I'm Feeling 23. Not.

I've been asked how it feels to *finally* be 23.
Well, I would like to say that it feels fabulous, but i'm afraid i'd be lying to you.

What it actually feels like is being kicked by the butt out of my comfort-zone and right into the turbulent universe of adulthood.
I feel exhausted ,overwhelmed, and consumed all the time, and I get irritated by the smallest things such as the fact that it hasn't rained yet this year.
My first reaction when my phone rings is WHAT NOW?, and I deal with strangers more than i interact with intimates.
I'm always thinking of hell lotsa things when i'm supposed to focus on one, and end up not doing anything right because i can't give my all to one task.

I feel like i'm running out of time and that I still achieved nothing of the goals i sat when I was younger, and that i've done nothing remarkable in my life that I could tell my children about ,although ,arguably, i still have plenty of time to achieve before i'm forced by social norms to settle down and form my own family. This is the time of achievements, yet i'm doing nothing but study and work, study and work, study and work ,while missing all the joys and comforts of life that my peers are indulging . I'm stuck in my tracks basically doing nothing of significance. That is, in the long timeline of my life.

And I feel that i'm not ready to be an adult yet, I was caught off guard, and suddenly fast-forwarded to this point while I was spacing out. i'm at that age where I don't know if I should be adventurous, wild and free, or I should worry about things such as social standing and financial security.
Don't listen to them when they say that the legal age is 21 because *youth become mildly mature and responsible* by the time they graduate from higher education. That's bullshit, 21 y/os are college juniors/seniors, they are still kids that think their biggest problems is a strict professor or a C in a major course. You become a full-fledged adult not even when you graduate, but when you join the working force and start paying your own bills.

This isn't how i imagined myself at 23, I'm an irritable person now. Often moody, bitter, and outwardly repulsive. I sort of became aware of this notion -privilege, if you might; that it is fine to extract my revenge against bigger things than individuals; I can break the small rules, i can be a disruptive civilian, a rude driver, a nagging customer, a noisy neighbor, a manipulative lover. I don't have to filter what I say. I can ignore a question I don't want to answer and I can say No to a troublesome favor asked of me and I can also choose not to look cheerful and happy so as not to be a buzz-kill. Let the frigging buzz die.

I can be angry.

And I feel angry, in fact, at something- I don't know what is, everything, everyone, this city, life, myself, but it is okay to vent my anger now that i joined the rest of the productive members of society .I can be the abusive, instead of the abused, without having to feel so guilty about it, since everyone does the same.

It makes much sense now why older people looked so tense and upset all the time they wouldn't even look at the beautiful sky nor spend time to make each other feel good by exchanging greetings and compliments. Ain't nobody got time for that. Being troubled became the usual thing, distrusting a stranger became my first reaction, expecting the worst became what I base my plans on. It is so sad it makes me want to destroy something.

What's worse is that you can't blame this angry disposition on age as is the case with teenage crises. For I (also arguably) don't lack wisdom and am no longer young and blameless. But it is the same thing, a confusing stage of transition where you don't know on which side you belong.

Maybe i'm just angry because it recently hit me that I'm actually growing old, that i can't stop the wheels of time, that ,soon enough, i'll start to worry about things such as wrinkles and white hair and poor sight- leave alone all the life decisions that i'll have to make, and soon enough i'll have to get married, because "I'm too young" isn't gonna delay that fate.
I'm becoming one of *them* now, and i can't refer to adults as an alien, strict, authoritarian, uncool, boring group anymore because that would include myself as well.

And the fact that i'm surrounded either by people with much experience and far more complicated problems than i have, and more serious inclinations and interests by which they occupy their time and discuss in their circles, which makes them too depressing to hang out with. Or by clueless kids that seem to know nothing about life but turning up and having fun while leaving their mess for someone else to clean up, not knowing how to take responsibility for their actions nor making actual life decisions, which makes me feel too old and mature for my age group....and depressed even more.

I'm stuck in between.This is my labyrinth. I hate odd numbers. 2 is light brown. 3 is orange. Not a nice combination.

That's how i feel, Thanks for asking.

Hey there, Delilah

It was the Eid eve; our "anniversary"
He called, and i swallowed a lump that got stuck in my throat
Counted how many times it rung before I gathered my guts to answer
It has been 8 months since we last talked
He said "Hello", after a slight pause

And was tryinna sound poised

But I could still hear a tremor in his voice

Just like the first time

And just like the first time
I smiled to myself, shaking my head

He has no idea, does he ?

He doesn't know of all the storms that happened within myself
He doesn't know what I've been doing
In the eternity during which I haven't heard from him
He doesn't know that I threw quite a tantrum
Throwing chairs and flipping tables in my mind saying that i'm going to shun
The slightest thought of that pri-.. man

I tried to forget how he sounded

To blur his face in my mind
It took me so long
Lots of patience
Tanks of confined tears
And mental jeers at my state
Heaps of crumbled papers
And drafted prates
But i did it in the end
By a careful scheme of self-discipline
I managed to not feel bitter when his name came up
And the butterflies in my stomach ceased to flap
When I saw him online on Whatsapp

I knew I didn't love him

My butterflies are disturbed when I'm hungry as well
That is not the reason I was so troubled and shaken
On that i'm not mistaken
I know I don't love him still
Only I was compelled and cornered by guilt
To plant a little seed in my heart and force it to sprout
Nurturing it with the false hopes I held
Hopes of denial turning to acceptance
Hopes of this nonexistent feel to somehow blossom in my heart
And turn into something real
Though I didn't love him
He awakened something in me
Made me believe in immaculate love
Made me feel beautiful with a ravishing tact

He's slapped my senses to awakening then stormed out of my life

And i had to deal with the wreckage alone
I missed...talking to him so much
But he was the one that walked away on his own
Why did he have to wait a century to call?
I know there is no obligation to stay in contact
We aren't even lovers
Nor best friends
Nor anything definable, in fact
He was just there shining from afar
Like the sun, and I, like the moon
Grave when he looked away
And bright when he smiled upon me
I needed him, and so i fluttered to my swoon
Like a firefly hovers towards a candle
To its doom
It's not the attention that i wanted, of that I'm fed a spoon every day
Do you ever love a person for how pure their soul is
And want to be in their presence for no exact reason?
To be in their presence at all times, but not at all within their embrace

Perhaps I'm just brazenly selfish

And he was too busy concealing his feelings
To read my eyes and realize
That his love breaks things in my chest
And when he calls,
He doesn't know that my thoughts go spiral
To the ends of the universe and beyond
In the few seconds of silence
During which he awaits me to respond

I said "Hey"

I don't even remember what we talked about
Probably some gibberish that doesn't make sense
A few giggles here and there
Completely random and ridiculous
But i was overjoyed
A bit taken aback at how i complicated things
But overjoyed, for some reason
"Was his voice always this thin ?", I chuckled
I missed this
Just like the old times
I missed...him
Until I realized that I could hear at the end of his lines
And between his pauses for breath
The things he wanted to say but didn't
The feels he wanted to convey but couldn't

Kindred spirit, why are you doing this ?

I gave up long ago, and let the flowers in my heart die

The garden of my feelings was left unattended it has long gone dry
So why are you still watering it with your unneeded care

Why are you still trying to fry my mental faculties by 

Your epic display of sly allurement
And your peculiar way of telling  me a thousand love poems
Without the need to utter a single statement ?

I'm trying not to notice

And I'm trying to summon the strength to feign ignorance

Because not knowing about all this

Is the best excuse I could ever find for acting so dense

Faking blindness

To the ocean of emotions trapped in your eyes 

And the shy, fidgety lips, wanting to smile

And end up flapping like a gull in the distance

Feigning deafness

To your trembling voice

The incoherent change

From whispers to squawks 

When you talk

The nervous laugh and the occasional lisps

Before cracking a stupid joke

When you see love as clear as the sun in a summer sky

As evident as a drop of blood on a plain of snow
As obvious as a pine in a field of rye
But you deny it
You reject it
Because it is what you have always sought
And didn't want to find
It is all what you ever wanted to have

But were too afraid to hold in your arms

To love is scary
Being loved is even more so

I said something about how it was nice catching up, and that i had to go
And I don't remember who hung up first, but i think it was I who did
For I wanted it to be over before I broke apart and started to yelp
Like a little child, not knowing what I wanted, but thinking that crying would help
Taking comfort on the shoulders of the silent listener
On the other side of the dead line..

