#4

It's so hard. Here comes a new year, a new becoming, and I'm sitting on the roof with one thought spinning: the world seems larger than my knowing. I feel lost and dizzy.. Yet I seem to be doing just fine. I always seem to be just fine. 

#3

I know how to calm myself, I know how to distract myself, and best yet I know how to calm myself when I run empty of ways to distract myself. I read somewhere of a man who could not bring himself to weep for an ache he'd beat his heart unconscious so as to not feel anything. The pain in remembering what it was like is perhaps too overwhelming, too powerful to endure. I can hear his voice, his quiet patient voice when he spoke of matters close to his heart, I can hear his voice, the tone of his when he got impatient, frustrated then apologetic for getting that way. I miss him. No child's finite comprehension can establish a loss of a parent, I'd choose to remain in limbo than to open the door for pain to rush in, and I know this is not a way of life, or a way of overcoming anything.

I want to feel okay, even though I am quite fine, I can speak in full sentences now, I float in and out of conversations, I lose the passion to argue in discussions, from time to time, I'd rather be left alone, fighting to find an interest in the pages of a book, any book, these moments where despair is hovering over me, waiting patiently for me to look up then all around me, to admit to it, that its my one and only companion.

People always say 'its going to get better' and it will inshAllah, I know this is a trial to test my patience and endurance, one of the lessons my religion taught me is the endurance of suffering with faith that offers hope, the acceptance of Allah's will with the absolute conviction that Allah does not ask of me more than I can endure. To remain faithful throughout the trials of life is the purpose behind the suffering, this agony, and all the agonies that Allah allows to befall, is to cleanse the mind, silence the ego, open the heart to reveal the soul to Allah, for His light to pierce through, for His light to comfort and bring serenity.

May Allah strengthen my faith, grant me the patience to sustain me, bless and protect my father in his eternal rest, and forgive both of our sins. Amen

Last night, I entered his bedroom, stayed longer than the usual, memories discreetly pushed open the shut-door, brushed me on their way in, leaving me to shiver, a memory in exact, of him lying in his bed, contemplating, with his fingers interlocked, his eyes searching the space before him, this memory was so vivid, I could recall the feel of his skin, his palms, the roughness of his hair, the way his lips formed a sharp line whenever he was immersed in his internal dialogue, the air around me was so heavy, it stung me every time I tried to inhale, I stood up and left immediately, running to find another distraction to save me.

I want to smile and laugh again, full-heartedly.. But, I think I'm rushing myself. I know I'm rushing myself.

#2

Its the nature of all things to change; things to perish and for others to take its place, things to evolve in succession to another stage, uncertainty/constant change are the only permanents in this life. Today I feel more in-tune within, I definitely have an inner peace today, one that I've missed to gather and stay in, the nights before. I want to think of it, like I have fallen into a hole, a dark seemingly limitless hole, and today I have found something worth holding on to, something shining, something good: and that is faith.

I refuse to freeze, in a stillness, I also am not going to shield myself of the pain that blows in unexpected to cut a story short; I'm accepting each moment as it is, no matter what shape it takes, this is the only way, I had found -in my life- to guarantee peace.

Baba will always be around, when the house empties itself of people, the room he was staying in, his belongings, his journals that I am longing to read and get my fingers on, the videos I have of him with the many laughters, and the serious discussions. I miss him beyond the telling, beyond the ability of words to carry the immensity of the void he left behind.. I know all corners of this house, will trigger a grief response, in the upcoming long days, inshAllah, I'll be able to embrace then move passed whatever arises in each moment, and may Allah bless my father and accept him in the hereafter. There's nothing more for me to do, but pray for his soul and hope to be reunited -in a better place- soon.

Life won't be the same, but its in the nature of all things to chase after change, or be chased just the same. 

#1

(29/12)

I woke up at 4am today and I couldn't sleep since, my mind is racing with thoughts, going in circles, refusing to penetrate into the stillness of pain that has taken shape. I keep thinking of lost opportunities that we could have shared, I know how selfish that sounds, but perhaps grief is just that.. selfish. I believe that Allah finally rained mercy upon my father, not only with the ending of the prolonged suffering, I believe that he sentenced him to suffer in his final years for redemption, and I truly feel that he had been washed pure of past sins and errors. I miss him. I know that the space he once held will not be filled with anyone else. I know that his loss is perhaps the greatest loss I have felt in my life and will feel during my lifetime. I wonder about the empty days, the long hours, in this now hollow home, where walls breathe his departing spirit, where every corner is panting with memories of him. I am trying to stay strong, knowing that this is the ultimate testament of faith and absolute surrender to the natural waves of a destined fate, my patience is being called upon and put to the hard test.. All of that I know, all of that I understand and I can rationalize but still... It doesn't take away from the immense ache I feel in my heart, knowing that now I will not get to feel his being in this life, I will not get to hold his hand while we talk, I will not get to sit in silence together and think, I will not hear his laugh, his infinite scorn over the state of politics and economy of this country, his infinite hope and optimism, call it even patriotism for this country, his English sarcasm and his ever-amusing dry humor, I will not get to kiss his forehead, a kiss goodnight, I will not get to see him here where I am, and my heart silently cries when I think of the days, months, years to come, that I am forced to live without him, the major steps in life I'm forced to take without him, and all the happiness and colorful emotions I will be experiencing without him. My shock is wearing off, slowly, knowing that sadness is not an emotion but a mood. I do not know how long this sadness will last.

I believe in the kindness of Allah, I also believe in the fragility of this reality that carries life.. No wonder they say, you lose a part of you when you lose a beloved, because you once shared a place together: of thoughts, feelings, conversations, experiences.. etc. that when the beloved is gone that place that was once, so familiar is left abandoned and you are left feeling just the same. I catch myself thinking 'I can't believe it' even though I do, I just can't conceive life, now that it is somewhat disfigured. Baba's presence is everywhere, even in the background of my life, I find him there. This is what grief feels like, tip toeing around the circles of memories with his scent, knowing that once entered, life wouldn't be the same again. It would be different, so different that the notion of adjustment is not only impossible, it doesn't even make sense to me right now.

To state the painfully obvious, mortality is indeed necessary for life to have meaning. Sadly only when confronted with death, does one seek out said meaning. Sadly the survivor is one to pursue such goal.. And as my heart is torn by separation, for now I am numb, so numb. I do not dare to move at all. 

Lost In

Its been awhile since I last stopped here, I don't have cheap excuses to pour down, or I do, but don't really feel like pulling a muscle, I'd rather be still and see what the wind will say with this one.

I have a howling desire to move away from everyone, a kind of moisture I could never rid myself of, I woke up today melting to it again; melting to it, in it and for it.

I have always trusted this space here with my lips, knowing that I could so effortlessly give in to the river and speak my truth, as I began to shout today, my voice went trembling, a spray of waves that felt unwanted, this is me; sitting here, typing this at the edge of my heart, not knowing if I should cry, begging for hope to come back, or if I should cave into the corners of despair that tucked me in last night.

I catch myself, in fleeing moments, revisiting places of where I messed up, perhaps a certain, recent self-commited mistake is taking a dominate shape, clouding over my mind, more than it should, but hey, I'm here, I made myself available, I drank an entire shelf of guilt, and now I'm in perpetual hangover, blue on blue, like the poem sings: I'm always here for you.

I'm the clumsy person who can not see, does not want to see, the true colours of a harsh reality. It's probably why when I lift my fingers from my resting cheeks, I tag myself with 'delusional' as I make my awkward way through the narrow stream of people I could never, ever understand.

I believe in the reasons and meanings following every situation, I believe in the correlation and connection of all the little incidents that seem, at first, to be as random as the wording of 'innocent eyes' and how unjust is it that we digest the concept of random and luck? I hardly believe that anything is purposeless at all.

