Thoughts of you, warm my bones...

She left the building. Her body was cold from the air-conctioners. She knew she was lucky and couldn't complain. Yet, the wave of heat was welcomed. She sensed how even her bones were chilled, felt the heat trying to remove that coolness.
A line from a song played in her head, "Thoughts of you, they warm my bones." What did that truly feel like? She knew she was fooling herself. She not only wanted to feel chilled because of cold weather, she wanted to be warmed by that cozy feeling. These thoughts didn't occur so often, yet were there. Love. What did she know? Nothing. It wasn't important. Right now, there was her future to contemplate. It was going somewhere, this thought reassured her, but where? How was one supposed to know anyway? It was definitely vague, not very clear. 
Future images of herself were almost nonexistence. Did other people have future images of themselves, or did they not? Could she ask? Dare she ask? Why not? Could it pop up in a conversation, it most certainly could. Yet, the need for the right moment to introduce the question, the right mood of her friends, she always ruined such questions or  thoughts, remembered to voice them at the wrong time and the urge to share them became too much. Once they were out, she regretted it. The precious thought became silly, was lost in the loud conversation and she was left wondering why couldn't she keep a thought to herself?
Everyone could do it, it seemed easy enough but why was it so difficult for her? To be completely honest, it wasn't like she tried that hard, didn't even know what it felt like to keep a deep though to herself. That made her feel empty inside, though it wasn't true that feeling of emptiness never left her.
Yet she knew the thought of sitting outside was silly. She wouldn't endure the heat, and that it would make her upset. She couldn't shake it off though. Sitting alone out there, simply being. How could one resist thinking of it? Soon, these thoughts drifted away and were replaced by a vague, familiar feeling. Inside of her head, life went on. Outside though, she wasn't so sure. There was life outside. People, friends, family and so much to live for. 
True enough, there was her sister picking her up. She saw the car, and all she could think of was going home.

22/6/2011

The comfort of books

There was a parallel universe she existed in when she read. It was a blank world. Just her sitting there reading. Another's parallel universe, if matching her own liking for books, would have been under a tree on a beach in an exotic place, or on a bench in a park, or at a crowded train station. Fun as that imagination might have been, she had yet to experience reading in those places.  Of course, she read in a park and on the beach, but those were rare occasions. She found the notion of being engrossed in a book in the outside world very romantic and often felt proud of her ability to read with noise around, she often preferred it as it expressed her choice to ignore the world louder.

Why was there an urge to ignore the world, she often found herself wondering. A part of the world gave its opinions, disapproved, judged, rejected, hated, belittled, frowned too readily for her comfort. She had no idea how to face that world, when her head was cool it told her to remain passive and say nothing. Such thoughts saw the day of light sometimes, but most of the time there was regret at how they got to her and she let them, or at how she always tried to say something but failed to get it across and mumbled something till she silently accepted defeat.

Guilt settled in later, she knew she'd give herself to guilt but frustration and anger came first. Was she even capable of anger? Everybody is, if rightly provoked. She hid her anger well, but not her frustration. She didn't know why she tried to hide a few things, the world will know sooner or later. Something you say or do will give it away no matter how hard you try. She knew herself to be a simpleton, or perhaps liked that idea of her self because it was the perfect excuse for some of the things she did.

Yet. There was another part of the world, an accepting, kind world. It was there, always there. So when she wanted an escape, she thought she was simply escaping the "evil" part, but in reality she wasn't. She was shutting away the kindness too. She only realized that recently, and it scared her that she was capable of that. Why did she want to shut the world outside when it was as ready to accept as it was to reject? But losing one's self to a book, life fading away, and not having to think of your worries but of the worries the characters are facing is very tempting. And comforting. Life could be much worse for her, books told her that. But the real world can tell you that, too, except in a harsher way. A way she couldn't handle, perhaps.

Hiding behinds books, words, characters and an alternative parallel universe. What good does that do?