Mein Kampf

My Struggle

Ever came to the conclusion that you are just a lousy human being ?

You could never get it right, this being alive business, by following the book
You try to occasionally improvise but you stumble miserably
While all the kids your age seem to have it all figured out
What they are doing with their lives and where their future lies
With their feet planted firm on earth
Well-adjusted to scuffle and mirth
Everybody else seems so natural at bonding
While all you are natural at is pressing against the wall
A plain flower of indifference
Making room for life to pass by
Sitting at the furthest seat in a banquet of hullabaloo
Standing by the door at a party, so no one will notice when you leave
The one content with listening
Just listening
Sometimes, you try to catch up with the conversation
But you soon realize it isn't what you'd rather be sipping
So you chew on the gum of observation
Until you get found out and forced into participation
"Why do you always look so sad?", they would throw in
I'm not sad, I'm just exahsuted
See, that's the struggle; gentlemen
To fit in and find your place in the buzzing beehive
In a crowd of different faces and distinct traces
It seems even harder to blend in

Tell me, sir, why is living such a drag ?

Couldn't everyone be perfect replicas of each other,
Thinking the same way, liking the same trends,
Catching the same kinda feels, and seeking the same ends ?
Wanting to talk and discuss ,expand and impress on the same questions ?
Wouldn't we live in a harmonious world then ?
A world where it is fine to look the other way while talking
When you don't want your eyes to betray
All the confusion and fray they are hiding
A world where you wouldn't find it troublesome to express
When your thoughts have gone astray
Because your audience would make an effort to read between the lines
And fill in the gaps in your breath
A world where it is acceptable to theatrically break down under the weight of stress
A world tolerant of the sudden, extended silence mid-conversations
And totally okay with frequent eye-contact
With the stranger setting across from you in public transportation

Do you sometimes wonder whether it is only you
Who thinks that way;
Doesn't anyone else wish that wanting to be themselves wasn't so constraining ?
Don't they secretly think that swimming with the flow is so tedious and draining ?
Perhaps it is true, we are all equally confused
And socially obtuse
We are all supposed to be in this together,
So why are they so good at pretending to fuse ?
"Was there a Life Hacks 101 class I missed ?", you think
Then what if I refuse to walk down the same path wearing the pair of shoes everyone took turns wearing?
What if I don't want to get out of my shell and participate ?

What if I want to embrace my pillow
And hide beneath my blankets, instead of going out there
And fake it
Instead of trying to bear with the pressure to adjust and adapt ?
The constant hammering at the back of my mind
To find a place to belong to, seeing how inapt I am
What if I don't mind doing my own thing
My own observations and metaphysical musings
Having my own sense of  sad humor
My own hematic genre of music
My own futuristic sense of fashion
Having my own bizarre interests, my own sit of  I Hate, and I Can Tolerate
Hiding a secret list of 100 Things To Do Instead Of Studying For A Test ?
Blending in with the background, drunk in my contemplation

What if I'm fine with being who I am even
If I'm an extra piece of a puzzle that came with the box
And didn't find a spot to hang on to ?

For, after all, what good did ever come out of
Forcing myself to assume a personality
To put on a mask for the sole purpose of gaining popularity
When at the end of the day, it's my face
That will disappear in the crowd of fakers
And it's my soul that is going to blend in the palette of mundane thinkers

And what if I decide that I'm so done being heartbroken ?
That it's high time to defend my originality
By taking defense
To barricade myself in a tower of seclusion
To content myself with the illusory win against life,
When I'm actually defeated and thrown into exclusion
A little birdie that didn't try to fly, was hindered by fear and couldn't leave the tree
Because the warm nest of my comfort zone was such a safe haven
A ship perpetually anchored at the dock, lest it hits a reef bed
On its way out to the vast ocean

Come, have you ever thought how absurd it is
To be so heartbroken and defeated by life in the first place ?
Even though you are still this young, and never left the nest ?
Even though, as they say, you couldn't have already seen
All the worst of this life, nor even the best ?
And that it is wrong to recoil back to your shell of solitude
After facing the first tempest?
And ever thought how your heart would look like
If you could cut open your chest this minute
While you are still breathing, and your heart beating ?
Oh, a maroon organ covered in veins
Constantly pumping life through your limbs and brain
A living entity

You might be wrong
Wrong

Maybe, it's just dead, cracked and rusty
Maybe it will all make sense, when you take a peak on the inside
Maybe there is something wrong with your heart
Maybe it is drenched in darkness and swart
And you can walk around, like the rest, you can breath and talk
But you can't fathom things properly; you have to force yourself to feel
The same way your lungs would forget how to breath on their own
And you have to forcefully suck air every couple of seconds
Until they remember and catch up with the reel

And maybe you know exactly why you are this way
That there wasn't a certain point in time where you started to crack
It's the little things that broke you to pieces, eventually
Like a bow, strained till its nocks kiss
And finally snapping in a violent counter
When it could handle no more stress

You don't have to experience a failed romance
To get your heart so wrecked
Disappointment does the trick
Disappointment in humans
In humanity
In life
In yourself
In everything
In nothing

Disappointment

Its weight is way heavier than any anchor out there
And its reality-check beats you to a plump
When you fall from the cliff of your romantic expectations
And hit the ground
Every lie is a dagger to the heart
Every mask unveiled is a nail planted in your chest
Every icy look from an ex lover
Every isolated nook in which your dark thoughts hover
Every unrequited sentiment you've bore

Is a bullet piercing through to your core

A Ring Made of Flesh

I poked her little pinky hand, thinking she was asleep...and she clasped my finger so tight, without opening her eyes and interrupting her sweet dreams.

I mused in exhilaration; look at these tiny, curled fingers...how could her hand be so small as to barely surround my index?

How was it possible for this fragile being that was nurtured in a dark womb, immersed in a fluid that mutes foreign sounds, and was part of someone else's body for 9 months to be so alive, have a personality on its own ,unpredictable actions that can throw you into a state of mirthful amusement...

How it sleeps so soundly and noiselessly; already feeling so secure and in place, though it just got to a strange world ...
How it doesn't know that its mother has bled and suffered to bring it to this life, but it instinctively clasps at her chest because it's the only home it knows...

I believe a mother's lengthy pregnancy months and momentary suffering during delivery are all forgotten at the sight of their newborn; only this heavenly moment of peace and serenity shall remain in memory..

Holding it in your arms, warm, red-cheeked, wrinkly....what could be more blissful than having one single creature on which you can concentrate the overflowing abundance of love you have ?

I could see it on this lady's face ; looking at her, holding her newborn makes me ecstatic with emotions...
All the love pouring from her eyes,
All this.. tenderness with which her face beams..
You can see it all
You can actually see love, it's not an untouchable sentiment
You can read love like you read poetry, in the eyes of the one that bears it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey, little angel,
My sleeping beauty in a lovely white gown made of innocence and pureness, 

Would you remember me when you grow up, and ever wonder who was that stranger that let you clasp her finger ,putting off her departure so as not to disturb your sleep ? 

Would you remember all this gust of tender emotions i've felt for you, that I, in a moment of ecstasy, almost swore to stand against the whole world to protect you, that i'd catch a grenade for you, that i would shield you with my own body against the vileness and afflictions of this world , and that i would love you, with all my heart, and all the passion i can summon now and for years to come ?

That i would love you, little one, even though it was the first time i met you, and even though you still didn't have a name...

Would you remember my face, my kind, watery eyes, and curved lips, when you grow up and look back, rummaging through the drawers of your past for a happy childhood memory ?

Would you remember once a stranger that loved you more than anything in this world in a rhapsody of feelings ?

