I'm enraged beyond words. The farthest reach of my words cannot explain how angry I am. I cannot type with enough vigour to reflect how fuming I am right now. If only the harder I struck the keyboard the deeper the characters are imprinted.
I'm so angry I feel I'm going to foam at the mouth. I'm so angry I feel like a damn wounded beast that is about to die and its anger at its hurt is killing it from within. My stomach feels like a steam engine's burner from all the heat and coal it contains inside.
I'm too angry to talk about why.. I'm too angry to describe how.. I'm too angry to think of why I'm angry.. I know I'm angry at situations and I know I'm angry at myself. This post of mine is raw and unedited as is this rage it describes. This rage is a face with a growling expression and a jaw with gnashing teeth.
I can't stand myself, I can't stand anyone around me, I can't stand anything I need to do, I want to disappear I want to self ignite and I want to vapourize. There's nothing I can say to express the anger I feel and I really hate myself this way. I hate what I am at the moment and that I could reach such a state. There's just no outlet for this hot balloon. I know I'm damned, but I'll be damned if I give a damn. I'm sick of rambling and I'm sick of grumbling and I'm so angry I can eat a horse. I'm so angry I can get into a boxing ring… I'm so angry I can throw a punch and I'm so angry that I can take a punch… not just one, an entire beating as well. I'll move and move and feel and feel till it's all out.. maybe one kick will push it all away.
If I were to act wise I would say I'm angry with someone or something, but the foolish man that I am, I'm honest enough to say that I'm greatly angry with myself. That poor idiotic self forced upon me to observe me and lead me and be a part of my existence. I'm angry at what I do and I'm angry at what I don't… there's just so much that humble words at times of extreme rage cannot express.
I say and say in the hope that all this horrible rage insides me is let out, that I can get some relief out of writing all this, but the words come out of my head and they don't come out of my stomach as they should. The burning coals are not exhaled with words that want to represent them.
I've realized that one should always judge others by his standards rather than theirs. He'll never know enough about their standards to judge in their absence. I don't know what I'm saying this, but somehow it seems relevant to what I'm feeling. It's also a shame that one judges himself according to people's standard and not his. It's a shame that people judge themselves using both.
That dogmatic idiot inside me is such a villain. I have no idea what he has to do with anything, but he's a stupid bastard and I'm probably bringing him in because I'm angry at him too. Is there anything I'm not angry about at this moment?? Only the things that I cannot think of.. they're safe from my anger.. safe from my irrationality and my ….
I feel like smashing something, not that the hurting of objects would relieve these coals inside… but that's what I feel like doing. I feel like smashing the notebook… I feel like smashing the guitar .. I feel like playing an ugly loud solo and just breaking the guitar on the amplifier.
I feel that if I were to listen to music on large speakers I would want to smash the speakers.. but I'd probably smash my head too.. I feel that if I actually do one of these things now I'll probably feel okay.. but what am I doing.. I'm just writing and writing, more self control.. I want to explode and I'm just imploding more and more..
Who is this beast that's speaking, someone rather boring, I wouldn't read any of what I wrote just now!!! Stupid Stupid!!!
Stupid is a word I know can hurt, and that's why I call myself stupid!!! I call myself stupid in every part to hurt myself in every part. I've said so much but it's not enough, not for someone who is reading, but someone who is writing…
What more is there to say… I'll pound the gas and take a hard turn, it's mad beyond belief. It's a crazy life that offers me nothing but discontent. It's a life that gives me a way to play a losing game, because someone has to play and someone has to lose. It's near predetermined. I'm totally losing my mind.. I wondered what it's like to go insane, but I don't think I wonder anymore!!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Egyptian Love Song
This is a love song for Egypt,
And I hope someone sings it too,
but to tell her I love her I must be honest,
and tell her that I hate her too.
But no one's going to sing this song,
because everyone wants a fantasy to live,
With words majestic and thoughts so deep,
and nothing but lies and lies to give.
So when I tell Egypt that I love her,
You'd guess it's just for show,
And when I don't tell her that I hate her,
you'd then, absolutely know.
Egypt..You know Egypt, you've hurt me,
you've hurt everyone that's loved you too,
you've been raped and battered,
and you are us and we are you.
So a song to a fallen woman,
that's made us bastards all the way,
and yet we choose to sing for her,
songs with nothing much to say.
No woman, I won't live for you,
nor will I die for your land.
Nor will I tell you how beautiful you are,
You no longer understand.
And I hope someone sings it too,
but to tell her I love her I must be honest,
and tell her that I hate her too.
But no one's going to sing this song,
because everyone wants a fantasy to live,
With words majestic and thoughts so deep,
and nothing but lies and lies to give.
So when I tell Egypt that I love her,
You'd guess it's just for show,
And when I don't tell her that I hate her,
you'd then, absolutely know.
Egypt..You know Egypt, you've hurt me,
you've hurt everyone that's loved you too,
you've been raped and battered,
and you are us and we are you.
So a song to a fallen woman,
that's made us bastards all the way,
and yet we choose to sing for her,
songs with nothing much to say.
No woman, I won't live for you,
nor will I die for your land.
Nor will I tell you how beautiful you are,
You no longer understand.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Passion Is Everything
Passion is everything. Without passion there is no point in anything we do. The whole of life is about exciting every single feeling we can get our hands on that gives us something. There is nothing in life to be gained or lost except feelings. Everything in life that happens and has meaning is translated into a feeling. Nothing in life has value if it cannot be translated into a feeling.