2/8/2011

عن الانتظار

هل تعرف إنتظاراً لا يعرف الكلل؟ 

سألته في عقلها. لم يجب. وقوفه لوحده دون أن يوجه نظراته صوب أحد كان كافياً بالرد. لا يمكن الإجابة على كل سؤال، لا يوجد أجوبة لجميع الأسئلة التي تعيش داخلنا. 

صمتت للحظة. جوابه لم يعجبها كثيراً، بالتأكيد يوجد أجوبة لجميع الأسئلة. ألا نؤمن بازدواجية الأشياء؟ الماء و النار. الحب و الكراهية. الأبيض و الأسود. الفوز و الهزيمة. إن كان هناك سؤالاً لابد له من جوابٍ. كل ما في الأمر هو أننا نبحث عن أجوبتنا في الأماكن الخاطئة. 

 نسأل من لا يملك الأجوبة. نتراجع عن أسئلتنا بسرعة. تابعت... من تنتظر؟

واصل تحديقه بأرضية الشارع. لن يبدر منه ما يعطيها مجالأ أفسح لتفضح أسراره، بدا واثقاً من ذلك و للحظة صدقته. لا تملكين ما تستطيعين به كشف خبايا الآخرين، و الفضول ليس ميزة تمدح. لكن... . 

لا يهم. مخيلتها سابقت الوقائع. دعت أن يذهب قبلها لترى من ينتظر.

هل ستنتظرني؟

جلست في زاوية الغرفة. لم أرد أكثر من أن أكون في تلك اللحظة، معك. أراقب كيف تمضي يومك. كنت هانئة بالسكوت لم أشعر بالرغبة لان أتكلم لمجرد الكلام. هناك ما يقال بدون حروف. انا من المؤمنين بهذا المبدأ لكنك ترغب بالحديث عن كل صغيرة لتعرف معناها. ألم يكن من الممكن أن بعض الأمور ليس من المقدر لها أن تفهم.
مشكلتي أنني أستسلم بسهولة، لا أدافع عن حقي لا أثور و لا أعاتبك. أتقبل كل شيء، و لا أحد يلاحظ و إن لوحظ سيفهم بشكل خاطيء. لي اعتقاد راسخ بأنك تنتظرني أن أعقل. أن أفهم الرسائل المخفية التي تحاول إرسالها لي. اتجاهلك أحياناً، لا اجد منطقا فيما تقوله لي. ولكنك ستنتظر لترى النتيجة. اعلم ذلك. هل نريد أن ينتظرنا أحد؟ بالتأكيد لكن الأمور ليست بتلك البساطة. فما هو دافعك؟ أظلمك مرارا و تكرارا على ما يبدو. بدون قصد. لا أتعمد ذلك لكن يبدر مني الكثير الذي لا يصلك. الاسئلة التي تدور بعقلي، لا أسألها. أخاف من أن أظهر أهتماما زائداً و أصبح على الرف.
هل من الصح أن أسألك ماذا تريد؟ ما قولك في أن أكون من يصارحك يوماً دون أن تتجاهل سؤالي، دون أن تشعرني بأني طفلة مدللة لا تعرف ماذا تريد.

Scarred tongue and minnie mouse

My tongue is scarred with all the unsaid, all the words I kill inside it, all the syllables that are crushed mercilessly in my mouth. All that's replaced with meaningless phrases that are more of my brain's reflex to things. Do I fear my own thoughts or people's (lack of) reaction to them? Why do I stop myself, and why is that when I don't I'm only convinced that I really should stop myself?

My body is more of a battlefield. All the undone, untried and unsought. Those emotions I cool and and all the sobs I stifle. It's heavy with all this load that's meant to be released and set free with the breeze.

----

It's been so long since I just let myself go here on my blog, this place is mine and it's a medium for my thoughts but I refuse to let my thoughts in here. I woke up at 8 am today, barely slept 5 hours straight. I think it's because of my horrible sleeping routine during college days. I shouldn't really get comfortable with my  holiday. In a week we'll be back for a summer course. I wonder why there's a summer course here. Why this torture when they're very aware of the fact that it gets to more than 50 C outside. We all suffer in different ways, that's for sure.

