my scribbled world

a shape which lost it’s shapeness , a dream with no vividness , a sky that is skyless, a right that is not so right. it’s unusual but is it wrong ?

i like things and objects when it’s quite unshaped or out of shape. when the uneven sharp edges dents the surface of my hands when i don’t dream but recreate a reality out of a vision, when i look into the sky and it has no clouds but it’s limitless, raw and uncovered. i like the wrong that’s of value, despise the right that’s said to be so.

i scribble the straight lines into a chaos of endless motion and an origin with no start, a scribble that is different among the many of people.

and i don’t quite like to call people ”people” but there is just no other word that is palpable, they are herds of seamless thinking. ripples of ignorance in continuum, who will break the vibration?, the transmittance?. and who threw the rock?

i have been busy with the world, observing those vibrations. sitting in any empty space within sight with my cup of coffee whether at home or outside, my feet drifts me towards emptiness only just so i can travel to another world, to break the continuum, to detach from the world’s essence, to travel to another world, a world with no sky nor ground, to be suspended in mid air feeling nothing. a complete numbness is what i desire. every step i take in this world is heavy. my feet are light and i walk abnormally fast that most of my friends complain of not being able to catch up to me thus my feet are not heavy  what’s heavy is my mind so i thought. my mind felt heavy i begged through my eyes for someone to understand the torment in such peculiarity. there were cords connected to every part of my body bringing the world to me. to feel the whole world inside of me, every little aspect of every little thing is continuously being processed. the wind it’s speed and texture, how the leaves changes as the winds does, the falling dead leaves and flowers, the crawling endless variety of bugs and insects. how can a such world exists separate from us, yet so connected to the point our daily activity and life choices effects them and to the worse odds end them. this stream of thoughts goes on until a weird form of life in flesh and bones shows up as the faces of creatures called humans and blocks that image. then instantly their eyes start speaking before their mouths, the wrinkles their lips make through their faces as they move, how their hands lifts up jumping right and left in completion to what the mouth speaks and what the eyes hide. but at that very moment the two images fuses into one. the two worlds shapes a single gigantic jigsaw. all the data is fed into me all at once. so a single encounter of a friend or stranger can keep my cords hooked in alert, in such connection that the winds and the trees doesn’t fall far from the humans in front of me.

these two worlds made into one inside of me keeps my head heavy, i keep walking fast head down trying shutting everything out yet failing. i have been angry at the world needing to split the connection. so focused on filling every minute of my day, when i realized that everything is connected to my soul rather than my brain and there is no way to split and travel to any other imaginative world no matter how bad i long for it. because this connection will always be within my soul. what i carried as a burden god meant for it to be a gift. an illustration of gods presence within each one of us. the strength to lift my heavy soul and raise my head up, to take in all the worlds there in i’m afraid is not given by god, because if it was it will never be realized. it can only be gained through pain and suffering so much that you have no choice but to sit and understand it, embrace it and instead of rising up to it, let pain be your best friend. let pain lift your character to the level of your gift. because failure is disguised as a gift with no character.

 

the love kinda friendship

 A Relationship formed side by side with friendship  is of the strongest ones.

if i’m ever asked for an advice about a certain admirer or crush i’d say be friends 1st before you walk into the formidable love drama, because that’s the part where you get comfortable and start knowing things you didn’t know before and that either makes your relationship stronger or merely a mistake but with going with the friends then lovers approach there is  a greater chance you’ll find that mistake before the harm is done.

but what if your not planning for love or friendship what if your best friend decided to love you and it turns to one sided love.

he loved me 1st, he love me more, he love me once, twice and he loved me thrice and many times.

he loved me like in the movies, like in the stories and like i was the only girl on the planet.

he loved me and i tried to love him back, his warm eyes and widest of smiles, i can see me in those eyes, and the best of all? his overwhelming presence, oh how many times have i wanted to hug him and assure him that i’m doing my best to be his, but doing the best to be his is not the same as being his, and if i do fail, it would be twice as hurtful than if i was his for even once! with the loss of his friendship.

i’m not hurt by the lack of love, not hurt for being left out, for being unappreciated, nor for being alone as people nowadays are, i’m hurt by the unconditional love that i’m unable to take in or have the will to give back, i’m suffocated by the irony of life and scrutiny of days, and it’s sure my future won’t be of any less confusion.

this has been the heaviest of burdens and the lightest of dreams , the greatest of sins and of my most blessed deeds, a virtue and disbelief .

over the past couple of years have i carried this schizophrenic monotony, i didn’t quite understand it, nor have i understood it yet! i have chosen to write about it before, hoping for the words i write to provide me with at least an echo of a meaning, but ended with not having the courage to write a single word.

