A festival of light and sounds

Humans have made it so that they sleep through the most gorgeous and graceful time of the day, but yet stay up the sleep intended nights. No matter how dead these livings seem, there's always hope at dawn. Follow the birds and their songs, they'll always guide you home. If it isn't a festival of sounds, if there are no rituals for the day breaking, then you haven't yet arrived. Keep looking, but don't you dare stay awake in the darkness of the deep nights. They fooled you so that they could steal your awakened soul, for nothing scares the demons like a festival of light and sounds, and a heart that celebrates life, like a naiive joyful child. Stay naiive, it you must, but preserve the pumping heart.

Wake up at dawn, 

or just before. 

You naiive fool

Quit it already! Haven't you learned something? There is no point. No matter how humane you are, you show, you act. Once a zombie, always a zombie.

Do you get it now, do you!?? They could pretend and fake and dress in all sorts of human ways, but a zombie is human long gone, never to return. 

What does the dead want from the living? Nothing but sucking the life out of them, just because they're made this way.

Quit the blaming too. 

Open your eyes already, you naiive woman! Stop them from eating at your flesh and blood! 

Quit already. 

Just 

You 

Quit. 

The eclipse is at it once again.

Now you see. 

Tomorrow you will know. 

and soon enough... 

you will understand. 

Pick yourself up again.

Tomorrow is another day, 

There are no breaks. 

Shake this off. 

Get up! 

You may still cry, but soon, you need to stop, to stop this crying too, and the self that's crying it.

In a zombie VS. human battle, humans will always lose. You aught to superhumanize yourself, you're here to win. 

Remember, for heaven's sake. 

Let go.

Let's go. 

False Hope

It was almost over. Sadly, it isn't.

When the shaking woke me up from my deep sleep, and I realized that an earthquake was taking place, I felt a strange familiar / unfamiliar moment of relief. I thought: this is it, it's all over now, deeds were done, words were said, actions taken, chances given, prayers given, wrong doings forgiven, heart has been so filled with love it almost knocked me over. There was nothing else for me to say or do or be after the life that I've lived. I thought that the earth shaking the ground from underneath people, literally now, would shake the debris stuck on their soul, would clean the residues in the hearts, would shake their minds clean to the realization of the interconnectedness of it / us all... 

The shaking stopped soon enough, we missed the cataclysm by only 300 kilometers! 

Thousands have died, thousands injured, thousands lost family and loved ones, thousands of mothers lost their babies and kids. How can I whine on the missing of my own baby this morning, when she's healthy and alive still, and making the conscious choice every day to be on a different terrain than I... 

But was it really a blessing? Is it really good luck? Is this really a good thing we weren't affected by this devastating earthquake? Christians are praying for their saints and Jesus, the Muslims are praying for God almighty to avoid them the disasters. Pictures of Jesus carrying a globe earth shared on statuses on whatsapp by the christians, with words of relief and acknowledgments to Christ who saved them and is protecting Lebanon! Pictures of Quran verses about earthquakes and natural disasters and judgment day equally shared by the Muslims, also videos of Sheikhs reciting prayers inside Mosques asking for healing for the affected by the event, and the saving of their own souls in the afterlife!

The neighbours who not so long ago were attacking each other very aggressively in the whatsapp groups of the compound and building over the most menial matters, are now most gentle, most loving and soft towards each other, sending words of congrats for escaping the quake...  They're quite docile now. What is it about death that scares people so much, yet doesn't really break them open! I give them until beginning of summer before it's all forgotten about, and the good old norm of hostility to take place again. 

Yes I did feel scared, not the thought of my death though, but horrified really at having to witness more of the madness this amnesic humanity is capable of - and is going to be - committing. From the biggest scale to the smallest scale. My REAL NEWS - The Big Picture playlist on YouTube is being filled to the brim lately with the most horrible and horrifying stories of this madness on the bigger scale. Not merely predictions anymore, not the far away future, not Huxlian or Orwelian scenarios, it's real time facts and acts. But then there's the small scale madness too, but that's my every day life and the people and the stuff I keep writing about in this blog... 

Lose expectations, lose expectations. Yes, alright, okay, I am learning! 

Haven't the last 4 years taught me enough already? Apparently a lot, but not enough, because I still hope, every now and then, like an idiot. Like I had hoped the wild fires from Autumn 2019 to waken people up to that we only really have each other and not the politicians or the parties or or or... And then the so called revolution weeks after that, and the dragging of it, and the new problems it created, and the banking system collapse, and and and... what did they learn from that? Nothing, life carried on... and then Covid, and the lockdowns... what did they do? Oh God I had so much hope! Like the war time when I was 9 years old. 30 years apart, I still had the same hope... but now, I've finally accepted the reality and removed my filters. Things are quite bleak! What happened during the port explosion and afterwards, what happened with family and friends. What did my "family" and friends do? Fuck me up! It was my whole life all over again, each of these events presenting the initial traumas, and people oblivious to my pain or the connectedness of our humanness. I kept meeting them half way, and end up being deserted every single time... did I learn my lesson already? I sure hope I did, I sure hope if death was to take me now, I wouldn't say "if only!..."