Money in itself means nothing if it can't be translated. Beauty can mean nothing if it is not translated. Knowledge means nothing if it cannot be translated and even words mean nothing if they are not translated.
The truth of the matter is that all our existence has to be translated to feeling otherwise it means nothing. The greatest gift you can give someone is a rare feeling that fills their entire being. The best way to hurt someone is also through a feeling.
With this end in mind, it can be possible to determine the value and weight of everything. Nothing else can weigh things this accurately.
Money in itself means nothing if it can't be translated. Beauty can mean nothing if it is not translated. Knowledge means nothing if it cannot be translated and even words mean nothing if they are not translated.
The truth of the matter is that all our existence has to be translated to feeling otherwise it means nothing. The greatest gift you can give someone is a rare feeling that fills their entire being. The best way to hurt someone is also through a feeling.
With this end in mind, it can be possible to determine the value and weight of everything. Nothing else can weigh things this accurately.
Passion is everything. It would make all the difference if you did one thing a day to make you feel good about yourself.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Pink Shades
Wouldn't it be great to put on pink colored shades and see the world devoid of all those ugly colors? To see all the ugliness in rose colored shades? However it's contrast that makes us appreciate beautiful colors from ugly colors. The question becomes, are the beautiful colors you might see worth all the ugliness around them?
Friday, January 18, 2008
I Too Had Hopes And Dreams
"Don't look at me this way, I too had hopes and dreams," that's what I told him as he stared back at me. I had a look of sorrow and disappointment on my face and I expected him to have the same look on his, yet his face was filled with contempt. I waved my left hand slowly and he waved his right, I moved my head to the right and he moved his head to the left. Whenever I would make a move he'd do the same move albeit inverted in a way, but when it came to the facial expression, no matter what I did, he'd still have that look of contempt on his face.
I felt sorry for him and he felt contempt for me. I looked for all the possible futures and he looked for all the possible pasts and with all these possibilities, we found ourselves in an impossible situation of having to live with each other. He's like an old companion, who shadows me wherever I go but could never really turn into a friend.
Of course I wouldn't always see him and on many occasions I would only just remember him and hear his voice. One such occasion when I hear his voice is whenever I open the fridge door. He tells me to drink from the bottle directly while causing my thoughts to drift to unsubstantiated fears of contamination. It's always him that tells me that it doesn't matter if I infect another, trying to convince me that it's okay if those I love share what I may suffer for if they discovered what I might have, they'd let me suffer too and in all likelihood disown me.
Every time I use a fork or a spoon that will be used by someone else other than me I feel that same struggle and that same inner fear, the fear that someone will contract the virus. I've read so much and I know that this is highly unlikely but when I look into the spoon that same contemptuous face stares back and tells me different. He also reminds me that people won't shake my hand even though they can't contract the disease, he tells me that they won't want me around even if I'm wrapped in a sterile wrapping. Sometimes I'd listen to him till he wears me down and sometimes he'd listen to me till I wore him down, for there was no escape from our joint fate.
I remember the time we went to Dubai after I had landed my dream job in one of the largest architectural firms there. It was perfect, a new life and a new chance to start over without the fear of being discovered, without the instability caused by that constant fear of having to spend the rest of my life in quarantine. In short it was the chance to start living out my dream. I arrived on a visit visa that lasts three months but should be changed to a residential visa. I was in a hurry to make that move and settle down. I had left everything behind in Egypt, and I wasn't really prepared to look back, and even my old companion had disappeared for a long time and I thought I had left him back there.
But one day, well into my second month of stay in Dubai I went out with an acquaintance from work. We went to a nightclub. I can't remember much about it except that it was mostly blue and dimly lit. A band was playing for the first half of the night as we drank our beers followed by tequila shots. When we had lost our senses enough they switched to a DJ with loads of house music and everyone was dancing. The loud music and the drinks made me feel like I was in a dream. I heard the words I said as if spoken by a stranger as I talked to random people at the club. I was aware of what I was saying and yet I seemed to be just an observer, looking at myself from behind a glass. I headed to the bathroom and as the sound of loud music became distant I became more and more aware of that voice. It sounded familiar to me and not quite me. Dazed and drunk I looked into the mirror and I caught a glimpse of that familiar face that I knew all too well. It was only a moment and it felt like a dream to have seen him after a long time. I shook it off though and went back to dancing.
We left the night club and I was half drunk and half sleepy but we decided to have a little snack. We walked down a street with lots of food shops to choose from, but I discovered that this wasn't the only thing in plenty. The street flooded with a plethora of prostitutes. I didn't know if my mind was playing tricks on me or if these were really women who sold pleasure, and so I asked my friend, and he confirmed that they were.
"It's a form of tourism over here, it' not exactly legal, but the government doesn't stop it either," he said.
"Yes, but how does it work here?" I asked.
"Simple, you just walk up to them and ask 'how much', and they'll tell you their prices, but alternatively they may give you a piece of paper with their number and you can call them and negotiate a price," he responded.
"Why would they give you a piece of paper instead of just talking?" I asked.
"Well lately the police have been harassing them and asking questions whenever they talked to people so they talk on the phone instead to steer clear from trouble, but it's all just for show anyway," he replied.