I'm waiting, standing amidst the storm, with a sun-crushed heat pierced to my soul, waiting again, for my water to wash me in, to purify me from within, to be forgiven for the deeds of this made-self, to be lost in again, lost within the depth of the solitude I miss the most out of everything.

pieces

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn't make any sense." - Rumi

I Want To, I Want You (Too)

I want to fuel your mornings, stir it up with the magic of a 2AM conversation

I want to nurture your passion, to withstand it, have you slide onto mine with eyes closed and heavy longing flowing from your bores

I want to build foundations inside your mind, mental bridges, penetrating connection with strokes of senses and sounds

I want your rough thoughts unfiltered, gently paving  meanings and erasing all distance

I want to learn new words with you, invading cultures, to smell the scent of cities we've never been to, speaking in strangers language that'll always remind me of you

I want to pass winters with you, walk the rainy weather, warm the lonely nights that hearts barely make it through

I want to experience everything I've experienced before, with fresh eyes, for the first time with you

I want to witness the value in past mistakes, to let go of tired complaints, I want you to teach me the way

I want to smell my morning coffee on the back of your neck, to breathe love into you, like its the last thing I'll do

I want you to fall for what's not obvious, to capture smiles at the corner of my lips and make home for yourself

I want you to hear silence in a whole new way, to fall for it, to fall for how it describes everything, so peacefully, to drink the yearning in its escape

I want to fall for the sound of you breathing, place my hand upon your heaving chest and calm you to ease in

I want to kiss you, tracing inches of you, with my hands drawing maps, my tongue marking territories, and my breath seeking life

I want my lips to taste of longing as soon as they part yours, to scream of coming home before they even touch yours

I want you to spill the heartache into my very arms, and crash into them as time stands

I want to love you, the way I do a favourite book, the one I keep beside my bed sheets, the one I always read before sleep, the one my heart beats differently, to every line in it, it sees

I want to scatter our separate parts, mix them together, see the wonders that'll come out of us two

I want to cook for you, watch as you strive to eat the burned eggs, the overly cooked pasta and salty chicken swallowing to ask what I'm experimenting on next

I want to fight with aggravation, forgive with simplification, discuss contradicting ideas with frustration, accept our differences with contemplation, kiss with intoxication, embrace with the fear of separation, make love like we've fought the abomination of the world and won the war

I want to write you long letters, of buried fears and untamed desires, with my hand cut open and only my blood pouring ink for you

I want to catch happiness in your shy glances, to taste your loud laughter in my mouth

I want to rhyme my love for you with a new set of alphabets, I'll invent letters in prints for you, spell it out so you won't ever second-guess the truth

I want to travel to the inside of your ribcage, dip my feet there, swim that ocean and pour my love there

I want to collide and crash, like stars are being born before our very eyes

I want to write you silly little letters that wish to be poetry, burning holes through my skin, time after time, read with warm intensity

I want to explore the great region of your heart you locked away, caress the bitter wounds of yesterday, healing blisters of past giveaways, open up chakras for me to stay

I want to paint years with you, like God painting the skies aching blue, like autumn leaves falling covered in yellow, brown and orange too, like my favourite colour that always looks good on you

I want to share the seasons together, walk the different paths together, to change the scenery of our minds, unlearn and mend together, grow old whilst reserving our young hearts forever

I want the raging flame in my heart laid beside me, with an aftertaste of ashes to the comfort of your understanding that subsides me

I want to begin anew, leave the door of my soul open to you, like you're the first to ever walk through, like I've been waiting in vain until I've met you

I want to want you in the way my mother warned me not to, to fall to pieces destroyed, like I'm grasping for air while drowning myself deeper in your secret world

I want to engrave scriptures to the palm of your hand, cover our bodies with experiences, like we're tracing the future of our past lives

I want to always find ways to write lists of how I want you, and never quite get it right, stuck within the limits of these words that leave my tongue tied

I want you to want me darling, bare and open

I want you

I want it all with you 

One Evening

I remember I had just turned seventy, I got a mail from my son and his bitch of a wife, congratulating me on making it on to another year of misery, apologising that they can't visit for a reason they never mentioned, but promising that they will as soon as things settle down for them; I imagined his wife repulsed by the idea of visiting an old retired man in his small apartment, that smelled of pills, soup and death. My son included  a sum of money, even after warning him never to do that again, he's always been a worrier; just like his late mother, no matter how many times I used to tell her I'm fine, she would still worry, he's just like her, I always hated that quality in them. I took the money and placed it in an envelope, writing in a small piece of paper:

'Dear son, I will break your legs, 

if you ever send me money again. 

love, Dad' 

I wrote the address and put on my coat to go down to the mailbox at the beginning of the street.

The apartment opposite mine was crowded with boxes, the door was left open, and I could see even more boxes inside, I wondered about the new neighbour who will take residence, I sure hope they're not as annoying as the three couples who lived here before, I hated having to share the floor with anyone else, so this was already starting to become a problem, as I've put on my hat to go down the stairs, I saw her dragging two bags up the stairs, she looked up when she saw me standing there, smiled at me and said underneath her tired breaths, "I'm so sorry these are the final ones, I promise" I was startled by the sudden charm, no one around this area even knows what the word 'sorry' means, I shook my head immediately, and went down a couple of steps to carry her bag for her instead of standing there like a dumb doormat, "It's okay" I mumbled as I felt forced not to be an ass, carried her bag to her new apartment, then turned around to leave but not before saying: "Welcome to the shittiest harbour in town" I heard her chuckle behind my back, responding quietly: "Thank you"

**Here is my account of a story that was cut short, 

by what some would consider a tragedy, 

and why it was quite the opposite for me** 

It was on one of those lazy lonely afternoons, where you're laying around with nothing to do, reading yesterday's paper because you couldn't bother fetching the latest news, that I heard my doorbell ringing once, the noise almost made me spill my cold coffee, I thought it was the landlord, being an asshole as usual, reminding me of my rent three weeks in advance; just because I'm an old fart doesn't mean I forget the basic transaction that occur every month, the way the world perceives the elderly is the reason why this country is in shit-state.. what a bunch of pretentious idiots.

I got up from my chair, dragging frustration as a tail, till I opened the door and saw her standing there, she was a young woman, that was the first thought that popped to my brain, I must've not noticed her features when she was pulling the boxes to her apartment the other day; she didn't look a day above twenty-three, very beautiful indeed, not in the conventional sense; she was dressed in what looked like her brother's hand-me-down shirt, a worn-out jeans, her hair was cut short, and her face was make-up free, regardless of these long-established forms of defying the aesthetics, there was a certain beauty about her, one that no man can possibly deny; the characteristic kind that's difficult to define, and impossible to forget.

"Hello?" She smiled at me with patient eyes, clearly not disturbed by the old man staring at her, and examining her face like a dignified creep; I wondered how often she had to face that till it stopped becoming a problem for her, perhaps it still is, I shouldn't prolong this anymore, for my brain would start drifting to a place unknown.

"Hello there" I replied "I'm sorry to bother you" She proceeded, oh boy she sure was nice, everything bothers me and never once did it apologise, "The phone in my apartment isn't working, I went to the landlord downstairs, he didn't answer, he must've gone someplace" I highly doubt that, he was probably asleep or maybe watching road-rage episodes with a can of tuna stuffed to his face, "Would it be okay if I make a quick phone call from yours? I won't take long" her demeanour was as apologetic as her tone; and there was something about it, I can't really grasp it, I wondered if she was actually apologising for me or mainly herself for needing someone, I couldn't quite grasp it.

"Sure, go ahead" I gestured to her, and stepped out of the way, pointing towards the telephone in the living room, I watched her dial the number, talking discreetly, after she was done, she came back and whispered "Thank you very much" and was on her way back to her apartment. I watched her as she walked across the corridor, to her apartment, until she locked the door behind her, there was something indefinite of the aura that seemed to surround her; mesmeric in a way, I haven't experienced before, it pulled you in, all so effortlessly, and yet not without a warning.

I've encountered her a few times after that day, she was always polite in a hurried way, like she couldn't wait to be on her own again, although one time I remember, meeting her on the lobby downstairs, she couldn't hide the enthusiasm in her tone, as she told me how happy she was that the downstairs neighbour's cat was finally back home, after writing flyers and hanging them all over the block, for almost a week, there was no news until a young boy, brought the lost cat home, I saw how helping others filled her with joy, and we talked for almost an hour there, she told me about her childhood's pet, and how she experienced grief for the first time as a seven year old, when it died and she couldn't spell a magic trick to bring it to life, I wanted her to talk more, but she was quick to leave as usual, petting the cat and congratulating its owner for its safe return, the old woman holding the cat, gratefully chanting thank you's, as she left to her flat.

There was one evening that stuck the most, the evening I remember most, it was probably a few days leading up to the incident, I remember she was at my door, and asked me if it would be alright if she could spend some time with me, 'there's something very destructive about being left alone in this hour';  her exact words as I remember, I invited her in and offered her some water, we sat opposite each other in the living room, she was breathing quite heavily, and it seemed like she'd been crying, there was something broken in her, something completely devastated, it was very clear to see.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted your evening" she spoke quietly while sipping from the cup, "You didn't, is everything alright?" I was obviously too concerned, too quickly, she put her cup down and shook her head, I was looking at her, trying to sense what must be going on inside of her mind, it was like a totally different girl was sitting in front of me, her intoxicating smile was gone, and her eyes was soaked with sadness; something a little more than that.

"You can tell me" I said reassuring, not entirely certain myself if I can be of any help, but I felt that she had a lot to say, and only needed someone to hear her.

