Like a Love Story

by Abdi Nazemian

And that life for gay people is inherently unfair, because most gay people are born into families that just don’t get them at all.

But his, they are more like the richest caramel ever created. They look like a vast desert, endless, beautiful, romantic, like some gorgeous Saharan desert,

But I’ll tell you what we will never be deficient of. LOVE. We love art and beauty. We love new ideas and pushing boundaries. We love fighting against corruption. We love redefining archaic rules.

We love each other. We care for each other. We are brothers and sisters, mentors and students, and together we are limitless and whole. The most important four-letter word in our history will always be LOVE. That’s what we are fighting for. That’s who we are. Love is our legacy.

you shouldn’t be who anyone else wants you to be.

I think the best-case scenario is to be born really ugly and remain ugly for most of your childhood, so that you’re forced to develop humor, intellect, and thick skin, and then blossom into a supermodel when you’re a grown-up.

“Rumi. Hafez. Khayyam. Saadi.

“A lot of people are afraid to say what they want. That’s why they don’t get what they want.” —Madonna

“And don’t worry, if anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll kick their ass so hard, they’ll think they were hit by a tornado.” “Like the storm that takes Dorothy to Oz?” I ask. “Exactly like that,” he says. Art is my tornado. He came into my life like a cyclone, and ever since, I have been in my own version of Oz. My life was once sepia toned, one color, bland. Now it is a rainbow world of excitement and anticipation.

Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, it runs through the whole Middle East.

People want their villains to look like Freddy Krueger and Jason. They don’t see killers in pearls and tailored suits.

He doesn’t care what these people think, and that’s what I love most about him. I wish I cared less about other people, and more about myself.

“Of course I’m scared,” Art says. “I don’t even know what to say to her anymore. I don’t want to see myself through her eyes. When I think about that, about how she must see me, I hate me too.”

“Because it took courage to tell me what you did,” he says. “And courage to be who you are.”

Just ask them to listen, and they will. Tell your story until it becomes woven into the fabric of our story. Write about the joys and the pain and every event and every artist who inspires you to dream. Tell your story, because if you don’t, it could be wiped out. No one tells our stories for us.