(no subject)
Yesterday was a horrible night. I keep thinking I'm over it, but more than 12 hours later it still hasn't left me, so I'm writing about it here.
Last evening I attended a party at Haifa's LGBT center: the birthdays of two guys from the community and my personal friends. I really like these people and the LGBTC in general, so I had a big hand in all of it. I was the one who orchestrated the event several days earlier, buying cakes and keeping the whole thing secret. It was something I was really looking forward to.
A little while after the initial celebrations, as the evening wore on, we decided to play a game. It goes like this: each person is to put a sticker on their forehead, and on that sticker is written the name of a character-real, fictive, celebrity or cartoon or literature hero, whatever. Using only yes/no questions, the person is supposed to find out their "alter ego".
I started out fairly cool. A man? Yes. Real? Yes. Involved in politics? Yes, very. At first I thought, like, John Stewart or something.
Is he funny? No. From America? No. Liberal? No, not at all. And a little feeling of terrible foreboding started creeping up on me.
Is he dead? Yes. Russian? No. Italian? No.
I thought: there is absolutely no way anybody would go there. No way would they do something like that. I know everyone here-they're Haifa's liberal bleeding hearts, for god's sake. It's not possible.
For the next round everyone laughed and joked around and played, while I sat there with this horrible icy lump in the pit of my stomach. Then it was my turn again. I wasn't sure I even wanted to know.
I said: Is, is it.
The guy who'd written my sticker said: yes, yes it is. Yes, it's what you think it is. Yes.
I could barely get words out. I said: Is it Hitler?
They all said: congratulations! You got it! Everyone clapped and cheered.
I took off the sticker.
It said: HITLER.
I tried to sound like a rational, calm person. It didn't work. I said: This is really, really, really not funny. My voice cracked.
They said: Oh, no, we're sorry, honey! We didn't mean it of course!
I said: I have to go now. I got up and grabbed my stuff and walked very fast out of there.
They called after me: No, wait, don't go! We didn't know it'd affect you like that! We're sorry!
The guy who wrote the sticker said: Well, I'm not sorry. What do I have to be sorry about?
I made it out of the building and two of my friends caught up with me-a girl and one of the birthday boys. Twenty minutes ago I had really liked them immensely. They said: We're so sorry, we didn't think- we didn't know-
I said: I have to go now. See you.
I got a few text messages during the night: nobody meant anything bad and you know we love you and we didn't mean it. At some point I just turned off the phone.
There's more to the story but I'm too emotionally distraught to write it right now. It's been more than 12 hours and I still haven't stopped crying intermittently; I feel like a worn-out rag, like a dead thing. When I got home I stepped into the shower and scrubbed at my face until it hurt. It didn't help. I woke up crying with a headache and the feeling of being dirty. It still hasn't gone away.
There are some things you just don't do. And guys, simply-be sensitive. Okay? First and foremost, do no harm.
Last evening I attended a party at Haifa's LGBT center: the birthdays of two guys from the community and my personal friends. I really like these people and the LGBTC in general, so I had a big hand in all of it. I was the one who orchestrated the event several days earlier, buying cakes and keeping the whole thing secret. It was something I was really looking forward to.
A little while after the initial celebrations, as the evening wore on, we decided to play a game. It goes like this: each person is to put a sticker on their forehead, and on that sticker is written the name of a character-real, fictive, celebrity or cartoon or literature hero, whatever. Using only yes/no questions, the person is supposed to find out their "alter ego".
I started out fairly cool. A man? Yes. Real? Yes. Involved in politics? Yes, very. At first I thought, like, John Stewart or something.
Is he funny? No. From America? No. Liberal? No, not at all. And a little feeling of terrible foreboding started creeping up on me.
Is he dead? Yes. Russian? No. Italian? No.
I thought: there is absolutely no way anybody would go there. No way would they do something like that. I know everyone here-they're Haifa's liberal bleeding hearts, for god's sake. It's not possible.
For the next round everyone laughed and joked around and played, while I sat there with this horrible icy lump in the pit of my stomach. Then it was my turn again. I wasn't sure I even wanted to know.
I said: Is, is it.
The guy who'd written my sticker said: yes, yes it is. Yes, it's what you think it is. Yes.
I could barely get words out. I said: Is it Hitler?
They all said: congratulations! You got it! Everyone clapped and cheered.
I took off the sticker.
It said: HITLER.
I tried to sound like a rational, calm person. It didn't work. I said: This is really, really, really not funny. My voice cracked.
They said: Oh, no, we're sorry, honey! We didn't mean it of course!
I said: I have to go now. I got up and grabbed my stuff and walked very fast out of there.
They called after me: No, wait, don't go! We didn't know it'd affect you like that! We're sorry!
The guy who wrote the sticker said: Well, I'm not sorry. What do I have to be sorry about?
I made it out of the building and two of my friends caught up with me-a girl and one of the birthday boys. Twenty minutes ago I had really liked them immensely. They said: We're so sorry, we didn't think- we didn't know-
I said: I have to go now. See you.
I got a few text messages during the night: nobody meant anything bad and you know we love you and we didn't mean it. At some point I just turned off the phone.
There's more to the story but I'm too emotionally distraught to write it right now. It's been more than 12 hours and I still haven't stopped crying intermittently; I feel like a worn-out rag, like a dead thing. When I got home I stepped into the shower and scrubbed at my face until it hurt. It didn't help. I woke up crying with a headache and the feeling of being dirty. It still hasn't gone away.
There are some things you just don't do. And guys, simply-be sensitive. Okay? First and foremost, do no harm.