Lesbian Wineglass

Drinking Wisdom from her Lips

“Some say the Muses are nine: how careless!
Look, there's Sappho too, from Lesbos, the tenth.”

-Plato-

I have heard her story thousands of times; ancient accounts dating back to the era of antecedents tell that she is legendary, fabulous, a mythical creature that many admire and wish to come across. So many legends, so many stories and writings have attempted to describe her, and comprehend her mysteries, yet in vain; none has seen her; none has met her. Some tell she has never existed and pretend that the human mind's eye has created her from nonentity; others say that her story is the fruit of scraps of frustrated desires; others believe that she had existed and that she had the greatest and strongest woman ever, an exceptional lady in love with her body and the similar, a rebellious and astonishing woman. Accounts are different for truth cannot be pinned down with facts and evidence.

All I can tell is that she had existed; she was real as much as I am, a woman liberated from subordination to males, a woman capable of satisfying her own desires, capable of loving the similar, and listening to the call of her body. Sometimes, I feel her alive in me, as if all her elements are running in my blood quenching my thirst for glory and love; sometimes, I feel like she is gazing at me, watching my steps and beseeching the helpless me to revive her splendour and spread her words of love and pride. One day, I was sober enough to see her blood and flesh before my eyes; she was drinking from my wineglass and whispering,

“Here you are, a little child of me, yet I have never given you birth; all I can engender is love; here you are drinking in the late hours of night and thinking, pondering like a Buddha; I know that your path is thorny like my path was, like the path of every rebel and dissenter is. Torture is part of our life; we can never be heroines if we sleep on silky bed sheets and feather-stuffed pillows; we can never be heroines if we lift the white flag and melt in the crowd; torture is the elixir of bravery and intrepidness; the more they will persecute, the more we will become obstinate and adamant.

So fill my wineglass

with your tears, so I can taste the bitterness in you and loose mind, so I can share your pain and savour the sour cocktail making you strong and great. Fill my wineglass with your torments and agonies and gaze in my eyes; you will see them torments and agonies turning into two fireballs ready to annihilate the whole world in seconds, ready to flatten and ruin the civilisations of the blind, dumb, deaf, and ordinary. Your tears taste so bitter, and in bitterness, we learn how to survive, grow and swell; so give me some more and fill the glass; I want to drink with you, loose mind and let my angels and demons free.

Fill my wineglass

with you laughs and smiles so I can savour the light moments and delights of yours, so I can take pleasure in your pleasure and satisfy the ancient legendary woman emerging from her tomb. Drinking from your memory anecdotes and stories of delight, I am feeling alive, animate, breathing. Fill my glass with your laughs and smiles for I know for sure that delights have come your way; life is half-black and half-white; and between the black and the white, we move back and forth, we take and we give, we remember and we forget. Your laughs and smiles have the same taste as my laughs and smiles for you are witnessing today the same pleasures I savoured in times of yore; you are a child of mine, something in your blood calls my name, yet, I have never given you birth; all I can engender is love.

Fill my wineglass,

with poison so I can savour the all the kisses of the cobras you have known; I recognize that falling in love with a woman is like falling in love with fatality; it has never been easy to kiss a cobra, a daughter of Lesbos; every kiss tastes different and can be lethal; every kiss tastes sweet as you ask for more poison. We live by venom, loose mind with venom and die for more; the cobra dances to hypnotise us; she moves right then left; she fixes us with her gaze until the cobra in us comes to life; she shares the dance, sweet dance of cobras kissing and imparting venom till falling over in the midst of pleasures. The dance is everlasting as the music of the flesh is ceaseless; bloods on their lips, cobras maintain the dance; the poisons of love in their blood, cobras never breathe their last.

