Archive for November, 2015

On written words

Posted: November 28, 2015 in Uncategorized

I love writing. I’m so in love with words.

I love the fact that I am thankfully blessed with the ability to convey my feelings, exactly the way they sound inside, to special people in my life through texts and written words. Sometimes it sucks that I can’t always say those things out loud, but everything has its upsides after all.

Words can permanently tell what the most eloquent speakers might fail to express with the presence of a constantly growing ego. Writing has the ability to completely shush my egoistic thoughts whenever I’m expressing my feelings to someone, in a way that makes it impossible to let out anything less than what I sincerely feel for them. Besides, words last forever. If you decide to voice your feelings, they might only last for as long as certain memories can hold. But written words; they’re forever. Always there, always reminding your loved ones of what they mean to you whenever they stumble upon your old messages or reread the letters you exchanged. And always reminding you of how much love your heart held for them, if the initial spark ever starts fading away.

Written words remember. They remember all what you thought you might have forgotten. They remember and they can very well remind. They remember why you fell in love with those who only broke your heart, and they can remind you of how better off you are whenever your heart longs for their undesired presence. They remember and cherish the old lost friendships, but will still have a way to gently push you into making the most out of the new lasting ones. They will always remind you of who you were and who you’re destined to become, in a way that no spoken words ever would.

Words are for forever. And for way beyond that. Words are the only reason why most writers are still sane. Words, are my everything.

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Es Eye El Eeh En See Eeh

Posted: November 21, 2015 in Uncategorized

Silence. When nothing’s said that could awaken anymore regrets. Silence. When everything’s accidentally out and you’re no longer able to sleep away the nights. Silence. When the tangled thoughts effortlessly rush out one after the other, with no external meaningless interruptions contributing to the internal mess. Silence.

Silence. When everyone sits back without trying to make a good first impression by blabbering some nonsense they don’t even understand themselves. Silence. When you leave a one hour conversation with someone who’s been talking about themselves nonstop for the entire time while you sat there mentally thanking God for possessing some emotional intelligence that allows you to know when to speak and when to shut the hell up. Silence. When you come back home after a noisy day only to realize no one’s home yet. Silence.

Silence. When a bond’s shared between the two of you while the world knows nothing about what’s going on. Silence. When the bond breaks and no reasonable words could possibly make up for the pain wounding your insides. Silence. When you’d rather blurt it all out in their face but you imagine the possible unpleasant outcomes that would follow and decide to hold it in instead. Silence. When you cross paths again but refuse to look each other in the eye because you’re scared the words would involuntarily slip. Silence. When you cross each other in the hallway years later, recognizing the scents, experiencing the same vibes, but you’d rather not look up. Silence.

Silence. When you realize you’ve let out a little too much of yourself to someone and decide to never allow it to happen again. Silence. When you bump into what finally makes it all feel right. Silence. When one day it all starts making sense.

DC – Day 77

Posted: November 7, 2015 in Uncategorized

Isn’t it amazing how you tend to allow your own thoughts of what people might be thinking of you control almost everything you do, whereas they usually don’t even care half as much as your mind might try to make it seem to you? Isn’t it even more amazing how you tend to put yourself into way too many shoes before you even think of trying out your own?

You’re too scared to raise your hand and ask that question that’s been troubling you since the beginning of class, because what if other students thought it was too stupid of you? They all end up having thought about that same question but they just wish someone else could ask instead, for the exact same reason. And yet you still worry, through your every class.

You’re at your favorite restaurant, sitting right in front of your favorite sandwich, wishing you could put that entire thing in your mouth all at once because you haven’t eaten anything all day. Yet you quietly sit there, eating little bites, carefully wiping your lips after each one, trying to look all classy because that’s what everyone else around you is pretending to do. They don’t care and neither do you. Swallow up the whole thing already.

You nod, try to adjust your facial expressions every now and then, and put so much effort into asking the right questions during a conversation with someone as they’re pouring their heart out to you. You badly want to show them how much you care, while they’re already too immersed in their own words and to them, just two sincere open ears would do. Stop trying to complete their sentences. Seriously, just listen. That’s all what anyone ever needs.