I was told that I looked like Mini Mouse 2 days ago. My friend then assured me it was meant as a compliment. I think that'll stay with me for a while. Perhaps I have a cartoonish look to go with that cartoonish personality. Perhaps I only delude myself with these ideas, but our brains like to indulge in our whims. I think the greatest compliment I've got about my looks was when I was 15 maybe. One of my mom's friends told me I had my mom's smile. Since then I've got that comment more than once and it never fails to make me happy. I don't know, but it doesn't make me as happy as when someone says I'm pretty or whatever. I guess that does sound a bit snobbish, there's just something else about being told you have one of your mom's features.

I covered with two blankets because it's too cold. I could switch off the AC but I like living in extreme conditions, or making myself think so at least. I don't know a lot of things and I don't presume to guess, perhaps you're not meant to know because you wouldn't understand or perhaps understanding would hit your core and you're never the same again. Perhaps we change with every breath and remain essentially the same. Who is to be the judge of these matters?

To Salima and Huda: letter 02

 Dear Salima and Huda,

I’m writing from the comfort of my couch (and the last part of this letter on a train). 

The other day I had a conversation with someone I’d just met who was telling me that he didn’t have friends, because he’d been unable to find a friend who adds something to his life, help him grow, and keep him away from the gossip and drama of other people. That conversation stayed with me for some reason. I feel like I definitely changed how I view a lot of the friendships in my life over the past few years, part of growing up I’m sure. Not all of my friendships mean the same thing (and they shouldn’t) and not all of them make you feel the same way (and they shouldn’t). And as you grow older, it is definitely harder to make friends. I’ve realised it more recently as I’ve changed 3 jobs in the span of less than 2 years.

I definitely miss home. I miss the people who know me. I miss not having to explain myself. I miss not having to try extra hard to be easy going and still feeling like I’m an outsider.

That’s why I thought how lucky I am to have known someone like you. A friendship that definitely has added heaps of good things to my life. And throughout the years, distance or time has not changed this. So happy birthday, and just know that we celebrate your existence and wish you all beautiful things the world holds.

Okay now, here’s my list:

1- I’m empathetic and I’m a good listener.

2- I don’t get upset easily, I take things lightly. (But once I’m upset, there’s no getting over it for days.)

3- I tend to be able to look at something from more than one angle. (But it makes me indecisive and also makes me bring the negative to a positive and the positive to a negative – just like I’m doing now).

4- I can always count on food to bring my spirits around. (Not sure if that counts, but hey, I say it does).

5- Can’t think of more. But the above should do.

All my love,

Noor 

To Salima & Huda: Letter 1

Dear Salima & Huda,

I'm writing to you from my dinner table with wilting flowers by my side. Writing letters has always been one of my favorite things to do, and receiving them is such a joy. Ramadan (and the state the world is in) inspires a lot of self reflection.

Being the last to reply says quite a bit about me. I live in my head. It's both a blessing and a curse. The bookmark I'm using these days says "It's lovely to know that the world can't interfere with the inside of your head." But that's not always a lovely thing, if the inside of your head is a dark place you would like someone to interfere with it.

Are we ever kind to ourselves when we self reflect? I think not. Your question about self worth hits a very tender spot. And to answer what keeps me up on some nights are thoughts of inadequacy, which I think have haunted my for most of my life, and by the looks of it, will continue to do so. I think it's human nature to always dwell on the cup half empty, rather than half full.

I spend my days either at work or as a professional couch potato. I feel in many ways blessed to still be able to go to work, socialise with people, and maintain that sense of routine, despite the drastic change this pandamic has done to our daily work. What gets me through this is the thought that it will pass, perhaps things won't be 100% back to normal, but what is normal. Life is forever changing.

Salima, I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone, and someone so dear to you and so young. Please don't be so hard on yourself.

Huda, you're currently my role model in life (for realz).

I'd like to end this by giving you both a task of writing a list of at least 5 things you appreciate about yourselves. And really think deep and elaborate. Not things that people appreciate about you, but things you often overlook but should be celebrated.

