July 1991

Beluse and I went for a drive in one of his cars on country roads. We had the top down. The scenery was beautiful but Beluse annoyed me by acting as if I'd never seen anything like it. He's so arrogant, and condescending to mom. For instance, when I asked him how his Jaguar got the scratch on the side door he went into a tailspin about having told mom not to put stuff near the cars in the garage, and blah, blah, fucking shit blah! When we got back Beluse's friends were waiting for him. They set up their band in the living room while others started to arrive, and played Persian and Assyrian songs. It was great. Mom laughed a lot. Beluse has a good voice. They made me sing, too. I sneaked into the backyard occasionally to smoke and read Maggie and Kelly's letters. Missed Bell's twenty-first birthday and dad's fiftieth.

I visited with my uncle Sam today- mom's younger brother, the black sheep of the family. He's thirty-eight and has been disowned by the family many times over the years. He was once married for a month when he beat his new wife because she wanted to work. He lives just a few blocks away from here. The visit was saddening and uncomfortable. He lectured me on life and warned me about the evils of the world. As bad as I feel for him I stay away from him because he's morbid and scares me. Why did he bring up homosexuality? Has he wondered about me? He said that gays are not normal and told me to try and never become one. I told him that I have homo friends, that I don't judge people that way, came up with a whole angel-boy deal. Of course I didn't expect to change his views, and didn't. I was anxious to leave. Got a funny letter from Melisa. Talked to dad when out of the blue and uncomfortably he asked, "Did you say yesterday that you've changed?" I felt anger and pain, wanted to kill and wanted to die. I snapped that I had said no such thing and done nothing of the sort. I was cold. He still believes that by sending me here for the whole summer that I will turn straight. Ignorance pisses me off! I thought of what Sam had said earlier, that "they" are more common in certain fields, like fashion design, and places like San Francisco. I let him know that "they" are everywhere and have always been, that we just don't know it. Being here really makes me see the clash between my Assyrian upbringing and my American and liberal lifestyle. Assyrians are more sever than Americans in their homophobia. I learned a lot about myself today talking to Sam. I guess this trip's not a total waste. Temperatures rose to 105 degrees today. We were dying.

I feel like I'm wasting my last summer as a kid here. Shit! Shit! Shit! Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! It's hot and supposed to get hotter. People are actually dying from the heat. I'm bored out of my mind, yet don't want to say anything to mom about it and upset her. I hate to sound so ungrateful, but I daydream that I take the first flight out of here.

Beluse calls mom "dummy"! I would say something but mom's asked me not to bud in. Asshole! I was alone and listening to people set off fireworks outside when I got chills thinking how much faith I have in humankind.

Last night we had company and I joined in the conversation. I said that it's best to live for today, eat what you want, enjoy life, and Beluse said in front of everyone, "O.k. teacher." I stayed calm because of company, 'I'm not a teacher. I'm just sharing my opinion.' He has something to say about everything mom does. Treats her like a child. God, he pisses me off! Mr. Know-it-all struck again: mom was having trouble with the vacuum cleaner when he sauntered on over there, fixed it, and gave mom a look that said, "There. That's what you do." Mom and I looked at each other and laughed. So, I sang. Now it's almost two in the morning. Mom and I went to the Red Lion Hotel in Modesto- the town just north of here. There were a lot of Assyrians there because of a wedding and two other social parties. I have such mixed feelings about my own people. It's like I'm happy to see them but can't trust them, or get too close. Homer and his wife were there. I remember them from Iran. Homer's one of dad's oldest friends from Shiraz in the seventies, where I was born. Homer's always drunk. Why must I feel like I have something to prove when I'm around Assyrians? I lead a deeply fulfilling life with my friends back in Chicago. I think there's still a part of myself I need to find. Some missing piece. Become comfortable with myself and all that I possess. The characters in the book I'm reading, poetry, friends, our lives, my dreams, everything is stirring inside me tonight.

Josephine, the woman I entertained while mom was out, came over today. She's taking a typing class at the college. She thinks her typing instructor is "different" because she leans in too closely when Josephine asks for help. Josephine was so serious when she talked about this. It was funny. And as I watched her I understood why a lesbian would be attracted to her. Josephine is cute in a lesbian kind of way. She's got short blond hair and a nice figure. And she always wears pants! I tried so hard not to laugh.

I want it all and that's not realistic.