You feel uncomfortable when you don’t get a seat on the metro and end up standing there all the way to your station, because you can feel the stares of everyone sitting there facing you. You still feel uncomfortable sitting down because the car is so full of people and all you want is to let some tears down after a tough week. It all makes you anxious as you try to steal a few glances at the passengers, only to realize everyone’s busy with their own life and no one even acknowledges your existence at all, whether you find yourself a seat or not. Yet you’re still too self-conscious, every time.

You’re too embarrassed to loudly pee when someone’s out there in the same restroom, as if they never do that too. You never tell your roommate how irritating it is to wake up every day on a loud door slam because your mind keeps asking what she can possibly do about it, while she would never hesitate to tell you that she can’t concentrate on her work because you’re simply breathing and ask you to figure something out on your own. You walk into a room for the first time and feel everyone’s eyes turning to you because of how different you look, while they were only finding an excuse to break the eye contact by shifting to this new object which happens to be you. Don’t worry, they probably don’t even see you. You feel really nervous meeting someone for the first time because you know they can’t possibly understand all what you are from the very first encounter, while all they care about is leaving a good first impression about their very own selves, and they’re rarely thinking about you. You never stop thinking about how awkward you think you were when you bumped into that one friend months ago and constantly keep wishing you could go back and edit it all, while they’ve probably forgotten all about you the minute you both parted.

You stop yourself every day from texting that one person who never leaves your mind, that one person whom you still see in every face, because of the endless possibilities that always follow. What if they don’t reply? What if you’re annoying them? What if they’ve stopped thinking about you all together and showing them that you still care would only make you seem weak? And the questions invade your mind, while the other person unknowingly goes through the exact same ones every day, but neither of you would know anything about it. Why? Because you’ll always put your very own made up version of their thoughts before your extremely heartfelt ones, and they’ll always know how to stop you from listening to anything your unconscious mind truly wants to say.

And the list goes on and on…

It’s too hard having to go through this every day. It’s too hard constantly shutting off your mind and listening to other people’s minds that do not even speak. It’s too hard to try and adjust yourself every time you think you heard something, while the true voices are all within. It’s too hard to never listen to what’s inside, and wish that everything outside would magically sort itself in some way. It’s too hard to go over all those incidents in your head again and again every single day, leaving absolutely no space for the significant thoughts to make their way through.

People are just people. You are people to others too, so why doesn’t anyone seem to listen to what’s going on through your mind then? Because it’s none of their business, just like it’s none of yours.

Listening to the words that are being said, or that you think are being said, is quiet easy. Listening to the words that every part of you wishes to say is what’s hard, yet it’s the only that that truly needs to be done. Listen. Listen to your valid desires, and let them know they deserve to be heard. Listen to your hungry stomach, and listen to your please-let-me-out-now tears. Listen to your itchy fingers when they want to pick up the phone and do what you too want them to. Listen to the voices before they lose their tunes.

And most importantly, listen to who you are inside, before who you are unintentionally slips away.

DC – Day 76

Posted: November 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

So I woke up today wanting to visit the Islamic Center of Washington, which I have been told about over two months ago, but for some reason (that I didn’t know just yet) today was the day I finally decided to go.

Apart from how pretty everything there was, and apart from it being one of the very few places here that was the closest feeling to “home”, that’s where I happened to meet two very beautiful human beings. The first is a Pakistani-American lady who approached me at the prayer room and was genuinely interested in knowing all about me. And for the first time in a really long time, being asked that many questions didn’t make me even slightly uncomfortable. Then she told me about herself and when she started talking about her 22-year-old son who’s doing his masters in the US, I got horrible flashbacks of the intimidating ladies back at home who’d propose on behalf of their sons at mosques, but guess what, that lady didn’t even ask if I’m single and I couldn’t believe she was telling me about her son only because she really wanted to tell me about her life and that’s it. Oh how I miss that.