Each and every single event created a cataclysm on its own, a dissolving of the past as we knew it, and the space creating for a new reality. Except, people simply don't get the cues! 

Amnesia at play continues, souls trade is the hype, gratifications addiction is the name of the game. 

And as it stands, asshole number 1, aka first ex husband, still hasn't settled what he owes me in arrears of child custody for job done and finished years ago... 

and asshole number 2, aka my second husband, still hasn't sent me the money we agreed on 3 years ago to help pay the laywer to finalise our overseas divorce for us. 

but perhaps now after the earthquake I know more, and perhaps and I sure hope, that I finally know better. 

...for the things that we do not do speaks volumes about us, as much as the things that we actually do. 

Cease to plead

When the crying and screaming and the pleading doesn't get answered, when the echoes of the SOS sounds return back empty-handed, know that the salvation is near. That moment when the violated finally ceases to resist her rapist.

Find solace in the very giving up on hope, this hope that had turned into faith from desperation, then transformed into despair with the realizations. This very despair is your way out; the act of deconstructing the illusion of the possibility of ever being rescued. You can't lose anything if you've already lost everything. In the silence lies your true freedom. Surrender your body, you've conquered. Let it all be over and done with, stay put, sit still, quiet, and limp, like a corpse, like the soul of your rapist, let him finish, it's nearly over. Remain silent. 

Loosen hope, let go of attachments, smash your expectations. 

Despair is the new beginning in disguise. 

............. 

When you've already reached the peak and height of the most agonizing pain you ever thought you could experience, anything from that point onward becomes a relief. 

Embrace your pain, lick your wounds, attend to your broken bones. Scrub your skin, touch it, caress it, feel your muscles, know how it hurts in each place, and where it hurts the most. Learn how it feels in your body for someone to betray their own soul, to disconnect from their heart, from source, to get off the designated path. 

The long dark nights, the grieving, and the collapse are your friends now. 

Put your million broken pieces together. 

Take all the time you need.

You will wake up a little bit more in your body every new morning from now on.

That was your rebirth. 

Welcome back. 

Delirium

I was relieved I spent the whole afternoon and evening without crying. As soon as I hit my bed on the pillow to sleep come nighttime, I started crying uncontrollably. Missing you came crushing on me like high waves of tormenting emotions. I let my body weep, covered my face to mute the sounds. I shivered and trembled, body temperature changed, felt hot then cold, then hot again. It went on for a while, until I no longer remember drifting to sleep. 

I woke up from a dream. I'm crying some more again...

It was you and I and another move. This time around you were young again, 6 or 7 years old. It was a two storey house. Huge with many rooms in different sizes. I let you roam the place and you're excited about it. I tell you to pick your room. You can't decide from too many options. You end up deciding on one every day. I move things around for you as you make each new room your own. I bring your furniture in, decorate the room, clean it and dress it up. Only for you to decide on another one in the next morning, and we change all over again. I didn't seem to mind it, I was excited for your excitement and I played along. 

At one point in the dream, Yasmina your friend joins us. We dedicate a room for her too. We're doing the same now for her, you two exchanged rooms at some point too. 

You in particular were very giddy, goofy, and confident giving me instructions and orders, but she was timid and couldn't get herself to speak up. I told you to tell her to feel comfortable, that I would not harm her, that we did not need anything in return from her. That we do all of that in our home just because it feels nice. She eases into her new temporary environment, and I soon hear the sound of your pitter patter and talks and laughs from the distant rooms. 

At one moment in the dream, there was a drain underneath her bed that flooded her room. She tries to hide that from us for fear of embarrassement. When we eventually find out, we get in there and try to solve the problem and help clean the mess. She's impressed at our team work, we work on it as though it wasn't even a problem but a regular routine of a sort. I tell you to pour the drain opener from another room, you do it then bring in gloves and plastic bags and we get on our hands and knees and removed all sorts of blocking mock and  dirt from inside the drain. We assure her that we know it's not hers, we tell her it's not ours either and that we too are still new to the place.

I whisper to you to go and comfort her and explain to her how it was not her fault, telling her not to feel shameful, and how these things just happen sometimes, just because, and that we're personally totally OK, and used to, getting down and cleaning the residues of those before us, when it soils and invades our space.

Meanwhile, I finish cleaning, put things back to place, and I ask you two girls which rooms next. You excitedly rush to the other rooms to make new choices, this time you're both deciding on which one of you will take the one with the "pinkier" wall. 