Orchestra of Arrogance And Abhorrence

Andante

The first time I met him, he called out and overtook me
Blocked my way, while crossing his arms
I thought to myself, "what insolence"
"How bold ,and ignorant on how to address a lady"
But I found it amusing
For it's kinda dull when everyone follows the rules
I bet that's not written in the playbook of "How To Charm A Girl"
And it's precisely what struck me about that fool
He evidently thinks he's a dandy
And that all he needs to impress
Is to show up and play it cool

Moderato

He stands too close,
Yet never looks you in the eyes when he speaks
And he is not spontaneous, he would go momentarily with the flow
Then steers back to wherever he wanted in briskness
Though most of his comments are suave, or so he believes
He would suddenly ask a question that throws you off-balance

So i thought to myself,
Niggas bad news

Largo

I don't like the vibe I'm getting from this person
It's quite vexatious how he thinks he's got the moves
I dislike a smart-a*s who loves to flaunt
And it seems he so desperately has a point to prove
Hey, you can be a smart-a*s all you want
Exclusively around your home boys
That crap doesn't work out for me
Oh, and I don't think you've taken a look at the mirror today

Accelerando

It started to really pick on my nerves, how snobbish he is
That ratchet ego of his is getting troublesome
And the way he would swagger like a peacock
Is kinda bothersome
I say, you don't know me well, sir
But you seem to hover around
For a reason I don't understand
So I would like to make a few things clear
Because you seem to veer whenever I try to curve you

1) Words don't sway me
And you don't even Slam

2) Looks don't draw me, not that you are charming
And you can't even Dunk

3) You stop 5 steps away and expect me for some reason
To reach out for you

Ay, what's with that, punk ?

I don't really care, I can ignore your stares
Because i'm not interested back
But your vanity is pissing me off
And you most definitely don't stand a chance
So do you wanna play a game to see who's going to give in ?

The war is ON. fetch your lance, son

Allegro

My abhorrence is evolving into something I can't control
My usual protocol is to never deal with someone I dislike
I don't even look their way when I pass by
I ignore their living existence
And retrace my steps when I see them while looking askance
Because otherwise I have to be candid and blurt away my unbearable contempt
I have that kinda face that says it all, even when my lips are sealed shut

Presto

For a while now, my heart seems to skip a beat or two
When I see him waving from afar
It even stops for a few seconds when he texts
Didn't know that repulsion could mess with your heart like that
I turn the other way when I chance upon them while out
And when i'm caught, I never linger to chat
Exchange formalities and quickly go on my way
Before I betray this tangled lump of feelings
I'm carrying in my chest

Prestissimo

Come, is it normal for abhorrence to suddenly remove its mask
And reveal its lovely hidden face
After all this struggle and relegation ?
And is it acceptable for feelings
To abandon their bashfulness
And vehemently bask under the sunlight, naked
And comfortable with exposition?
I thought I was sure of how I divided people
This one I like,
This one I don't
This one I can tolerate,
And this one I absolutely hate

Right ?

So imagine the upsetting confusion
When your own heart starts acting up
And you can't tell right form left
When it comes to your own emotions
See, at first I thought that I hated his guts with passion
But after a long deliberation

I think,
No, I most probably am
Madly infatuated by this person.

Well, sh*t.

A Fiddle Out Of Tune

I looked at my face in the mirror one day
And thought of how rigid it looks
Just like a fiddle
Clad,
Collected,
Sad,
Conceited
How a human body resembles a treble
Or perhaps it's the other way around
Curved,
Graceful,
Proud,
And bashful
It was after the first time I touched a violin
And fell in love at first sight
How nice it would be, I thought
To carry myself like a Stradivarius
One of a kind, so rare to find
Exhaled, authentic and ageless
Carved with care
Polished and pared with affection
And amazed I was when I found
How different it sounds
When loving fingers caress its skin
And how it would chide in a arrogant yowl
When its strings are roughly struck
How it would squawk like it has a soul
When its E-strings are wrongly tucked
It happened once that,

Under the pressure of my bow

A string on my fiddle snapped
And hurt my chin
Felt as if I offended a lover
Wounded my significant other
And received a smack so hard
It left an invisible scar on my skin
But I felt the pain of the offender
A roaring storm of thunder
Protesting against my blunder
And bitterness seeped within
It found my blood runs,  infused with my veins
And numbed my perception
My heart ? It contorted, and I learnt that cords
Much like human emotions
Are to be handled with great care
And when I'm not feeling well
My fiddle smells my melancholy
And relaxes its strings
It breaks the rhythm of Vivaldi's Spring
And I wouldn't even notice
That my friend is making noises
Because, you see, there is no greater swoon
More pleasure to the senses
Than a fiddle that's out of tune
But still trying to recompense

Камера Oбскура

Laughter In The Dark

Loath me not for my odious honesty, brethren, for I love thee

Despite thee

But I still wonder sometimes 

How I feel pangs of fervent love for humanity as a whole
Yet I fail to feel for the ones I could call
At times I feel that it is all just a long reality show
And we are the actors; though we don't stick to the script
We improvise, we add and omit
Forget our lines and stall in wit
Till our final moments of throe
Then abandon the show at the peak of the plot
And I've always felt
That I was excluded from this strife
As if I was a witness from the sidelines
And I fell back in the race of life
And decided to sit and watch who will cross that finish line
Trying to figure out when exactly did I lose my will to live
Why do I find bonding so inflictive
And mundane company so disruptive ?
How do I find it perfectly natural to be loved by another
But never work to towards the end of being together
Oh, how I enjoy snatching hearts like a crook
Collecting what I steal in a fancy sack
And then i empty its contents on my bed at night
I set about admiring and polishing my game in content
Put them for show on a grand shelf
And occasionally,
When I pass by them tokens of triumph
Not looking shiny and polished enough
I spit at them in a haughty repulsion
Because they are but monuments ; a nagging reminder of my revulsion
Against humans, one by one
And my compassion towards all of humanity

I never believe in chaste love, Batushka

But I believe in conditional fraternity
Because why love the molecule when you can adore the whole universe ?
When you feel the urge to fall into humanity's embrace
What need could ever exist for a single chum ?
If you think i'm Good-natured
Forgiving, kind, a hopeless fool
You must be blind
You should understand that I never kept sound any real bond
Since the time I've found i was being used as a tool
You should know how I'm genuinely appalled at the sight of unabashed goodness
It seemed that the very essence of human nature is bathed in depravity
And any explicit display of morality
Is essentially chaperoned by an ado of heed
Oh, how I longed to bid this world adieu
I was tired and sick of all this chaotic debauchery
And wanted out of it
Nothing to do with it
But, did you know, even my feelings are in grave dissension
For I love humanity, sir
I love humanity, very much so
For being so dexterous and inventive
In the ways it confuses vice for grace
How it decided who remains a pauper and who gets to hold the mace
How we choose to be humane
When being humane turns to be juicy
And ,alas ! when being our monstrous selves is pricey
It is so funny, I swear
How the entirety of mortal notions are falling to the pits of craze
Oh, and you say i'm wise, but let me tell you this
I would pass the offense, I would turn the other cheek
And I'd let you have it your way at my expense
Because next to the enormity of the universe
You and your fallen existence are as good as erased
And I'm bound to this damned race, mind you

I'm a mere brace for this wall made of Humans, with no humanity
A rigid brick trapped in my place,
And I can't rebel, I'm just a sorry thrall
Could never escape my dark fate, being a part of the grand wall
No matter how much I kick and squall

Though I'm called Candid, kind and forgiving I'm no longer
I'm solely a derelict scandalmonger
I take part in this soap opera because I lost my will to depart

Though I came to life wanting to live so bad

I got hit hard, before i knew what hit me
Now i'm just passing my days,
Crestfallen,
At how i couldn't join the chase

As for allowing myself to be crushed and debased by the weight of human atrocity

Pay no attention, because I do it out of animosity
I got nothing to lose since the time I lost the virginity of my heart
I could never forgive the world for how it turned out to be

And this is my ultimate vendetta, against an entire race

This outward cynicism, being nihilistic and bold

There is no rush to do it apace

Indeed, spite tastes sour no matter how cold

Ties of Compassion VII: Gymnopédie No.1

She was looking into the void absently, as if in a lucid dream, or an engulfing nightmare,
one wing crushed under the heavy tires, and the other flapping wanly,while the car was slowly moving back, pulping her sides, vindictively, like a harmful pest that needs to be annihilated.

Though a few minutes ago,she was a healthy creature,alive,taking shelter from the heat under a car with a welcoming shadow.She had a life,she had a purpose,she might have had little ones waiting for her at the nest to come back, little angels that would rally around her in a gay babble.

i fancied i could hear the sound of her bones, snapping like salt crackers at an afternoon tea table. Every bone that was crushed, crushed something in me, something at the back of my skull,plowed by the root the little sprouts of sympathy that grew on the plain of my heart, the way you would pluck weed, ..I could hear them;

tuk. tuk.tutuk.

I couldn't look away; the scene was so sublime, in slow-motion,magnifique in its cruelty,and awakening in its fatality :

The sun,slaying the earth with its rays
The world, oblivious and busy
I,watching in helplessness...and a slight strike of awe.