"But isn't it dangerous to do that, considering they might carry AIDS?" I said as my phobia started to take its old shape.
"That shouldn't be a problem here if they have a residential visa, because everyone gets an HIV test and has to pass before they're granted the visa, if they test positive, they have to leave the country or are deported or something"
This piece of news awaked my long dormant old companion who seemed to have been determined to visit me that night. He awakened frightened and frightened me to death. What if they were on visit visa or if they had engaged in their activities with clients that were on visit visa and carried the virus, I thought to myself.
I started dreading the blood test and I was once more surrounded by that feeling of instability. Once more my old companion surfaced and looked at me with contempt. By the end of the visit visa my fear had turned to a living nightmare thanks to my old companion who seemed to have never left me from that day. I eventually listened to him and turned down my dream job, opting to live obscurely in reality. He won that time and continues to survive as long as I'm ignorant as to whether I carry the virus.
So there we were right where we started, facing each other through a body length mirror, looking at me with contempt for blowing away his dream, he had hopes to be somewhere safe with all that he ever dreamed of. He's such an odd character, this old companion, he speaks with such contempt about those carrying the virus, and yet he doesn't want me to try and find out if I have it or not. It's as if he's stealthily willing the virus to spread if I actually do have it and willing me to live in utter fear if I don't.
The odd thing about him too is that he's right about a great many things, about how people will treat me and how they will put distance between us, even my closest friends and he's right about how my life will never be the same and none of the normalcy which I enjoy now will be taken when I cross that gate. But the only reason that's true is because of him. Yes, it's because of how he feels, and how he can never accept me. It's his desire to be in denial, even though he's my own denial.
He's taken me down a spiral of despair. He's taken me to judge, he's taken me to deny and he's taken me to look upon others with disgust. He's taken me to phobia and he's taken me to mania and all the time I knew I wasn't in the right places.
It's a horrible thing to live in fear, and worse yet to be judged by someone living inside you. But even with this fear and discomfort, I think it better and more bearable than for everyone to know and never let you forget the discomfort of their harsh judgment. Even my old companion inside, who is me, thought of everyone that had the virus with disgust and blamed them for their misfortune without even knowing their story. But he knew mine and never dared blame me.
If people should find out, like my mirror companion they won't care about my story and they will blame me and judge me and punish me. They will punish me not knowing that I have enough punishment to bear and that I carry a burden with me that they can't ever imagine, not considering that I too had hopes and dreams that have diminished with the impossibility of achieving them. There's a bit of comfort with my old companion for he knows that even with his harsh judgment some cases are beyond his evil reach. Those children bearing the virus from their mothers, children abused at a young age, those who have been raped and those whom others' neglect transferred the virus into their blood stream. My old companion cannot blame those but I know that some of these people look for forgiveness from others even though they shouldn't need any.
Once in a while when I look into a shiny spoon or a shiny doorknob or a reflective glass he stares at me with disgust, but at the same time urging me to remain in hidden shame. He is my fear and he embodies all what I fear if I find out I'm infected. How I wish I could kill him, but that would mean killing everyone who would look at me with disgust; how I wish he would change, but that would mean changing everyone around who lacks sympathy or understanding; the understanding that I too have hopes and dreams and without their help, they are crushed.
I felt sorry for him and he felt contempt for me. I looked for all the possible futures and he looked for all the possible pasts and with all these possibilities, we found ourselves in an impossible situation of having to live with each other. He's like an old companion, who shadows me wherever I go but could never really turn into a friend.
Of course I wouldn't always see him and on many occasions I would only just remember him and hear his voice. One such occasion when I hear his voice is whenever I open the fridge door. He tells me to drink from the bottle directly while causing my thoughts to drift to unsubstantiated fears of contamination. It's always him that tells me that it doesn't matter if I infect another, trying to convince me that it's okay if those I love share what I may suffer for if they discovered what I might have, they'd let me suffer too and in all likelihood disown me.
Every time I use a fork or a spoon that will be used by someone else other than me I feel that same struggle and that same inner fear, the fear that someone will contract the virus. I've read so much and I know that this is highly unlikely but when I look into the spoon that same contemptuous face stares back and tells me different. He also reminds me that people won't shake my hand even though they can't contract the disease, he tells me that they won't want me around even if I'm wrapped in a sterile wrapping. Sometimes I'd listen to him till he wears me down and sometimes he'd listen to me till I wore him down, for there was no escape from our joint fate.
I remember the time we went to Dubai after I had landed my dream job in one of the largest architectural firms there. It was perfect, a new life and a new chance to start over without the fear of being discovered, without the instability caused by that constant fear of having to spend the rest of my life in quarantine. In short it was the chance to start living out my dream. I arrived on a visit visa that lasts three months but should be changed to a residential visa. I was in a hurry to make that move and settle down. I had left everything behind in Egypt, and I wasn't really prepared to look back, and even my old companion had disappeared for a long time and I thought I had left him back there.