"I'm not sure how much more I can push through, I thought a new beginning should suffice, a new town, a new job, a new apartment, a new me. I honestly thought I could cheat it, that I could work my way around it, that I could forget its waiting for me, until things starts to go fine for me, it appears, to remind me; that I can't escape it, I've tried many times before. People kept telling me to give it some time, to be patient, I did that, and nothing seems different, I've put in a lot of effort into building myself over and over again, but I always crumbled down, to pick myself up and try again, every time. I can't anymore"

"Is there a significance to this date, perhaps?" I spoke after a few moments, she looked at me, with eyes that begged to speak of unspoken truths, and I knew then I couldn't be of help to her, she was lost, so lost in a place beyond retain.

"I was raped on this date" she laughed and tears rolled down her cheeks at the same moment, "I can't believe I could just say it like that, I was never able to tell anyone before. It seems like it happened a long time ago, but I can still remember that night, I remember his face, his words, how he held me and how he left me to die after he took what he wanted. I wished he would kill me, I even begged him to, but he laughed and said 'how will u remember this night if you died, where's the fun in that?' I tried to kill myself that night when I managed to find my way home, but my family were too soon to catch up with me, they send me to therapists, and made me take all kinds of pills, I slept all day and night, I've spent a year of my life asleep. That was until I decided to move, because I thought that the place was the problem, that I could never heal if I kept walking down the street of where it happened"

"I was born with a desperate need for love, just like everyone else, but mine was different, it yearned for the wrong kind of love; the one that only caused me pain and suffering. I was abused as a child, by four different men, in seven different occasions, I never talked about that either, because I thought it was normal, I thought it never effected me, that was until I took a look at the men I've been involved with, and how they've treated me, I was repeating a vicious cycle, and there was no way to break it.

I pray for a higher entity everyday to grant me relief, with what little faith I can find within me, and yet nothing seems to change. I believe that life wasn't made for everyone, I know that sounds stupid, but I didn't come to this conclusion by giving up, I didn't give up, not easily anyway, I've tried more times than I can mention to fight this, but I'm the same child I was years ago. I'm as scared and insecure as I was back then,  I haven't changed at all. I only fooled myself into believing that I did"

I was quiet for what seemed like a long period of time, she was staring at me with dried eyes, I wasn't sure if she wished I would say something, to relieve her suffering, that took control over her life, what could I possibly say? Everything would come out sounding like a tired motto at this moment, as if she was reading my mind, she said:

"Please don't bother yourself with this, this was so selfish of me. I'm going to excuse myself, thank you for listening to me. I know my words are safe in your palms"

And with that she left, before I could stop her, went back to her apartment and that was the last I've ever heard from her. five days after, the landlord went to collect the rent, and that was when he discovered her, dead in her bed, she overdosed on some medication, she didn't leave any note behind her, nobody came to collect her body, so I said to burry her in the town's graveyard, since it was the place where she spent her final days.

I often find my mind wandering to that evening, if I could've said anything to try and change her mind, if it would've even made any difference, I think she held on for as long as it took, to bare her secrets with someone else, she desired for someone to learn her story, and she settled for that someone being me. life was a burden for her, she gave up on finding the happiness in it, along time ago, she went through more than anyone should go through during a stage of their lives, and that left her lost and confused, unable to trust that good things can happen to people like her. I do believe she found the relief she sought for so many years; in that evening, it might've not been what she expected, but somehow it was enough for her.

I do dream about her every now and again, she became the mystery to keep me company during the remaining days.

I am now seventy-one years old, just received a letter from my son apologising for not visiting, and a sum of money attached with the letter, I took a paper, wrote him to thank him, and included the money back, stepped outside of my apartment to send it, when I took a look at the apartment opposite mine, the corridor was empty, life seemed to lose its taste once again, and I never wished to share the floor with anyone as I did today. 

Until next time

My hands are frozen over the keyboard, this seems to happen so often lately, because I'm not so sure if I have something worth saying, or if something actually is worth saying at all. I wish I can have coffee right now, but because its 3AM and I woke up mid sleep, to the sound of rain outside my window, I don't think its a good idea to drink and reflect upon everything silently; even though its the most I want to do right this moment, but I have things to do tomorrow, places to be, I have to be a different person when the sun hits the sky, and follow the cycle of living beings. So no to coffee, I'll do without.

I guess I want to bare myself in this one, writing had always been the only way for me to express how I feel, and yet not quite that. If you read the pieces I write here, everything paints a story because in a way they are, I borrow pain from other people, from a friend's hopeless cries, to a film I've watched, to a stranger's sad looking face, it's all borrowed, it never really belonged to me. I'm a collection of stories; half of them aren't even real, the other half is rented for a bit of indulgence for purely selfish reasons.

I treat people in my life like characters, I don't want to use the past tense here, because I'm not so sure if I'm out of that habit yet, everyone I've ever befriended, everyone I've ever went out with, everyone I've ever gave my time to, was serving a purpose for a grand picture, I see everyone standing next to an open door, any minute they will leave, if its something I'll say to make them leave faster, if it's a decision they'll make because they've finally realised that they can't get as close to me as they wish to, whatever the reason might be, the door is always there, and its always open.

I don't hurt people, I don't think I intentionally do, of course how original is that, we all just kind-of hurt each other without really knowing, don't we? But I don't think I do, I push them away, more times than I can remember, I've pushed them away, not by saying anything, no, by disappearing into thin air, I can one day be here, the next I don't. Just like that. People empty me, and I always needed to get away to refill.

I don't cry anymore, I don't remember the last time I did, I used to think that I cry over things that happen to me, but looking back, I realise how I cry over things that don't, but somehow managed to convince myself that they have something to do with me. I thought I cried over the boy who broke my heart, but I realised how my heart was doing just fine, and I only wanted to feel the pain of him not being around, boys never effected me in the way I read about in books, or heard in the stories of other folk, and I'm not so certain of that completely because perhaps they did once before, but my soul was still empty, I crave more than attention, love or lust, I desire something I know I can't obtain and I'm not even sure what it is. If I cry again, it would be over this.

I want my mother to be happy, she sacrificed so much, and got very little in return, I won't get into it here, because there are things that are not meant to be shared, even in a public blog like this one. I want her to be happy because in a way, I know how impossible it is for her to be, sadness is now correlated with whatever little joy she might feel, knowing that she's broken over things I can not mend or replace, makes me angry. I pray she finds happiness whatever it may be, if its in my brother graduating university, if its in my marriage, if its in the coming of her newly grandchild, all of which are in the future. I hope the future has happiness in store for her, I keep praying it will cross her.

Sometimes we find ourselves buzzing for things, a lot of people find their fix, and know where to go to find it, I'm not like these people. I have to step outside of myself to experience something, I never really experience, perhaps I only watch other people watching me experiencing it. I don't think I know myself well, or maybe I know myself too well that I've figured out the perfect way not to be, a void is always here, I can fill it up, with religion, with companionship, with music, with books and so on, but sooner -always so- than later, I find it empty again. I think I'm one of the people who can never be satisfied, and I worry as I say that, because I truly believe that life is wonderful, evermore so, and I can't seem to enjoy it in the way I want to. I think too much, I know, one of the habits I can't seem to let go.

I'm a happy person, I find that I'm maybe more content than happy, more content in the comfort of slow  pace than much else, and aren't the happiest people always the saddest ones? Perhaps I don't know myself well enough, I could never be one state of mind at one given moment, that confuses me, it terrifies me that I can't be. I read here and there about human characters, I wanted to major in psychology in college but a series of unfortunate events hindered that from happening, I've always been fascinated with the abnormal, the human mind and why it does what it does, the personalities of one person and how contradicting a person's words and actions can be. I like to observe more than I like to talk. Sometimes I talk for hours without ever shutting up because I can't wait to share my observations with someone. Other times I just like to sit in silence with someone else and just look at each other, sip a bit of coffee, sigh more than we breathe and hide smiles at the corners of our lips. This is comfort to me.

I've been hurt before, by people's words more than their actions, I don't think it has to do with me being misunderstood, cause I never really tried to make myself understood anyway, it has to do with people's perceptions of me, their assumptions that suffocate me, I don't waste my time on someone who would like to assume things about me rather than ask me themselves. I don't think there's something I hate more than when people think for me. I have a mind of my own. Try and climb it. Chances are you'll find more than a few obstacles and that you'll leave once that's the case, but hey, better than you thinking for me.