He was planning to watch a movie, watching movies and talking about them with him is one of the things that sets this life at ease, he named a few and decided to watch ‘Love Rosie’ he recommended it so…

i carried on, and watched it too months later, specifically the night of the 26th of march 2016, the movie was of his story, wishing i have watched it way earlier, it struck me that the only thing i was ever confused about is myself!

i kept everything he ever got me, they are of the things i church, not matter how small it was, was it a piece of paper, couple of simple quotidian words, or was it a gift box.

He is the idea and the meaning, the question and the answer, he is the sky with it’s morning sun and night moon, he is the tears and the smile, the pain and the joy, the leafs of autumn, the howling wind, the rain and storm, the sun that burns your skin, and the colors of spring that makes all the former somehow tolerable, he is everything of a meaning.

and i’m a person of irrationality and rational madness which sounds utterly irrational and that’s how i feel most of the time, i usually fail to grasp the core of meanings and i’m happy with that.

this time i failed to grasp the most important of meanings

i failed to grasp a friend

i failed to grasp him.

resolution

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sitting on the sofa by the TV, my cousin and mother are talking next to me, non stop, their voices reach me like i’m in a sound proof room, the words clamping on the glass failing to get through, i look at my cousin and smile from time to time out of curtsy, just to let her know i’m there, the more they talk, the more my thoughts take the lead on my sanity.

“goodbye darling, please come back another time” my mom saying goodbyes by the door to my cousin, ” and stay the weekend yeah! darling”, my cousin  just kept nodding her consent, i’m smiling mine, though deep down saying please don’t come back and let me enjoy my weekend! haven’t we all felt this way before.

at ten pm at night, and after the great joy of watching my cousin go home, i sat outside in our back yard, looking at the drear blackest of skies, no stars and no clouds, the sky looked a lot like my soul inside,  maybe that’s why i spent the next thirteen minutes looking at it, normally in situations like this you’d need someone to sit by your side, keep you warm and all those fuzzy feelings, i didn’t have any, i was practicing the art of being strong on your own, it wasn’t working that successfully though, i didn’t need to practice it alone anymore, a stray cat that i have been feeding lately sat few feet away from me, she looked at me with unguarded fear, i can see in her eyes that she trusted me enough to sit this close to me, but not enough to sit next to me, though she sees the swirling waves of pain and wonder in me yet something is stopping her from comforting me, i could have really used some of her fuzziness warming my lap, but well that bloody cat never moved, the fact that i’m pleading for safety and comfort from a stray cat, made my soul wage war against my falling pride, feeling the first tear drop makings it’s way through my cheek, i forced the rest of my tears back inside forming a little lake on both of my eyelids, i picked myself up and got inside, gulped a cup of water and smiled at my dad like nothing was ever wrong with the world when all i wanted to do is run to his arms and break into tears.

sometimes you’ll never understand things

sometimes you can’t find strength in yourself

and in that times you’ll find resolution in the strength of others around you.

Beauty in Diversity

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the light of the flash was too strong for my eyes, yet i could still see the fornicated chivalry in their faces, i bet if someone drops dead right now none will know how to even stutter an English word.
that camera girl with the flash again, i’d like to show her one or two about photography and the art of not annoying people while you are at it, i kept reminding myself “i’m not here as a photographer, i’m here developing my other passion “English “.
we sat horizontally on armchairs, the instructors table at our right, the educational center was one of those centers where you feel like home, a place where you can be sure you’ll meet all kinds of like-minded people who soon after would become friends, and that what exactly happened.