Yasmina's face and demeanor changes from anxious to relaxed, from confused to comfortable, from guarded to being totally at ease. I am soft and gentle and accommodating, but she still looks out for any cues of threat. She doesn't find any, but still struggles to remove the image of the monster they had her make of me when she was younger. 

She eventually realizes that the big giant veiled woman in dark clothing and a deep voice is the guardian of the heart.

She rejoices in the knowing that she's safe with us. Still peeking on me every now and then and checking what I'm up to, from mere curiosity and interest this time around, and not out of anxiety or fear. 

.... 

Won't you tell Yasmina from me that I'm sorry about the tomato incident. It was never meant to be how her mother reacted to it. In fact, quite the opposite was intended. Loving and guiding only, not guilt tripping!!! Also tell her that the shame and guilt her mother made her feel was a projection of her own, and not Yasmina's, for she was totally innocent, merely a child doing normal children things. Also tell her that when she visits Lebanon again eventually, I owe her a huge box of cherry tomatoes to make it up for her, and for the laughs. 

I love you both, boy how the years have passed! 

Tell her I say hi, and you, you better take care of yourself, baby girl. 

You'll always be my baby, and one day, you'll realize things too... 

I'm not in a hurry, we have this long (and daunting) lifetime we're experiencing simultaneously - though I would've loved me an emergency exit option, but I'll also be content with just a break. 

Hope you're sleeping soundly.

A dark dawn

Just like this, you discharge me from my motherhood services, you fire me from my mom job. 

Just like this, your father erases years of overdue custody payments owed to me. 

I'm shocked and confused. Haven't I been doing my job? I was perfecting that solo parenting thing, which was especially hard considering the absence of support and the peculiar circumstances. Was all of that just inside my head too!? Did I mess up really that bad to be treated in this way and manner, by both of you?! What crime did I commit? What am I being punished for?!? 

When the people and the country and the world were going crazy and hell broke lose, didn't I keep steady? I kept carrying you and running around with my head and heart in the right place despite the chaos. I kept you a priority, I carried on working, pushing through, while moving us through different places, always seeking better in everything, with your needs and desires at the heart of it all. Kept our "home" safe, kept you sheltered, contained, and nurtured. All the while your father deafening our ears with his excuses of lack and can not's, for years on end, from his high horse in the country of comfort and wealth, inside his world of luxury and "lordship", and sickening stories of polygamy. I pushed through it all, and some more, didn't I?! 

Was it that much to ask to keep it smooth and peaceful this passage of rite!? I so wanted to celebrate it, I so wanted to celebrate you. I was preparing for it, we were doing it together, I was following your guidelines like you wanted me to. I so wanted it to be celebrated properly, if for anything, to make up for all those years of abrupt and forced everything, and milestone after the other missed and overlooked! I so wanted your passage to adulthood to be beautiful, free from mess and chaos, or pressure and forced anything... 

No point talking more now, no point of right or wrong. Everybody made their choice, isn't it time I make my own?!!! 

My trauma wound highly activated, my body and system reminding me:

You're not worthy of good deeds

You're not worthy of effort

You're not worthy of sorry's

You're not worthy of thank you's

To heal is to feel is to feel is to feel is to feel is to feel is to feel is to feel if to feel is to detach. 

I'm praying for the God who puts so much compassion inside of me to show me how does one go about detaching. 

I'll pray for the heavens to look at me and look after me, only just for a little while now, because I feel most utterly bereft. 

Discharged, dispatched, dismissed, deposed, laid off, disregarded, deserted.

Without a notice, without payment, like a corrupt nanny, or a thief babysitter, or a dirty housekeeper, or some sort of a lousy cleaner. Like a nobody! 

I was the keeper of your heart, baby girl, what made you forget? 

Trauma mode activated:

I'm not worthy of honorable actions 

I'm not worthy of the hard but right choices

I'm not worthy of the slightest of efforts

I'm not worthy of kind words 

I'm not worthy of kind gestures 

I'm not worthy of the right actions 

I'm an undesired, useless, emotional mess

Discharged, dispatched, dismissed, deposed, laid off, disregarded, deserted.

Please God help me feel all there is to feel, and some more, so I can finally move on. Please help me detach myself, once and for all, from this cursed man and anything that he touches, who was a mirage of a friend, husband, co-parent. 

Amen. 

Spiraling out

Everything hurts. So much to heal. A lot of time still. I wish it all to be over. I failed a 100 times. I am clueless to how to do this living thing. Detach. Let go. Loose expectations. What does one holds on to? Thin air. Like in my nightmares. Float away, with everything and everyone getting farther away and smaller and smaller in the distance, until all disappears, and I too, with the deafening sound of my own silence, and that heart, that stupid little thing still pumping away like a retarded creature, or a useless machine. What the hell for? Finish it already, I beg you. 

Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish me. 