Decisions were always made for me, and I kind-of just went along with them, I've talked about a major up there, and the mere reason why I didn't pursue it, is because I didn't believe in myself or my dreams enough to do it. I was shaking and people saw that as a sign of uncertainty and decided for me what I should do. I'm talking in general here because that somehow applies to more aspects of my life than just my education. I've had this way of trusting people to know what's best for me, because I always doubted myself, I always felt like I was inexperienced, a dreamer, an escapist who couldn't quite get the hang of reality, and so I allowed other people to dictate their choices on me. Looking back I realise how little say I had, and perhaps I would say I regret it, if I believed in regrets.

I love myself and I love life, but I know how tiring it is to live amongst it, how difficult it is to be myself with others. Perhaps I'm writing this for selfish reasons, perhaps I'm craving; so desperately to be understood by the eyes of someone else, so that I know I'm not crazy or depressed, so I know that the passion in me isn't actually drying, so I can mouth these very thoughts I'm having instead of writing them. I talk to the Universe (myself, cause I'm a part of it) and ask it to lead me to the road that'll fit me, even with bumps on the way, I don't mind cutting my knees, to get to where I want to be, to where I belong.

I like to look at pictures of filtered flowers and old youth, quotes of writers that I pride myself in saying that I understand what they went through to make them write such things, even though I know I couldn't possibly do. Pictures of people caught unaware, pictures of lovely meals, and cups of hot and cold coffee. I find bliss in the stillness of these shots, like the person who photographs them captured a moment clothed in serenity, so perfectly. I wish my own life was like that, a series of still photographs, that I can just recall and bring back the feeling with it. I'm nostalgic for a past that's not even mine.

Talking about the past, is probably something I saw coming. I don't like to recall my own, I've blocked many years and then a few, more times than I'd like to admit, I feel it creeping behind my back, slowly brushing my shoulders and then poking me once, whispering: have you forgotten about me? The past really doesn't define you, only you do. I know that very well, no one wants to be defined by tragedies and misfortunes, I know I don't, I think I struggle with it, cause I still hope it wasn't what it was, I think I can't accept it because I ignore it every time I'm given the chance to indulge in it. I can't come out of the other side of it, because I'm stuck in the middle. I don't think there's such a thing as closure. I don't know if I ever saw one, but anyway, life has a way of moving on, and I pretend to do the same.

The sea has a way of being calm and unobstructed, when there's no waves or storms forcefully steering it up, sometimes it's hostile and can't be still, but in both cases its always yearning, always yearning for something, I think I'm a lot like that, always yearning for which I can not have. I pray the next time I find peace in my heart, the feeling would last a lifetime. I pray the next arms I find myself falling into, wouldn't be loneliness pushing me to. I pray the next time my heart is raging and my soul is aching, my eyes would tell the truth, and my mind would spill it. I pray the next time I pray, I find God and ask forgiveness for my unexplainable ways, I pray the next time I find love, it find me untainted by desires that always kept it away, I pray all of which I seek is seeking me, so the next time I find myself here, I'm comforted in ease. 

Your Song

Be here for me, I could not bring myself to say it when you were around, but I'm saying it now. Be here for me. I miss you and perhaps that should be enough, I should perhaps stop writing now, but I can't. I've numbed myself for many weeks now, I don't remember how many, the days dragged on with a slow blur to them, I threw myself at work, at people's problems, at books and cooking, all to distract myself from thinking of you, and I've ran my fuel empty , I'm empty again. I hate this. I hate it. I was doing fine until I went through your box of memories, and read the silly little poem you wrote for me, the first ever in a line of chain we've exchanged over coffee dates and tired-out movie scenes.

I can't breathe without inhaling a thought of you deeper, do you know what that's like? My lungs are burning, and my heart is suffocating in between the fire. I don't want my secrets back. I gave them to you, you were the one person who meant the world to me, you were everything to me, but you left me.

You woke up one day and didn't love me anymore. My heart was too heavy for you to carry, it sickened your soul, my pain burdened you and my sadness drowned you. You said you were leaving, and I cried with you standing there speechless, I asked you not to leave, I begged you, I promised you I would change, promising to be a colourful disposition like the girls on TV but you said don't, you said it wouldn't change anything, you were leaving anyway, I held on to you like a last hope, my last chance at happiness but you shuddered me off and said stop, then you told me dwelling on it will only make it worse, and that we've had our run but its time we stopped, and just like that you were gone.

Your ghost haunted me, the air in my apartment carried your scent, my body forgot how to get out of bed, for days I laid there, shivering to the pain that showered me, I cried until my pillow spelled you out, I laid on your side of the bed and cursed myself for it, it was cold and lifeless, just like the furnitures and the walls, like my heart that ached to the fist smouldering it, never wanting to die because you might come back, you might change your mind, you might apologise and blame your doubts, I gave you everything and somehow it wasn't enough. Like a falling star you chased me, and I know now that you never caught me.

Your friends became strangers, and the places we loved became forbidden, like an entire chapter of my life was shredding, page by page, and I didn't have the strength to burn it all together, it left me sore and bitter, I forgot how to hurt, how to feel pain, I've struck my chest to tell me something but it was quiet, the stillness was choking me, and yet my heart was beating, with the stilling pulses that were a slow death to me.

I hate you. I wish I knew how to believe that lie, I wish I knew how to resent you without longing for your return, you brought the heavens down to earth for me, you warmed me with an understanding like never before, you kissed each and every one of my scars and promised there will be no more, you made me crave you with a desire that nearly killed me, and then you saved me, and taught me how love was made, and how you desired me just the same, you tasted the rain I keep hidden inside my soul, then covered me when I got cold.

Perhaps we've fallen hard into something that we've mistaken for love, perhaps we've dived too deep into the bottom, until you couldn't breathe anymore, perhaps I was just another curiosity unfolding, perhaps there was another one calling.. I don't know, and I don't think I'll ever know. Now all I wish for is silencing your song that follows me everywhere I go. 

Religion & Me (pt. 2)

'We find God and religions 

To paint us with 

Salvation' 

I have been running short on vocabulary lately, mostly it has to do with the fact that I haven't engaged in a conversation with another human for the past month, an adequate time for my mouth to forget to do that thing it does where it sort-of opens a bit and sound kind of vibrates in the form of words (...weird?) let's just hope this won't be pure nonsense with no substance... Wow, it already started! 

Awhile back I wrote a post about this particular subject, and I've made some kind of oath to return to it and see if I'd felt any different, so here I am, uncomfortably seated with a poor disposition  -might I add- writing about this for the second time.

This is my -most humble- opinion from experience, and I'm only declaring this to shut the voice in my head thats screaming right now: 

- STOP INFLICTING YOUR OPINIONS ON THE WORLD!! 

To which I take a step back, lean then take another one and say: 

- Sorry? 

- YEAH, YOU SHOULD BE!!

Oh... The grimes in insecurity, or is it the salvation in ignorance? 

I honestly believe that questioning my religion strengthen my faith, though it might not seem to be such an easy conviction, I never expected it to be anyway, also how am I to stand behind something I haven't sought and fought to understand? I took a few swings in the dark the last time I came by this corner by asking many questions that I couldn't possibly know the answers to, and I know that's the mere source to my frustration and agitation, it bothered me that I couldn't find a rational argument to settle an irrational topic... Let me explain. 

Last time I wrote about Islam from a religion standpoint (as much as I could remember) but not from an experience, I have been at the two sides of extremes, I've seen people using their religion as a cover to hide behind, a show to display, there's no harm in making mistakes as long as we learn from them, estimate the weight of each mistake or better yet manage to think of the consequences ahead of time, if all of that fails to happen then apparently falling back into the false sense of redemption is what's left.

Everyone has a different set of morals or moral codes -if you will- and it be stupid to assume them to be intrinsic, in a rather harsh reality where everyone has their own agenda they're following, I talk about morals and principles, because they're the reasons behind regrets and resentments, people that seem to possess none, find their "salvation" in religion, and in a way I can see why they would, because it does act as their safety net, think about it, why wouldn't I jump once and even twice if I was made fully aware that theres a safety net on guard at all times? 

I could argue even more and say that depends on the fall, but hey, if you jump you've jumped, that's it. 

Which acts we perceive to be good and which do we consider to be bad, should be defined by us, who we are determines how we act, I don't believe that there's good people and bad people in this world, there are those that do good and those that do bad, and roles tend to intertwine, a person's character is determined by their deeds, I couldn't possibly say I'm a good person if all you've ever seen me do is cheat and lie my way through life, doesn't matter what you think about yourself if you're not able to carry it out through your actions. 

People that use religion to cover their tracks, have no real conscience so they will fold themselves into a religion to get a "sense of rightness" because without it they wouldn't know where to turn, and with the absence of a safety net, wouldn't they just hit the ground? 

Then there's the radicals who lack a clear understanding of the core aspect of their religion, somehow managing to follow its every rule without once embodying its essence, it's true that we're taught to be as close to perfection as possible, but does that mean that we forget that the origin of this religion is kindness, and that the path to it is simplicity? do we scorn those who wear their imperfections outward, dismissing their views and rejecting the special connection they have with their Creator, just because they took (are taking) a different route than us? 