Mom and I are in the Bay Area, visiting Jackie and Mom-Suzie in Novato where they own and run a rest home. Jackie should learn to stay out of my business. When mom and I got into an argument Jackie said, "You're rude and everyone knows it!" Well, cunt, no body knows me. They don't even know half of it!!!

The four of us went to San Francisco. Jackie, Mom-Suzie, mom, and I walked along Union Street window-shopping. Jackie and I aren't really speaking. Life continues to bring changes. I realized today that I miss dad. I hope I'm good to him when I go back. I feel older.

I'm not dealing with my emotions in a mature fashion. I'm paranoid. I feel like my family's my enemy. I should respect our differences, yet I hold it against them. I mean it's not their fault that I am who I am. I should take it easy. I had a dream that thousands of children of all ethnicities were running into the ocean where killer whales feasted on them. I was among them. There were body parts floating in the bloody waters. Mom and I drove back to Turlock today. In the car I apologized to mom for having been an asshole and told her that I love her, and was happy to be in California. It was hard, but it all came out. It's hard for me to be expressive with my family. She didn't say anything. I had the feeling that she didn't believe me.

Life is just starting, I guess. All I want from life is satisfaction, knowledge, positivity, and certainly no regrets. I want to enjoy every day for what it is, and to face whatever comes my way. I want to live life. Taste it. I want to love my family right now, not when they're dead and buried. I don't want to get lost in time and the speed it goes by in. I want to find God again like I knew Him as a child, with innocence. I want to let go of what needs to be let go. Life is scary and beautiful. I hope I never experience utter loneliness. I want to write a book. It doesn't matter if it gets published. I want to write throughout my life. Then there's music and art. Then there's the homosexuality. I am gay; I may as well come to like it. Otherwise, destroy myself. In movies they make homosexuality look so queer, so dramatic. In reality it's not a person with a lisp and a limp wrist. It's me. I think of friends. I think of my entire family. I think of experiences and things said years ago. I think of the village where my father grew up. I think of my parents' parties in Iran. I think of childhood, of playing in the dirt. Did I know it then that I would be writing inside my mother's husband's house? Did I know there would be a New Year's Eve orgy? Voltaire with Maggie? My obsession with Santi? Having sex? Getting drunk and stoned? Seeing my mother only in the summertime? Cancer seems so small right now. Death doesn't matter. Only looking back, looking deeply. So much to be grateful for. Hit yourself over the head for. And laugh at. So much to hate myself for. Things I wasted my time on- like what Maggie said, what Melisa did or did not do. Such shallow things. I see now that back home I've gotten myself too deeply into things, like friends and blaming dad's drinking for everything.

I feel like 'haramid mama veedone.' Like I've spoiled this visit for mom. But life goes on.

Today I heard a story about an Arab woman in L.A. who sees and talks to the Virgin Mary. Yes, crazy perhaps, but I can believe it. They say that olive oil drips from her many statues of the Virgin. There's nothing in this for the woman herself, she doesn't profit from her claims; she doesn't even accept gifts or flowers. I remember an old woman in Iran who claimed she saw angels. It's just so hard to believe living in a world that is so logical and materialistic, where everything has to be tangible.

Mom said something emotional today for the first time this entire visit. Something that I think was very hard for her to say. "I'll miss you when you go." What do you say back to this? We just went for a walk and talked and laughed. Stayed up late reading and drawing.

Went to a small humble church with mom and Josephine. We lit electric candles. I prayed. Josephine never struck me as the religious type but today I saw a different side of her. She kissed and touched the little statues of the Virgin Mary. I just reflected. I believe in God, not gold crucifixes on gold chains or statues. Today I really thought about religion. I'm scared of losing touch with God. It's so easy to do here in America. Most people, it takes them a lifetime to find that faith. Mom and I were at a drugstore and I was kind of dancing to the music they played. She told me to stop. I was offended. As a human being I feel so chained down, kept from the freedom of living in the moment. There was a man mopping the floor. I turned to him, 'I feel like dancing. Is there anything wrong with that?' He laughed, "I'm not gonna say anything to that." Anyway, I spent ten minutes arguing with mom about this.

Today I'm leaving for L.A. with one of dad's relatives and her daughters. I realize that I've written in this journal every night since August '89, but now I'm about to break that tradition by leaving this notebook here. I won't have the privacy there. Too many people in a two-bedroom apartment. I feel bad for leaving this journal behind. It's been a sort of a friend when there's no one else to talk to. I write to an imagined friend. I don't know who else would ever read this someday.