Hush

You fool! Shut me up when I'm at the peak of expressing the utmost rage over the utmost injustice done on me so far / yet again? Shut me up for your sensitive sexist buffoon of boyfriend? Looks like you've been shutting yourself up for so long you can't even remember what integrity and dignity sounds like anymore! You silly, silly woman. I'm unsure whether to be upset at you, frustrated with you, compassionate towards you, or pity you! Shut me up inside, offer me money outside. Is this how things work now for you, in your world of infidel people you call partners and friends? You betray each other, then shut each other up, then buy each other off? Is it the silence that's at trade or what exactly? Silence over gaslighting, space invasion, life overtaken? Oh how I wish I had it in me to smack you! How I wish I was the physical type. Shake you up, wake you up from your deep slumber you silly, silly old woman. When will you eventually start acting according to your age? When will you stop this scared little muted girl inside of you from crippling your every move? What are you waiting for, losing yourself completely to submission? 

It pained me to see you submerging yourself with all these new addictions and toxic instant gratifications of all sorts. How I wish I could embrace you, hold you tightly, squeeze all your pains and fears out of you, so you get back to your original setting, clean slate, pure and beautiful, like you have always been - minus the voices that gets you to settle for less and less of everything, every time. I wish I could whisper in your ears words that makes you remember your essence; so worthy of love, respect, big gestures, real efforts! I wish I could scream at you just how precious you are! Alas this is the real world now, and you people have decided to play it down; not just your words and actions, but your very existence too. 

Of course I'll shut you for you, this is your place after all, I would never disturb, but you did shock me! "You too!", I thought to myself. What a winter this has turned out to be! I hope all is restored now, after I left with my big mouth daring to express my agony. Your fragile peace with your boyfriend and your space where no grit is ever in sight must be back to normal. There's only the sound of plain passive acceptance of all that his sensitive manhood is OK to hear, handle, or do, never mind pain inflicting on you!... 

You know what's so ironic? The gift you offered me was of the same calibre as the thing that was at play to control me all those years past, the main cause of all my trouble and hardship, the reason why I spoke up at first place when you shut me up! As long as I was quiet, I was receiving my money, designated to me by court order. As soon as I spoke up, I was denied access to it, disregarding all sorts of laws and rights. Truth allergy is a real and rather a serious thing! This has been my life for the last two decades. You're new still to this world of misogyny, I have lived it way much longer than you could remember, or that you could know of, for I have always been distant and keeping to myself, most especially when things got the most cruelest, I freeze. You think motherhood is about being tamed and docile with the father, oh how wrong you've been. Or how wrong my daughter has been for thinking comfort is silence, and you. I know all too well those sensitive sexist ears. Coupled with mighty sexist power, they sure can harm, badly. 

The timelines were clashing when you drove me back home begging me to take the money, while you were only a moment prior sharing your pain and disappointment over that triangle story. What did you want from me, side with you, give you advice? I always have, and you always managed to shut me up, for the sake of the greater goodness and heartfelt humanness, or is it something else altogether? Don't fret, I too was just as naiive until not so long ago. "Blessed are the thieves who stole my masks" is what your favorite Gibran says. 

Sister, oh sister! Please try to remove the money and the concept of money away from it all, for just a brief moment. Look then at things, see if they remain the same. See if the people, the faces, the wordings, the actions, your feelings, your thoughts, and the emotions remain the same... or not. 

I love you, wake up, pretty please.

The nest

What's wrong with my baby, 

What's wrong with me?

She won't latch on, 

Does she not want me?!? 

What's wrong with my baby, 

What's wrong with me?

Too early she flew, 

Was it because of me?

Nineteen years in the making, 

All the things they've been saying. 

What's wrong with my crying now, 

Wasn't she healthy, isn't she thriving?! 

What's wrong with this picture, 

What's wrong with me?

Is anything wrong with my baby, 

Or is this just a casualty? 

Though the world keeps going,

Nights and days still turning,

She won't be seeing my same sky anymore, 

I won't be gazing at her same viewing. 

What's the point of the warm sun now, 

Shining on my empty baby's room? 

What's wrong with my silly heart now, 

What's wrong with my crying of doom?!

No expectations Ara says, 

He's just a couple of decades late! 

How I hoped I had reached her heart, 

How I thought it was our fate. 

What's wrong with my baby now? 

It must be something wrong about me! 

Or was it the family, society, 

The powers that be?!!

What's wrong with this timeline, 

What's wrong with this timing? 

She says she's quite happy now, 

She said she's now free...

Why aren't I rejoicing?

 

What's wrong with my baby, 

Please anybody,

Won't you please tell me, 

What on Earth is wrong with me!?! 

Call it off

There's a price for everything in life, but you don't always have to pay the asked price if it's too high, or you don't like it, nor do you always need to purchase what's offered, or sell what's in high demand. Most especially, if your father was a baker, you do NOT settle for breadcrumbs!!