What it must feel like to live in an unprejudiced world? 

*She then holds her breath to silence her inner hippie* 

I haven't found the answers, and chances are I never will, and I've learned a long time ago that God isn't a "rational" theory, even though no one knows how the Universe came about (was there a one prior to it?)  and chances are they never will, so why is it difficult to believe that a Creator was behind it? I'll tell you why, its because knowledge had made us cynical, at least it did me about this particular area, I wanted to find a way to rationalise this irrational topic but that's just not possible, there's no logic to it, you either believe or you don't, take a pick. 

Take your time and think about it, what are we doing and why are we doing any of it? Is there a meaning behind your everyday, or is it all meaningless? Do you take a moment to appreciate the life that surrounds you or you're passing it by and those in it?  How would you describe justice when bad things happen to good people who seem to have lost about everything and are unable to cope? On that one particularly; tell me, is God a good theory? 

Greed had dictated the hearts of those who became blind to sound judgement, there's so much evil in this world, I will not deny it, but no one is born with it, people are taught to hate, why else would one treat another like they're inferior, like their life is of little to no value, that they could just end without much of a remorse? This has nothing to do with what faith they "practise" these are people of no faith to begin with. 

 I don't know why bad things happen to good people, I don't know why so many children had to die in these war zones, can I call them God's Children? Can I be naive enough to call them that? Life is suffering, but with so much suffering in it there's also an abundance of joy in it, its up to us to decide what we choose to see, and only with open wounds do we heal, and with immense pain do we long for and appreciate happiness when its finally here. 

My heart aches at the terrible circumstances so many are in right now, and it hurts a little at the bullshit we lose ourselves in everyday, from pride to drama to everything else that keeps us from being as connected to each others as we could be. We take life and those in it for granted, I know that I used to, and I became aware of that the night I lost a dear person to me, and believe me or not, from deep sadness happiness managed to find a way to shine through, it took the passing of this person to bring my family together, grief made us realise that we can't keep on pretending that family reunions every four years are sufficient, it made us take a step back and think that we ought to be there more, and so we did, and I do believe that even though this person left this world, she left behind her, her spirit to clothe us with. (RIP, love) 

I know this post seemed like ramblings followed by even more ramblings, and I've digressed to the point of WTF and I couldn't quite manage to find my way back, but hey, YOLO... Am I right? Anyway what I wanted to say was that I appreciate the little things that I never noticed before; like the slow pace of somedays, the blur of others, the people that come and go and the memories that follow. If I learned anything in the past months is that nothing lasts, nobody can help you if you are not willing to help yourself, and there's no use in expecting or demanding much of someone, everyone works at their own speed, and I understand that everyone has their own pain they're hiding from or dealing with, people in your life are like mirrors, they reflect something about you, they bring out something you were never aware of before; people in your life are seasons and everything that happens is for a reason. I don't want to stress about the things that don't matter anymore, I don't want to try and recapture something thats long gone and I don't want to make other people's happiness my number one priority. 

This world is indeed chaotic but the only real trap is getting attached to any of it, think about it for a moment, when we choose to let go is when we become free, the driving force in my life right now is maitri and karuna, caring for myself first then those around me; I can't promise to be what they expect of me but I'm here for them in a way I'm satisfied with, and I can't say I've figured out much about love other than its many variations and durations, we do not always get to see our love manifest and blossoms and perhaps thats okay, we don't always get to harvest in our lifetime and perhaps thats okay too, time is a mere concept thats all, what matters is leaving an imprint on those you touch, being there for someone in need, inspiring another to change for the better, holding on to a dear's trust and so on and forth. 

Life is composed of little moments, that make up for everything, sadly enough many are too absorbed in their own minds, that they fail to recognise them. Happiness isn't a difficult equation, it does not require you to be delusional, if you stop expecting and demanding things to be different, and instead accept where you're at right now (with the desire to move and improve further) maybe you can stand a chance at being happy. 

Do You Remember

It was midnight, the sky was deep blue; almost black, a silent night with most of the shops closed, only a few restaurants were open with even fewer people inside. A red light flashed, and the car stopped next to a take-away restaurant, I turned to look at the small chinese place with the olive-green coloured door, and caught glimpses of blank expressions and tired postures, people standing in line to put in their order, the car started to move again before I had enough time to take in the faces; faces of strangers that I'll never be able to recognise, as the car took a turn into the main street, I wondered about them and how I'm most likely to pass them by if I was to ever walk down that street, I chuckled then sighed at the irony of it all; for life is just that; sequences of appearances then passing on, nothing more.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked me while placing his hand by the radio player to lower the volume, the station that was on, was playing folk tunes, whispering nostalgia to every listener, I looked at him to find him staring at the road, the singer's voice was starting to fade out, repeating the words: 'Come home to me darling, come home to me' Her plea that dripped of longing made me wonder whether that home was an actual place or a time, was that same longing wrapped up in hope for a better ending? That the lover would come home to her if he was gone, or return to her, if he had left her? How deep in poison is longing? There really is no remedy for it once it pervade.

"You're strangely distant today" He whispered, staring at me with the sides of his eyes, I smiled and turned to face him "Strangely?" inquiring with curiosity, his eyes gleamed and were focused on the road again "Yeah, sometimes I can guess whats on your mind, but not tonight" I stared at him as the city lights were painting his face, he never looked more beautiful than tonight.

"Do you remember the first time you saw me?" I asked him without taking my eyes away, he eyed me for a second then looked ahead "Yeah" was his response, hesitated for a bit then said "It was around this time, wasn't it?" I nodded, "I still remember you back then" he said quietly, reflecting upon a memory, "What was I like?" I whispered, "Lost" he whispered back then laughed, I rolled my eyes yet couldn't help but laugh too, a memory of a terrified girl in a new city, asking for directions in the subway, rushed into my brain, what a distant time it seemed to me now.

"I was such a wreck" he looked at me quickly then said "No, you weren't, you didn't look as scared as -I'm sure- you must've felt" I shuddered my shoulders, "And if you were, I wouldn't have noticed, I was just really glad you ended up riding my train... No pun intended" he laughed as I rolled my eyes at him smiling, "You had a journal with you" He proceeded after a few seconds, deep in thought, "A black one; with a grey ribbon tied around it, a pen placed between the pages, that made me think that, you've been writing either that morning or only a couple of hours earlier. Your hair was in a bun and you were wearing a short black dress, and black shoes. You sat next to me and kept apologising every time you asked about the station we were approaching... It was so annoying" I giggled when I remembered the amount of 'I'm so sorry to bother you again' I must've said that day.

His eyes were fixed on the road, smiling as he spoke "You smelled good though, so I didn't mind" I let out a loud laugh, as I did not expect that response from him "Thank goodness for that" I said sarcastically, he took his hands off the steering wheel, raising them then mouthing 'Amen' before slowing the car down then stopping at a red light, "I remember wishing that train would never stop or reach a destination" he said staring at me, "You drew me in completely and more so effortlessly, I was hooked" I looked away, as the car started to move again, trying to catch my breath and my thoughts one by one.

"I remember your face and calm demeanour, the way you took the time to think deeply about every question and your awkward laughter when I asked if you were a writer, you shook your head and said 'Words tend to leave me hollow', then I asked if I could read your journal, you handed it over almost immediately, leaning forward whispering 'Here you go, total stranger' and then chuckled in that cute way you do" I giggled "Yeah exactly like that" he said smiling, before turning to face me with fierceness, "What is it?" I asked, baffled, "Its you" he said while pulling the car over to the side of the road and switching off the engine.