Fill my wineglass,

with love and passion, passions that have ignited your madness and insanity, passions that have rendered you strong, sometimes weak; I want to savour the taste of your passions in their gusto and fervour. I know that your heart is like mine consumed by feelings and unrivalled sensations; I know that you are ready to go into hell for the sin of passion for your passion is greater than fires and heavens, for your passion is true and overwhelming. Fill my glass with your passions for I want to drown in the seas of love and never emerge again; I want to dissolve in the oceans of passion and never come back again. Fill my glass with the hazardous adventures of your heart; I am loosing mind; I want to loose mind; I want to travel to your world and share it all with you, as you have been sharing all with me.

Stop,

not a single drop; stop; do not spill more in my empty glass; I am no more able to stand to my feet; I feel like soaring in the air; I am soaring like a dove as if I am rising to heavens; I am inebriated it seems; just listen to me for I want you to know that I am not a myth; in me, you live, as in you, I subsist. We are the cobras, the atypical, exceptional women in this world; we are love, passion, tears, laughs, smiles, poison, and bitterness; we are threat as we are compassion; we are power in the world of the blind, dumb, deaf, and ordinary.”

Note: I referred to Plato’s depiction of Sappho in line with a Lesbian culture and history I esteem; yet, in my text, I was not speaking of Sappho but of the first Lesbian in human history whom accounts and historians failed to designate. For this woman, the first Lesbian ever, I dedicate this note.

-Faithinlove-

The Symphony of Odium

Come, and Leave, and Forget Me

I am the maestro; I am waiting for the orchestra of words to come and take seats; virtuoso musicians, words are; they will perform the best writing ever and take souls so high, out of the stage, to somewhere above the sky. I am the maestro and the language will follow the moves of my baton, the moves of my soul, which is swaying, between pain and pain to dictate only the tempo of pain. Music, I want to transform words into music, a composition that excavates deep into the spirits of my audience; I will dig and dig into spirits until they drown in tears, until they die in grief. I am the maestro, greater than Beethoven and Mozart; you do not need to pay to attend my show; my spectacle is free and you will pay, you will surely pay after hearing the heartbreaking piece of music, the killing air; you will pay with your tears.

So just come, and leave, and forget me…

I am dust, stardust; I am made of something magic, you cannot estimate; I am away from you and close to you; I am gravitating with the planets and dancing amidst the meteors. I am the essence of the universe; you feel me in easily; you cannot get me out; but, sorry I will leave you; I will kill you with grief for I am born out of pain to live in pain and dissolve in pain. I am dust, stardust, desert dust; I will blind you for I do not want you to see the glare and the splendour of me; I am a myth that you will never appreciate or comprehend. I am dust and I invite you to come in and try to stare at my grandeur; I will rise in the air, whirl and whirl in pain; I will hack into your eyes to hurt you, and hurt you, until tears fall down, until blindness touches down. I am dust, a blinding dust; I am pain, a killing pain; I was born in pain, to live in pain and dissolve in pain.

So just come, and leave, and forget me…

I am an angel; I forgot my wings in heaven; I guess some demon stole them when I left; I do not need wings to fly; angels soar above; they need no feathers. I am a creature made of light to drown into darkness, and dig into woe for this world of yours is but pain and pain and I have been used to drink, eat, and breathe pain since I came down from heaven. Do not try to approach me and stare at me from far, devilish devils of hatred and odium; stare for my simple apparition will hurt you to the bones until pain cries for pain, until hatred burns hatred, until hell comes down to earth. I am an angel, made of glaring light, born in heaven to live in pain and dissolve in pain; I am the unreachable, the mysterious, the different, the mythical; I am light in darkness and you are darkness in darkness.

So just come, and leave, and forget me…

I am fire, fire that heals, fire that purifies, fire that burns; I am fire; I am a volcano in the course of eruption; I will bury you underneath my magmas; I will smoulder you for you are but pain and grief to me. I am flames rising to purify your dirty souls dreaming of heaven and preaching hell on earth. I am flames that will get you rid of your sins for you are erring each day more and more in the name of your divinities, divinities that created me to put you to fire, to reduce you to ashes, until faith disappears, until madness comes along, until civilization declines. I was born in pain to live in pain and dissolve in pain; come along and stare at me; come along for I am waiting for you to feed my fires with your rotten bones; I will leave your skulls aside like trophies that tell of grief and of sorrow.