Don't accept peanuts of affection, of effort, of gestures. Refuse the bargains, quit the deal. Say NO, learn to say no, start with maybe. The road to claiming your worth and discovering your true value is long, but it can start with a simple act of saying thanks, but no thanks. In fact, drop the politeness too, it has now become a language of bargaining. A malicious manipulation of the desired endings through twisted emotions tapping and playing. A politeness as fake as gentleness and masked kindness; it's a trap! Don't fall for it, escape the trap by saying, maybe, we'll see, I'll think of it. If you stick to this long enough, you might end up recovering your full autonomy, reclaiming your dignity, attaining sovereignty. This is the bi-product of sobriety, congratulate yourself if you've reached it. Shake off the addictions, the attachments, the dependency. Repeat after me: NO! 

Better yet, walk away, without uttering a word, for when all has been said and done, there won't be anything left for you to do but the sole act of salvaging yourself, in the lands of eager, hungry, hollow spirits, calling themselves humans. 

Silent shopping for one

I'm learning to live alone again. Last time it happened I was 23 years old, 19 years ago...

I was still getting the wrong quantity of food when grocery shopping until recently. Started off with 1 kilo instead of kilos for fresh produce for instance, then updated to 0.5 kilo - thank heavens they have this option when ordering online. In fact, if they didn't before, they sure do now, for the days call for it, unfortunately due to the increasingly expensive prices of everything, most especially grocery shopping, most particularly food. There are now options for ordering as little as 200 grs for meats, this was never the case before, and I have been getting my groceries online, on and off since 2014! Anyhow, glad to finally being able to get exactly what I needed today, not more, nor less, adjusting to this solo living and cooking for one. 

Once every 4 to 5 days in wintertime when I wash my hair is the only time I use hot water for my showers, I'm cold showering otherwise daily throughout the year, in the mornings on cold / mild days, and the evenings on warm / hot days. I had my hot shower this morning, sat in the beautiful sun for a while, then went down to the corner shop. It's the single shop in the whole residence, though we're not very far from a big chain supermarket that I am not particularly crazy about. The compound consists of big buildings which are half empty, on a terrible road that is not suitable nor meant for walking. Everyone is usually always in their car and the priority is theirs not the pedestrians', in a typical Lebanese way. The big arguments over the parking lots between the residents is a very common thing in here. I have two parking lots myself, they are designated for the apartment I'm renting. Every apartment has one parking space, except mine. Ironically my landlord paid extra at the time of buying this apartment to have this additional spot. Needless to say, I don't need either, since I don't own a car. I used to require them to be vacant for my visitors before. However, bit by bit, and as time went on and I started to receive less and less people, I stopped making a fuss about them. These days when I very occasionally receive a guest, I get them to park totally outside of the building on the main narrow road, instead of the parking space underground, to avoid having to go through the neighbours. There are always cars parking nowadays in both my spots, nobody asks for permission, nobody mentions anything to me. It's a very wild world in here, I do not like it, nor its people, nor their ways of co-existing. I am only friendly with an old Sudanese man who works in assisting residents living abroad to look after and maintain their apartments while they're away, or helping them when they're visiting, and few other minor jobs for the compound, namely collecting bills and maintenance. He got a heart stroke and surgery last summer, and since he's doing less and less work around. When I stumble upon him he likes to share his family updates, in Egypt and Dubai, proudly telling me the news of his doctor son and his grandchildren. Another person I'm friendly with is a Syrian guy who resides here with his family, works as a plumber and handyman. He's a man of very few words, we hardly ever talk, but he has a quite temperament and a low voice, I don't mind him especially because of that. I hire him regularly for all stuff that needs fixing around the apartment, which somehow seem to be growing by the day. A lot has happened to put me off this place, slowly but surely anyway. I have always loved foreigners, ever since I was a child and father had staff from different nationalities in his shop and workshop. There was always the curiosity for meeting people who come from a totally different land, their customs, ways, thinking, behaviors, accents, etc. and excitedly I learned through experience that these people tend to have a much more simpler ways of life - especially if they come from the suburbs - which is very close to my heart personally, for I am a minimalist at heart and love the country living. It isn't an accident that I ended up marrying an Irish man at one point. The old ways I grew up with being my father's daughter is becoming or has already become an old fashioned thing over here, of a time totally different than, and unfitting for this time. This big city life is not for me, and the overly religious and patriotic people filling it leave no room for humanness and the simple things that makes us and binds us together. I have become even more isolated than my usual lately, for my hope in people's potentials is dwindling, and my rosy filters have cracked, numerously.