"When you gave me your journal to read that day, most of the writings were scribbled over in a bundle of ways, at first it was confusing to understand what was going on, and almost everything written seemed like an inner conversation that was well over my head, but still... There was something more, I don't know how to explain it, the way you write is very personal yet it doesn't really say much about you, its as if you give the reader fragments promising that the whole thing is coming up yet it never does. When I was reading, I saw vague parts of you; a girl that was trapped in her own mind, that reflects a lot on her surroundings, that craves a deeper understanding yet doesn't quite know how to have it"

He placed his thumb over my lower lip, sensing my deep and heavy breathing, with his eyes fixed on mine, he proceeded "You infatuate those that read you, because they feel like they've tabbed into the real you. You write bare, thats the impression you give anyway, when in fact, there's more layers that even you don't know about, and never really tried to. See, you somehow managed to convince yourself that someone else would peel you, and sure enough all of those that came close to do so, you've pushed away because you'd rather be a forever-mystery than a forgotten-memory"

A single tear rolled down my cheek, he brushed it with his thumb, I could hear my heartbeat filling the space of the car, his eyes did not turn from mine "Do you want to know why I didn't ask for your number that day on the train, even when every cell in my body was begging me to?" I shook my head and another tear rolled down, dropping to my skirt "Its because you were unreal; incredibly so. You embodied the phrase of 'too good to be true' for me, and I wanted to leave you that way, to remember you like that, a girl that sat next to me on a train and offered me a piece of her mind and heart, I couldn't ask for more... I could, but I didn't want to. I wanted you to remain a story I tell myself, cause I knew you were like no one else"

He took my hands in his, rubbing them together, before uttering "Of course, I regretted that decision as soon as you stepped off the train, I think I might've beaten myself up about it more than necessary, and then tried to find solace in the dreams I kept having of you in the nights that followed" he went quiet for a few minutes then said "You couldn't possibly imagine what I was feeling when I saw you again in that station, weeks after that first encounter; around the same time you were starting to become a myth, you appeared again in order to set me straight... And well, the rest is history"

Turning away to switch on the engine again, he smiled saying "You remain a mystery, in a way, you'll always be, and I'm fine with that. See, even at days when you're strangely distant, you still find your way back, I can never be mad after that. Now enough questions we need to get home before sunrise, are you in the mood for chinese food? I think we passed a place earlier"

I nodded, taking back his hand to hold, with my other hand I raised the volume of the radio with an indie tune blasting over, leaning to his side, I kissed his ear before whispering "I love you more each day" then went back to the seat, falling into sleep as a light drizzle outside, started to proceed. 

Religion & Me

People that pick their noses 

and keep going at it... 

you're fingering 

yourself, mate

estagfurAllah, aldonya Ramadan 

When you squeeze an orange, until your hand managed to forcefully abstract all the liquid out, to leave a dry-dead looking skin of nothingness at the end of the process (actually that dry-dead skin can be used as a face-mask once heated and mutated, that poor thing; literally went from an orange to a "thing") notice how bad I am with metaphors, and following them up? *ABORT; says disengaged brain* well, here I go again, hand-in-hand with nonsense by my side, buckle down, brain. Buckle down. 

I flinch every time there's a discussion about Religion, I'm not sure whether I was brought up in an oblivious environment where discussions of that sort weren't talked about as they should've/could've been, perhaps it was an observe-and-copy environment where questions felt unnecessary to barge in, later felt a sense of unwelcome, or maybe I'll just blame it on the media because we all know it as the spawn of Satan (everyone is playing that blame-game nowadays) no matter what the reason is, I'll need to get over my preprogrammed anxiety and write what it is I think (I can only hope my prefrontal cortex isn't effected by the fast) 

Like everyone else, I've contemplated about existence, essence and left a blank space underneath the existential questions, because -to be honest- I am deep to my neck with uncertainty whenever I try to tackle any of it. This is my -surely humble- point of view regarding Religion, and I do not wish to discuss any other aspect that hangs with to contradict, be it; the universe and how it seemingly stretched from nothing, how it will supposedly return to nothing, what happens to our atoms once our bodies cease to function, if our energies could be transferred, the freaking evolution of homo sapiens. Na Bruv, I'm not doing none of that. 

Instead, I'll talk about my set of beliefs (raised upon and acquired) that should make me feel "good about myself" once they're applied and lived by, and why its never as simple as that. 

Islam -to me- is a religion that encompasses many layers, when I tried to take it for its literal sense, I found a gap between us as large as the Pacific Ocean, I couldn't relate, the severity of its punishments, the rigidity of its disciplines, the ancient history of its sacred book, I was a foreign in an unfamiliar land, failing to fit in, I didn't have a hard time believing (although weeds of doubt grew now and again) the difficult time was spent practicing, I applied myself, attempting to find it within me to realise why I was doing it, why I was praying, what did I go through during the prayer and what did I feel afterwards? the answer was a flatline of nothingness. 

So basically, you mean to say, you were going through the motions to trigger the emotions? (Yes, captain cliche of all cliches) that was basically it, it also didn't help that all I was exposed to, from the media, was the 'wrong kind of Islam', you know the ones that take God's matters into their own hands, that believe they're Prophets in their own right, that know nothing about their religion but its rules and punishments. 

Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) is the last prophet to carry the final answers from God to the people, through the Koran and his many sayings and stories that I'm learning about, I say the final answers but there's really one question that comes to the minds of people "What is my purpose in life?" and the answer to that, is actually quite simple if I was to take it from the perspective of Islam: to believe in the articles of faith, to carry out the five pillars, to refrain from all of which that is haram (forbidden), and to spread the message of Islam. 

Life is granted not possessed, that's the core asset in understanding Islam, this life we're living now, is a steppingstone to the afterlife, where you are either to be rewarded for your good deeds or punished for wasting the life that was given in evil deeds or no deeds at all. It goes with the saying, many muslims (and most non-musilms) believe in: 'Everything is a test from God' basically what that means, is that God is watching your every move, nothing is random, you are constantly placed in situations that test your faith, your oath, to see how strongly you believe, how sincerely you're carrying out the message.

It goes without saying that there are a lot of forbidden pleasures in Islam (pleasure isn't really the word here, but for lack of a better term) and life is filled with temptations, when I first read about Islam (for pleasure, again for lack of a better term) (can you imagine if a writer wrote a novel composed of sentences ending with 'for lack of a better term' how satire is that? I would pay for that) anyway, I took in the literal sense of the text, and I found myself unable to comprehend let alone apply it to my life, and that is where I took a detour. 

Why did God forbid Adam and Eve from the tree of knowledge? why did He send them to the garden of Eden if they would disobey Him? Was it so that they would inhabit the Earth and begin what was yet to be known as the humankind? Was it a punishment for the first example of disobedience and the suffering that followed it? Or was it to show the story (the legend) of how weak human beings are against temptations (in all its different facets)? Why was shame the first emotion they felt when they became aware of each others nudity? Is that why we grow up hiding ourselves embarrassed by the mere mention of the human form? Is shame the feeling that we ought to associate with sin? Why didn't they feel guilt immediately for doing what God ordered not to? If following the rules is what God wants from us, and breaking them is what the Devil is after, what does that make us... pawns? 

See now why I fringe at discussions about Religion, almost always the endless cycle of questioning is interrupted by a strange abstract thing lurking in, fishing for doubts which form from the absence of answers, trying to catch me, and its goes by the name of Atheism. 

I remember having a conversation with a friend once, about how underwhelmed she felt when the topic of Judgement Day was brought up, her argument was basically centred around how the universe was filled with so many wondrous limitless opportunities and a bunch of many other variables that line up together, that we won't even have time to make sense of, before the end of the world, as we came to know it, where we stand to be questioned about what we've done in that particular day of that particular year and so and so. I don't remember how that conversation ended, and I don't think I've tried to argue to what I "believe" would actually happen, for it is written and those who read about it, can have a picture of what it would be like, and here I go, stumbling again. 

Allow me to pick myself up. 

The signs to the end of the world are both major and small, the major 'time-changing' are yet to happen, though the small ones are happening as we are living now, I'm not going to go through them, in all honesty I don't remember them with clarity, what I can however talk about, is the picture of the last judgment, the one I was raised to believe would happen, from teachings at schools to videos of religious scholars on youtube (as real as it gets, yo) the humankind is called upon to raise from the dead, everyone for his/herself; except those who loved one another under God's name, lived to spread His message and strengthen their faiths together, those are hand-in-hand walking toward their judgement, and those who were not following in God's orders (after taking his name) are running in wild fear without much awareness, the sun is right above the heads, and all are waiting to see, which eternity they'll fall into. Some muslims will run with the speed of light through the bridge leading up to Heaven (Alseerat Al mostageem) those are the ones who lived by God's wishes and have spread His message, others will walk in slowly balancing between their deeds and some will crawl, chained to the deeds that will eventually lead them to punishment.

Another image is the white fabric that will be covering the naked bodies, this fabric will extend according to the person's actions, some will have a full garment and others only shreds. Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) will be the first to lead his nation to the doors of Heaven, the first to knock and the first to be welcomed, he is the one that will quench the thirsts and lead every muslim to his/her place in heaven. Some would have castles and others would have a small space, all depending on their actions on earth. 

Disclaimer: No research went into the accuracy of this, this is nothing other than the ranting of a girl, working her way out of incoherent thoughts, in an attempt to understand what it is she doesn't. I know nothing. 

Reasonable questions that are worth mentioning; why is Islam the final religion for mankind? Why is it the one that'll stand the course of time? Why was Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) chosen? Why wasn't there any documented miracles during his time, forcing the non-believablers to change their minds like the Prophets before him? 

Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) was illiterate, and that's the first fact, that is usually poked on to mock the religion as a whole. I honestly believe reading the Koran and understanding it, is the first step towards killing the weeds of doubts, stories that are documented carries within them depth into the true nature of life, and what we are doing, why we are doing it and whom we are serving. Of course religions before such carried answers too, but Islam is different, in a sense of God's entrusting His message with a man who passed every single test was placed upon him, Muhammed (SAAWS) lost both of his parents at a young age; having never actually met his father and watched his mother dying before his own eyes, he was placed at the guardianship of his grandfather who was the first to notice that he was different, he used to bring him to meetings with him, but instead of playing Muhammed (SAAWS) used to listen, and take in everything that was said, from an early age he was developing his abilities to think and reflect. 

After the death of his grandfather, he was then placed at the guardianship of his uncle, who took him gladly, and Muhammed (SAAWS) worked for many years, starting at the age of nine as a sheepman, then at 15 as a seller (again, I did not check those facts) he was known for his hard work and dedication, his honesty and humility. When I spoke of tests, I meant the losing of those closest to him, Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) realised -from such a young age- what grief and loss truly felt like, how fleeing life actually is, and that wasn't enough to keep him away from the society in which he partook in. Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) was known for his reflections and contemplation, his solitude at Cave Hira in the mountains is the perfect example for when he was seeking answers to the many questions clouding his mind; a notion I know many including myself went (and will continue to go) through. 

I'm not going to write a historical post, instead I would like to answer some of the questions, I stated earlier, I believe that Islam is the final religion for a reason; Koran is composed of stories of pervious times and times still ahead, it surpasses the time in which it was revealed, and the time in which we live in now, I guess I'm trying to say its timeless and that's why its not affected by the passage of time. God breathed His spirit unto Adam, we are all born with an intrinsic essence that somehow speaks to us; call it conscience or soul, regardless of the name, its there, and its the one that determines how we feel about ourselves. Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) was chosen for he embodied all the traits of an inspiring teacher and mentor, he was not only a messenger of God, he was able with his characteristics to effect the course of an entire nation and the many that followed and keep following it. 

There's this question that goes 'If you could invite three people to dinner with you -alive or dead- who would you pick?' I would love to invite Prophet Muhammed (SAAWS) to hear more of his stories and see for myself the enigma that he is. PBUH. 

Just saying. 

There weren't any miracles during the spreading of the message of Islam, and I think that was because the era of miracles was over, Islam came with a direct message; the first word from God to come down on Muhammed (SAAWS) was 'Read' and I believe that thats truly all you need to know, this religion's sole purpose is to teach people to read and become educated so that they'll built and develop worthwhileness in this life. During the early times of the message Muhammed (SAAWS) built Dar Airqm where teachings about Islam and the Koran was being held for the followers to become more informed; they did not follow blindly, they understood the text, something that I think we lack in our time. 

When I pray, my ability to be mindful and present is often transient, I struggle through my urge to fight the distractions and desire to cave in, a reason behind this, could be repetitiveness, I don't need to tell you, how easy it is (in this day and age) for the brain to find dull spots during the day, and praying everyday like its a chore you're supposed to be doing isn't what praying is about, I heard this story about a man who described praying as his personal time with God, he would shake sometimes reduced to tears when he becomes aware of how magnificent and grand the meeting actually is, another story about a man who cried during a prayer, when asked why, he said he was filled with weary and agony because life and its endless distractions managed to take his mind away during prayers, he felt sorry for himself... and I'm sure there are countless other stories, but you get my point. 

I could only wish to arrive at that stage, where reciting Koran during prayer leaves my spine tingling, where the comfort we humans so desperately seek, I can find during my personal time with God. There is no denying that I have felt an emptiness recently, perhaps what's changed is that I can be more articulate when describing it, cause I've grown more accustomed to it, either way I would like to ask you to ask yourself this question: is everything felt in-half here? by here I mean life, Is there a reason why happiness doesn't last nor does sadness, why satisfaction isn't 100% granted? Is it because that's all we're meant to have? and that the other half or perhaps the full pie is savoured for Heaven? 

Its not simple math, struggling to carry out His message is only natural. Life is wonderful, it was granted for living and making the most of it. Yet it's not ours to claim, perhaps thats why I heard so many stories about people (muslims in particular) in their death beds; seeming serene to have found something we living are still searching for, they've let go of their grasp in life, perhaps that's where comfort comes around. Morbidness step aside. 

This isn't one of those 'shed a light on' posts, I do not want to defend my religion, nor justify the horrible acts some people carry under its name. I simply want a platform where I can stand upon, even when mistakes are made, and be able to bounce back. When I was younger the last thing I inquired of someone was their believe system, and now that I'm a bit older, it remains the same. I am trying to understand myself better, and faith is only reinforcing that. 

Disclaimer (2): I am not isolating myself nor do I advocate that, I am also not in the business of converting anything, this is nothing other than the ranting of a girl who's spilling her mind into a keyboard. 

PS: That orange was a metaphor for my mind. 

PPS: I'm so lame. 

Demons

This little faith
I'm cursed with
These silenced
screams,
At the back of my throat
I'm choked with

This black void
Of nothingness
These running rounds
Of emptiness
Shorten of breaths
To illusive happiness

This desperation
In fatigue
This loneliness
Of defeat
This heart,
That can't be healed

On my knees,
You stare me down
I hear a sound
'Old friend of mine,
Its all over now' 

Blank Page

A blank page
Running ink, waiting
Perhaps I'll write a letter,
Of hope
To my mother,
Not to lose herself
In a failed marriage
That sunk her spirit,
Too deep to recover

I'll write another one
To my father,
With a mere mention
A simple act of attention
Could have prevented
A hole, that cracked
His family in whole

I'll write to my brothers
A prudent letter,
Scented with dreams
Of a better life
The only true wish
I ever had

Perhaps I'll write a letter
To myself,
Of where I am now,
And what led me to this
The past, I find an obstacle
Though, I have accepted
It as it is, for what it was
Yet can't seem to understand
Why? 

A few questions are left
Unanswered
All I have, with me
Is a blank page
Of truths, unspoken  

Lies

Do you remember the first lie you've told? I could pull a guess out of the guesses hat and say no, knowing that its a rather impossible one to recall, since that distant time, we were born into this world, we learned how to manipulate our mothers to do (pretty much) everything we want. Sounds strange because it happened, and crying was the mean of how it all manifested, but then again, I don't think its manipulation as much as it is selfishness, our mothers are our attachment figures after all, so its only natural we'd want them close, and we'd use the only mean (trick) to make sure that happens. No really, its rather cute.

The reason why I've started this with a question, and somehow managed to speak for the reader (which I apologise for doing) is because I've always been fascinated with lies, no matter what "true content" they were covering, and "fake content" they were presenting. Lies are deceitful, but theres more, like flashes of light, so many of the lies I've told are clouding my mind as I'm writing this now, and though I won't argue that I (unfairly) refused the truth; like I'm sitting in an exam, faced with a multiple choice question and none of the options rang "fact or true" so I picked up the pencil, and wrote down an option, then highlighted it as true. A lie is just another option, another story that fits your preferences perfectly.

Lies displays insecurities, when you're trying to impress, you're most likely to exaggerate yourself and your story; like inflating skin with allergy, you'll be itching for ways to make your story as exciting as it could get, distorting its true corners a little more than necessary but eventually you make it to the "true destination" of the story. Or you could be one of those, that don't really see that grey area, and so you dismiss your story completely, and go for a totally invented, shaped as its being mentioned story; a lie.

Whats worse than being lonely, is people knowing that you are. Many of the lies born out of insecurities are told by the lonely ones, what are insecurities, if nothing other than constraining fears, these lies only conceal truths, you'll know more about the person through their lies, what it is they're trying to hide, is offered within and between the lies.

I'm not quite sure if I'll be going somewhere with this post, and by somewhere I mean a destination that'll lead to a closure or a final statement, usually those things require from you, that you'll stick to your starting statement, and since that statement was a question with a yes or no tail, this post could've been over before it began, and I wouldn't be facing this intersection right now, so for the sake of not moving further, only to be fidgeting with thoughts more, I'll stop here. 

Remedies

Are you conscious of the space 

your absence creates? 

I believe that we as human beings, are more complex than we think, but not as nearly as we act to be. I have discovered a pattern recently that had set my whole being into a state of disturbance; similar to an out-of-control noise making machine, or one of those trashy lights you see at cheap clubs, that are too shockingly bright, they blind. I've discovered that I lose myself everyday, that my peace of mind, my vibe (I love that one word) was fleeing away, and I didn't know how to get it to stay. Everyday is different, though it might not seem that way to the outside eye, everyday I learn something different, I unlearn something, shifting my perception in the right way, I feel different; every waking moment, carries with it a new emotion or sensation, penetrating my walls, and exposing my light to the world. Its everything. I want to find myself again. I want to reconnect again.