So just come, and leave, and forget me…

-Faithinlove-

Lady in Red

I Love my Homosexuality

Love is not mere pleasure; love hurts.
Pleasure does not necessarily mean love as pleasure does not call for any emotional entanglement.
Pleasure fades away; love persists.
Pleasure and love, when they blend, give us the illusion of dwelling in paradise.
The paradise of pleasure and love hides hell and all its fires.
Pleasure and love are worth to taste despite the bitterness they engender. None can resist them and only cowards, insensate creatures flee this heavenly, dreadful cocktail.
So trust love and try pleasure.
Trust love, believe in it but do not die for pleasure.
Pleasure dies, fades away, vanishes; love survives eternally.

-(Thoughts a discussion with a friend stirred; I will not tell of the name of this friend; I hope the ingenuity of the person will help him/her guess)-

-Faithinlove-

A tight dress, a tight red dress covering the body of a demy-goddess stole my mind in a place that I do not remember anymore; a place I went to at night, a place that has no address, somewhere I cannot remember. She was going down the stairs gloriously lifting her hand to stroke her hair gently; her eyes, two bright stars sparkling from faraway were gazing at me, fixing me, going down and up, descending and mounting as she was going down the stairs.

My Homosexuality…

It is so strange how intricacy seeks simplicity, how simplicity fears intricacy and how intricacy swallows simplicity. A complex, multifaceted and intricate thing can never be simplified, reduced or classified. There are always questions and quagmires and I have always known that her descent from above, from the stairs and that our meeting that night would change everything in me from my perception of the world to my perception of myself.

My Homosexuality…

That night, the simple was learning how to turn into complex, into different, into rare, mythic, queer, uncommon and special. That night the simple began its process of transformation, its rebirth, its alteration, its greatest achievement, its real creation, its resurrection…

My Homosexuality…

She drew near the disconcerted and anxious me, the troubled girl shivering with admiration but also fear. Her hands touched mine as she was drawing near; her body was lying against mine; lips were almost touching as we were kissing each other with mere breath.

My Homosexuality…

As our first and final encounter was taking place, I felt something magic, something strange and beyond any comprehension. Her presence was pulling the ground from underneath my feet and erasing the world in its immensity. I remember but her eyes and her breath; I remember my thirst, my mouth waterless and devoid of saliva, my suffocation and the collapse of my senses. I was blind, deaf, dumb and numb to the whole lot and I was drowning in her gaze.

My Homosexuality…

I do not know how many minutes or centuries we spent there, standing like that. Time is relative; everything is relative; pleasure is relative and love is relative. Hypnotised I was, when she asked me if I believe in love, passion, phantoms, visions, desires, dreams, and me. I was unable to answer her, to utter a sound in her presence and before her irresistible beam.

My Homosexuality…

Fixing me with her gaze, she took my hand in hers and asked me to write about her as a woman, as love, as passion, a phantom, a vision, a fire, a desire, a dream, a culture, and a part of me; then, she moved away and pointed with her finger at my chest. I looked; I saw nothing; I raised my eyes to look at her again but she was no more; she vanished like a phantom, like a vision…

My Homosexuality…

To my horror and my bliss, she stole the dearest thing a mortal has as she pointed at my chest, not the heart, but my feelings and desires. She took all that to her world, a world I have always been attempting to comprehend like everybody, a world I have always failed to comprehend though the dearest parts of me are living in…

My Homosexuality…

I love her; I admire her; I miss her; I write about her; I live through her, I see the world with her eyes; I beseech her; I drink her in my coffee; I breathe her in the air; she is in me and I am in her…

My Homosexuality…

(The lady in the tight red dress, the lady I have been in love with is my homosexuality; I know it is a strange way to perceive lesbianism; but, my lesbianism is strangeness, queerness, complexity and beauty to my eyes. For me, it is thanks to this lesbianism that I have managed to survive the commonality and the ills. I hope for better days for me and for my community as I beseech freedom and write truth.)

