Feeling imprisoned in time as I watch people farewell august and welcoming September!
words with half letters missing
“i should cut on the caffeine a bit” i sarcastically stated
“yes you should, it’s bad for you” my friend said
bleegh, i grunted ” life is bad for me”
see i never got the idea behind people taking the leverage to say that’s good and that’s bad for you, well thank you for the inquiry, i am sure i’m grown enough to know what’s good and what’s bad for me, that’s what always runs in mind when anyone says that to me, but i reluctantly fail at declaring it for some reason, and when i’m really not in the mood for any one to act a *know it all* on me – that being most of the time- my response would be more like ” bollocks, listen you human, i haven’t got the slightest capacity for your pretentious feed today” that too is said only in mind.
i’m normally calm enough on the outside when it comes to those rhetoric comments, as i said calm enough, which really depends on one’s elaboration of calm enough, my elaboration would be being close enough to punch one in the face yet still maintain a perfectly worn grin, violence is no way to face the world, though being raised in my country teaches you that violence is the only way, from the ever endless war to the marsh back to the middle ages, you get very inclined not to use violence, i still wonder how it feels to swing a good punch at someone’s face though.
i renew my caffeine blood level three times daily, i like my functionality under it, it keeps me sane, energy drinks too whenever i can get my hands on them without the being remarked on my so unhealthy choices, i don’t know what’s it with people and healthy living these days, it’s like a plague where people don’t die, which is worse in my eyes really, i don’t usually keep track with the daily three meals a day program, i eat whatever i can make whenever i’m hungry enough, my life isn’t what a typical twenty years old girl has, so why should my life be in any way daily, why should i be the expected princess, i can still be me – the clock wise caffeinated , highly tempered girl, who knows nothing about weddings or anything of that sort, and still own the crown.
i remember once pumping to an old friend when i was heading to an eight am lecture, we shook hands and kissed, and the only thing she managed to say before darting away was ” your the only girl i know who mixes up clothes so clumsily, yet still manage to look so refined” i didn’t get the chance to say anything to her at that moment, but i always kept that in mind whenever i get skeptical.
so maybe i don’t live so benevolently
maybe i’m too irreconcilable
maybe i’m the chosen one
or maybe i’m just a mere racket…
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.
“I love your whole look, the red hair, and makeup
beautiful, where did you get it done?” she asked me
“oh thank you, but it is all me” i answered
sourly she drew a smile and walked silently beside me to dance
the dance hall was filled with girls, full makeup yet dresses short on fabric, my best friend came, took me by the hand and started dancing, we danced amidst our friends from college,
they got used to me in a certain image, from library to lecture halls to the small coffee shop not so far from the library, running here and there, lab sessions and due dates, and to see me in a peachy gown, hair loose, smokey eyes has plundered their faces of color and their eyes of perception, my only explanation to this, is that one don’t believe in virtuosity of self unless if it was of it’s own.
meritoriously i turned a blind eye to them all, and joyfully with all the strength i had in me i danced, my heels ached and i kept dancing, they could’v never guessed the source of my joy, their piercing eye protruded my body, a shabby try to bewilder me into self-abasement.
i still remember back from my childhood when i used to cheer for the weird kid in the movies, for i always believed in exceptional characters, in diversity, and in the right of one to do what ever one desires with his life, i never comprehended the concept of war, or why would anyone want power over another’s life, isn’t it troublesome enough for one to have power over self.
for that same believe, the emanation of my first act of rebellion over society took hold, rock music, and black makeup, as i grew up, my rebellion grew to a more of an intellectual act, just to know more, learn more, enrich my soul with more than just what people like to say or hear, to be more than just a mere entity, more than just to live and dye, but to live superior in my thoughts and believes, though that shaped me into what i exactly intended to be, yet made me inferior to any social skills, that i was secretly proud of.
my second act of rebellion was turning redhead, a rebel has to own the look now doesn’t she, i dyed it once, twice, trice, till i lost count, and the red hair became a part of me, as my intellectual needs and lack of communication skills has. there must be a reason i used to and still say, there must be a reason why i am here, there must be a reason why we were created differently.
those who relish in their differences attract me, those who clasp their differences warms me, and those who leverage them fascinate me.
and i will always be that friend with the red hair who spends her days off reading.
Tiffany in the arms of Pat, on a Sunday evening
the sun creeping in from the windows
surrounded by family and friends.
that was the ending of the silver lining book, a movie based on a Mathew Quick novel, at the start Tiffany and Pat seemed too irreconcilable for each other, on the contrary to what one might think, they grew in love with that, and that ending was merely their start.
this was my third time watching this movie, it was a weird kind of romance, something i’m fond of, this time it was the inimical ending, that so intricately captured my mind, it had me wondering, when will my life stop being so stagnant, when will this pain end for a start to see light in my way.
i have always wanted to do more, be more, to evolve, to be better, everyone has it’s own image of what a better person is, in my eyes, is a person who experienced as much as someone can, both what’s wrong and right, what’s forbidden and what’s allowed, only then i can be better, because that’s when one can truly know himself. yet something always held me down, something so oppressive, and too clamorous to be ignored, is that them, or is it just me? is life going the wrong way, or have i been choosing the wrong path?
for 30 minutes after the movie has ended, i sat feeble mumbling to myself, what is it like to progress, to move on, to be going somewhere, rather than to be lost in a maze, rewinding the same routes over and over, building a fantasy of how the world is outside that maze, i refuse to loose hope of what’s in hand, still i refuse to loose hope of ever finding a way out, a lost hope i’m clinging to!
Pat was bipolar, lost in his mood swings and believes that the past can still be his future, in between Tiffany made his present a progression to a different future with the same past, she thought him acceptance, when he finally accepted himself as the mess he was, he opened his eyes to a new potential with the only person who ever accepted his flaws and turned them virtuous.
only then, i knew that i shall not let my life wither just because my future isn’t as familiar as my past.
only now as i am writing my ending to this, my eyes are open to him.
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”