Amman; the Primadonna

so, if by the time, the bar closes and you feel like falling down, I’ll carry you home tonight.

Unbelievably bored in Amman, I sit in a cafe called Books@Cafe, famous for its queer atmosphere and considering the odds that made going back to Damascus in 7 hours from now such a delightful thought.
I have been in Amman for the last four days now and the city did nothing to me: it’s not emotionally challenging nor one of these cities where you see a new wonder on each corner. It’s, in my own humble opinion, a yellow city of similar looking buildings and unsatisfactory ruins that are not to compare to those of great cities such as Beirut or Damascus.
Damascus, that far away city with blood on its skies, looks so inviting tonight. I never thought I’d say that but it is how I feel.
I spent my morning in my hotel room watching porn, chatting with a friend from Canada and enjoying the AC before I was almost kicked out of my room for check out. Sadden to leave my little cave, I walk in the city trying to find something entertaining to do. I talked to a traffic police guy, watched as two guys had a fight about their cars, had an adventure trying to buy cigarettes and had a lengthy conversation with a taxi driver about how I’d prefer not to comment on the situation in Syria before I realized that all that took me less than 30 minutes. I sighted and entered the cafe accepting my pending fate of immortal boredom.
In comes the guy
I know what you’re thinking, here it goes again, Sama. Yet another story of a guy you have a fling with that starts, typically, with flirtation efforts from your side and ends with a lengthy post about your broken heart and uninteresting love misfits. However, I would disappoint you this time. I did not flirt with the guy, I did not exchange details about our sexual lives and roles in bed on Grindr. I honestly don’t even think he is interested in doing so. Our eyes crossed path for a short second where it was obvious he doesn’t really appreciate the attention this might bring him.
Also, I’m leaving back to Syria in less than eight hours so the effort I’d put to get this guy’s attention would be gone to waste. I had my full share of encounters in this city and I honestly don’t want another phone number on my mobile that will surely be deleted in my next devoted session of cleaning up my Facebook, Twitter and address book contacts.
However, this guy caught my attention for a simple reason; he was simply shining of life. He walks into the cafe with fast steps and a welcoming smile that goes well with his light blue T-shirt. He takes a short pause to enjoy the soft wind blowing from the mountain of Amman. He smiles to the waiter and shake hands with him then orders a soft colored Ice Tea that goes well with the lively attitude he has.
His friend and him were talking about something that I didn’t hear but he shakes his head to the left and right as he present options to solve problems unknown to me before he ask his friend to “think about it” in an upbeat voice.
As the colors around me get shinned by his aroma and the jazz singer singing softly on the cafe speakers becomes a diva with her black voice; he smiles, move his hands flamboyantly and mix Arabic and English sentences to a funny delightful results.
I decide to break my rude stare at him and write this down instead. My feelings about this whole irrelevant encounter grows deeper. Lonely and sad in Amman and hoping to be back in Syria soon I remember that I simply do not have a similar person to this primadonna back in Syria. I liked him, and not totally in a sexual way but rather as a friend who can bring light joy to my heart. A person I can hang out with and get annoyed by his attitude yet laugh my ass off to his jokes.
He looked like a fun, simple person that you might need to have in your life. I remember depressing Syria and I wonder if I actually really want to go back there. I smile to the thought that I am sitting in a gay cafe; two lesbians on the side having a first date that looks like it is going well, a European guy is getting his hand massaged by a Jordanian guy underneath the table; a gay waiter with blue eyes is flirting with me and the lively guy and his friends. Suddenly, I started to like Jordan. To enjoy Amman. These people are lost in simple lives and jazz songs; and I’m lost with them; and there; we are Gods.

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