Category Archives: Musings

The Struggle Within

The pain that followed the punch was unbelievable, it coursed through the child’s body as every part of him screamed for attention. The boy was hunched over gasping for breath. He shook but not in fear nor in anger but in misery. The being that hovered above him was just a shadow, a huge dark unclear silhouette, which just ignored the boy’s existence.

Determination set in the boy’s shoulders as he straightened and looked into the shadow’s unclear face, managing to fuel its anger again. It jerked and took a step back in confusion before it attacked again with a forceful slap across the boy’s face. Stoic, the boy said nothing as he fell to the ground. Silence descended within the abyss they are in, only the heavy angry breaths of the silhouette was audible.

It didn’t take long before the child became determined again, refusing to be ignored. The child stood but instead of a boy, it was a girl. She sniffled and wiped her tears off her black and blue face, her eyes filled with willpower as she stared into the silhouette’s face. It didn’t take long before it kicked the girl, and her body flew far away before it hit the ground. Her body fell lifeless and the shadow grew restless. It walked around mumbling, unable to fathom what was going on as she began to move and gain her strength again. As she stood her body changed and grew into that of a man.

The man stood and limped his way towards the shadow. When he was close enough he lifted his eyes and stared at its face. The silhouette was already prepared, and the moment the man looked at him, it punched him. The sound of a breaking rib echoed through the abyss, and so did the sound of a screaming man. Groaning, the man’s body began shifting into a more slender form.

A woman instead was holding her side, groaning in pain as she began to roll over to get on her feet. Barely able to stand up straight, the woman looked straight ahead at the shadow. She was prepared for what was to come. It didn’t take long before the silhouette slapped her and punched her till she fell to the ground. Motionless, the woman’s body curled and shifted into a shadow.

The silhouette in anger and confusion screamed, as it slowly dropped to its knees on the ground next to the unmoving shadow. It didn’t want to see them nor acknowledge them. It didn’t want to do this over and over again. They wouldn’t leave it alone in ignorance, because they wanted to be seen and accepted and that is the constant inner struggle that we have within our own abyss.

If I knew

If I knew where I’m going, I would take what I need and what I’ve always wanted but never had the courage to claim.

If I knew where I’m going, I would spit all those comebacks and justifications that I chose then never to reveal for the sake of propriety or what I thought  was right.

If I knew where I’m going, I would pack lightly, practically, and forsake what was once dragging me behind.

If I knew where I’m going, I would slip out quietly, for once giving up the desire for attention that I desperately sought before.

If I knew where I’m going, I would only look back once ..as tribute for a life once lived.

If I knew where I’m going, I would bottle their laughter, puns and silly jokes

I would box all their unexpected hugs, their knowing nudges, and comfort touches.

If I knew where I’m going I would leave at once, and Leave the mess to be dealt with by someone else.

If I knew where I’m going, I would walk surely, steadily and calmly knowing I no longer, need my thoughts filtered, my expression hidden nor do I need to change the subject anymore,

I would finally stop deflecting.

If I was just sure of where I’m going I would finally be OK

If only I knew where I’m going.

Have you?

Have you lived?

Did you cherish?

Have you hugged until your body bent and molded into your lover?

Have you relaxed into an embrace, thinking this was the safest place since your mothers womb?

Have you defused a fight with humor even though what you felt was fear?

Have you laughed when it wasn’t funny?

Have you cried in a crowd under your sunglasses?

Have you poped, hopped, and locked to your favorite tune?

Were you selfless?

Have you acted silly to cheer someone up?

Did you finally get that one day you wanted?

Have you finally put on that sexy red lipstick at the bottom of your drawer?

Have you allowed yourself to be pretty?

Did you finally get to strut?

Have you finally dropped the strong act?

Has anyone notice your despair?

Was someone finally in?

Was there anything left to salvage?

Did you help them?

Were you saved?

Did you let them?

Week 10 – Indifference

I find that I’m rarely enthusiastic about anything these days. I feel indifferent towards almost everything.

The idea of holding hands with someone used to get my heart fluttering. The thought that I could be trying something new would get me excited.

Now, when sitting in the cinema used to get my heart beating, it barely incites a palpation.

I have found that there seems to be a trend in the lack of wonderment in people’s eyes. Where has that sense of wonder gone? Why do we feel so indifferent to positive emotions?

There are many moments that warrant a warm reaction, or would naturally make someone feel warm and fuzzy inside, yet nothing… my brain ticks but my heart dead silent.

What are we consuming, or what has happened to our brain’s chemistry? Has our attachment to portable technology severed the ability to feel? Has the current fashion of desensitisation consumed the cells that allow us to connect emotionally?

Has life become that easy? Have we become so pampered that we’ve lost our ability to feel passionate?

Apathy seems to be the norm. Is it possible to return from the point of Indifference to the point of empathy? Can I bring myself back to feel? To care? To love? Is there still hope?