Her face portrayed surrender and submission, as if she was waiting for everything to end,so she could fly to her freedom, depart from this life,light and cleansed, her mind at ease, and her soul untroubled.

Was she beholding her life flashing before her ?

I didn't know what was more mortifying, watching this pure being slowly and horridly die in pain, or knowing that there was absolutely nothing i could do. That i , if it was possible to leave my place and run at full speed to where she was, had managed to stop the car by frantically banging at its windows , and succeeded in pulling the wretched thing from below that monster, broken, half-dead, but half-alive, I'm certain that I would've immediately regretted it; forcing the poor little thing to live in pain when she could have left in peace.

There were no bells tolling, not a moment of silence in grievance. She left quietly ,like a spring breeze ,unseen, cool in its passage..just like that. Nobody else noticed, not even the one who killed her,and her body was left in the out for the sun rays to pat on and for the wind to caress.

They still ting; her silent screams, distant ,but clear in my memories, and her fixed gaze towards the horizon.

Why couldn't I look away ?

Baracolle, Op.60

I took one look at his face, and immediately got the impression that it seemed familiar...
The more he spoke,with his animated expressions and smart ,curious eyes, the more i was ascertained of it;
We have certainly met , i don't know where,but we did....some time, in the distant past.

''Excuse me, sir, but have we met before ?''
I never let such thoughts dwell in my mind long.
He turned slightly, and carefully examined my face; ''..............I don't think so; it's possible though''

''I believe we did, I do remember you; you told me about your life before coming here; how you spent your youth in various countries and learnt so many languages", and I went on telling him all the details i could summon,"It wasn't anytime soon, but i still remember all of it''

I was surprised myself at my detailed recollection of someone else's affairs; for i don't even remember the trivialities of my own life to begin with;
I recounted what he told me before in a vain attempt to convince him, though i knew it was very forward of me, and quite unseemly in my position, but it didn't matter much, for if he didn't remember, he shall remain a stranger with a null opinion of me ,and we will shortly part anyway.

I could see signs of astonishment on his face, though; partly because he couldn't have possibly told all these details to a random stranger; but mainly, i divined, because if he couldn't remember our encounter, then it must have happened long ago; which makes it even unbelievable for me to remember with such accuracy.

"that's all true........how is that possible", he said with evident surprise, "though I still...don't recognize you, pardon"

He kept staring at my face, carefully, though astonishment turned to a sort of deep contemplation, with a tinge of embarrassment.

I said it was fine and dropped the subject ;I didn't really care if he remembered or not ,as i didn't tell him so with a certain objective in mind; i just wanted to let him know....and i knew well that he wouldn't remember me anyway; for not many people have my weird symbolic memory after all ...

I don't remember voices, see, i don't remember names, nor faces in particular; but i remember impressions :
this person have made such a memorable impression on me the first time; it's his vibe that remained printed in my memory; and i could recall it within the first few moments of our second meeting, the way the smell of a certain rose can tell you from which mountain it was plucked.

------------------------------------------------------------

Dear stranger, whose name i don't recall, and which i have no need to inquire about, I remembered you because you were the first person that told me that i'm beautiful.

Not "cute",not "fine", not "attractive", but "beautiful" ;  as if you took a peak at my soul before looking at its external projection -the hidden lump that was so inscrutable to me at the time, so bewildering ,confusing,though intriguing in its own way, and then described it as ''beautiful'' to sum it all.

I was caught off guard, you know, I realize that i'm okay looking and that a number of people might think so as well, not to sound like a diva or anything; but rarely ,if ever, does anyone ventures to tell me that directly, in a casual, non-flirtatious way, as if you were mentioning a random observation about the weather :

"............It's because you are beautiful, ma sha Allah"

Who would forget such words, articulated nonchalantly, and without any ulterior motives behind them ?  words said not to impress me particularly-though they did, nor make me feel better as a form of courteousness, but simply to let me know, to communicate to me,out of perspicuous candidness, a random thought that passed your mind, and without the remotest evidence of any sort of designs to be carried off after,as opposed to most of the people that abuse this compliment...

Dear stranger, It doesn't matter if we don't meet again, for the value of a poetic encounter lies in it's non recurrence, the utter impossibility of its happening again. Only then does every word articulated remain precious, and every second have a special significance.

Batushka, you made me feel accepted, deeply understood, you taught me to love myself, then left off, like a cloud hasting to join its sisters in the distant horizon.

Oh,how i longed to tell you all this. But it is of no consequence, for, after all, we shan't meet again. We shan't meet again, but i thank you, and I shall carry you in my heart, I shall remember you.

----------------------------------------------------------------

When it was time to leave ,he suddenly turned and said; ".....I remember you now !",with a wide smile.''it happened long time ago; you have an insane memory !''

I don't know if he truly did, or that he thought that it would be a nice gesture to pretend so, but something tells me,the way his eyes smiled, they way they shone ,that he remembered. Because they shone the same way the first time we met.

Funny, this life.
A stranger can say,with the utmost carelessness, on a random account when you are feeling that life hasn't been kind to you and that you need to get away from it all, at the time you felt suffocated with the world's obliviousness- they can just say one thing, the one thing that you have been longing to hear for so long.

"I remember you"

As She Lay Dying

Death is such an enigma.You think it's a usual happening,an inevitable toll to be exacted from humanity, a sort of a plague that hits a distant continent and wipes out its residents, but as long as it leaves you alone,all is good.

All is good, until it steals someone close to you.
----------------------------------------------------

News of a demise should never be conveyed through phone. It is an inhumane gesture and extremely crude; as you never know what the person on the other end is doing at that moment ;they might be engaged in a mirthful conversation and thinking that life is quite peachy and gay and generous, when they open their phone and get a terrible,shocking blow.

Not everyone can handle sudden blows to the jaw, It's something else when you don't see it coming.
If one had a weak heart they might lose their footing, or worse, their stability. In that case the bearer of the news becomes an ominous raven that causes another calamity by their lack of tact.

It once happened that a close friend of mine passed out when she heard of her cousin's death. She didn't wail, she didn't have the time; she just fell backwards, and hit her head upon the impact. Just like that.

News of a demise should never be conveyed in a manner that is not coated with caution and delicacy.
But I received a curt text.

It took some time to register at first, and for a while I didn't understand the very shortened text until I read it a few times. And then a fit took possession of me, something that rarely ever happens because i rarely ever lose my composure; I gasped for breath for a few seconds, i could hear my heart beats drumming right through my ears, drowning all the sounds around.

i was scared because i was alone at that time, scared of losing my breath and scared because the ceiling was rotating and getting further for some reason.
I dropped 5 tears. Exactly 5, to my horror and wonder. They dropped on my open notebook and dried up,visible on the white page; an everlasting reminder of all of this... a memento frozen in time. I thought they would evaporate and disappear but they didn't...Probably because of the salt.

Death, it is such an enigma,

I was saddened, I was convulsive and wincing in pain, though i wasn't hurting any where, I cried, but I...wasn't crying because she was gone.

I go on and on about compassion, about being able to relate to others and feel what they feel, but it is only when i'm a witness of the misfortune that befalls someone else. When I'm directly hit by its magnitude and depth..I couldn't relate to her, the most unfortunate of them all..

I dropped tears, but they weren't for the deceased, they were for him, his boundless sadness which its echoes i could hear across a thousand miles. His sadness that reached me, and shook my being, vibrating through my limbs and sending shrills through my nerves. I wept for him, and for his suffering that i could hear in his voice, sounding like a a formidable castle about to fall apart.

I was so horrified at my apathy and lack of sentiment I felt bad receiving all these calls, people I haven't heard from for over a year suddenly calling out of courtesy like it's important to make a good impression on a person they've lost their connection with. They would offer their condolences and then disappear for another year or two, when someone else is dead.

Until this moment I still didn't grasp the full reality of my situation, occasionally i'm obliged to make a face and assume a sad tone when i answer a condoling phone call,and momentarily i'm reminded of my spinelessness and apathy, and resort to melancholy brooding for a while. But most of the time i'm fine. I'm perfectly fine,i'm capable of resuming my life with perfect normality one wouldn't doubt that I lost someone close.

Her departure from this life seems to me like a vivid dream, as if it happened in a parallel universe, a separate reality that I could observe through a looking glass. Something trapped in a transparent basin;

She lays there,in her bed, motionless, breathless,pale, cold, dead.

And the whole scene keeps moving further and further beyond reach,and beyond vision,
to the back of my mind,where i can't think about it..