But one day, well into my second month of stay in Dubai I went out with an acquaintance from work. We went to a nightclub. I can't remember much about it except that it was mostly blue and dimly lit. A band was playing for the first half of the night as we drank our beers followed by tequila shots. When we had lost our senses enough they switched to a DJ with loads of house music and everyone was dancing. The loud music and the drinks made me feel like I was in a dream. I heard the words I said as if spoken by a stranger as I talked to random people at the club. I was aware of what I was saying and yet I seemed to be just an observer, looking at myself from behind a glass. I headed to the bathroom and as the sound of loud music became distant I became more and more aware of that voice. It sounded familiar to me and not quite me. Dazed and drunk I looked into the mirror and I caught a glimpse of that familiar face that I knew all too well. It was only a moment and it felt like a dream to have seen him after a long time. I shook it off though and went back to dancing.
We left the night club and I was half drunk and half sleepy but we decided to have a little snack. We walked down a street with lots of food shops to choose from, but I discovered that this wasn't the only thing in plenty. The street flooded with a plethora of prostitutes. I didn't know if my mind was playing tricks on me or if these were really women who sold pleasure, and so I asked my friend, and he confirmed that they were.
"It's a form of tourism over here, it' not exactly legal, but the government doesn't stop it either," he said.
"Yes, but how does it work here?" I asked.
"Simple, you just walk up to them and ask 'how much', and they'll tell you their prices, but alternatively they may give you a piece of paper with their number and you can call them and negotiate a price," he responded.
"Why would they give you a piece of paper instead of just talking?" I asked.
"Well lately the police have been harassing them and asking questions whenever they talked to people so they talk on the phone instead to steer clear from trouble, but it's all just for show anyway," he replied.
"But isn't it dangerous to do that, considering they might carry AIDS?" I said as my phobia started to take its old shape.
"That shouldn't be a problem here if they have a residential visa, because everyone gets an HIV test and has to pass before they're granted the visa, if they test positive, they have to leave the country or are deported or something"
This piece of news awaked my long dormant old companion who seemed to have been determined to visit me that night. He awakened frightened and frightened me to death. What if they were on visit visa or if they had engaged in their activities with clients that were on visit visa and carried the virus, I thought to myself.
I started dreading the blood test and I was once more surrounded by that feeling of instability. Once more my old companion surfaced and looked at me with contempt. By the end of the visit visa my fear had turned to a living nightmare thanks to my old companion who seemed to have never left me from that day. I eventually listened to him and turned down my dream job, opting to live obscurely in reality. He won that time and continues to survive as long as I'm ignorant as to whether I carry the virus.
So there we were right where we started, facing each other through a body length mirror, looking at me with contempt for blowing away his dream, he had hopes to be somewhere safe with all that he ever dreamed of. He's such an odd character, this old companion, he speaks with such contempt about those carrying the virus, and yet he doesn't want me to try and find out if I have it or not. It's as if he's stealthily willing the virus to spread if I actually do have it and willing me to live in utter fear if I don't.
The odd thing about him too is that he's right about a great many things, about how people will treat me and how they will put distance between us, even my closest friends and he's right about how my life will never be the same and none of the normalcy which I enjoy now will be taken when I cross that gate. But the only reason that's true is because of him. Yes, it's because of how he feels, and how he can never accept me. It's his desire to be in denial, even though he's my own denial.
He's taken me down a spiral of despair. He's taken me to judge, he's taken me to deny and he's taken me to look upon others with disgust. He's taken me to phobia and he's taken me to mania and all the time I knew I wasn't in the right places.
It's a horrible thing to live in fear, and worse yet to be judged by someone living inside you. But even with this fear and discomfort, I think it better and more bearable than for everyone to know and never let you forget the discomfort of their harsh judgment. Even my old companion inside, who is me, thought of everyone that had the virus with disgust and blamed them for their misfortune without even knowing their story. But he knew mine and never dared blame me.
If people should find out, like my mirror companion they won't care about my story and they will blame me and judge me and punish me. They will punish me not knowing that I have enough punishment to bear and that I carry a burden with me that they can't ever imagine, not considering that I too had hopes and dreams that have diminished with the impossibility of achieving them. There's a bit of comfort with my old companion for he knows that even with his harsh judgment some cases are beyond his evil reach. Those children bearing the virus from their mothers, children abused at a young age, those who have been raped and those whom others' neglect transferred the virus into their blood stream. My old companion cannot blame those but I know that some of these people look for forgiveness from others even though they shouldn't need any.
Once in a while when I look into a shiny spoon or a shiny doorknob or a reflective glass he stares at me with disgust, but at the same time urging me to remain in hidden shame. He is my fear and he embodies all what I fear if I find out I'm infected. How I wish I could kill him, but that would mean killing everyone who would look at me with disgust; how I wish he would change, but that would mean changing everyone around who lacks sympathy or understanding; the understanding that I too have hopes and dreams and without their help, they are crushed.
This story is a work of fiction sent in to the "Creative Art Competition" organized by UNAIDS as a part of the 2007 World AIDS Campaign, the category was 'Journalism and Creative Writing'.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Defeated
I've been a fool and fools get hurt because they believe things that are not true. Yet as long as the fool is deluded he is beyond the reach of hurt. It is only at the moment when his eyes are opened to his foolishness, when he sees the error of his ways that he actually gets hurt. Ironically though, it is at this exact moment that his foolishness turns to wisdom and it is the wise man inside him that starts to hurt. The fool is gone with all his delirium and foolish joy and all that remains is the suffering wise man.
I've often wondered if the fool is wiser than the wise man, for the fool never allows himself to suffer and he disappears just before the hurt kicks in. He never allows himself to hang around long enough to suffer and manages to save his skin just in time. He may be wiser than the wise man in that respect; by choosing not to bear the consequences of his own delirium.