IMG_7820Then we decided to discover the place together and that’s when we met the second beautiful human being who helps around at the center. She asked him if we could visit the bookstore and he said it’s only open on Fridays, but when she told him I’m from Egypt he got all excited and asked me if Masr is still أم الدنيا and I laughed so hard because he definitely didn’t want to know how our awesome Sisi هيخليها أد الدنيا. Then he brought the keys and let us in to the bookstore where the lady asked me to pick anything I want as a gift from her just because I’m a student and she loves students. And for the whole time the guy wouldn’t stop talking about Egypt because it turns out he used to live there and he loved every single thing about it. He started telling the lady about how extremely low the cost of living is in Egypt, and how he once got this medicine for one dollar and it lasted for months, and how every Egyptian house he’s been to is literally a small pharmacy (which is actually kinda true lol). Then he told me to pick another item from the bookstore as a gift from the center and that’s when I spotted that beautiful verse written on a postcard and decided to get it and keep it with me all the time, only to remind me of how blessed I am to be a fluent Arabic speaker who doesn’t struggle to read and understand the Qur’an in Arabic, because really, أعد الله لهم جنات تجري من تحتها الأنهار would forever top “Allah has prepared for them Gardens under which rivers flow”, which technically has the same meaning, but no.

And that was the story of how I met those two, with absolutely nothing significant happening other than the fact that during those few minutes, I was genuinely happy, and nothing else in the world seemed to matter at all.

DC – Day 74

Posted: November 4, 2015 in Uncategorized

I don’t know whether I like or dislike it when I read a book that I happen to relate to a lot more than usual. I love it because it feels so real; I feel like I’m watching myself on someone else’s pages and noticing little details about me that I hadn’t even realized they existed before. But I still hate it because how come someone have this ability to write about me in such a way that I never could? Because sometimes I read this perfectly phrased sentence and it feels like it’s already been sitting there at the back of my head for a really long time, yet I was never able to (and would have never been able even if I’d tried to) let it out that perfectly. Sometimes I imagine myself writing that book I’m reading, and I’d always struggle at its every line, even though reading it makes complete perfect sense. I don’t even know how to explain it, or maybe I would, if I read about it in someone else’s words.

I love words so much, yet I am never able to be consistent with writing every day, or every week for that matter. I find it really hard to finish anything I start, which is something I’ve only started realizing about myself through reading about it in fictional characters. I was just never able to stick to something I promised myself to do, which is weird because I’m still so in love with routine and I despise change more than I’ve ever despised anything in my entire life.

I promised myself to try and write everyday for a little over fifty times now, ever since I realized it’s the only way I’ll get better at it, but I somehow manage to convince my mind every day that I don’t have time for it. Despite the fact that I have time to check Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, WhatsApp and my three Gmail accounts every single day, possibly even more than once, and stalk all my favorite people to death. But there’s just absolutely no time to write, right. Then I start a book and get so immersed in its beauty, and promise myself that I’ll read every day, but after finishing 100 pages from that book in one sitting, I hardly ever touch it again.

Even my friendships for God’s sake! I get to know someone, get really attached to them, understand they already consider me a close friend within a couple of weeks, then bam! I stop returning their calls, start ignoring their texts, and somehow always manage to find an excuse every time they want to hang out. And it’s the same scenario with every person I know that I’m starting to think that’s the only thing I’m actually perfectly consistent with. Consistently breaking hearts, consistently pushing people away, consistently acting in ways I never know how to explain to even myself.

Consistently being consistent with everything I should never be consistent with.

I don’t even know how to stop it. It’s all starting to be deeply embedded in who I am as a person. I can’t even be consistent with my own medication.

Consistently being a person who sucks.

And what do I do about it? I promise myself that I’ll start over tomorrow. Tomorrow, I am going to be a new person. Much newer than the person I promised myself I’m going to be today, and yesterday, and the day before. A person who magically finds the time in their day to do everything they promised they were going to finish the night before. A person who has had enough of wasting time and is ready to give themselves one more chance. After a hundred other chances had already gone to waste.

But I’m glad this person never gives up. I’m glad that this person doesn’t get sad after confronting them with these facts or decide that they’re no longer going to try. A person who understands that they’re deeply flawed, even more than words could tell, yet is always willing to try and fix that.

A person who, for some reason, happens to talk about themselves in third person most of the time, yet still gets furious when someone else writes about them in their own book. Because they always do it in first person. Yet that person needs to admit that collecting pieces of themselves from other people’s stories is probably the most beautiful thing they’d ever get to experience.

And tomorrow, they shall try again.