​End of the day, coming down with the cold i look at the pile of books filling my room floor feeling worn out i sit by those books hands around my crossed legs head tilted a little to the right anchored by the wall behind me a pose of surrender and despair. I talk to my books and say I rest my case and plead to you; tell me why have you steered me your way?  Why have you made me into this fragile hearted fickle minded person i am. 

So detached hardly even liking a person these days. A repulsive power against people string around me like a set of hola hoops it spins more powerfully and more erratically as anyone comes closer; an action like look down, slip away and sift out unseen usually comes to mind when people do come closer and i usually try discard them but end up forcing myself into hellos and kisses i find no meaning to, social encounters that i can’t wait to end even if i have nothing else to do. what is the solid ground that will give me comfort or at least a sense of belonging “Iuntima”? I know the feelings of strangeness is getting stronger than ever because now it’s something i can’t control and often not aware of. I realize that when people’s voice gets shattered before it reaches me and fade bit by bit, the background starts to blur, the voice of the wind calms me and as clickering of heels of girls annoy me. my dad feared this effect of overwhelming independence and of fake solidarity. A state of in between. I don’t know why I’m blaming my books – It’s only natural for a human to blame. Blaming my books is nevertheless invalid and unjustified, i have been lost in this world, i am lost in this world and as i continue to be me i will still be lost in this world for many years to come – my books are the only thing that kept me attached to solid ground and that gave me a link to this physical world. My books is where i have always found logic and a sense of (Iuntima – belonging). 

It’s often that our paths are predetermined with some slips and falls along the way our natural self not our personality for that is constantly changing as we grow but our innermost natural self is what follows those paths. 
Those paths are not structured yet they still lead to one end that being the discovery of who we are. If you find your way too quickly or too often then that is probably not your way in fact the losers are the ones who find their way and they never tell because they never really come to realize it.


A person with no title. 

In what do people find their motives? in what do people find logic? where do they find meaning?… At the end of each day i wonder this same thing. But i find that most people don’t look for logic in life, but follow an ordered spontaneity like a preset of what life is supposed to be. A terrace of how it should be. In the midst of all this i find my self hollow wondering why am i so different, finding a hard time accepting that this what we have here and what we live by is what logic supposed to be. 

The books on philosophy all join in at that to be irrelatable to the common understandings of your community is to be mad. A wack! A fault in design! But i believe that god created me and those who suffer the same as me like car makers making a limited design to show that this world is an endless continuum. It’s variations run through us not for us.

Logic is not hard to find, what is hard is the truth it unhides when found. The search for logic generates more and more questions and to answer them and find your own understanding, is to be ready for the next question to set sail. 

I do understand what this world is about, what people is about and that is the original problem i believe. To understand! This world is not made to be understood, it is too complex for us just so we don’t get Lost. It’s easier to get lost in the meaning than the question. It’s easier to understand the purpose of a normal maze with one exit than a maze with all doors open.

For Those of you who run hollow; have no base structure. Your maze is all open and the search is endless. 

My search is endless! 

The girl with no footsteps 

​Today i would like to write about my pink pin, and the fine line drawn by it’s 0.4 mm tip, it’s a radiant pastel pink – just like me that combination is hard to believe it could exist in one. the tip pigments the paper so smoothly as the round tip flows over the white paper extracting it’s motion from my fingers. i hate my fingers they are and unlike my body so thin and slender, skin is so transparent that you can easily count the veins on them – that’s not so bad really people showed admiration of that transparency and of My personality quite the same, a transparent one that draws admiration but hardly left in peace – I’m neither frightened nor okay with the situations i find my personality simultaneously creating for me as i live day by day – I’m in transcendent realm of thoughts – i haven’t been before, i don’t know which is which, what is bad n what is good, what is a rational human behavior and what’s query.

As i lay my head on the table, the pink strokes came into focus and and at the end of the line what i know is that i am a delicate soul. A fragile leaf drifting where ever the winds may take. A lone survivor of my own ship reck and i have lived to tell the tale. The tale of a girl with no footsteps.