I've been a fool and now I suffer.
I hadn't thought I'd let anyone close enough to suffer such a blow. I was prepared for almost anything but life has a way of breaking you down anyway, breaking past your defenses in the way you least expect it. It takes its toll on you, walking past your guard unrecognized in the seamless clothes of a spy underneath which, the costume of a friend. One day you wake up to realize that the enemy has taken over your walls and defenses without tearing them down. Like a Trojan horse you've taken your enemy in and now your walls are crumbling from within. You've lost the battle before you even fought and all your defenses stand as they are, but you've collapsed from within.
You were once a powerful fool with a fortress that was hard to take down and now you're no longer a fool but you also no longer have a fortress. You've been defeated and your pride does not want you to believe that you have been defeated without a battle, and you react as though there's a battle to be fought.
You're weak, defeated and broken. Don't act like you're still fighting.
't is but a dark battle upon which my insides were spilt and trampled upon by my enemy, ruthless in his indifference, unaware in his ignorance of the hurt he is bestowing upon me; His ears deaf to my cries and his words swords to my heart. My back stabbed and stabbed and in my own foolishness I've asked my stabbing enemy to protect my bleeding back and protect it he does, with more stabs. My pride keeps me on my feet, and keeps my wounds remain so deep, and if I'd only fall and rest my battered back, I'd be able to get back on track.
I've fallen from a great height, I've fallen well out of sight, out of sight from all those who looked up to me, out of all the places I was meant to be.
I've often wondered if the fool is wiser than the wise man, for the fool never allows himself to suffer and he disappears just before the hurt kicks in. He never allows himself to hang around long enough to suffer and manages to save his skin just in time. He may be wiser than the wise man in that respect; by choosing not to bear the consequences of his own delirium.
I've been a fool and now I suffer.
I hadn't thought I'd let anyone close enough to suffer such a blow. I was prepared for almost anything but life has a way of breaking you down anyway, breaking past your defenses in the way you least expect it. It takes its toll on you, walking past your guard unrecognized in the seamless clothes of a spy underneath which, the costume of a friend. One day you wake up to realize that the enemy has taken over your walls and defenses without tearing them down. Like a Trojan horse you've taken your enemy in and now your walls are crumbling from within. You've lost the battle before you even fought and all your defenses stand as they are, but you've collapsed from within.
You were once a powerful fool with a fortress that was hard to take down and now you're no longer a fool but you also no longer have a fortress. You've been defeated and your pride does not want you to believe that you have been defeated without a battle, and you react as though there's a battle to be fought.
You're weak, defeated and broken. Don't act like you're still fighting.
't is but a dark battle upon which my insides were spilt and trampled upon by my enemy, ruthless in his indifference, unaware in his ignorance of the hurt he is bestowing upon me; His ears deaf to my cries and his words swords to my heart. My back stabbed and stabbed and in my own foolishness I've asked my stabbing enemy to protect my bleeding back and protect it he does, with more stabs. My pride keeps me on my feet, and keeps my wounds remain so deep, and if I'd only fall and rest my battered back, I'd be able to get back on track.
I've fallen from a great height, I've fallen well out of sight, out of sight from all those who looked up to me, out of all the places I was meant to be.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
New Year's Pet
People treat the new year like it's a new president. It's as if the old president has stepped down and gave way to a new one that will fix everything. The first of January is just like any other day you live, you're not suddenly one year older, it's not suddenly the end of a year, it's just another day. Time isn't even aware that we've divided it into years.
It's as if the new year will wipe a slate clean, as if it will erase the sad part of the past. If only it were a new birth, that would make sense, but nothing is born. If you want the new year to be better, work each day to make yourself better. The year has no say in this, events don't wait for a year so that they happen. A good event doesn't wait for a good year to happen and a bad event doesn't wait for a bad year. The energies of the world are agnostic of new year's day.
There's so much pressure to celebrate a new year, or to become a new person and make resolutions. These pressures are as short lived as the day itself, midway through the month of Jan all is forgotten and you're back to living again. All those resolutions of being a better person, speaking wisely, gossiping less, working out more, getting angered less and being more dedicated to what you're doing will disappear, just like they've disappeared last year. Not many people can remember their last year's resolution for a very simple reason, they're not resolute.
The fact is that if people want to be something, they don't forget all the year and decide it on new year's. If they really wanted to do something they'd be working at it all year round. I do admit that there's something appealing about a new year and a fresh start, perhaps wanting to wipe a slate clean, forgetting all the bad history with a friend or lover, forgetting all the harm you've done others or the harm that's been done to you. But all this is not about the new year, it's about the fresh start.
Who changes overnight? Who decides to be something and becomes it overnight? It's a myth, it's the illusion that people can change at will and dramatically. There's no such thing as a new year, but there's a new day, and if we can treat each day like we treat the new year we'll be better off. We can celebrate a new day in our own way, we can make resolutions, we can evaluate what's really important. But what am I saying... I'll have none of that ... all these things we delude ourselves into thinking. Change happens when we decide to be resolute every day in our lives, not just special occasions. No one really has the energy to do that every day but I suppose it's better to be so on more days than not.