Is this what they call denial ?

To You, Adorato

Let me tell you something
About my strange soul
About my fickle heart

And dreadful malady

My chest, it has a void
For a heart-a black hole
'tis abyssal, for the night
Clouded it in tyranny
And It feeds on affection,
Sentiments and passion
Tries to fill that hole
Without a spec of infamy

As I had an abundance

Of stolen emotions

The only choice I had

Was to feign my devotion
So I told my dear ones
How much I regard'em
How their avid love was
What's kept me around
But this 'love' I pledged,
It lacked all zest
And its bashful echoes
They didn't recur a sound
Though,"love you", I'd say
In vain joie de vivre
To the gracious souls
I met along my way
As their boundless affection
And unwarranted tenderness
I could in no other way
Adequately repay
Though I split my heart
Into frivolous pieces
And along I shouldered it
In a smart cyst
And,
To the ones that showered me
With love and care
I gifted my sentiments
Right and left
Though these feels are benign
And are almost sincere,
They never sent shivers
Down my spine
It is "love" alright,
But arduous it is not
Like the Alps and the Rhine
Were neighbors, but taut
So, to the one I adore,
My beloved Eugene
I say,
You may only live
In the dungeons of fiction
I waited for you, darling
In our secret tryst
But you left me expecting
Drenched in depression
This is not a reprimand
For standing me up
But,
Against my skittish reason,
T'is a verbal insurrection

O, the one I adore,

To whom my heart calls
The one I waited for
Holding a rose

I may never say "I love you"

Nor would I give you
A fragment of my heart
Like the rest of the beaus
For true love is lived
Not verbally conveyed
Bargained in a market
Of supply and demand
Love is not a rhyme
You can jot on command
It's a thousand jolly rainbows
You can hold in your hands
Love ,
Is mental buoyancy
Love is a state of mind
When your heart soars ,evading
The mind's supremacy
All of these sentiments
I've described piano
That's not how I felt before
And this is not a blunder
But I can only tell you
With absolute certainty
That
The pouch of hearts i'm carrying
Poses as a hamper
This feel they call "affection"
Maybe
It isn't worth the trouble
This ambiguous sentiment
Is making me dander
Stay, Eugene, my dearest
Can't you see at all
That my poor soul is
Trapped between an anvil
And an atrocious pestle ?
That this wretched loneliness
Is way beyond perpetual ?
And that you've been languid
In your grand arrival?

And can't you see that I am
Trying hard to buy
That this emptiness I feel
Awaits you to occupy?

I may have been awaiting

But really i'm convinced

That if you actually did come
You would've been dismissed
That's because deep down
At the bottom of my heart
I believe in all honesty
That you. Don't. Exist

L'Albatross

The Seagull

When I close my eyes, I could always recall
Vivid memories in white and black
Every moment my poor little heart
Received a good thrashing and 
Got itself cracked
I looked and looked for a wise doctor
But no one had a knack for mending the broken
When it can't be touched
So when the bones of my soul started to whimper
And pride and vanity became a cumber
I decided that I should learn the trade myself
At first I was my only patient
But with time I became an excellent quack
Patched a good deal of chests
And my patients would flock 
Their sorrows they'd stack on my desk
And I believed I could fix the world, if broken
Even grow rich if I could collect some tokens
With every examination, grapes of rage grew
Along my ribs
These fools with riches to spend and hearts so sickly
How could these louts lack the courtesy and tact
To compare their scratches to my smashed bits?
When I was in your shoes you were so self absorbed
To notice the agony that I would hide behind a smile
So meticulously
My compassionate conscience would wring and chide
So to listen, as I do, I would soon abide
But the weight of the aches was too much to bear
An Albatross off my neck I couldn't tear

My fragile heart couldn't take the shear
Pressure of emotions clasping from every side
Being a doctor, for fun, takes its toll on the soul
This causes wear on the long run
Though I made it my trade and transfigured it
Into some form of art
Alas, a doctor that gets sick by healing folks
Is better off becoming a hack
Spreading patches of poetry on their sores.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is addressed to no one,
This is addressed to everyone,

Why do you think it is okay to open up to me, to let me know about your miserable encounters, all the misfortunes that befell your sorry life and weigh me down with your 'sufferings', totally ignoring the fact that i, too, not only have my own problems, but that i need you to listen to me as well......and fix me.

Wretch.

It is the height of exploitation and abuse to take advantage of someone's compassion, knowing fully well that they are always willing to shoulder the weight with you, because that's what they do, because without the weight of compassion, their existence is just too light to hold still on earth...because the unbearable lightness of their being is what makes them soar in the air like a stray balloon, desperately trying to cling for salvation.

"For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."

You don't need to tell me how broken you are, i'll figure it out myself, and i'll fix you. Without you noticing.
That's my life-long curse, and it's also my pride and joy.
You'll get better without ever knowing that i was the one who fixed you, and if you did; the patient shall never repay the doctor for his services because he thinks the doctor does that for internal satisfaction.

Well, what do ya know ?, maybe he's right.

It's very difficult to constantly have to weigh your words and always try to think of the right thing to say, because you know well that every syllable you articulate is going to have dire consequences.
It's a tough responsibility that comes with wisdom; a wisdom that i don't really think i possess, but allegedly attributed to me by virtue of my good counsel.

The question is, why do i care so much ?
Why do I have to be so compassionate as to think ahead of the consequences of my advice lest it ruins a life? The one who seeks solutions should handle all the side effects themselves.

Why do I take it upon myself to fix people, when nobody bothered,bothers, to fix the broken ME ?

And why do i think i'm special enough,being on a higher mental plane, that I was assigned a specific role in this life ;to fix what's broken ?

Compassion is such a dire malady, dear batushka.
I don't want it.
I didn't ask for it.
I was looking for an anchor to keep me down, but instead I got a seagull wrapped too tight around my neck it's becoming harder and harder to breathe.

It's true that i find it delectable to fix people, and it is true that no doctor out there can heal me when i'm sick , for even if there were; i would defy them out of spite; because i know better and i have more experience in fixing wreckage i'd rather spare myself the trouble and the embarrassment.

But i'm actually hurt that no one really ventured to examine me for emotional ailment.

Do I look, by any chance, like a problem-free person ? A happy person that has the luxury of offering counsel to the unfortunate ? because that's the reverse vibe i get from people around me.
Doctors get sick too, haven't you heard ?

“To have compassion for those who suffer is a human quality which everyone should possess, especially those who have required comfort themselves in the past and have managed to find it in others. ”

Confound you, Bocaccio. You are a fool, and you don't know what you are talking about. It is those who did not find comfort in others that know how empty it feels, how light it feels, and make it their life's mission to be the balsam of the heartaches and the Atlas that shoulders everyone's weight.

5 Seconds

I don't cry......often.
I added that "often" because i'm a human being, not a robot, and above all, because i'm a woman. And women are naturally disposed to crying.
When i say 'cry' I don't mean the silent tears that one usually drops when upset. I drop a tear or two when i'm stressed and having a bad day, when i fight with someone that is dear to me or when i yawn (oddly enough)...By 'cry' i mean whining, squealing, the real thing that females do when they finally lose every bit of self-possession and grace they have.

When i do finally lose it- something that rarely ever happens once or twice a year, it's usually when i'm laying my head at night, muffling my sobs with my pillow. It hurts my eyes a lot when i do cry now...because my eyes aren't used to producing tears, i guess...My head hurts so much and my face gets hot and red it becomes really uncomfortable to do this crying thing...

I almost never cry in front of people at all. Nobody must see this pathetic display of weakness and vulnerability. Nobody needs to know that there is a side like that to me : I listen to people pouring their hearts out all the time, and i'm usually the one doing all the comforting and patting and hugging, but you know what ? i judge these people...Severely...For being so weak and helpless as to do nothing but cry and depend on someone like myself to provide them with emotional security. That's just pathetic if you ask me.
So I wouldn't really like it if i'm one of these people as well; unreasonably breaking into tears in front of someone that probably doesn't give a crap...i do, but i don't think many people have the same capacity to process all this drama and solve the world's problems.