It took me months after moving here to realize that there was actually a shop among these ghostly towers. It is situated two buildings away from mine, on the dead end of the street, meaning that coming to and fro my place, I simply don't pass by it at all, and it was hidden because of the way our buildings are set up, no symmetry whatsoever. Though they belong to the same compound, no two buildings look identical - and not in a charming way. They vary in size and heights, different apartment sizes, number of rooms, divisions, parkings, etc. Anyhow, grateful for this little shop now more so than ever, because as it turned out, I need to shop every few days - instead of weekly, and in tiny quantity, this shop is doing the trick for now. I picked a couple of apples, two oranges, one pomegranate, a small bunch of bananas, and that should be all the fruits I would need for the next 3 to 4 days, also a head of lettuce, few tomatoes, a handful of cucumbers, some courgettes, a bunch of parsley, and 4 lemons. I no longer look at the scales, but focus more so on the quantity I'm picking, figuring things in my head, solo me, I alone, just for myself, just me... The eggs however, I still get the wrong quantity, when I get the 6 pcs box it's usually gone way too early, and the big carton of 30 lasts forever, not sure about it being fresh by the time I use up the last ones. Half a carton (15 pcs) seems to be adequate, except I go from consuming eggs daily - for protein especially when I don't want to bother cook properly, though I'm not crazy about eggs, to not using any at all for days on end, ending up with the same problem as purchasing the full carton. So perhaps next time I shall pick myself a few like I do with all my produce these days. It felt somehow light in a good way, coming home with only just one bag full of produce, and a another bag for the eggs. This is all I need, and perhaps even less, if I want to break it evenly for the week. I've spent the last two decades of my life shopping and carrying bags for a family of three then two, then three then two, then three again, then two again, and guests... These days, it's just for me, I feel lost but perhaps that too is needed so I could find myself again, on the most existential, deepest level, but also on a day to day mundane level too. 

I grew more appreciative of this particular shop as time went by, not just because of its convenience, but particularly because it is run and owned by a couple in their 50's who are both deaf and mute. This means, I get to shop quietly, without noise, without small talk, without gossip, without nagging, without talking religion and God and people and the country and the terrible times we're living in, and the $ daily rate, and the elections, and the neighbours. It also means that I don't have to engage in small talk, fake niceties, answer intrusive questions, connect with empty shallow words and sayings... silent shopping suits me to the core. 

The absence of words however isn't succeeding in hiding away this staple era. The couple usually have the lights totally off when on their own, once a customer enters the shop, they go the switch and turn it on - though its totally dark inside without any day light coming in. The government power is hardly ever on at all for the last year and half, meaning all citizens are forced to use the power service provided by the militia people of the infamous generator subscriptions, which cost is rising by the day if not the hour, and these days, collected in fresh American dollars only. The value of the Lebanese pound is plummeting daily, continuously so for the last 3 years without a break, going from 1.500 L.L. for the American dollar, to 51.000 L.L. as I type this. Not to mention the  the Russia / Ukraine / United States situation of late, and the invented worldwide petrol cricis... When the lights go on, you see a poster of their favorite political leader  on the wall to the right of the till, you can instantly tell which political party they're part of / supportive of. On another wall there's a calendar hanging, with the photo of some Saint on it, revealing effortlessly who they cherish on the non earthly level. And then there are the small mannerisms, things they say to each other in sign language or muted sounds, I even saw them arguing this way once. I often see the man playing a game on his phone, it isn't just to fill the time, he also attends to his most demanding game when filling my order, or calculating my total, he pauses all actions to click on few buttons on his phone. People and their priority have always confused me, this man is no exception. I also often see them video calling people, I used to think it wouldn't be possible consider they can't talk or hear, turns out everybody who knows them find a way to get through. I'd say they're quite the social and friendly couple. The woman in particular is always excited to see me, she's smiling and upbeat, always cleaning and tidying away, welcoming in her own silent way, unlike her partner whose face is almost always neutral. It isn't just the religion or the loud political preference that gives them away as a typical Lebanese couple despite the absence of their words, but also their being part of the system. In my head, I used to think of them of some sort of a against the current, unique couple, but the more I learn about them, the more I realize just how typical they are, and Lebanese through and through. The other day I was there and the woman showed me a message on her husband's phone that they received from some bank, it was in English, and it was telling them that their visa card was ready to be collected, she was asking me to explain the message for her. I translated it to her through pretending I am using my bank card - which I don't personally own anymore since I closed my very humble sole debit account right after the so called revolution and the start of the banks crisis in here back in the end of 2019. She understood quite quickly thankfully, I left their shop that day feeling rather inferior to everybody. I felt small and lost and hopeless, like I do everyday on this land with all sorts of systems and people partaking in all sorts of invented abnormal norms, ever so effortlessly, without any resistance or defiance. 