-Faithinlove-

97% vs. 3%, Lies vs. Defiance

Most of those who come to read my notes think I am a kind of a libertine girl who attempts to make them tolerate the intolerable, profane the sacred, and allow the impermissible. I have never aimed at one of these; all I have been doing was just speaking in my name about my life and my reality. This space is for me, just for me; and those who dislike what I write and what I reveal can click to close the window in a second; after all, they have closed all spaces to make me suffocate; I will not mind if they close a window… Like a little bird, imprisoned in a cage, I have learned to steal a resemblance of liberty from between the bars; I survive through my dreams and my hope in better days; I survive in confinement but I set the power and the faith in me free. They can detain me, but, alas, they can never imprison my soul and heart; I am here to suffer, and I am here to love; love is impossible to take hold of or have power over.

Frequent statistics show that homosexuals make up only about 3% of the whole population in each country. If the whole homosexual community makes but 3%, why do they fear us to such an extent? If we make 3% together, gays and lesbians, then the average of lesbians does not exceed 1.5%; am I such rare, am I such singular? Yes, I am rare, exceptional and singular, and yes about 97% of my fellow compatriots want to obliterate the existence of me claiming that I may deteriorate their pre-established order and transform scarcity into abundance. Never! I am not here to convert them heterosexuals; I am rare and I love being rare, unique and exceptional. I want none to enter my world and I want to enter the world of none; each of us cannot take the place of the other; none can feel at ease in the shoes of the other; I am not setting a border between us; and if there should be a border, I would call it “Respect”.

Tonight I called a friend; he told me to take care; it seems that my friend fears what the 97% of compatriots might do to make me shut up and fade away in the crowd. I have the stubbornness of a child. I was taught to circumvent fire for fire burn the skin; I was taught to avoid blades, for blades may wound my hands; I was taught to avoid incidents, but, I have always sought incidents. I have never been remorseful as I live in, by and through dangers and menaces. My stubbornness is my best friend; she has always been faithful to me as she has never let me down to fall in the grips of conformism and commonality; my stubbornness is the fuel that stirs my life to fill it with incidents, surprises and liveliness.

I will never let me down; I will always stand in the face of oppression; if they think, they are great for they are copious and profuse, I think I am the greatest for I am distinctive and defiant. I will never let me down; I will never let my difference down; I can melt in the crowd and dupe them the 97%, but, I will never do so; even if they love being duped, I will never do so. I will never help liars lie about me; I will never let cowards who fear my existence take pleasure in their cowardice. I will always be here and there to remind the forgetful, the neglectful, the liars and the cowards that I do exist, and that the 3% of us, homosexuals, are part of them whether we melt in the crowd or not.

-Faithinlove-

A Story of Becoming

Ancient Manuscripts of Love

Two ladies, two wineglasses, two eyes gazing at the past, two women, two secrets; I will not tell you more for two mean too much to me; tonight, tomorrow, in two hours, in two days, in two years, or even in two centuries, I will forget, if I can forget, and let, and walk away.

In my dreams, I saw her walking with strangers, and whispering to some guests words I could not hear, words I wish I could hear, words different from all words for they were coming out and dying on her lips, sweet lips, tender lips that remind me of the sweet, tender years of youth, years of madness and liberty. With age, they say we become wiser, a bit more intricate, and trickier; we become; we turn out to be, and all is but a story of becoming, a transformation towards the best maybe, towards the worst for sure. With age, we learn, and feel eager to learn and find out; and with age, we know that we do not know, and that we need to know, and that we know to find out that we do not know. With age, we comprehend that life is but a game, and we understand the “open-endedness”, the “no-story”, the “no-history”; with age, we become like an old tree, an aging olive tree standing amidst the natural and the artificial, longing for the sweet, furious wind, the wind that bring the new and clears the dust.

