A Storm

I don't know when I noticed that my words lost their usual warmth, became wary and dull. My arms which used to be quick in comforting are now paralyzed. I lie on my bed all day. I feel something looming. As you feel a rainy day coming, clouds begin to gather in the sky without warning and the air suffocates you. You wait for the rain, it might clear the mess but it might also cause irreparable damage as well. There's just nothing you can do about it, you just have to weather the storm as best as you can.

I sit idly, I think of how I've changed. I think of cutting all ties with the world before I make a mistake I regret the rest of my life. Mistakes are inevitable but the ones I end up making are meaningless, they're not the grave kind that teaches you something and they're not the silly kind that makes you laugh over them later. If only you could choose the mistakes you make. I wonder if that would make me feel better, but I doubt it. I'm thinking my way out of having to seriously think about what I'm secretly most afraid of. I might lose this ability to feel, what if I stopped caring? What if I woke up one day and found no pity in me, no sympathy?

I think I hear something. It's the first droplets of rain finding their way to my window. I'll sit this one through and hope I survive intact. I'll wait for the sunshine, it's bound to come no matter how long the storm rages outside.

Silly little things

Braiding my hair has become a reflex of some sort. I braid the upper half first then join it with the rest to make it look neat. Otherwise my hair is a big mess. It’s all over the place, and that’s depressing. I take gotta-check-if-i-changed-into-a-green-monster mirror breaks while studying. It’s just an excuse to take a break. But so is the I’m-craving-a-hot-drink or i-need-to-put-a-face-mask-right-now. 

I wonder if I can be productive the way I wish I was. Write about anything, take a walk to just think, listen to myself, tidy that desk, start that book I always put off, surprise myself with something I wouldn’t usually do.

That’s life isn’t it? Doing the same silly things over and over again and calling them a personality.All you can do is make these silly little things a little better, a little less self-centered and hope they make you a better person.

A force of nature

I remember one day I wanted to be a force of nature. A tad too cold to be fire, too calm to be the wind, and not encompassing enough to be air; I was water. A stream running to join the ocean, contributing to
the greater scheme of things, unable to change my course of motion. Moss grows around me. I’m afraid I'll soon dry up because my depth is getting shallower with each passing day. I’m trying to carve stone to leave a mark, but I have not the force for it and the stone in this area is especially hard. I will give up on being a stream and run away to join the underground water. Soon enough they’ll bottle me and ship me adding whatever needed so that I have value.
I will let nature take its course, I can't be among its forces. Not yet anyway.

يوميات جامعية #2

كان أمس أبرد يومٍ شهدناه هذا الشهر. لم تصل درجة الحرارة إلى 10 س و لكن كنا مستمتعين بالدراسة في البرد. و هذه هي الكذبة الأولى فلا أحد يستمتع و هو يدرس لامتحان. من الممكن أن تستمتع في مادة معينة لكن دراسة الامتحان تتركك محبطا مهدود الحيل. لذا بكل برودة اعصاب (و هي برودة تناسب ألأجواء) قررت أن أخذ قيلولة لا أحتاجها. لأن الشتاء يعني أمرين: إما أن تنام بحرية أو أن تقرأ بحرية. و بما أني لا أقرأ هذه الأيام ما يكفيني (و كم من القراءة كافي؟) فأنا أنام ملء جفني.

الحمدلله على كل حال. يبدو أننا نجد في كل ساعة من كل يوم أمراً نتذمر منه و لا نفكر في الأمور التي قد تسعدنا. أولها أننا نتهي من هذا الفصل بعد ثلاثة ايام. و أنني سأرى أبناء أختي عما قريب بإذن الله. و سأعود للبيت بعد غياب دام 5 أسابيع. و سأقرأ... و أقرأ... و أقرأ... و سأعود للكتابة.

عذرا على الانقطاع، من السهل أن نجد انفسنا ننصاع خلف الحياة دون أن نجبرها على التكيف مع ما نريده. لبداية جديدة إن شاء الله.
دمتم في رعايته.

A wish

I wish I could write something that doesn't mean anything to me now and hope it would with time.

 
 

يوميات جامعية #01

نور، طالبة في كلية خاصة في نهاية العالم -كما تحب أن تصفها- لذا فهي ليست طالبة جامعية و لا تتمتع بمزايا طلاب الجامعة. و لكنها محاطة بطلاب طب في كل مكان. ليس في هذا الأمر شيء غريب بحد ذاته، لكن تجد نفسك متعب نفسيا عندما تكون في الباص في ليلة الجمعة و انت في طريق العودة إلى سكن الكلية تستمع إلى نقاشات عن التشريح. تغمرك رغبة في أن تدير رأسك و تقول لهم أن يأخذوا راحة من الضغط النفسي الذي يجعل ابتسامة بسيطة على وجوههم عمل شاق غير تلقائي... هذا القلق و التوتر الذي يعيشون فيه سيجعل حياتهم صعبة (لكن في الواقع الذي يزعجك في الموضوع انك بدأت تقرأ و تريد دقائق فقط لتغرق في كتابك حتى تستطيع بسهولة تجاهلهم و لو قضوا الرحلة في مناقشة عضلات و أوتار و غضاريف).

أمضي العشر دقائق بعد الساعة الأولى من المحاضرة في إمداد عقلي بالسكر. لا اعترف بإفطار صحي قبل الساعة 10. قالت لنا طالبة بأنها لا تفوت هذه الوجبة الهامة بعد أن سمعت بأن تفويتها يزيد فرص إصابتك بمرض الباركنسون. كما ترون حياتنا سلسلة و مواضيعنا شيقة. هل تريد أن تشخص بمرض (أو عدة)؟ ما عليك إلا أن تصاحب طالب طب.