Why am I like this? Why can't I just be part of the whole? Why can't I enjoy silent arguing with a partner? Why did I get rid of all my partners? Why am I living alone now? Why is Yasmina gone? What is the norm truly, and what isn't? Why am I feeling relieved that I somehow live off grid, that I somehow exist outside of the system, that somehow I am not engaging in arguments with people, with friends, with my daughter? There seems to be a price to pay for being in a social setting, to be part of a group, which is our basic instinct and need as species, but somehow this price has always felt way too high for me to be able to afford. I used to pay, but then decide against it, it cost me my peace every time, it cost me myself oftentimes. 

Shopping for one might be the beginning of a very peaceful life where less is more, exactly the way I like it. I am yet to find a way to evacuate myself from this needlessly huge family sized apartment that is now empty and gloomy, to a more compact, studio size place fit for one, relieving myself eventually from the head / nerve wrecking of the desperate, neurotic and futile act of constantly wanting to fill it in, or dress it up to look and feel warm. 

I'm not as big as I look, I don't need as much as I thought, I am not made for the loud craze that this social living calls for. I'll live on my own in a tiny humble little place, go on with my day, follow the sun, and my own clock, and learn to find again - and move to -  my own rhythm. 

A quiet living for one.

Spring in my heart

I've had very vivid dreams last nigh, I washed it away with the morning cold shower. The colder the weather is, the better these showers get. I feel rejuvenated, though this feeling will dwindle with the passing of the hours as my mind gets the best of me while sitting by myself working my hands away. I tried listening to audio books - like I used to in the olden days. It didn't work. I can't listen to just about any sounds or music, yet I can't seem to find the right type for this phase, the general mood, the day, or moment. I'm a master at survival. Living however, that's not my field of expertise. 

Yas visited me this past Sunday, I haven't seen her in a full week by then. She brought me 5 dandelians that she picked on the road, 4 dried figs, and 2 avocados. It was cute, she's full of cute gestures, pure and loving, like her essence. It's hard to come to terms with life as it is now, life that happened to us, life that we created, and life we're unsure what to make of it. Still I rise in the morning, I send thanks for all the blessings, those we see and those we're unable to see, and I go to bed with prayers of thanks, and of more strength and courage to handle whatever life or we bring to ourselves, knowingly or unknowingly. I also pray for the light to win over the darkness, yes these are quite the vague words, and quite cliche, but boy are things getting serious! Apparently, we must have someway or another, chosen this path knowingly, from a spiritual level. I can't help but to think, what the fucking fuck! Still... we push on. Sun comes up, we get up, and life goes on, until it doesn't anymore. 

I've been busy creating little pieces of metal jewelry, working mostly with brass and copper, giving my achy heart solace, and a break. 

Another stupid day

You know what I did today baby girl? I pretended hell hasn't broken lose. I pretended I didn't miss you. I pretended that the living this way was perfectly normal. I got up like my usual, cold shower, aired the place, smudged and incense and whatnot. I then got to the kitchen, I have left dishes in the sink from yesterday. I couldn't start work before I got to them. And then I had to prepare food, so that by the time I start working, I don't have to take long breaks. It went well all in all. Then work was good, I'm in the flow again finally, it's been a while. I focused on the small little things I am creating, and the small little world I'm inside, and tried hard to remember the small little pleasures of life, I couldn't, but I did enjoy losing myself in the process for brief moments. Then you texted me little girl, I have missed you yesterday but I didn't want to intrude and left you to your space. You told me about your father, and I wanted to scream and shout and pull my hair, but I tried to remain as reasonable, as mature as I could be. For a little while anyway, until, as you know, I lost it few minutes later. You will not understand baby girl the taste of injustice at your age now. And it's good that you don't because you need hope at this stage of your life; the wanting to venture on, to be excited for a future that is much more important than any present moment. I'm happy you're at this age now, but I fear for you, I always do. Anyway, I've faced, lived, seen injustice in an amount that is just so unbearable at this stage of my life, especially the accumulations of events of last. It is why I don't have what I used to have before anymore, what was it anyway? Grit? Patience? who knows, I wonder how I got to where I am now in life... I'm quite dizzy from it all. My patience is all gone, I have now zero tolerance for ignorance, selfishness, ego games, manipulation, low effort, lies, and boy is there nothing but those at play these days with people! As for your father, I will not lie to you, I wished him dead. I've never before experienced such emotions, despite ALL of our history! I've tried everything, you from all people know. Perhaps the only thing that might put my heart at rest is if I finally write the autobiography, let the truth out, stand up for myself, speak up. I have been shushed for much longer than any human being in my situation could take. I'm trying to find my voice again, so far I only managed to whisper, even inside of my head, they're only just whispers now. 

I'm sorry we brought you to this life, I'm sorry I'm your mother and not some other fit to your desires and needs mother. I'm sorry we're so fucked up. I'm sorry for all the pain we inflicted on you. I'm sorry for all the pain I carried with me when I was carrying you, I am sorry for carrying it still when you were growing, and I am carrying it still, and some more, now, as you enter adulthood. I always knew my 42 would be different, but Gosh I'm exhausted! 