Week 9 – Nostalgia

Sitting in front of the TV I came across a movie I hadn’t seen since I watched it years ago in the cinema. I went to see Eight Legged Freaks way back when it came out in the UK. Spiders freak me out and I remember the film Arachnophobia used to freak me the hell out (although I’ve watched it several times). However, I remember watching it with my mother in the cinema and laughing throughout the film. I mostly remembered the last bit of the film, but as it played before me today, I began getting little flashbacks. I saw actors in the movie, who were kids back then but are now stars, whether it be TV or film. “Oh My God! Scarlett Johansson was so young!”

I began to feel nostalgic for the days I went to the cinema with my mother. We saw a multitude of movies back then, including Austin Powers and 8 Miles. It was something we enjoyed doing (when we could afford it). ‘Cause my mother was there, she would often convince the ticket sellers that I was much older than my actual age – I miss those days. One of the most exhilarating things in the world; trying to convince the cinema we’re older than we really are.

My mother was probably the most influential person in my life. Which for some, I know is normal, while for others it may be a little weird. Often my mother wasn’t just the woman who brought me to this world – the person who raised, provided for and taught me; but she was also my friend and more often than one would believe, my daughter. My mother practised a manner of upbringing I like to call “You can try what you like, but with me”.

Don’t worry, she disciplined me plenty, I’d never forget those moments when I saw red in her eyes; but she also respected my intelligence and treated me with respect and a manner much older than my age. I learned the price of responsibility, freedom and independence. She would allow me to try things bit by bit, until I proved to her I can handle the weight of the freedom she gave me.

Although we had our differences, and like every mother and daughter we had our fair share of conflict, my mother tried as best she could to be the best parent possible on her own. I never truly felt I needed my father, especially as I learned the reality of who my father was and the hostility she had to endure. There really is a fine line between love and hate.

I had many firsts in my life thanks to my mother. Things that allowed me to transition into the mysterious world of adults. Thanks to her, thanks to the things she showed me, stories she told me and the experiences she allowed me to have, I was able to handle her loss with greater ease than many others my age or older. I have to admit I have not mourned nor felt pain like I did the day and years after I lost her. Even after death, I’m still learning more and more, thanks to her moments of wisdom and tales that now make more sense than ever before… Thank you Mama, for the bad and the good. Thank you.

Week 8 – Stunted but Trying

Love is a fearful word. It carries far more weight than many others. Why have we come to fear such a word? Such an emotion?

The modern world is far more concerned with the touchable, the perceivable, the ownable. Emotions don’t often fit well within the confines of these possessive categories. They are things that are felt, maybe seen but mostly felt. The cold and calm are considered evolved and are respected. They represent the modern ideal – the person who can compartmentalise and desensitise.

The emotional or the sensitive are considered to be weak, unevolved or simple; merely because they can be okay with showing or accepting that part of them. They fear but they feel.

As a product of the modern society – a being who decided to disconnect my emotions than to show them, I can tell you they’re there… They hide buried deep, almost unrecognisable, just waiting for that moment to explode from under the flesh and blood – waiting to break through my ribcage and splatter all who stand before me.

Due to the immense pain I’d experienced throughout my life and especially my childhood, I strengthened my heart further and further. However, I didn’t toughen it with fiber, muscles and love, I strengthened it with titanium and ice. With every attack my defences grew stronger – almost impenetrable.

I respect those who do not build my kind of walls.Those who are brave and accept the vulnerability with open arms. Of course there is a difference between allowing yourself to be consumed and live in turmoil, and being open to love in a healthy way.

Why the fear? Some may ask. Because although we were taught what to buy, where to live and who we should be, we were never really taught how to accept how we feel – if it doesn’t fit in with the “ïdeal.” We were taught to remain calm, maintain a poker face. We were taught that no one cared how we felt, but we should care about how others might feel. We were taught that expressing emotions was a weakness and that we must always be tough.

“Don’t cry!”
“Don’t complain!”
“Don’t confront!”
“Don’t be yourself, people won’t accept it”
“Don’t give up your heart…”

How does it feel I wonder? How does it feel to allow love in full heartedly? To just take the plunge and strip down the walls? Let yourself be seen for who you really are. Allow all that comes in, bad and good. How does that feel? I’ve long forgotten. Last I allowed such a thing, it was what seems to be a lifetime ago.

All of you out there who take risks, who don’t let their past and fears hold them back – all you “the brave”, I wish to be like you. I wish to embrace love, to embrace the pain that may come. I wish to throw caution to the wind and experience that which I have long missed. I want to be brave like you… while still holding on to my senses. Is that possible?

Ramadan in my eyes

As a muslim the month of Ramadan which is in our lunar Arabian Calender holds a special place in the heart of all muslims , now for those who are not familiar with it,  it’s a month which starts with the viewing of the moon in order to determine the end of the month of Shaaban and the start of Ramadan , in spite that now science has made it pretty easy to calculate moon cycles and although we do actually have the start date of Ramadan on our calendars , yet people still follow the tradition .moon1_thumb

In my country the viewing is usually done by the astronomy institute followed after with a celebration and announcement of the beginning of Ramadan , people actually wait until its broadcasted to start calling their relatives and friends to congratulate them by saying “have a generous ramadan”or -ramadan Kareem in arabic and thus social media bursts with well wishes and tags into numerous pictures of lanterns and islamic decorations .