لذا تحملوني (و تحملوا لغتي الركيكة). ليلة الأربعاء هذه نقضيها في السكن. لا ضير في ذلك، من الجيد أن تجد نفسك في مكان يجبرك أن تكتشف أمور عنك لم تعرفها من قبل فتيقن أن التغيير لا مفر منه. تسعد به أحيانا و يخنقك أحيانا أخرى.

تصبحون على خير.

مشروع تدويني: مذكرات جامعية

يوميات جامعية، فكرة الجميلة هالة، سأحاول بقدر استطاعتي الالتزام. سأدع كتاباتي تتحدث عن نفسها. 

المشتركون:

هالة

www.wing2sky.blogspot.com

ذهلاء

http://hope-plant.blogspot.com/ 

   نور

http://umazazing-wateva-ido.blogspot.com/ 

أصيلة

http://a0a0k.blogspot.com/ 

 

Midnight Thoughts: Of Cheese, McEwan and other unrelated things

Let me tell you about a time during the night when there's a heaviness in your stomach, in your gut. You wonder if it's the cheese you've eaten a couple of hours before fully knowing cheese isn't a good idea at night. You should know better, in a few years you'll be a "doctor" and doctors should know better. Anyway, it was once in a while kind of thing not the end of the world, you tell yourself wanting to figure out what's weighing you down.

So you go back to the heaviness in your gut. You let one more hour pass and decide maybe the cheese is only a contributing factor. There are other things. For instance, your indecisiveness. How you don't take a stand for yourself and tell those around you "this is me and this is how I'm going to be", and believe me with enough assertiveness they'll accept it and won't think you selfish in the least bit. At least I hope so.

Another issue could be the dead bodies you're dealing with 4 days a week. Now I'm sure they're doing us a great favour yet when you're staring at the body, at whatever exposed of part of him/her. You think in terms of muscles, this person used these muscles to get on his knees to propose to his wife (the dead bodies are American hence the Americanised thought) or perhaps he buried his own son with them. That's quite a dark unusual thought, my brain could have instead imagined the simple every day acts of "eating, drinking, sleeping, walking, etc." Yet that was my train of thought, one can't help it sometimes. There's also the spy novel you're reading, wishing an atheist author would adopt you (the thought which gets you a disapproving comment from your sister which you reply to saying you'll convert him or mutter that you'll probably get kicked out in a matter of a few hours that is if you were lucky enough to get in his house in the first place). Your thoughts are of course far-fetched but a reader can dream, exactly when this spy novel has an avid reader as a leading character. Maybe you were better off living in a hostel, smiling at strangers you'll share the place with and might get to know well with time than being adopted by an author. They say writers should only be read and not dealt with because that might ruin whatever thoughts you had of them in the first place. Who would want a childish 20 year old medical student worried that she had cheese at night when she knew better?
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone from Oman Mobile!

Silence

You don't understand my silence. I thought with time you would. I had a firm belief you'd give my silence space to grow then shrink on its own. Yet you want to crush it into little pieces, you present your loud personality and expect me to "let it go".

I won't explain, please don't make me. If words were my friend at the moment they wouldn't leave me this silence. I am left with hurtful things to say, I will say things I regret.

If it was the other way around, I would respect your statue-like silence, your aura wouldn't leave me any other choice but to submit while I struggle to have you leave my silence in peace. You don't know that I leave myself no time to think things through which is why I have these sort of days. I pick up a book, my kindle, start a conversation or at best sit idly (the idle state includes my mind). I choose to dwell on other people, other places, other things. I leave my here and now somewhere else, on a parallel universe if that's possible.

I want peace. I really do. And my words may pass your ears by as if they were spoken in a foreign tongue. Words are deceiving anyway. But my silence... you don't have to understand it, just give it a few grains of respect.

I am

I'm often told I'm mature. I like to think I'm still a kid, and use that as an excuse. I can't get by without books. Classics are a passion for me. I can read pretty much anything as long as it's fiction. I can't stop myself from buying books. I don't re-read books. I have a guilt complex. My smile is a sort of grin and I don't think people smile as readily as they should. I don't understand sarcasm. I'm allergic to all kinds of smells (except for food, maybe). My family will always see me as the kid who needs looking after. I've been to 6 countries and I've lived abroad for most of my life. I ask the silliest questions. I own a guitar, learned for 2 months and now it's abandoned. I'm boring. I sometimes live on twitter. I think it's among humanity's finest inventions and takes the concept of wasting time to a whole new different dimension. I have a complicated relationship with facebook. I absolutely adore blogs. I hate the assumptions people make about you so freely. I don't have a favorite color, book, food, tv show, movie, place, shop. I'm a bit more self-centered than the next person. I write for my personal well-being.  I have a serious fear of being a hypocrite. I admire people's self-assuredness. I face a lot of expectations from those around me. I'm pro at making empty threats. I take what you say to heart. I'm clueless and a broken-record. I'm an annoying optimist. I want so much. I don't expect that much from myself. I live in my head and it's not so healthy. There can be so much good in people without them having the faintest idea of it. I hate those who give themselves airs for all the wrong reasons, not that it's ever ok to have airs. Friends, the TV show, makes me laugh hysterically. I can't do anything alone (I have a twin sister, it comes with the job description). I will blabber incoherently if given the chance.