I'm interested in people; more specifically their minds, hearts, spirits, and the different atoms that shape their personalities. My curiosity is like a burning candle, heating its surrounding, providing warmth and most importantly lighting a fire of connection, and leaving ashes of understanding. Coincidences sparking conversations, exchanging ideas, jumping on frequencies, and unravelling truths. I've realised that people have nothing to hide, once they are shown that there's no reason to, remember when we used to complain about trust, how many of us didn't demonstrate their trustworthiness to begin with? And that will come about, once you let yourself be shown. I grew, moulding myself into a fixed structure, I did not know how many layers of cynicism, I've sought to suffocate myself with, I fell hard into a bottomless pit, reaching up only to knock myself back down, all the while thinking: 'familiar is comfortable' I think it was the lies I told myself, that kept me captive for so long.

My heart is anxious, but its also sacred. A gift of intensely feeling everything, always sparked an interest in me, and quite a few people seemingly intimidating but actually courageous, held that gift. Fear is real, I've always wondered about the person(s) I'll pour portions of myself into. I lust for a conversation at 2AM, spending hours thinking and painting words, the other person, beside me, with a canvas laid out in front of us. Go. Go. It's that simple. Love does not know fear, you do. From my experiences, we start with cautious and deliberate, with both sides offering secondhand flattery, skilfully playing a game of hide-and-seek, only to realise, that both armours weren't conquered, preventing anything raw from entering. I crave to find a connection, in the empty spaces between words, to awaken truths in the other person, to feel together, and learn together, I don't believe in prerequisites or promises, no matter where we both end up; even if apart, I'd be comforted knowing that, I carried a piece of them with me and they did the same. I desire intensity, the sort of beauty that captures everything.

In my solitude, there's serenity.
In my heart, there's hope.
In my mind, there's curiosity.
In my soul, there's patience.
In my life, there's good. 

Try

 He eyed me with suspicion, narrowing his eyes to examine me, I felt somewhat uncomfortable and I hated it, I don't remember ever experiencing discomfort when we were together, but I guess, that's the thing about memories, they tend to be selective when it comes to me.

"Why are you here?" He stood up, walked towards me to take the box, and placed it by the fireplace, then gestured for me to take a seat, I shook my head and he sighed, we were both standing awkwardly, a thought of leaving passed through me, but I dismissed it as soon as it appeared, I wanted to savour what little time I had left with him, even if that time meant remembering him this way. 

"We didn't get a chance to talk, last night" 

"Yeah, you seemed busy" 

"You left early" 

"Its not really my scene" 

"I wish we've talked" 

"I know" 

He reached ahead and grabbed my hand, leading me towards the sofa so we'd both take a seat, I looked down at our hands interlocking in a tight grip, time stood still whenever that happened, to an outside eye, it would look like its a habit that needs to die, but him and I both knew, it was much more than that.

"What is it?" He said as he grasped my hand tighter, "Tell me" I could taste the curiosity in the air he breathed unto these words, for a moment, I saw him; he was back, not the distant man I came to know now, but the one I've fallen for, the first time we've met. 

"I'm scared" I spoke with what little I had to give, he brushed my hand with his thumb, placing his other hand around my shoulder, silence was the only way he communicated with me through times like this, hardly ever mouthing a word, yet always ending up saying a lot. 

"What scares you?" 

"Moments" 

"Like this?" 

"Yes" 

"Why?" 

"They're not enough anymore" 

He let my hand free, standing up instantly, and walked to the fireplace, didn't say a word as he stared down at the box, I watched his back tense, his heavy sighs, alone on his sofa, with my hand held open, I stood up and walked to where he was standing, he turned around to face me, I took him in an embrace, to ease the pulsating heartbeats, feeling the hesitated breaths on my neck, I sighed then backed away, resisting an overwhelming craving, that was about to carry us both away. 

"You can't do this" He said with a hint of pain adapting his voice, staring at the fireplace as he spoke, "I tried to understand you, but you never allowed it" his eyes looked fierce, with a wild reflection of heat surrounding them, "I wanted to learn about you, but you never gave me a chance" he turned his face away, as his eyes started to water, I stood there speechless, chocking with the desire to bare myself, and the fear surrounding it. 

"I'm sorry" I whispered after a few minutes had passed, "I shouldn't have come" He turned around as soon as the words were uttered, "Why are you here then?" I looked around the room, hiding my eyes from his intense gaze, he grabbed my jaw with his hand, taking me by surprise, "You can't keep doing this" he hissed, before letting go, walking back to where we were seated with despair following on his footsteps.

"You don't know how to be real" He spoke, dangling with words, staring at me with a look of someone who'd given up, "That's why you're here now, you want another memory; a story to tell yourself when you leave" I stood startled in my place as I've realised coming over was a bad idea, thoughts were rushing through my mind, of a better time, a beginning where there weren't any challenges or troubles, only a couple of intrigued strangers lacking the knowing.

"I don't like being exposed"
"Who broke you?"
"Stop"

I turned around, walking towards the door to leave, he met me halfway, blocking me, I looked at him, he was staring back with the same intense gaze of earlier, placing his right hand around my waist, as if to prevent me from moving any further, I dropped my gaze to the floor, trying to hide myself again, to no success, he lifted up my face with his other hand, with a smile fleeing too soon, inhaling before he said

"It's okay, I'm here"
"I'm scared"
"Of what?"
"Anything real"
"Is that why you've disappeared?"
"Its why I always disappear"
"Who broke you?"
"I don't want you to fix me"
"I don't want that either"

"What do you want then?"
"I want you"
"This is me"
"There's more to you than this"
"No"
"I want the other parts of you"
"What parts?"
"The ones you hide from yourself"
"Why are you doing this?"
"I wish you would include me"
"I don't know if I can"
"Try"

He took my hand in his, leading me towards the sofa, pressing my fingers to his knuckles, I sat down beside him, inhaling my desire, and exhaling my fear, while he calmly smiled, I relaxed my muscles, knowing there was no going back after this. 

His Poem

He wrote about you
Again tonight
Another beastly poem
To add, to the heartache
You left behind

There's no cure for him
I know and understand
I was wrong to love a man
Whose ghost,
You left behind

Please, release him
If not for his sake
Then mine
He wept for how many nights
Over the mess
You left behind

My heart is stuck in silence
I can not turn back the time
Save the heart of man
You've scarred, then left behind 

Wrong Perceptions

Letting go of wrong perceptions is next. I am trying to understand my feelings better, the different energies, each emotion is transmitting. My life is like a glass of water; at this very instance, and I do not wish to add any substance to it, like how water is pure and transparent, still and stable, that is how I wish to be as I sit before myself.

Its quite hard to distinguish your feelings from a beloved, when they are suffering, and are coming to you with a problem, your very first instinct is to help eliminate it, and because you feel such deep connection to them; every feeling, every word, every thought, they are projecting, you associate with yours, its very natural to feel very intensely about their suffering, preparing to do all it takes to end it, but the thing is, if you are not in a peaceful state of mind yourself, if you are struggling with your own wrong perceptions and ideas, you will not be able to offer them the help or support you wish to. I find that peace of mind is rather easy to obtain but its quite difficult to maintain, it takes practice, distinguishing your own self (with all its associations and different variations) from others, even though we are all connected, we are also separate in these thoughts that arise everyday, if you feel like you are not in a serene place, no matter how much you care about the other, don't take on their pain, its very heavy to carry the luggages of two, have it together for yourself, then embrace the suffering of another.

Recently I was becoming too fixated upon problems that weren't mine, because I care so deeply about this person, I took on their pain and suffering as my own, and I associated myself with their thoughts, in  return, I wasn't able to help because I wasn't ready nor prepared for that. I became angry for (at) them, taking on an energy they have blocked, forcing clarity by asking questions, chasing them with half-baked solutions, all of this happened because I wasn't listening with an open mind and heart, I was only listening to their feelings in relation to mine.

That's where wrong perception manifests itself, I do believe providing your presence for a beloved is how you come to learn about them, and how could you love if you are not there? but in order for your love to be true and wholesome, you ought to look within you, are you able to listen with compassion, deeply listen without interrupting the process with opinions and suggestions? are you prepared to continue to listen even when its causing you suffering? are you able to distinguish their hurt feelings from yours? are you able to accept the pain that lies in store?

No two can go through each other without fire, so if you're in a negative place and your beloved is in one, you will both be stuck, dragging each other down, because neither of you is ready for the ability nor possesses the wisdom to lift the other up.