I also think that people would take advantage of me if i show my vulnerable side to them ; i noticed that some people change the way they treated me in the past, like i'm some sort of fragile material that needs to be handled with care....The only thing worse than having to show your weakness to somebody is being pitied for it.
And some of them used to "pry" on this weakness of mine, dropping hints and bringing it up around other people, taking advantage of my total submission to them having no hidden cards to defend myself... this kind of people is the reason i used to hear a snapping voice in my heart in the past...“something seemed to give way inside me, like the snapping of a tightened bow.”
So i just avoid all that bulshit by keeping my complains and troubled confessions to myself and a very narrow circle of people i deeply trust.

And hence it was established that I'm a very calm person : i don't lose it, i don't panic, i don't freak out, i don't cause scenes and all that; i'm known for being cool and collected it ceased to be a pretense anymore... i don't even remember the last time i lost my temper or yelled at somebody; really yelled out of anger -not pretending to be angry to keep appearances because that's the normal reaction, i don't remember the last time i felt angry to the point that i didn't care about ruining my image...Being calm becomes a life style you forget how to snap after a while.

I've been rolling just fine although i've led a difficult life for an average 22 years old living in such a comfortable country (al 7amdulellah in all cases ) ; i rarely ever think about all the difficulties and bs that i had to deal with that much because i keep myself busy ...But when i do, when i realize how unbearable sometimes things could be; and my tears start to flow and breathing becomes difficult and everything looks blurry, i immediately check myself and stop.

It's not that I feel "ashamed" of crying per se ; it just dawns upon me how utterly useless it is to cry in reaction to a certain devastating event, instead of directing my whole emotions and efforts to sort it out. I just truly believe that crying like a baby doesn't solve anything. Does it feel good to cry ? yes. But would it solve the problem ? absolutely not. Well, unless i'm in mourning. So my shame comes from the fact that i actually did something stupid and pointless being completely aware of its stupidity and pointlessness.

Therefore I only allow myself a very limited time before slapping myself into awakening :
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
"What are you doing, Rawan? Stop this childish huff".

A sudden, short burst of emotional breakdown actually helps a lot in reducing frustration -if there was actually a need to cry out of frustration, and any more than that is just a pointless waste of emotions...and time..and a fall from grace..And it is actually healthy to know how to control my emotions and know when to stop. One reaches a certain mental age after which they stop needing someone to tell them to pull their shit together. Maybe i learnt that in the few years i've spent living alone in a strange city where i had no one to comfort me when I felt down and needed a hug, or someone to tell me that everything is gonna be okay...
Maybe that's the reason i grew to be emotionally independent ; i just don't frigging need anyone to "be there for me", regardless of the fact that i don't really have such a person anyway.
When i left home I was still that cry baby that used to call her parents everyday and tell them that she wants to go back home. I don't remember when exactly did i stop being "weak" and started confronting people and life...and my own weakness.. but it just happened that i grew out of that crying brat, the spoiled little girl that thought tears would help her go about surviving life, that appealing to the compassionate side in others and showing them my weakness and fragility would make them go easy on me. I grew out of the naive girl that needed her parents to interfere and save her from this cruel, chaotic, so unpeachy world at some point..and for good...
I told myself that I shall be an independent girl. I shall be strong.
I shall be strong.
A strong woman that needs nobody to summon strength to go on, a fierce survivor that is perfectly capable of being on her own.
A strong woman...Let me repeat it again for my own sake: a STRONG woman.
And strong women don't cry, ladies and gents.

It's actually funny how I feel so fresh and humored after i explode for these 5 seconds, mostly because i see how funny my face looks in the mirror. I look very unseemly...Sometimes looking at my teary face and my red eyes and swollen lids and cringy face in the mirror shocks me into silence for a while i forget the original problem...

On Remembrance and Forgetting II

I'm often told that i have the memory of a gold fish.

Well, because I forget way more than an average young adult my age does. Or at least that is what everyone says.
I forget events that happened less than 6 months ago. I can never tell a story because i keep forgetting its details and the logical sequence of its events.

I always get into unpleasant situations when i forget to congratulate someone or offer my condolences and then realize that they were upset because they thought i lacked tact.

I forgot that i handed my ID card for cancellation the other day, and kept looking for it and calling my parents back home to check if i forgot it there.
And I would prolly forget your name after 5 minutes of our first meeting.

This is a bad thing, i'm told, as i'm supposed to be a fully-responsible individual and an effective part of society as an adult that will have to work, earn a living, be alert and quick-witted, get married and build a family, which can't be done properly if i'm gonna forget all about a task i'm assigned at work or go home forgetting my kids at the supermarket one day...
I know this is a bad thing, but I would like to think that i have a selective memory, not a bad one.

It's funny how i forget some of the most important details that could affect my daily life, but i still remember memories from my distant childhood with the utmost accuracy.
i remember being carried by a woman, while descending a staircase made of clay. it was noon...that was probably in Sudan. I remember knowing that that woman was not my mother, i couldn't see her face, but i knew that she wasn't my mother because she smelt different; i remember her scent and the bright red color of the toab she was wearing.
Thing is, I've only been in Sudan when I was a toddler.

I remember the first time i said "papa" and "mama".
i stood on a small green stool which i vehemently positioned in the middle of our hall, i was wearing a diaper so i'm guessing i was around 2-3 years old, and i said "papa!", my mom came running from the kitchen with a surprised expression on her face "Say that again ?"
"papa !"
She called my dad and asked me to say it again, so i did.
"Say mama !"
"pama !"
"mama!"
"mama!"
They both stood there looking so happy so i figured it was a great thing and that i should keep saying it over and over "papa !" "papa!" "mama!".
Boy, did that make them happy..I wonder where that green stool is.

I still remember my class mates from kindergarten, Malak, Mustafa, Khalid, Sara, Abdullah, Rawya, Dana, Abdel Kareem, Mahmoud...I remember our art teacher Alia..she always looked like she was about to cry..with her droopy eyes and square glasses and distorted voice..I remember when Mustafa witted his pants; we were sitting at the rear and no one else saw...poor fellow was too embarrassed, trying to hide the mini pool below him and he asked me not to tell anyone..I told no one. I remember when it used to rain and i would get excited and sing out loud, interrupting the class :

سعودي راح مكه .. يجيب ثياب عكه .. واحطه في صندوقي
صندوقي ماله مفتاح .. والمفتاح عند الحداد .. والحداد يبي فلوس
والفلوس عند العروس .. والعروس تبي رجال .. والرجال يبي عيال
والعيال تبي حليب .. والحليب عند البقر .. والبقر تبي حشيش
والحشيش فوق الجبل.. والجبل يبي مطر .. والمطر من عند الله
It used to rain a lot in these days...for a whole week sometimes...and good things used to happen when it rained .My mom would make sesame sweets and its smell would fill the house; you could see the warm steam condense against the frosty windows. I would stay home all day, looking through the window, looking beyond the mountains at the grey sky, waiting for the first signs of a rainbow..My mom wouldn't let me play in the yard lest i catch a cold (i was a sickly child), so the big window in our old hall was my window to the whole world..and the rainbow was my favorite childhood friend because it told me it was okay to go out and play now..
How many years has it been since i last saw a rainbow...I yearn for the memories it brings back so much it's probably the reason i enter a state of ecstasy when it rains now...i still unconsciously raise my eyes to the sky after the rain stops, searching for my friend, searching for a glimpse of the happy, old days, a reminder of joy and pureness but , alas. My friend shows up no longer.

I even remember when my dad used to smoke, not even my older sister remembers that because he stopped when she was a kid...it was a warm night and there were many people at our place, talking with my dad...they were setting in our yard under the palm tree and i was idly setting on my dad's lap.. they were talking  and laughing but i couldn't understand anything....my dad was smoking, and i noticed how his teeth were yellow..but oddly enough, i don't remember being irritated by the smell of cigarettes.

This was carved into my memory because, amid my boredom and childish reverie to which i used to resort when everyone else is oblivious to my existence, a little star fell on my lap out of nowhere. i was dazzled; It looked so, so pretty with a multitude of shades and colors that change when you look at it from different angles.. I kept staring at it wondering where it came from, thinking that someone might've tossed it at me as a prank, but when i looked at the people there, not a single one of them seemed to notice my wondering eyes.

When I asked my dad ,he said, with a wide smile on his face being engaged in telling a funny story, that it probably fell from the sky and that i'm lucky it fell to my hands and i should keep it as a memento because it rarely ever happens.

And I did, i kept it as a treasure, thinking it was a real star...And for many years to come i did believe that the stars i see at night were small pentagonal, glassy objects that shone so fervently through the darkness even though they were this small..and that they eventually fall from the sky when they run out of light. well, until we studied about stars in science class.
Who tossed that little star at me, i wonder..