I don't know how people expect the year to have been good if they've done nothing about it and they don't intend to do anything about it. The government will still be corrupt at the end of 2008, people are still going to be cruel, and we're still going to do the things we always do... and at the end of next year we'll make new resolutions and we'll feel optimistic again like some beast has gone and been replaced by a pet. But our pet is turned into a beast each year.
It's as if the new year will wipe a slate clean, as if it will erase the sad part of the past. If only it were a new birth, that would make sense, but nothing is born. If you want the new year to be better, work each day to make yourself better. The year has no say in this, events don't wait for a year so that they happen. A good event doesn't wait for a good year to happen and a bad event doesn't wait for a bad year. The energies of the world are agnostic of new year's day.
There's so much pressure to celebrate a new year, or to become a new person and make resolutions. These pressures are as short lived as the day itself, midway through the month of Jan all is forgotten and you're back to living again. All those resolutions of being a better person, speaking wisely, gossiping less, working out more, getting angered less and being more dedicated to what you're doing will disappear, just like they've disappeared last year. Not many people can remember their last year's resolution for a very simple reason, they're not resolute.
The fact is that if people want to be something, they don't forget all the year and decide it on new year's. If they really wanted to do something they'd be working at it all year round. I do admit that there's something appealing about a new year and a fresh start, perhaps wanting to wipe a slate clean, forgetting all the bad history with a friend or lover, forgetting all the harm you've done others or the harm that's been done to you. But all this is not about the new year, it's about the fresh start.
Who changes overnight? Who decides to be something and becomes it overnight? It's a myth, it's the illusion that people can change at will and dramatically. There's no such thing as a new year, but there's a new day, and if we can treat each day like we treat the new year we'll be better off. We can celebrate a new day in our own way, we can make resolutions, we can evaluate what's really important. But what am I saying... I'll have none of that ... all these things we delude ourselves into thinking. Change happens when we decide to be resolute every day in our lives, not just special occasions. No one really has the energy to do that every day but I suppose it's better to be so on more days than not.
I don't know how people expect the year to have been good if they've done nothing about it and they don't intend to do anything about it. The government will still be corrupt at the end of 2008, people are still going to be cruel, and we're still going to do the things we always do... and at the end of next year we'll make new resolutions and we'll feel optimistic again like some beast has gone and been replaced by a pet. But our pet is turned into a beast each year.
Not Like My Country
A lovely heartfelt poem that expresses most of what we want to say about our country, it's a plea to whoever's listening and a cry many that have been lost in the wind.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Resolution
My new year's resolution is to finally fulfill a new year's resolution and that's why I decided not to have one.
Ruba
College 10 years back
There they were, a new class studying architecture in college, they were very shiny young people who were full of energy and life. I envied them a bit but I liked them a lot, I got to be friends with many of them later on. There were 2 girls however that always hung out together who were just wonderful to observe. Both had very curly hair, one was blond and the other had dark hair. The one with the dark hair was named Ruba. I've always liked to see them walking around smiling most of the time. I took a class with her brother Ahmad, somewhat the class comedian, always joking around and always up to mischief.
There was something bright about their whole group and whenever I would hear a friend of mine talking about these girls it would put a smile on my face.
A few days back
I called Alaa Al Aswany for an interview I had to do with him. I tried calling him all day but he didn't pick up. At 12 midnight he calls me back. I ask him if he's willing to do the interview and he says he will, but he has something else on his mind. He asked me if I knew about the building in Alexandria that fell down. I did know. Well, he said:
I'm a little preoccupied, I wasn't able to answer earlier because a friend of mine had his whole family in that building, and the building collapsed over them. The city didn't bring in the dogs that can find people till 8 hours after the building collapsed.
Isn't life a bitch we both complained. Since when was anyone treated here in a half decent human manner. Why do they allow people to build things this way, can't they put a little more effort in anything they do.
We rescheduled.
Yesterday
I get a call, it's Alaa Al Aswany, I answer, it's not him on the phone. The man on the other end tells me that he has to reschedule because of the situation in Alexandria, Dr. Alaa's friend lost all his family. My condolences.
Today Afternoon
I'm in a meeting, I get back to my desk to find a message from Nader on MSN. He's left a message saying "Do you know Ahmad .. from college?"
Today Evening
I get a phone call from Nader, again he asks, "Do you know Ahmad from college?"
I say yes.
"Did you hear about the building that fell in Loran, Alexandria?"
I say yes.
"Well Ahmad lost his mother, his father, his grandfather and his sister, they were all in the building when it collapsed."
Stunned, I asked "Ahmad's sister Ruba?"
"Yes," he said, "Ruba's dead."
There was something shocking about this. I've known this very sweet girl from afar and I really had some warm feelings towards her. I felt so much liveliness in her. I didn't know her personally, but I always felt she was kind. I didn't really believe it when I heard it. Not that people don't die, but it was just surreal. I knew him and to imagine this happening to someone is hard enough, but to someone you know is really difficult specially that the person they lost is also someone you know. It's just very sad.
I'm filled with sad sedation, and I don't have the energy to be angry at someone who has cost so many people their lives. Someone who has cost a beautiful girl like Ruba her life. I went through the papers and what I read about finding her made me sick. She was 24.
Does it matter at all how many people die? We're killing us. Everyone trying to live irrespective of other is killing our brothers and our sisters and his brothers and his sisters. We're killing each other, and burying each other alive.