as I was ticking the questions one by one, I tried to ignore the flash girl – I terribly failed – I finished ticking the questions, handed the paper to a man who reminded me of something or someone warm, i’m not sure that’s the right word to describe him, he was like the sight of a willow tree playing hide and seek with an autumnal wind, a faint smile was always drawn on his face, filling the room with his obeisance, i’v later known that his name was Ali and he was one of the instructors, an interpreter.
i’v always seen people for who they are, in my eyes people had no faces only their heartily inflicted nature, a snake sees a human as red luminescence, a cluster of fear and despair,  it sees no faces and so it discriminates none, i’m not saying i’d bite you if i sense you as a false nature, i’m just exclaiming the abstract. “it’s a talent” Ayoub said when i tried to explain that concept to him.
i moved to the second row when Abdulkareem began his designated part of the incitement, he talked to us as if we were his family, i saw the world in his eyes as it was swaying in his mind in pendulum with his exhortations, you’d expect a man with such homage and kindness to turn obsolescent by the scrutiny of our country, to be a man of shaky limbs and sweaty forehead, yet i saw only strength in him.
at the end of the day, in fifteen minutes Ossama, Ayoub and me managed to talk about everything, from books to politics to hamburgers, Ossama is the kind of friend who was so generous that you start recommending him to cut down on such benevolence, Ayoub is an English teacher, the steadiness and solemness that came with the job gave him off, the way chalk residues would give a Professor off. they both had a rejuvenating brightness that sure was impregnable to time.

when i woke up that day, i never expected to see such queer mix of personalities in one hall.
Hall number four!

just like the sun

While I was preforming my daily coffee and book ritual, word by word I lost interest in tracking what the author’s been illustrating, by then I had traveled to another world…

st.patrick street

Cork Ireland, seven pm, down from the longitudinal window you can see the yellow lights from the shops, streets occupied by people and drizzles, hardly anything was out of shape, the usual contralto coming from a flat nearby, not the day to be out for me, and so I made myself a cup of black low sugared coffee   -my usual- and sat with a book in hand facing the window, he quietly entered and swift his way towards me thinking he would sweep a silent kiss, unknowingly the crimping of the grocery bags had given him away, his figure on the window glass illuminated before me as he came closer, to fulfill his plot I went on reading like he was never there till I felt the warmth of his breath pilfering the air around my neck, I gave off a dingy smile as he kissed me and asked how I was doing, before I could finish my sentence, he complemented the way the sunset’s flirted around my cheeks, while we were both enchanted by the rays of blue and violets I watched him half shadowed by the remnants of the sun light.

He had a solemn smile contemplated by the seriousness of his eyes; I can see the fire swirl within his eyes as he reached for my hand, feeling safer and safer as he got closer, the world suddenly became an acceptable place, my mind never had it stop searching but now, why must it be love that the world strive for, where there is love there is hate, where there is hate there is anger, where there is anger no soul can really thrive, it has no ground, I am more convinced that it is peace of mind which we strive for and thrive on, one who you can be yourself with is who brings peace of mind, and with it comes a soft ease, which itself lifts the fog off one’s soul, a moment of purity, no care In the world, nothing can stain it, with that moment comes a taste of safety, which we linger on and strive for to last.

Yet still safety is never assured and with its gradual increase comes the fear of loss, fear one can’t succumb to when there is love, it has been quite the pendulum to know what aspect of life that brings our enormity to permanence, at the clasp of his arms I got a sense of something that seemed impregnable, like the world is a better place again, the sun had completely disappeared now, the lights from the shops shone stronger, the room around us got darker, as if it’s confirming our intentions concealed within our heads, the glass covered in mist, the clouds outside gathering in obeisance, at  the sight of that I have known if the sun can once rise and yet still need the time to set for the mist and clouds to chance their appearance, so as such I’ll chance the loss of safety for a moment of prosperity.

what i love the most

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i bet everyone had one of those moment, when one word by someone can trigger a whole stream of thoughts, you never originally thought about.

Friday evening, a phone call with my former Pharmacology doctor and one question, had sprung  a trail of thoughts and wonders from the deep fissures of my frontal lobes, “i know you like PDF-copies of books , so i’ll send you one” he said, ” but how do you know that?” i forcefully asked, ” well, i always see you reading them on your phone” , “well i don’t” i stated.

if not, which do you like then?”

though his question was merely about whether it is a PDF or hardcopies of books that i like more, but it sent me on a road trip to Lala land and the mystical wonders of my inner persona, which do i like really? , i asked myself, how can one expect people to have the right image of oneself if one fails to illustrate the right one originally ?.