No, I don't think I have a bad memory, because i wouldn't be able to recall all these details from my childhood.. i think i remember the individuals and events that made quite an impression on me; facial expressions that told me about the words kept unsaid, random lines that sat me thinking, scenes that became idylls springing every now and then in the form of Deja vu.
"I've been here before, i've met this person before, where have i read or heard this line before now ?" thinking about it now, i'm sure that 99% of these Deja vu pangs i've had were actually real, they are just fuzzy memories that wore off by the passage of time.

That's right, i don't have a bad memory, i only remember what really matters, and because these recollections consume much space in my mind, it becomes necessary to delete what i can do without...you know, some fragments of our childhood are too precious to let go, to be replaced by the present.

Well,i hope that i start allocating more space in my mind to keep what i need for my everyday life at least.

The Dying Tree

"Would it feel my touch ?", i thought while pressing my palm against the coarse bark of the tree under which we took shelter from the rain that night. It felt so dry and wrinkled with age...I don't remember what we were talking about ; two human beings have so much to share while waiting for the rain to stop.
How does it feel, i wondered, to be in the place of this poor, wrinkled creature in such a cold night, forgotten in a secluded corner where no one looks ,shivering in the cold, drenched in the rain, alone.
Yet it warmly embraced the two of us, as though it was happy to have the consolation of a company at last.

There are moments you would like to carve into your memory forever, and this was one of these moments. I feel livelier than ever when it rains. I'm the happiest when the rain drops land on my face and slide along my temples, because it reminds me that i'm still loved by God, and is still included in his mercy. if you could imagine, dear batushka, a torch burning even more zealously when it is showered by a heavenly hail, that is exactly what happens to my soul when it rains.
It wasn't November yet, but my soul was wide awake and could hear the feeble sounds usually smothered by the mighty noise of the living. I could hear the loneliness of this dying creature. It seemed that none of this blissful shower could seep through to enliven the poor thing amid its seclusion. It was dying slowly, horridly unnoticed.
I pressed my palm against its bark because i wanted to remember the miniature humps and dips engraved on it. I pressed my palm against its bark, and closed my eyes, hoping that i can convey a bit of the warmth i felt that night, standing next to a dear friend, talking about everything, talking about nothing, i wished to transfer this warmth somehow to its mortified core, hoping that it might revive it a little.

For You In Full Blossom IV

The Iron Lady

To the girl that walked about greeted like a queen, but flung by rotten tomatoes when she turned her back.

Quite honestly I've heard a lot about you before actually getting to know you. And trust me; you don't want me to repeat what I heard. Lucky for you, I made it my golden rule to never judge any individual based on anyone's opinion of them , and thanks to that i was able to know many great people throughout my life, people that were great in their own ways.

Females always have something to say about each other and they always make it their sport to find faults with every girl that is the center of attention.

And ,well, you were the Queen Bee among your friends.

I thought at some point that it's impressive to be so sociable and popular, having people to chat with at every table you sit at, until I heard what these same people say about you when you left.
That was horrifying in every way. It was (honestly) the first time I witnessed such a gruesome social behavior :
If you don't like a certain individual ,wouldn't it be the logical attitude to stay away from them ? you don't have to deal with someone you dislike. End of story. Why girls feel the need to pretend to be friends with someone they evidently can't bear with was confusingly beyond me.
I understand that in the real world there are hierarchical positions to abide by and connections to keep in order to survive; but in an social environment where there aren't any material benefits to gain from keeping good relations with a peer whatsoever, what would make anyone fake their feelings towards someone ?

It's because people need a place to fit in, and they need a person that gives them attention and make them feel accepted. 

Maybe your strong character made some girls feel the need to get along with you, to get your "approval" despite having issues with your attitude. I don't really know nor did i care honestly. It's because I was the neutral side in all this that I could see the ugliness of the entire scene : People smiling at your face ,then devouring your rotten flesh behind your back. I reached a point where I started to avoid most of the people in your circle whenever i could and I believe I showed it too much, more like in an a hateful way. i'm sorry about that but i was just too disgusted and done with your dramatic life and all the "rumors" and "plots" and the constant shocks in people and the crumbling of every meaning of the word "friendship" i learnt throughout my life.

Watching this soap opera reminded me that we are not in high school anymore ; the female population isn't gonna shun a girl because she's mean and conceited and a bully, she will be hated if she's pretty, attractive and charismatic and especially if she is opinionated and strikingly honest, even is she is a good person at heart. I think that's why you were disliked ,but no one came forward and told you that to your face because they know they had no right to hate you. Honesty should never be a vice. Never. You say the truth aggressively but regardless, truth is already ugly for those who don't want to hear it.

I'm really glad i didn't mind your rude attitude while dealing with you alone, though, because i realized that you have a really pure heart after getting to know you better. I was especially glad that you don't get offended when i treat you the same way, being honest with you and all, not bothering to choose my words. I just feel so comfortable while dealing with a straight-forward person because they would rather shoot a rude comment at me than trash me behind my back.

I must tell you that I'm able to be honest with people because I taught myself to be a self-reliant person; I need no one to provide moral support for me and make me feel "accepted". And because I don't need anyone I'm consequently not afraid of losing anyone by declaring my real views and feelings. I think people become able to bond better with each others when every one of them acts as a single atom that has the option of breaking on its own and joining different orbits at its free will. 

What I'm getting at is that the way you dealt with all that hatred was an interesting example.

What was special about you is that you knew the people around  you were two-faced, yet you held your chin high and walked about with confidence, receiving their poisonous arrows on your back proudly. You didn't surrender.

I used to act passively when I couldn't fit into a group; I had a few friends i could hang out with of course, but i didn't care to enforce my social presence and be part of any social entity...I just didn't care enough to be part of something, i guess, because I've always got my own thing going on, my own interests, my own sense of humor, my own values , my own meditations that not many people understood anyway.. And i didn't have to change for any one's sake...I thought it  Though I never thought of it this way : that I am being my own group, I'm being an atom, and atoms attract other atoms sooner or later. I've always thought I needed to work on that, but after meeting you, I came to believe that it is okay not to fit in.
It is okay not be liked. If you like yourself enough.

The Rise

Before I entered that place, I was bored with life..disinterested...tired is the right word, actually. One reaches a point where it gets really tiresome to carry on, strife, meet people, bond with them, plan your future and set out to make it happen...just waking up in the morning and thinking that you have to go through all that is enough to put you down.. Life itself drains you sometimes and one keeps thinking that the strings attaching them to this world aren't enough to make them want to carry on.
At least i did.

But I wasn't exactly suicidal nor particularly contemplating the idea of killing myself before coming here...I'm not that stupid as to commit a great sin as letting go of my precious life. I wasn't that cynical anyway..You know, the strings connecting me to this world might not be very strong (I'm not going to say they are weak), but still, they exist, and the people to which they are connected are bound to suffer if i disappear and I don't want them to go through that...of that I'm sure. Plus who would think of committing such a horrible crime in a holly place like this.

I was just surprised at how easy it was for me to just accidentally fall from the crooked railings and break my neck. The sudden proximity of death was what alarmed me and instigated this whole train of thoughts. Strange isn't it ? you think you've already made up your mind about something, deciding it's out of the question, but when an opportunity to achieve it so readily presents itself, you suddenly start to doubt yourself all over again.

"Suppose i let myself fall from here "accidentally", what do you think will happen ?", i asked myself, rhetoricallly of course.

I sank to the depths of reverie as usual, with my eyes closed, while i was trying to imagine all the possible outcomes of such a small, single step... And i think i came back to my senses after i descended the stairs and noticed that I was staring emptily at the inner dome, and the luminous chandelier.
I felt strangely at peace..Masajed are so peaceful and have a purifying effect indeed..
Nobody was there, it was night time...The full moon outside and a starry, clear sky were visible from the enormous windows...and then there was the grand chandelier pouring a stream of light all over the place.

An excess of light engulfed me, engulfed my mind and heart and soul and entire entity..Being there alone, surrounded with all this bewitching illumination made me almost believe that i transferred into another universe. This is the magical wedding of time and place I was talking about.

Did you know that when you are present when such a fortuity is happening, 9 out of 10 times you will reach at a big realization that will change your life?

I felt great and small, because I realized a very profound ,yet obvious truth I was too stupid to grasp before with all my ,supposedly, academic and cultural finery.