Love,
Noor

Shades

Wear black. Flaunt your class and inner goth. (All at once). Let sadness meet the lovely curve of your mouth. 

Switch to white, let your inner innocence blind them while you count all of your sins in your head.

Engulf in the flamboyant secret of red. Let emotions bleed and run wild while putting on the facade of a poker face.

Be royal and wear that velvety purple while really knowing that you could be as base as the world requires you to be to get ahead, but at the same time knowing very well that you won't. 

Radiate a bright yellow. The sun’s out all right, but there's always one that could use an extra reminder. Hide your inner dull. 

Let them drown in blue's serenity while you fight all those raging emotions inside of you.

And then wear all the other shades, mustard, olive green, navy blue, hot pink. 

You are not what you wear, you are not what you look like. 

A Cloud's Journey

You are a cloud floating above. You're the one that's moving past the others, faster and with more purpose. Like you have a mission. 

You started off light and innocent, fluffy white. But then the closer you got, the darker you became. You were dark, angry and falling down like you couldnt get there fast enough. 

You always make sure there's someone to watch you falling. Afterall, the thunderstorm you bring deserves some respect. 

But you're eager to fly the next day, you can't accept to be a poodle. So you go back up again. 

And the cycle continues. Your only escape is to turn into a flood. 

But life has other plans in mind for you. 

Eventually, you'd exhauste yourself. Falling. Falling. Falling. 

And one magical day, you're contained. 

P.S. I (obviously) have a thing for clouds. 

Maps

The veins you see on my skin are a map. They lead the way to my heart. They're a work of art. Intricate blue patterns just beneath my skin.

Be careful, these veins may be deceiving. They hide a crimson red blood always flowing, keeping me alive. And there are deeper hidden ones. The path to my heart can't be all out in the open, you know. Or else, where's the adventure.

You have to be good at map reading to find your way in.

The quiet after the storm

I’m soft where people expect to find an edge. Like a quiet stream of water when you need a raging, angry ocean. I am but a disappointing breeze that failed to become the storm you were waiting for.
I’m only the spark of a candle but you’re looking for a volcano to erupt and burn everything.

I can be the balm that heals you after a storm. But darling, I can’t be the storm. You don't want to heal, you’re looking for a war. You’re looking for bruises and scars to show that you’ve lived and struggled and survived.

Be careful what you wish for, you’ll get the bruises and some broken bones as well. Life will break you. It breaks us all. You’ll wear your scars like medals on your chest.
You survived. You may limp but you're still breathing. You're still alive. You'll keep pushing the edge. But you'll always know when to stop.

But I can't be the one to start the war, I can only pray for it to end. I can only give the quiet after the storm.

Chekhov

'We can't always know the whys and wherefores,' the old man said. 'A bird's given two wings, not four, because it can fly with two; so a man's not given to know everything, but only a half or a quarter. As much as he needs to know in order to live, so much he knows.'
Anton Chekhov

A cloud

I try to imagine what it’d be like as a lonely cloud in the sky. No prospect of rain and no other clouds in sight to join. Moving where the wind blows… Its own solace is the thought of people trying to make shapes out of it. A turtle. A fish.

The cloud doesn’t know of those that eye it with envy. Wishing they were floating with no gravity, always cool despite the raging sun. Sometimes I wish I was a cloud even if I was lonely. It’s funny all the things you want to be, just because you’d get to be something other than yourself for a change.

I wonder, do all clouds end in rain? And what happens to those that don’t? But most importantly, I wonder what it would feel like to touch a cloud.

Note: Wishlist new item: [ ] Touch a cloud

An inanimate object

I want to be a letter. Give someone the excitement of new words meant for their eyes only. Then I won't mind being forgotten in a book or a box to be found later by incident.
And maybe, you'll read me again. Remember the feelings I invoked the first time you received me.
Or maybe, you'll put me back. Not quite ready to read me again. Or not wanting your first fond impression to change. You don't want the words to lose their charm.
Maybe you'll lose me. Maybe keep me forever. I'll surrender my fate to you willingly knowing I have no choice in the matter. 