Ruba was a wonderful girl. I wish I'd known her more… but I don't know if I really wish for that. A lovely girl died at 24, someone I used to smile when I saw, someone who doesn't even know who I am. Now she just doesn't exist in this world anymore. Her brother, someone I know well, don't think he'll be the same again, don't know what he's going through and can't even pretend that I can guess.
Wish I had something more to say, but all I feel is a certain kind of loss. Sorrow runs through my body sedating it.
There they were, a new class studying architecture in college, they were very shiny young people who were full of energy and life. I envied them a bit but I liked them a lot, I got to be friends with many of them later on. There were 2 girls however that always hung out together who were just wonderful to observe. Both had very curly hair, one was blond and the other had dark hair. The one with the dark hair was named Ruba. I've always liked to see them walking around smiling most of the time. I took a class with her brother Ahmad, somewhat the class comedian, always joking around and always up to mischief.
There was something bright about their whole group and whenever I would hear a friend of mine talking about these girls it would put a smile on my face.
A few days back
I called Alaa Al Aswany for an interview I had to do with him. I tried calling him all day but he didn't pick up. At 12 midnight he calls me back. I ask him if he's willing to do the interview and he says he will, but he has something else on his mind. He asked me if I knew about the building in Alexandria that fell down. I did know. Well, he said:
I'm a little preoccupied, I wasn't able to answer earlier because a friend of mine had his whole family in that building, and the building collapsed over them. The city didn't bring in the dogs that can find people till 8 hours after the building collapsed.
Isn't life a bitch we both complained. Since when was anyone treated here in a half decent human manner. Why do they allow people to build things this way, can't they put a little more effort in anything they do.
We rescheduled.
Yesterday
I get a call, it's Alaa Al Aswany, I answer, it's not him on the phone. The man on the other end tells me that he has to reschedule because of the situation in Alexandria, Dr. Alaa's friend lost all his family. My condolences.
Today Afternoon
I'm in a meeting, I get back to my desk to find a message from Nader on MSN. He's left a message saying "Do you know Ahmad .. from college?"
Today Evening
I get a phone call from Nader, again he asks, "Do you know Ahmad from college?"
I say yes.
"Did you hear about the building that fell in Loran, Alexandria?"
I say yes.
"Well Ahmad lost his mother, his father, his grandfather and his sister, they were all in the building when it collapsed."
Stunned, I asked "Ahmad's sister Ruba?"
"Yes," he said, "Ruba's dead."
There was something shocking about this. I've known this very sweet girl from afar and I really had some warm feelings towards her. I felt so much liveliness in her. I didn't know her personally, but I always felt she was kind. I didn't really believe it when I heard it. Not that people don't die, but it was just surreal. I knew him and to imagine this happening to someone is hard enough, but to someone you know is really difficult specially that the person they lost is also someone you know. It's just very sad.
I'm filled with sad sedation, and I don't have the energy to be angry at someone who has cost so many people their lives. Someone who has cost a beautiful girl like Ruba her life. I went through the papers and what I read about finding her made me sick. She was 24.
Does it matter at all how many people die? We're killing us. Everyone trying to live irrespective of other is killing our brothers and our sisters and his brothers and his sisters. We're killing each other, and burying each other alive.
Ruba was a wonderful girl. I wish I'd known her more… but I don't know if I really wish for that. A lovely girl died at 24, someone I used to smile when I saw, someone who doesn't even know who I am. Now she just doesn't exist in this world anymore. Her brother, someone I know well, don't think he'll be the same again, don't know what he's going through and can't even pretend that I can guess.
Wish I had something more to say, but all I feel is a certain kind of loss. Sorrow runs through my body sedating it.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
After Eight
Things I wrote at a night out in After Eight, needless to say a few drinks into the night.
"Of all the things I fear, I fear my failure to act my role the most. I have no given role at disposition and therefore I look for one that's not my own."
About a picture on the wall full of stella bottles: "18 bottles of beer on the wall, how many others have counted that?"
"My heart goes out to those lost in the tyranny of their thought, it's the worst kind."
"All of this makes no sense to the dancing folk, they're too busy getting lost."
"Of all the things I fear, I fear my failure to act my role the most. I have no given role at disposition and therefore I look for one that's not my own."
About a picture on the wall full of stella bottles: "18 bottles of beer on the wall, how many others have counted that?"
"My heart goes out to those lost in the tyranny of their thought, it's the worst kind."
"All of this makes no sense to the dancing folk, they're too busy getting lost."
Friday, December 21, 2007
The Outsider
Yet again I am reminded of how much I don't belong and even more when amidst a crowd. I recognize that it's not the drinking or the loud music that gives me that same feeling of alienation every time I'm somewhere loud with dancing and drinking; it's seeing others having fun. I'm so aware of myself looking upon the scene as if I wasn't there and it's right that I should, I don't belong there.
My alienation most of my life has caused me to put up defensive measures, I knew I could not belong very early on in life and I shielded my desire to belong with a façade. I built a shield perhaps about how I feel in general and it seems that I've perfected my defenses that people cannot see a thing past them.
I've been told recently that I was someone who was not moved by others and that I didn't care much for others. While I actually do care very little for strangers or people who are insignificant in my life, this doesn't extend to those close to me for whom I break all the rules. It seems that the deception has been complete that no one believes anymore that I can be moved. I've also been told that I'm a dispassionate person, I'm an outsider like the protagonist of the story by Camus. I can feel the estrangement from the world but I can't feel the same hopelessness and inertness.