When I was contemplating the dome of the masjed and the majestic chandelier, it suddenly hit me : i didn't realize, before that night, that i don't actually need the love of a mortal, and I don't need to love any mortal back, I only need to love God ,with all my might, and only then my life would have a wonderful meaning !

Do you understand what it means to love God, dear batushka ? to love Him ,entirely, submissively, purely, to just love Him, because He put you on this earth and granted you the option of living your life and wander around ,free-willed and clueless as you are, to discover that believing in and loving Him is the ultimate conclusion ?

No, LOOK ME IN THE EYES and tell me, sir, that you understand what it means to be a muslim by CHOICE ,not because you were born to muslim parents in a muslim country, not having to go through all that process of "self-discovery" and "spiritual endeavor" that non-believers have to go through, which makes their faith unshakable when they finally find their way back to God.

Do you understand what it means to fill your empty heart and heal your sick soul, tired and poisoned with all this darkness infesting it, with the pure and beautiful love you hold for God ? to worship Allah, not only because you fear Him, but because He is the only one that unconditionally loves you for who you are, because He knows you more than you know yourself, and knows all your unbearable pain and suffering, and because He loves you infinitely ?

Don't get me wrong, I used to pray and do all my duties as a muslim as best as i could. I knew my religion and i never questioned my faith; what I failed to understand this whole time was that I was looking for fulfillment in the wrong place, I was looking for happiness in the realm of mortals, I thought I would find it if I find my place among other human beings and continuously receive love from them trying to fill the void inside of me....But I failed to realize that darkness and emptiness are intertwined, they are an evil malady and they originate from one source : absence of inner light.

It doesn't matter how much love i receive if I have a black hole for a heart that absorbs everything and returns nothing, that never gets enough love. It doesn't matter how much effort and time were consumed in vain trying to fill that hole. Nothing can counter emptiness like infinity, for the love of God bestowed upon us knows no limits. 

Light replaces darkness in your soul. It fills the fathomless hollow within you, patches up the cracks time left on your weary heart, and then it overflows and spreads to everyone around you creating a bright aura that matches the sun's. And that is the kind of light i felt torching inside my chest when i was engulfed by physical and spiritual illumination.

You have no idea how free i felt when i walked out of that place. My entire attitude towards life was changed. I got there dead and came back alive and wanting to live even more.

Whenever i feel lonely, sad, empty in the inside, i know immediately that the stock of light in my heart is running out and that I'm doing something wrong.

I swear, batushka, it's true that all the tranquility and peace of mind is achieved if you fix your connection with God. I just didn't realize how true it was....I guess such conclusions can't be perceived through reading books and listening to lectures; you just have to go through the entire experience to formulate and carve them into your consciousness.

I feel okay now, I feel happy, and I want to live as much as i can ,trying to be a better person everyday...I only pray that this torch keeps burning stronger and stronger inside of me.

The Fall

How I got to that place isn't important.

For all i remember was one thing anyway : I looked at the bottom of the helical stairs, and i was struck at how far above the ground floor i was.

After a while one gets oblivious of space and dimensions when staring at one point from above. The bottom kept going deeper and deeper..or maybe I was the one soaring higher.
Imagine with me, dear Batushka, storming your way into the still center of a hurricane, despite the ridiculous difficulty of penetrating the savage barricade protecting the solemn throne of serenity that is the core ,and looking up to the sky through that narrow tunnel upon your magnificent conquest.

Wouldn't you feel great and small at the same time ? Great above your achievement, small before what you can't conquer.

At that moment, I heard the sounds of ancient gears, as tired and rusty as they were, starting to turn again. Something big was about to begin. And I felt great and small at the same time. Because there was one step, and one step only, that would decide whether I was worthy of conquering the hurricane.
One step, was the key to my long sought-after salvation. I was right at the threshold of the unknown, were all the answers I've been seeking ,as long as I could remember, are kept hidden.

I stood there, butterflies in my tummy, pondering whether i should step forward to my death.

Isn't death such a curious concept ?
It is sad to think that most Toskliviy seek salvation in leaving their sorrows behind to enjoy eternal serenity, not knowing that maybe it's not serenity that they seek, and it's not serenity that they might find, and that death is the point of no return, an irrevocable, final step you don't get to retrace. As a muslim I could never separate my idea of death as an end and death as a beginning because I believe in the after life, and I fear the after life. Because I haven't prepared for it yet.

But sometimes i meditate; If it wasn't prohibited to take one's life, could I come up with one good reason not to take that single step; the only separation between me and the so-called "salvation"? If I haven't learnt that there is life after death, would i still think I could find happiness on the other side of the border ? The unknown is fearsome, because you don't know what to expect, but "whatever it is that is on the other side isn't going to be any worse than this" is a valid conclusion i believe all the people that took away their lives have reached at before committing the act.

Countless thoughts mingled in my head...but one thought kept surfacing more often than the rest : I'm pretty sure I was here before, I can almost remember when I've seen this place and looked at the bottom of an enormous helical staircase from above..
Except that I haven't. It was another pang of Deja vo.

But don't we all yearn for places we haven't been to ? Nay, don't we all remember idylls that we never witnessed before ? Was I caught in a Mobius loop at some point in the future and kept returning to this place, because ,perhaps, it's were I began ?

I closed my eyes..
And i took that step, metaphorically.
And then I blanked out.

Time froze.

Next thing I know, I was looking at the chandelier while laying on my back on the floor...it looked so majestic.
I closed my eyes again and felt the golden particles landing on my eyelids and bathing my entire being in light. I have already entered the core of the hurricane, sir, and what do you know, I have survived.

And when i looked towards heaven while trapped in that whirling tube I felt infinite.

What did I see when I was laying on my back, staring at the grand chandelier, showering the ground with golden hail, and the dome and the starry sky through the glass ceiling ?
In that luminous scene, in that magical setting, where time was frozen and light was immersing the hall, where no other human could penetrate this invisible barrier, what did I see ?

I saw my life, my sorry life, running in front of my eyes.
And I saw the truth crystal clear.

"Where is it?" thought Raskolnikov. 

"Where is it I've read that someone condemned to death says or thinks, an hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high rock, on such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and the ocean, everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest around him, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all his life, a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to die at once ! 
Only to live, to live and live ! 
Life, whatever it may be !...How true it is ! Good God, how true ! Man is a vile creature !...And vile is he who calls him vile for that,"

How is it possible for me to waste a life time until that point searching, desperately, for an answer that was right there within my reach, not hidden, not camouflaged , not shifty in any way ?
It was there the entire time, only i couldn't see it.
But of course I couldn't find the answer; it was stuck to the edge of my clothes and I was carrying it all along, during the long journey of self-discovery. How satirical life is.

I don't know if you are familiar with Debussy's pieces, Batushka, but If you ever listen to his Claire De Lune, you might get a glimpse of the scene I witnessed. For it tells the story of my life, my fall, my death ,and my rebirth with a mysterious accuracy. In fact, the only reason I can remember that night although it was more than a year ago, is because this piece fully incarnates that dim experience with all its details...it's the power of an honest magnum opus, i guess, to be able to tell a story over and over again without losing its charm.

On my way home, the crunching of fallen leaves on the walkway tickled my heart instead of scratching it.
The sound of the water in the fountain was music to my ears.
The chatters of the passers-by, distant and chaotic and noisy as it was to me before , became gay and amusing.
And the full moon, so hideous and sinister, watching me all over and peering through my clothes, , came out of its hiding place a new friend, and I felt it was addressing me with an adorable timidity :

"How was it ? How do you feel after coming back ?".

Why, I felt incredible ; I felt livelier than I've ever been in my entire life.
Is this how it feels to be alive ? Wasn't I breathing just fine before, though ?
I think I wasted 21 years playing dead when I could have lived, and lived and lived till my breaths couldn't keep up.

It was a feeling I've never experienced before, probably the feeling of a person that was born and have lived for decades chained at the bottom of a deep, dark ocean, only to be released when he had not the slightest intention of breaking away...and upward he floats towards the surface, towards the sunshine, towards freedom, towards his new life,not knowing what to expect, but knowing for sure that anything at the surface is definitely going to be better than the bottom.

On that day I decided to start writing my life story...i know I still wouldn't be able to entirely pour my heart out...But i think I've released enough of the venom consuming me from inside out in the course of the past year. This venom in my soul made me start this blog, to relieve myself from the coercive darkness that stole the colors away from my life, and return to myself again.