Non muslims sometimes ask me how do you do it? how do you not eat or drink from dawn till sunset? and I always tell them it’s a joy to do so, don’t get  me wrong it’s pretty exhausting especially the first couple of days but then you get used to it , it’s a joy like I said earlier cause of the sense of achievement you get with the first sip of water you drink to break you fasting or the first date you eat whether it’s handed to you by a family member or people in the street if you happen to be there .

Aside from the significance of the month in my religion , I love how it’s a chance to truly examine your heart and to question your place in life , although you can do this any time , for me Ramadan provides me with the tranquility and relaxation to do so , it also enhances self discipline ,the very nature of fasting is a very sincere practise because it shows your commitment , after all you can eat or drink in the confines of your home and nobody would know and yet people don’t do it .

what I love the most about this month are the traditions that come with the holiday , lanterns light the balconies along with bee lights and like any holiday you have the overzealous decorators that make you feel that their house has turned into a big ball of fire , parents rush to toy stores to buy themed lanterns that usually have a beloved cartoon character on it for their kids ,spices and nuts are bought buy the kilo , essential groceries are arranged and boxed so people can  buy them and give them away to people in need as a way of helping them through the month , teens and kids volunteers wait in front of mosques with foam plates so if anyone has leftover food from the numerous family gatherings that happen this month  can donate it to whomever needs it.Ramadan-Fanoos-2

I love how if you happen to be in the streets by sunset you’ll find families in their cars distributing meals to taxi drivers ,doorman and traffic police .eventsstyle.com_44002

I love the songs that I’ve been hearing since I was a child and that play non stop in supermarkets a couple of days before Ramadan  ,I love how you can see gradually the balconies lighting up after sunset as people shuffle to turn them on everyday . I love how I can hear the prayers from my house from a nearby mosque and can see the minaret that’s decorated in the distance , it gives me peace and fills me with joy to witness all this ,so whether you are a believer or not I hope you have a holiday or tradition that fills your heart with the warm and fuzzies like Ramadan does for me.cvbn

Week 7 – Burn Burn

 

Wasted, my life, I feel at times.
Why have I suffered in a manner of such?
For suffering strengthens, we are told.
An eventful life or a peaceful one?
Which do you prefer?

I’ve always chosen eventful, for I know peace would bore me.
Sad, I think, my choice.
But, where’s the fun in the mild?
Spice, tantalises and awakens the sleeping spirit.

The spirit soars in and out, unhindered by the physical plane.
Although, it’s our own spirit chains that hold it back.
The blue flames to cut the chains lie down deep.
We extinguish it without a second thought.

Burn, burn. I wish to burn.
Burn the chains, burn the cage.
Burn the shadows that hide me.
Burn it all.

Let the demon come tonight.
Engulf me in his chest.
I’ve missed the scent he brings with him,
And I’ve missed the universe,
in the palm of his hand.

I do not care

So the thing is …I do not care

You look and  pressure with you glare, insisting on what you deem as right

As I search into the intricates of my soul, I find that I truly ..do not care

Now now do not huff and puff, quite simply put

in cliché words and lame terms…

It’s not you it’s me!

I do not care, I used to though

oh how I used to fuss and fret, arrange and change or even reinvent  to squeeze and fold and trim myself to fit your cracked up mold.

I see you glaring tutting and staring, scolding me into your cold little box.

OK….umm  maybe I’ve babbled forgive me sometimes I tread off tracks

But just in case I wasn’t clear

Fuck you, I don’t give a shit!

Week 5 – I’m Not the Kind of Girl

I’m not the kind of girl who sits by the phone waiting,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who hurts easily,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who gets lonely,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who takes things personally,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who cares about what others think,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who sits alone crying,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who breaks down,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who loves,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who cares,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who needs to be heard,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who needs love,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who needs attention,
but I do.
I’m not the kind of girl who is vulnerable,
but I am.
I’m not the kind of girl who is silly,
but I am.
I’m not the kind of girl who is breakable,
but I am.
I’m not the kind of girl who is sensitive,
but I am.
I’m not the kind of girl who is insecure,
but I am.
I’m not the kind of girl who is lost,
but I am.
I’m nothing like other girls…
but I am.

—-

I’m not the kind of girl who asks for help,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind girl who expresses how she feels,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind of girl who demands attention,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind of girl who burdens others with her pain,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind of girl who shows vulnerability,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind of girl who lets down her guard,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind of girl who lets someone in,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind of girl who relies on others,
but I want to.
I’m not the kind of girl who acts all cute and feminine,
but I want to.
I don’t feel like other girls,
but I want to.