In any case it seems that the person I am is unknown to most people other than me, and there's something good and bad about this. The truth is that the person inside is someone who doesn't belong and if that was all that people saw, they wouldn't look twice. It's not worth noticing that person inside with all the darkness and unexplained sadness although I'm sure that many others can relate to him. The person on the outside is immune to all this and gives off different vibes, he's the one that people can deal with.
My posts don't say very much about me, not when I read them, and yet people can guess all sorts of things about me when they read them and I'm not entirely sure if they're right, because with all that I hold back it seems that so much is missing. Maybe my reality is what people truly see and which I will discover within me later, maybe what I write says more about me than I think. I really don't know and even the person I've become is alien to people, they can't relate to me because they feel I can't feel. The truth is that I have to put a lid on all that I feel; all these feelings and thoughts, I have to keep them under control because expressing everything has hurt me a lot in the past.
I'm not sure whether everyone feels this way too or not, but I know that I haven't helped this feeling by taking my own route with most things. It's not that no one else agrees with me but my own path is motivated by me. I'm not trying to be different, but I just like to know where I am and how I got there. I'm too liberal for conservatives and I'm too conservative for liberals. I'm always out of place because I don't subscribe entirely to one thing. I do things but never feel that I'm part of the club.
My alienation most of my life has caused me to put up defensive measures, I knew I could not belong very early on in life and I shielded my desire to belong with a façade. I built a shield perhaps about how I feel in general and it seems that I've perfected my defenses that people cannot see a thing past them.
I've been told recently that I was someone who was not moved by others and that I didn't care much for others. While I actually do care very little for strangers or people who are insignificant in my life, this doesn't extend to those close to me for whom I break all the rules. It seems that the deception has been complete that no one believes anymore that I can be moved. I've also been told that I'm a dispassionate person, I'm an outsider like the protagonist of the story by Camus. I can feel the estrangement from the world but I can't feel the same hopelessness and inertness.
In any case it seems that the person I am is unknown to most people other than me, and there's something good and bad about this. The truth is that the person inside is someone who doesn't belong and if that was all that people saw, they wouldn't look twice. It's not worth noticing that person inside with all the darkness and unexplained sadness although I'm sure that many others can relate to him. The person on the outside is immune to all this and gives off different vibes, he's the one that people can deal with.
My posts don't say very much about me, not when I read them, and yet people can guess all sorts of things about me when they read them and I'm not entirely sure if they're right, because with all that I hold back it seems that so much is missing. Maybe my reality is what people truly see and which I will discover within me later, maybe what I write says more about me than I think. I really don't know and even the person I've become is alien to people, they can't relate to me because they feel I can't feel. The truth is that I have to put a lid on all that I feel; all these feelings and thoughts, I have to keep them under control because expressing everything has hurt me a lot in the past.
I'm not sure whether everyone feels this way too or not, but I know that I haven't helped this feeling by taking my own route with most things. It's not that no one else agrees with me but my own path is motivated by me. I'm not trying to be different, but I just like to know where I am and how I got there. I'm too liberal for conservatives and I'm too conservative for liberals. I'm always out of place because I don't subscribe entirely to one thing. I do things but never feel that I'm part of the club.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Entangled Ropes
When you're in a relationship with someone they become a part of you. Your parts and theirs are entangled together like two ropes knotted randomly over and over. When you break up you get detached from that person and when they leave they take away that part of you. There's no way to disentangle your bits from theirs and so what happens is the equivalence of passing scissors through both strings to let them loose. That's why the person breaking up gets away intact, he's managed to get all his rope and bits and pieces of the other's, it really depends on who cuts where. Sometimes you want no bits or strings of that person at all and even though you're breaking up with them you sacrifice yours. At first you miss that person. The end of the relationship means that you will not have that person in your life anymore. It feels bitter but after a while you can let go and you can accept that this person is not in your life anymore, and there's a void you feel; this void can easily be filled by other things.
But there's a different kind of void that is much harder to fill, it's that part of you they took with them that you can't find. What you were missing all along is yourself and you didn't even realize. That's why not just the relationship falls apart, but other aspects of your life too, because the part that's missing, that has been taken away from you is part of how you dealt with the rest of the world and not just this person. That's why the blow makes your whole world collapse. I think that you'd need to regenerate that part of you that you lost before you can become normal again, but it is not necessarily a bad thing because that new part of you has the chance to grow into a much better part than that which existed before.
But there's a different kind of void that is much harder to fill, it's that part of you they took with them that you can't find. What you were missing all along is yourself and you didn't even realize. That's why not just the relationship falls apart, but other aspects of your life too, because the part that's missing, that has been taken away from you is part of how you dealt with the rest of the world and not just this person. That's why the blow makes your whole world collapse. I think that you'd need to regenerate that part of you that you lost before you can become normal again, but it is not necessarily a bad thing because that new part of you has the chance to grow into a much better part than that which existed before.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Forbidden Fruit
A believer is always the better choice. Aside from the many positive benefits it has when things get rough there's one greatly overlooked benefit. The sin is always so much sweeter when it's a sin. People who don't believe in anything can't see many pleasures as wrong and can never taste the sweetness of the forbidden fruit.
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