Back again. Way later in the day. Slept from noon to about 5pm. It’s finally cool enough to venture out again. Prepping for my evening adventures with a double espresso and cooling undereye mask. I feel better already.

Decided to book myself an appointment at the hammam for tonight since I feel so awful from the jet-lag. I’ve never been to one before. I have no idea what to expect. They had a special offer available, so I decided to just book that. I guess it’s a scrub and a massage? I’ve never had a (professional) massage or a facial or a scrub. I’ve actually never been to a spa in general, which seems strange, but I either never had the time or money before. At least my first experience will be first-class.

Admittedly, I am a little nervous that the massage therapist is male. I’m trying to make myself feel better about it two ways: maybe he’s gay and living in the closet and working in a spa is his way of living his best life? Or, you know, like, hey Betsey, remember all those times you gave out luxury massages to guys for free, like your little Holidate Guy? Did you get anything in return from that? No. So, if men are okay with using any random woman off the street as an unpaid massage therapist and throwing them back out when they’re done, why are you so nervous about paying a professional to do his job in a respectful manner?

I guess the reason is that I’ve become so accustomed to “bad touch” from men that I cannot comprehend what “good touch” is like. It’s hard not to be nervous. I’m afraid that I’ll randomly be triggered during the massage and freak out. That’s why I’ve shied away from them for so long. I guess this is my chance to overcome my fear. Hopefully it doesn’t go terribly wrong. I don’t think it will. I’m just nervous, I guess. I’ll get over it. I just have to do my best to be respectful and professional myself and try to work through any trauma that might potentially surface in the moment.

They are playing the Call to Prayer now. I think it’s actually very beautiful. I am not religious, but as a spiritual person, I respect anyone who is devoted to any faith. Who am I to judge? I know, it’s a controversial take from a feminist not to judge Muslims, but I’ve also spent quite a bit of time reading, watching, and listening to Muslim women’s perspectives on their own faith. Who am I to say they are oppressed for covering up their bodies under the hot desert sun? They might say to me, “Don’t you feel oppressed being sexualized all the time? Don’t you feel oppressed being treated like a piece of meat, like all you’re worth is your body? Don’t you feel oppressed by the absurd, impossible beauty standards enforced by the West?” Actually yes, yes I do, so, yeah, I can come with them on that. I’m not going to convert to Islam, but I can respect women who make the choice to be Muslim.

Thinking about my father today. Little known fact: he spent a year living in Lebanon as a teenager. It was part of an international exchange program. This was before the wars destroyed everything. He started talking about it a lot in the years before he died. I think he would be happy to see me here in Qatar now, enjoying the best of Middle Eastern culture. Thinking I will venture out and find somewhere to eat something small now, then have a late dinner after my spa appointment. Everything is open insanely late here. I can understand why given the fact that the weather is much more tolerable at night.

All right, I’ve spent enough time in this room today. It’s time to venture out. Wish me luck.

#FreePalestine