I'm tired of carrying words inside of me that I don't know how to convey. I'm tired of carrying things I'm constantly fighting to figure out. I'm tired of disappointing myself again.

A letter. Charming. Personal. Only one set of expectations to meet in a its lifetime.
It's not so simple thought, is it?

Bookmarks

One of the many failed bookmarks I once attempted. I didn't make them because I felt creative or wanted to be crafty. I did it because I loved bookmarks and you just can't have enough. It was also because I wanted to gift them to people I loved so they could think of me whenever they used them. The point is you might not be good at something but that's never a reason not to try it or do it no matter how bad you think you are. The world needs people who are good at things true, but it also needs people who do things with passion.

I hope you know where your passion lies and that you can follow it. Mine isn't bookmarks, but I'm sure it's there.

Stockholm

Things I miss about Stockholm:
- Cool clean tap water
- Lakes and water view everywhere
- Easy transport system
- Great ice-cream everywhere you go
- Yummy pastries in the morning (or anytime of the day!)
- Getting lost in the streets and finding cute cozy bookshops
- Swings at random places
- Parks that feel like forests
- A solid beautiful shade of green
- A great transport system that takes you everywhere
- Keeping an umbrella in your bag and actually using it
- How easy it is to find a good reading spot outdoors
- Finding myself getting used to seeing dogs in the streets
- Doing so much during one day 
- Awesome artists playing good music in the streets

Note: the list isn't comprehensive. Perhaps I should elaborate more on my month spent there but I feel like I'm still processing everything that's happened and I'm not sure I know which stories to share and what things to highlight. I'd say it was nothing short of an adventure I shared with really genuine people.

Please believe

When I was a teenager I imagined that by the time I hit my twenties I'd have become the accomplished young woman who knew what she wanted in her life, was out to get it and knew which things mattered in life.
I'm 22 and I cringe at the mere thought of being called a woman. I think I'm still clueless and no way as strong enough as a woman needs to be. So I take the easy way out, and convince myself that "girl" or "woman" are just labels we create for a female so we know what she is as a person. That's just my way of rationalizing an issue that bothers me. Finding a way to make it seem insignificant.

Do you see how we keep saying the same things. Do you hear your own thoughts going around in circles, do you see how your advice is something you wish you could do and how your arguments revolve around a line of thinking you wish to adopt?
Not every time I argue it's in favor of what I believe in. And I realize, we're just trying to convince each other of things we want to believe in, hoping that their faith in something might reach us too.

But if I wait for you to believe in me, or to approve of who I am in order to think myself worthy, I might lose myself completely. If I'm going to wait till you call me a "woman" to see myself as one then I might end up thinking myself a "girl" all my life. I shouldn't be waiting for you.
I'm telling you here because I want to tell myself, it's the only way I can get it to listen to anything.

About a girl

This goes out to A. 
 
Sit there and hear someone say they wish someone else was there with them, what a humbling place to be. Sit there, and know you're not doing anything to make the pain go away. You're there, true. You can walk around acting like you made a difference. But truth of the matter is, it changed you whether you want to admit it or not. Because I know it changed me. This is how I make it about me when in fact it's nothing to do with me at all. 'Sit, stay quiet, listen', I remind myself. I felt if I said anything it'd stop the raw honesty of it all. 

And I couldn't or rather wouldn't compromise that. After the first time, I kept wishing I wouldn't see her because I thought if I saw her then, I’d probably have an urge to hug her and say nothing. Or I was scared I'd stare at her too long and she'll regret having me around. But I’ll probably hold back. I help her pretend I didn't see any of that, but I load my smile with an extra care. I don't know if it shows, I don't know if your smiles change when you want them to but you realize you care about people when you'd do anything to fight their demons away. 

I stayed up till 6 a.m. In the beginning she was lucid enough. She made her usual jokes and witty remarks, to prove that it’s not as bad as it looks, so that she doesn’t look weak in front of us. I think it was more about not allowing herself to show that side in front of anyone, not because of what we might think but because of what she'll end up thinking herself to be. It'll only confirm one of her worst fears. 

