Tuesday, June 29, 2021

Damsel in distress, tomboy to hero

Were there to be men in my family, I would've long allowed myself to be a damsel in distress. In reality, I couldn't think of someone needing rescuing and looking after more than myself at this time. Not because of the outside situations, or the circumstances, but because of who I am and what my needs are at the core, despite the appearances. Behind this very solid figure hides a very delicate creature, who needs extremely deep connections, and consistent presence, to truly thrive. It is no news by now, I've been running on survival mode, for as far as I could remember... 

When you're at your saddest / lowest, the truth comes out of you, without any filters. As soon as you're back online, in the world of demons, the filters are back on; filters to see through, filters to speak through, such is a system! 

I've said gems in the last two months, but then again I've been saying the truth in so many different ways and forms throughout my entire life, with no acknowledgments, and mostly only rejections. 

When Jade, my drumming teacher and friend asked me after a class we had years ago, few months after knowing me, why do I always have to be a Hero, why don't I take it easy? I went quiet, in an untypical manner. I don't let questions or comments drop by me easily usually, most especially if directed towards me, most especially if addressed to me directly, I always have an answer. That particular time, I was still getting used to Jade and learning about him. Like me, he says it as it is, as he sees it - but as he wants it too - and I was processing his words still. At one hand, he seems to have understood me when I expressed myself in numerous occasions prior to that, a lot about my life was shared already and been acknowledged, on the other hand, he was judging my approach, belittling my struggle. I never got back to him about this one, he never said things in the same fashion again. He's a very smart and sharp person, one of the few very gifted people I know, though he's not always on point. 

Here's the answer, to myself if anything, since I have often repeated that question in my head since that day, especially anytime I was in doubt about my handling of this whole thing we call life. It's a very long winded answer, brace yourself.

Masculinity is energy. It isn't gender, nor is it concepts, big words, or ideas, and certainly not a title. When my body started to develop as a woman, I wanted to hide it. As a teenager, I turned myself into a Tom boy; the demeanors, the outfits, the walk, the talk. Most important of all though, embodying the masculine energy in spirit. I felt most safe, most at ease and truly myself within that space. 

My life in family up until then have been spent mostly between two groups. One group consisting of my father, eldest brother, and their friends and neighbours. In this group time was spent mostly in the workshop of my father and inside the shop, evenings hangouts at home, or outings. The second group consisted of my mother, sister, and their friends and neighbours, spent mostly at home, ours or theirs. I watched very closely the dynamics in other households too, namely my own close friends and neighbours. There was a stereotype for sure, and I didn't need to judge as such, but I realized simply, as a result of it all, that I'm most excited and happy inside the first group. 

Inside the workshop, it was always very busy, father working away with his hands, multitasking, giving away orders, supervising the work of others, coordinating with my brothers, checking progress, schedule etc. On less busy hours, when it was just my brother inside the workshop, we would be joined by his friends. The work would carry on efficiently, but with entertaining conversations going on on the side. Big ideas, local topics, the world and the news, hopes and ambitions, and plenty of jokes and laughs. Brother had a classy air to him, he spoke little, but anything that came out of his mouth was precise and neat. No talk for the sake of plainly talking. He was smart, brainy, and nerdy. I loved how work was only just part of who he was. He excelled outside of it too, with his big thoughts, opinions, taste in music and literature, hobbies, and quirks. I learned so much with him and through him. We often went on long walks after night shifts, to exercise and clear his head. Then there were those times when we would go out, I would join him with his friends inside his car, first trips to the movies, first long rides, old and new songs, old and new friends. They would every now and then address their talk to me to keep me engaged, but I was never bored of their grown up (safe) conversations. It was extremely stimulating to my mind, I understood and digested a lot early on. I felt safe with my brother not just because of all the action, but the inaction too. Those cosy evenings at home inside his little space, with his computers, discs, books, and collections of Reader's digest magazines. We would listen forever to music, I would learn so much about so many things through him. I was mostly at peace around him because he was a man who knew what he wanted, was firm about it, and unflexible with it. He was authentic in every sense of the word, and when with him, the present moment felt pleasant, and just enough. It's hard to remember nowadays similar moments of serenity around people, not even himself at this stage. But that's another story, for another time. 

Then there was my father, most exciting man I've ever known.

(to be continued...) 