In my dreams, I saw her, a wineglass in a hand, a cigarette in the other; she was walking and treading on my desires and fantasies, puffing me with smoke, releasing herself from my demons, and sending demons to dwell in me. In my dreams, she was there smiling and gazing at faces, clownish faces that were eager to gobble her down, to consume her body and leave me nothing but dreams, and crumbs of desires. Leaving her empty glass on a table, thirsty for more, thirsty to drink it all, she lifted her head, and looked into my eyes. I was there, motionless, frozen like a statute, like a nonliving; I was there ready to quench her thirst and give her flesh and give her love. In my dreams, nothing is what it seems; beauties may become beasts, and birds may turn into dragons; in my dreams, I see things and feel a lot of things, and I may imagine even an angel without wings; in my dreams, nothing is what it seems; giants may become dwarfs, and god may turn into a demon.

In my dreams, I saw her approaching the marble statute and pulling behind her balls of fire and tempests of desire; in my dreams, nothing is what it seems, love may turn into war, an endless war of passion. She was so near; I could feel her breath caressing my skin, drawing some picture on my cheek, painting a new portrait of me; I was no more the one I used to be; I felt like being someone else; all is a story of becoming. With a kiss, I grew a century older; with a stroke, I grew a millenary older; with love and passion, we grow older and we become like ancient manuscripts, ancient relics that have a lot to tell. She wrote my history, in a dream, with few strokes, a lot of moves, a touch of passion, a number of kisses, and endless fires; she wrote my history with her body lying the length of my body, giving me warmth and unveiling to my eyes hidden treasures. My woman, and I, a woman, were two, two wineglasses, two secrets; I will not tell you more for two mean too much to me; tonight, tomorrow, in two hours, in two days, in two years, or even in two centuries, I will forget, if I can forget, and let, and walk away.

-Faithinlove-

The Enigma of Lesbos

The Battle of Lesbos against the Army of Ants

We human beings we think that we are the greatest in a world where billions of us subsist; we think that we are the best, the only; we walk in the crowded paths of life; we judge others, their deeds and their speeches and play the role of the just and perfect. We human beings we always shut our eyes to our imperfections and flaws; everyone of us thinks that he is an emperor, a leader, a thinker; everyone of us exhibits the best in him and hides the worst in the deepest bottoms of secrecy. We human beings we put in the picture paradoxes and believe in the same lies we tell to others; we seek arguments even when reason betrays us; we compare the incomparable; we deny the very genuine reality; we let down friendship; we forget; we leave; we hurt; we kill; we steal and still we think we are the best.

One in billions; every one of us is but a tiny persona among billions; no one of us is that significant or indispensable, yet every one of us thinks that the earth would stand still if he leaves the stage. Every tiny worthless being of us believes that he is rightness and allows himself to chastise any difference; I am waiting for the day people will wake up from their nightmarish dream of superiority and supremacy. Thousands died in the Tsunami of Asia, thousands were killed in the wars of Iraq, Palestine, Bosnia, Afghanistan; thousands lost lives in hurricanes and earthquakes; nothing changed; life is going on as if the world is telling us that we are insignificant, worthless in our dream of supremacy. Something would change for sure if all of us would disappear; our force is not in our individuality or individual feeling of supremacy; our power resides in our unity and close association, our force is but our belief in humanity.

I climb the Mount Humanity and I stand at the summit to see my foes at the foot of the mountain, so little as they are, so miniscule; I hear their screams, and their barks. Their anger and fury are boiling in their blood; I look from the top; I see but scattered spots moving like ants in the furthest underneath. They have brought all their weapons with them; armies composed of thousands and thousands of ants scolding my name and my being, damning the day I was born; I stand and gaze at them in their smallness, insignificant spots, miniscule ants as they are. For a while, I think to myself that it is so stupid to rally all these armies to fight the single me; then, I change my mind and say to myself I must be so great to make them come in such huge numbers to force my defeat and withdrawal. Being on the top of the Mount Humanity does not render me blind to my reality; I know that I am miniscule like them, a spot, an ant on the top of a mountain; I realise that I am but one among billions, worthless in my individuality.