I used to write with black pens only then i discovered colors. And then i hated colors  because they were too over rated so i got back to using only black pens and once in a while i pick up this pink one and it is not so over rated in fact it brings uniqueness, new vision and contrast to the black. This is in the same way how the stars only shines it’s uniqueness fully when the sky is
 deep in black. When there is no lights on the streets but the stars. Have you ever seen the stars on a black out night? No need for the words of a poet for the stars become the peot and the poem. simply breathtaking. Like the pink and black and like the stars on a black out night. We need something or someone of our own to contrast our uniqueness and overcast our flaws. And that can only be designed for us it could be derived from within us or from the world but it has to be for the individual for the sole and true person we are. Otherwise we will live delusional and misguided.

What it means to be mad?

The weight of my mind bares me down, it tangles up the stream of thoughts, the waves of emotions and my line of life all into one imbalanced point, a fine thread between being normal and being mad.
I can’t even see or feel that thread anymore, i neither know whether I’m normal or mad, I’m normal because i say I’m mad, (mad people often see themselves normal) i know I’m not normal because nothing on or in this earth is the way for me, but if i say I’m normal then I’m mad, and if i think in this pattern that must mean I’m mad.
I guess i lost that fine thread the moment i visualized it.
It appears to me in my friend’s smile, in my little brothers satisfaction, in my goals and in my efforts, it appears to me in myself, it appears in parallel, and in pyramidal distinction, it’s a fine thread but it’s the only thing that connects me to reality, to thinking, and to rationality but only in skepticism to all of what’s just said,  skepticism is a black line that approximates the fine thread of madness or in contrast of normality, it margins the madness when skepticism is in the fine law of existing, and the normality when skepticism in the queries of humanity is denied.
The stars are beautiful but they are the reck of something, they are still beautiful though the energy it holds, the distance it travels, it’s marvelous in the dreams they shed upon the eyes of the hopeless, is there any skepticism in those dreams?  But are there any laws that govern them? There is freedom in thought, there is freedom in skepticism, there is no law and normality is to deny what you can’t acquire, madness is to acquire what others skepticise.

My Quantum entanglement

He is a slender tall man, solemnly shaken by his own mind, as a willow tree shaken by her own branches.
Today he talks to me and smiles, blocking the sun as he stands, happy that finally his mind surrendered to his soul, ” i had thoughts and i let them play out for two hours and a half and it felt like watching a movie” he says.
Aren’t our lives a one gigantic
movie where we play lead parts on how the events play out, there is  always a plot and a scenario to how things ends up.
It’s often stated that we can’t change these plots, but it’s also often we forget it’s made through us as we are made through it.
If we cease to exist the movie stops, we own it’s existence, why don’t we start owning it’s plots.
It’s funny to think that with only what he said i got to play another movie of my own.
A background to the history of where we start is the future to where we exist.
We fail to comprehend the truth in front of us sometimes, well  (for me it’s most of the time) , i just fail to see why would the thing i feel is real, why would it be a hint of what’s coming, i always doubted what i felt, and needed confirmation from my sister or a friend that what I’m feeling is true or sain enough to be believed, but i know now after having to take a very difficult decision that will probably affect my life for ever , that i don’t need a prove to my feelings from anyone, it’s only a matter of time, till i say deep down “if only i listened to myself”, it’s just ironic but most logical having to be your least self to really know who is yourself, having to get to the most shattered state to believe that your whole, having to brake yourself to build it up again the right way, only know i understand, only know i know why this line: “i was not,i was nothing, and that seemed to me quite marvelous” was kept by me as a note which i set to be reminded of every other day.
“i believe i was nothing, but as weird as it seems it felt most peaceful”
The 1st line was by Paulo Coelho, the 2nd was by a one tall slender man, my friend, my brother my Quantum entanglement, who is to me the most generous in soul and heart but he too still searching for a prove to his own sanity.