Wednesday, June 16, 2021

Propagation

I discovered the world of plant propagation a while ago. Spring is a good time to plant, re-pot, and surely, propagate. I was busying myself potting a newly purchased Pothos plant few weeks ago, only to discover it was infested with some insects. I panicked not knowing whether it's a normal thing or not. In that very moment I cursed my mother. I remember saying in my head passages that would do for a blog post. "This week, I cursed you twice my mother. First time for never growing plants, and the second time for never showing me how to grown plants, let alone deal with such a plant growing problem as bug infestation. This blog post isn't about plants, or bugs. It's about a very deeply rooted issue, with the mother in my life, and my mother. More on that soon." And then I brushed the thought away. I googled the problem and it turned out to be a more or less common thing. I didn't read about the treating the problem part, hands were busy and dirty, I followed my instinct instead, cleared the plant totally from the old soil, took away all the bugs, and seperated it into several different parts. I divided it in two pots. I used a healthy new mix of soil, cleaned the leaves, watered it, and put it in a nice bright area. The next morning it looked very green and happy, and new baby leaves started to sprout very shortly after. 

More about propagating later, I'm feeling very dizzy and tired, nothing new these days. But I will post what the dictionary define propagation: 

"noun: propagation

  1. 1.
    the breeding of specimens of a plant or animal by natural processes from the parent stock.
    "the propagation of plants by root cuttings"
    • reproduction by natural processes.
      "hunting regulations ensure the propagation of the species"
  2. 2.
    the action of widely spreading and promoting an idea, theory, etc.
    "a life devoted to the propagation of the Catholic faith"
  3. 3.
    transmission of motion, light, sound, etc. in a particular direction or through a medium.
    "the propagation of radio waves through space"

As for the Arabic translation, here goes: 
  1. 1. نشر
  2. 2. انتشار
  3. 3. توالد
  4. 4. تكاثر
  5. 5. بث
  6. 6. امتداد
  7. 7. تفشي
  8. 8. تناسل
  9. 9. اتساع
  10. 10. شيوع
  11. 11. نماء

Tuesday, June 15, 2021

"Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.
Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.
Open the door, then close it behind you.
Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.
Give it back with gratitude.
If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back.
Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.
Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.
Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.
Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.
Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.
Don’t worry.
The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.
The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.
Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.
Do not hold regrets.
When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.
You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.
Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.
Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.
Ask for forgiveness.
Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.
Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.
You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.
Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.
Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.
Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.
Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.
Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.
Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark."

~ Joy Harjo, For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet

Monday, June 14, 2021

Sobering up

On my left, the phone is open on my instagram account. I went all the way down to my very first post, dated 10th April 2018. It's a beautiful artistic, yet very simplistic photo of a small journal with a pen on top of it. In the background you could see the pastel wall color, the shade from the curtain above, and the burgundy couch. The caption says: "It was finally time I had my own personal Instagram account. I have been hiding behind the business and work and commitments and responsibilities. But I have now decided to love myself a little bit more. Time for writing." 

On my right, a big notebook is open on its first pages, a plan of my first book from the year 2016, and a long list of topics and contents. 

If everything I lived has lead me to this very moment where I'm reminded of how much I need to do this writing this, than I am grateful, and dare I say, happy. 

I haven't posted anything on my instagram since 24th May. I am usually active, not crazy active, but active. There's a 101 reasons for me wanting and needing to write, yet all I seem to be doing is distracting myself from it. There's pain and a well of things to dig and feel and think out, and through, when it comes to writing. This account and that post, as I remember very clearly, was made to mark a certain passage, an end and a start of a new cycle, where I return to my self expression existence. But what was writing from that? Worlds apart!

It occurred to me this morning just how badly addicted our humanity has become to the so called social media. Instagram hearting, Facebook liking, youtube subscribing (or disliking), tweeting and retweeting, the follows, the likes, the comments, the stories, the reels, the views, the stats, the exposure, the clicking, the instant gratifications, the quick and fast and easy everything, the "content creating"! And boy did I fall into it the trap myself! 

Such slavery! Whatever they change, whatever new features they add, or old features they remove, we adjust. We resist at the start, but sure we persist. Such wasted resilience! A whole generation of youngsters are growing with this as the sole medium for self expression. We need to be seen so badly that we have fallen into the trap of the illusion of it happening virtually. 

I'm glad I'm sobering up. Instant gratification was never my thing. I need depth, pacing, slow motion, and a lot of pausing too. I need to create with my words pictures, sounds and motion. I need to invite and welcome people into my inner world with the slow pacing of words, and the magic that process creates. I need to express a very intricate world that exists in my mind and soul, with intricate words, and the right pacing.