests
into stifled emotion.
He lied to me. told me I wasn’t the one
for him and it was all a ruse. That he doesn’t find me attractive—I’m still in
shock. He called himself an asshole. I disagreed and now I wonder why I didn’t
just let him continue thinking it. Why did I consider his feelings? Nobody
likes a hero, yet here I am.
So now I study and tan and hang out with
the Dane. I have 3 weeks left and I really want to enjoy them. We were supposed
to spend my last nine days fucking and having fun, going to Byblos, meeting his
mom and her cooking, instead we are in a biergarten/someone’s converted
backyard while I’m being told I’m ugly and getting dumped.
I trusted that was wrong. I have to be
wiser, where does wisdom come from? Experience? Age? I have both, but no
helpful juices pour from these sources.