detoured from my main self dialog ,that question jump started a new one, i remembered a conversation i had with a friend the other night, he read my previous blog post (the red fever) , which had some indoctrination of self-fulfillment, and had lead him to ask me, how can someone know his true self, know your flaws and leverage them i said, think about one subject and align your principle to it, we were facebook chatting yet  i could feel him sigh, i knew i should stop the exhortations and simplify my understandings to him, think of smoking i said, do you believe that smoking is as bad as labeled to be?, he answered solemnly with strict approval, is that really what you believe, not what your family believes, not with your friends believe, not what i believe?, “yes” he said. that’s all it takes to know your true self, just to know what and what not suits you, and you should have a fair try on your way to discovering that, because determining the yes and no part of your answer is really what will set off your emanation.

i checked my phone wondering if my doctor is still on the phone after all of that day dreaming, well! he wasn’t he must have hung up at one point there, and i wasn’t yet quit awake. i wondered of the thing that can prove to me my true self, with my eyes i scanned my whole room, they say a room always speaks of it’s habitat, there were books, techs, sketches, gifts, makeup, candles, bags and a tread mill, okay then i’m a weird character! what else?

during my scan, my eyes set shore on a book i had since my childhood, one of my first books actually, (reflections of middle years ) it was called if i got the shabby writing right , not a typical book for a child to have, it was talking about fulfillment and the journey of a middle aged man towards finding his ultimate self, and as so those day dreams has always been familiar whenever they are brought up, and as so i never seized dreaming.

while grabbing that old book from my bookshelf, it’s texture nostalgic, and it’s sight reminiscent. hard-copies i whispered i like hard-copies.

the slender woman from the bookshop

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in the car with the burning sun of August in my face

my mind lost in the drear streets,

my father talked, i barely listened.

i knew he either did something regretful , or he was about to, for my father is the kind of man who only talks out of guilt, he has a kind soul, a restless mind, and a heart that clasps the world if it ever needed to.

we were heading for a bookshop, thirty minutes away from home, i wasn’t aware of the disappointment i’m heading to, but in our country we don’t have that many bookshops to choose from, my father always saw me reading books on vacations, but he never knew my story with books, writing and literacy, he loved the idea of having a child who is interested in reading and education, i am not sure though whether being a girl added to his pride, or to the indefinite complexity of life.

i admit of not being an easy child, stubborn and hard headed, always focused on my perspective, hardly taking in his or anyone’s perspective for that matter, i was and i am always convinced that to remain who you are, to stay true to your identity in a world that’s ought to get you lost in one of it’s crooks here or there, you have to build some kind of fortress around your thoughts and also your heart, but the world wasn’t what drove me to be an impregnable personality, growing up i never hesitated to take initiative, i never second guess any of my activities, i didn’t fear people or society, on the contrast, i apposed the narratives, the rules, and all the traditions and the stereotypes constructed by our pilfering society, what was it then that drove me to live inside a fortress?, it was someone rather small, much smaller than the world or society.

i was distorted from those thoughts by my father’s alarming advice he was giving me, he never contrived my way of acting, and it always seemed peculiar to me how i never contrived his, he wants to protect me even from the speck of a dust, he knows i would go on exploring that speck of dust, not gaining anything but a sneeze,  because it was too small to explore anyway, but i was never afraid to sneeze if it meant a new adventure.

inside the bookshop, there was a slender woman trying too hard to sell off a book to a customer, as it seems to me neither the customer nor the bookshop woman knew anything about books, me and my father went in different directions, i guess i intrigued his old habits of long reads, old habits die hard they say, if he could just take a moment, forget his job, the war and all the troubles, and just remember who he is, it is such a queer thing what hardship can make of a man.

Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance, the color of  memory and a pocket art of Micheal Angelo’s paintings were in my hands, i embraced those books as if they were my first and last hope, i came up to the slender woman at the cashier, and handed her the books, “oh you like artists i see”  i nodded my approval, i just wanted to pay and get out of her sight for her sight wasn’t that reassuring, me and my father stepped out of the bookshop with the books in my hand, i looked at him and said ” you know, right now i’m the happiest person on earth”, he turned to me with wondering eyes and said ” being the happiest person on earth is quit the statement, now why are you? ” , true-hearted i answered ,” because books are what makes me this happy” , finally he answered

” if i ever knew that i would have filled you up with books”