I sit on a rock cold as the air covering my face; I listen in my silence to their roars and growls. Their rage and their calls to war have transformed me into an Enigma in the land of Lesbos; they have created with antagonism and antipathy a myth, a legend. I stand again and I gaze; they have begun their march upward the mountain; I laugh at them as they stumble and fall; I have no fear of them; I have feared nothing in the course of my life. I know that the battle would be so ridiculous as the whole host is launching a warfare against the sole me. My only weapons are my humanity, my belief in humanity, my faith in love, my conviction that justice will always triumph. All those who blind themselves to reality and differences will remain but ants at the foot of the highest Mountain, the Mount Humanity; they will always try to climb and move upwards, yet, they always stumble and fall down. All those who believe that they are the only to think and exist on this earth, and all those who believe that they are the best and the brightest will always stagger, shudder and go down. Empires fell; civilisations vanished; religions were smashed to smithereens, sects, doctrines, divisions; ideologies failed; only humanity will triumph.

-Faithinlove-

Aphrodite Writes to Aphrodite

She sits in loneliness thinking of you the whole night
She writes love letters that are never meant to be sent
Feelings make her dream but feelings sometimes bite
She knows she lost the game but love does not repent

She sits in loneliness n’ knows loneliness will remain
Nights will never end up; in nights, you come so clear
She recalls the past, alas, times of yore cause her pain
She dreams of affection, and visions sometimes blear

She loves her syrupy blues her love to you
Blues are sweeter than happiness sometimes
Blues will ever be what she confers to you
You left her but blues and tears, and rhymes

-Faithinlove-

I have been waiting centuries before your door; I do not recall how many centuries I spent in this very place and I do not know how many more centuries I will spend here, waiting, and waiting and waiting. I have heard of all the Kingdoms that rose and fell; I have known humans from the era of savagery to the current era of androids whilst waiting at your door and expecting you to open the way. Trillions of suns rose and set down but I have never moved away; I have been waiting for you to open the door and let me in.

Would you please open the door?

I have seen so many rainbows; I have always loved the rainbow for its colours remind me of you; I have witnessed the birth of so many stars and the death of so many others and I am still waiting for you to open the door and let me in. I have drawn your picture thousands of times on this dusty floor and I have seen the wind erasing all my paintings to my pain and sorrow; I have written so many poems on the walls of your home and I have seen the rain washing all my words to my frustration and disappointment. I have sent you so many letters and I have seen all the mail carriers returning them to me; I have loved you so many centuries; I will always love you.

So, would you please open the door?

I have known so many humans, some are wise, some are foolish, some are poor, some are rich, some are simple, some are complex, some are funny, and some are boring. None has ever understood my craving in the midst of nowhere waiting for you; all of them think I should move away, forget and let down. They do not know that you are my only faith and that I do not want to loose faith for my life will not have meaning without. If I do not wait for you to open the door and let me in, for whom I would wait?

So, would please come and open the door?

Love makes of us immortals; love has made of you an immortal in my heart and I am still waiting as I live by my mere expectations. My wounds will never heal; I have had these wounds for centuries and centuries, wounds of nostalgia, wounds of anguish, wounds of love and wounds of passion. My wounds are eternal; they never seem to heal; my pain is eternal; none can kiss it away as I am waiting here for you to come and open the door. My tears will never drain; they are flowing and flowing and flowing; my tears made up seas; they made up oceans and I fear we will both drown in tears for tears are immortals like we are. My desires are fires, eternal fires; I send them away and they create volcanoes, terrible volcanoes that erupt and burn all the living and all the dead. All the mountains that you see from your window are but eternal frustrated desires that stand to remind me that I desire but you.

So, would you please open the door and let me in?