All sorts of all

You were fought off your existence, since the day you were born, your fought by the closest people to you, and that’s all you know about life.
You were given an incredible ability to love everyone, to cherish every human soul, and to give when ever you can, even when your running low yourself!
That love is often rejected, used, misunderstood or even drained and misplaced, you go by everyday with something missing, with a void you keep on filling with meaningless objects and tainted smiles.


You manage to renew your faith in humanity and keep on giving and it’s a circle all over again.
I walk beaten in soul, and i try with every breath i can to find the patience and the courage to still give, because i still believe that somewhere someplace there are people who deserve even a little of what i got to give, i believe that these people are the reason why I’m still fighting for the real me, for the virtues i was born with.
I’m the kind of person who wears her feelings upon her face, i struggle to laugh through the swirling emotions inside, just so people won’t ask what’s wrong? This question is just a useless remark by someone who is just forced by  the sight of your misery to ask it.
I go by everyday with a moment where i look at the wall of the library where i study and feel the urge to let go and just cry, to admit the big ball of sadness, anger and despite i am!
I look around and i know there is no one who’s worth it enough to see that side of me.
I get up and look around for something to restore peace to my soul just enough so i can hold it all together
Usually that 1st person would be Awad, Awad is the godfather of the library, he is big guy with a slender soul, a boldy who constantly wears a smile so big it says I’m too strong for this world and eyes that holds a great ocean of sadness i can’t figure out, i grew fund of him over the days, i can spill gibberish and he would still understand and comment on, he gives at moments when he is in the most need to receive.

I have learned that pain is of all sorts, the soundless pain, the pain the leaches on, the pain that is not worn apparently but is always there, see the problem is not in feeling pained, the problem is in the sort of pain that’s so strong it can’t be felt, it’s a plague of human interaction, it spreads and detaches you from the ground you set your feet on so much that you can’t feel it’s presence, so the real problem is NOT feeling pained.
Your judgment is impaired and your emotions are as useless as that one shirt in the closet you never wear!

Who am i? And the ugly truth

With two simple words, your life may take an unexpected turn and you might get to be someone you never thought you had within, the run of events, from the looks to the casual heys,  to the long Internet talks, to meetings and from that to the longings and admiration.


You think you know who u are and how much you can give!
but it turns out you were misplaced and that’s not who you really are but who your oppressed to be.

I never even thought of knowing what passion is, or what longing for as much with a person is, i never thought i could feel the presence of someone elses but mine, my presence was always too big it shadowed over everyone elses and no one could reflect back any light.

But his presence here and now is making mine even bigger and most  radiant.

I feel empowered by it and i feel the need to empower it back, i need to see it shadow over others with me, more than it ever shadowed over any before.

I never thought i could be happy or sad for someone other than my family, things just don’t interest me enough, nothing is intriguing unless if it was coming from inside my mind, but the the idea of him, not just the idea but himself interests me.

I’d finally get to think of him, to picture him, to finally illustrate the dusk and dawn, and the day and night all in his eyes, i could finally feel what romantic writers get to so lavishly describe.

But i don’t want to describe this in words, it could almost be of a mysteries phenomenon where the heart and mind syncs as one, they are always expressed as having two different paths, the logic and the scrutinized emotional drive, but i can clearly see that they were just waiting for one thing to link through, the heart can’t simply feel without the mind seeing the logic,  and the mind can’t see the logic in anything that the heart can’t feel.

It is we who misunderstood ourselves and it is we who can find the glitch in the system and have the only key to reboot.

When you emerge in something you completely feel and understand is euphoric, but to every euphoria is the downside of being ended and the fear of overdosing.
Fear plagues logic and emotions with overthinking, i won’t state that i don’t have this fear, but the hope i have for this succeeding and not being just a fling is thriving over all fears.

The wanting of him exempts any doubts.

I wrote this some time ago, and i always wanted to finish it but never had the time to, but now giving to the fact that i didn’t care if his mind and heart also synced at the sight of me, as mine does at the sight of him, it didn’t really matter if i overcame fear or not.
Some of our journeys are mapped out for us by the universe, some journeys are not taken on alone.
This wasn’t about me from the very beginning, but about him and his journey to self-completion.

The wanting of him employs all doubts.