Her weakness. What's wrong with you, people suffer much more everyday and you can't even handle a single headache? She makes light of her pain, isn't that what we do? Belittle our suffering so we can face it better, or to help us ignore it completely until it shows up again. 

She grew fidgety, kept turning this side and that, she kept trying not hold on to me but in the end relented. I remember her calling her friend’s name first. And then her mother. The worse part is the helplessness. She knows it, that's why she'd rather not tell anyone until it's over. She's extremely aware of what she's going through and I don't think anyone is more capable of showing up the next day as if the previous night wasn't one of the worst she's ever had. 

I was on the verge of dozing off but I knew I wouldn’t, she managed to sleep for a few minutes until something violently woke her up. In the end, she grew calmer, I don’t know if she had no strength to fight it anymore, or whether she got used to it or she actually felt a little better. I was surprised when she started making sure I was covered well, and I didn’t want her to keep worrying about me so I left. 

This isn't as sentimental as I'd like it to be because I haven't said anything about how much I actually care and how I look at it as something that got us closer, in a way. But I'm glad that for an hour or two, it was me. And that's as far as I can go on about making it about me again. 

PS: You're human and pain is very real. 
 PPS: Don't worry you never said anything that might incriminate you. I don't have any blackmail material sadly.

To you

There are beautiful things inside of you, waiting to burst of life but all you ever do is try to tame them. But you don’t realize how you have so much life inside of you. Don’t risk becoming like the rest, don’t risk one day feeling like the world’s too big a thing to fight and you’re all alone. Because there’s nobody else to explain to the world the wrong of its ways like you. Believe me, there isn’t.

Often, you’re fighting with yourself over what you should or shouldn’t do. Stop fighting yourself and stop worrying. Do what feels right. Do what even if it failed you’d still stand by it when people say ‘but why did you do it?’ and the little voice in your head stops arguing with you for sometime because the answer resonates within you, ‘it was the right thing to do.’ And people most probably won’t like that answer because they’re worried you didn’t get what you was rightfully yours, they’re trying to console you in a weird way, they’re trying to think would they had the guts to do what you did. And you didn’t have the guts, you just wanted your conscience to give you a break. You just needed your heart to stop being so heavy because of how there are things you keep loading into it. And your heart no longer feels as part of your chest. Your heart has settled into your gut. It needs to go back to your chest but it's so loaded, your whole body feels it. Your hands tremble, your feet are cold and you have bruises of unknown origin.

Teach yourself to be still, to look at the sky, to walk slowly and to not rush anything. Teach yourself to say prayers everyday and yes, focus on others, but focus on yourself too. Remind yourself that you don’t have to control everything, that no matter how much you control things, there will always be something that escapes your grip. Learn to be still. Learn to absorb your surroundings, not to run into your head every time you’re not happy with what’s going on around you. You will need to face the music sooner or later, and what a funny expression that is. Face the music as if music is something difficult to face.

Please stop fighting, I’m tired of having only words to try to make you understand. I need you to pick yourself up for me, fight for yourself and stop fighting it. Fight for yourself, even as you beat yourself up over something because you’re trying to make yourself see that you’re supposed to be better than that, not because you’re angry and all you have is you to snap at.

I’m not telling you you’re worth it, I’m saying there’s a life out there worth living. And the only way you’re gonna figure out how to survive is to stop fighting yourself.

“Be nice to yourself. It’s hard to be happy when someone is being mean to you all the time.” - Christine Arylo

 PS: This post was inspired by this letter by Marwa.

A star, a leaf, a window.

I want to be up among the stars. Amazing how something burning that big is seen so small from where we stand, but can also mean so much.

I want to fall with the rain and travel the distance between a cloud and the hand of a child. I want to be a dew drop on a green leaf. I want to be that leaf falling as autumn makes it yellow and dry.

I want to join birds in their flight from one place to another, flying over mountains and seas. I want that freedom.

Sometimes, I wish I was a window. I don't exactly know why.