I cannot bear the cold outside anymore; I am shivering with every breeze that comes to touch my centenary body. I cannot bear the sun anymore; the sun has burned the remainder of my skin; the sun is eternal as you and me; she will never have mercy. I cannot bear the flames you ignited centuries ago to confine me to this place and make me wait at your door; the flames you ignited will never calm down; they will burn me the eternity as I am waiting and waiting and waiting. Centuries have gone; kingdoms have gone; mountains have risen; oceans have appeared; many have come; and many have gone and I am still waiting. I do not recall how many centuries I spent in this very place and I do not know how many more centuries I will spend here, waiting, and waiting and waiting.

So would you please open you heart and let me in?

-Faithinlove-

Looking into the Eyes of the Apocalyptic Medusa

Some people like appellations; they think that names have the power to frame identities. I abhor appellations and I think that identities call forth names. I hate designations, surnames, titles, subtitles… Is it fear of being called or is it fear of being given a title when called? I am who I am with no name, and no title. After all, we are all human beings and this is the most reasonable appellation. To cast the confusion for some who have begun mixing up things and pretending to have knowledge about what escapes their capacity of comprehension, I am giving forth a selection of definitions.

A homosexual is someone, regardless of being a man or a woman, who is gripped to people of the same sex and not to others of opposite sex. Homosexuality (Methlia – in Arabic- Kifi- in our Tunisian dialect-) (The term is not widely used), is a sexual tendency that includes both women and men. I like the English expression “the love that dare not speak its name” for this idiom explains that what we feel is, first and foremost, love and coveys the oppression we are subjected to in almost all societies.

A “gay” person, which is an informal appellation, refers to any homosexual regardless of the gender. Sometimes, “gay” refers only to men, as when we speak of the “Lesbian and Gay Community”. The “gay” appellation is derived from the widely used “gay” adjective, which means “happy and contented”. Auspiciously, the gay community has always shown a penchant to the celebration of the self, merriment, joy, and satisfaction. The Gay Liberation Movement of the late 1960’s set up to question the stereotyped ideas that many folks had about homosexuals.

A lesbian, and this is definitely my case, is a woman who is sexually attracted only to other women. In this context, I would like to scoff all those who refuse to acknowledge the existence of lesbianism because denying a reality is the utmost of stupidity. I would like also to express gratitude to all feminists, including third world feminists, for their strength of mind and fortitude.

A bisexual person, regardless of gender, is attracted to both the feminine and the masculine. Bisexuality is not part of homosexuality and is not necessarily, as many people think, related to it.

A transsexual is a person, notably a man, who feels that he/she should have been the opposite sex, and consequently he/she dresses like a member of that gender. A transsexual is also a person who has had a medical intervention to change his/her sex.

An androgynous is a hermaphrodite, asexual, and genderless person who is not clearly feminine or masculine. It is also a person who has both genders’ features. The androgynous, thought as having double knowledge and being born from sun and earth, was considered as a sacred being in classical civilisations, notably the Greek one.

What counts, in all this, are the difference and the diversity. I think difference should be celebrated by all those who stand outside the structures because of their sexual background. The difference should be perceived as a connection, a link and a source of power. If I am writing today, I am doing it to celebrate the ostracized and the unpopular. Thus, the aim is to give voice to the silenced Me and the voiceless faith who abhors patriarchal ideology.

I am a Medusa, the most dreadful creature who transforms whoever looks into her eyes into rock. I am a woman to whom patriarchy has turned the back to since the era of Eve. I am a woman who has been oppressed by all those who do not yearn to see me strong, determined and resolute and escape my eyes for fear of finding the supremacy and strength they lack. Worse than that, I am a Medusa who wants to look into the eyes of a Medusa and is destined to love but her regardless of the sipping serpents that make people turn into stone from fear. I am lesbian and I am proud. In front of all the Medusas in the world, all women, all ladies, I bend over in glorification and deification. The Medusa is beautiful but is also strong and firm; lucky is the one who sees her beauty and damned is the one who fears her power. Look into her eyes and you will know if you are lucky or damned.

-Faithinlove-