I'm starting all over again now baby girl, you know how I've always done it, you used to be young but you knew and saw it all and understood. That was never how a single mother should've been treated, so she could in her turn look after her young one. I'm 42 years now, and starting all over again, like a teenager, it's absurd, I could hardly grasp all that had happened. Zero savings, zero support, zero hope, thousands of dollars money owed to me, and only just tenacity, and the pressing urge to survive. Like a homeless, like an orphan, like a nobody who doesn't have anybody in life, this is me again and again, it feels so fucking familiar it's quite sad and very disheartening. 

I made cute little house pendants today with copper, will I be able to sell them, do any of the stupid Lebanese people care about my insignificant creations, will I be able to set the correct price and not feel too shy? Is it a good idea to start looking up fairs to sell in them again. God I hate this shit so fucking much! But what else could I do, when everything that I have ever worked with, for, and made it / seen it grow has evaporated. 

Enough banter now baby girl, I'll call it a day and retire to bed soon, attempt hopelessly to read again, I haven't been able to do so in a while now. I hope you're warm and at peace. I miss the sound of your moves around the house, I miss when you used to be happy to be around. It has been so very long that I can't seem to remember when that was. 

Mama wishes you well always. and if baby doesn't want mama anymore, that too is OK. 

Goodnight baby girl. 

I love you. 

I'm not okay

When exactly did you stop loving me? When was it that you started loving me? Did you love me at all? The irony of the so called fate puts us together! Have we ourselves chosen the path and forgotten all about it at some point? What is the pain that births pain that births pain which leads to more pain, and suffering? A vicious circle, an endless loop. Stuck and suffocated, from too much lovelessness and too much lack. Lovelessness is a word, don't correct me. I know what love is, I know what loveless is, I know all too well what lovelessness is and what it does. 

Little girl oh little girl, just how oh how you've hurt me! It isn't your fault, you were just made this way, this is why I laugh and cry at our destiny, and my path. This most stupid, most pain inflicting journey. People behaving like robots, like broken machines, with disfunction in their centre, with a lafunction in their system. 

Too intense they say, I'm too intense, I'm a little bit too much, extremist, too alert, too present, too passionate, too vocal, too open, to abrupt, too forward, too sensitive, too many too's... And then for me, they are way too little, of everything. There is hardly much of them they could be fading, some percentage is indeed of them here, the rest... absent. 

The anger is boiling inside of me still, it isn't the emotional kind, it is deep sadness and frustration. 

Little girl you're not around anymore, I banter on my own in the mornings now, like a crazy old woman, crazy from too much heartbreak and aches. 

It isn't your fault that you were birthed to an already traumatized mama, but boy does it hurt, when you too need to flee, you too wish to offload, you too needed to escape, you too needed a life with different pace, with a different face, with different values, standards, colors and shape. 

I'm in that headspace again like a while back when I felt I was losing my mind, from excess anxiety and sadness. It's happening again now, everything is hazy, nothing I've ever lived was real, except from the brief moments when father was alive. That man, he sure was love.  

It's another stupid mornig, and the stupid sun is shining. I had my cold shower, aired the place, did the bed, tidied my room, did a wash, ordered groceries, prepared the office for a day of work. Fuck work, and the office, and the day, and the sun, and being alive. Fuck another day, and more days, and this lifetime. Fuck the expectations, the disappointments. Fuck attachment. Fuck enlightenment. Fuck this fucking life! Get me out! 

Nobody's home

Scream your pain away, little one, but expect no one to hear you. 

Nobody's home, it's a land of ghosts, and you're on your own. 

It's okay if you're not patient, time will teach you, the void too. 

Talk to yourself in your head, utter out some words, make perfect sense, or make no sense at all, it won't matter. You're on your own little one, no humans in sight, humanness has long started to fade away, only the bodies are left now, and they're quite so loud! Pay no heed to the noise, it's not for you, it's not about you, nobody's home. 

The echoes of some stories in your head, the remembrance of other stories, the faces, the voices, the sensations, the affection, the connection, they are all illusions, weep them away, you're awake now. 

Nobody's home, nobody was home. 

The teachers and the school and the neighbours and the cousins and the friends and the teachers and the parents and the kids and the nice ones and the mean ones and the family and the teachers and the cars and bicycles and the trips and the tents and the water and the sea and the beaches and the sand and the stones and the flowers and the trees and the greens and the teachers and earth and soil and dead bodies eaten away by worms and the bones, but the bones remain, as for the souls... nobody's home. 

Wipe away your tears, get up and go, work your hands away, weave things with strings and threads and color the path away with color coded beads and gems, and carve away your wounds on metals and woods, there is the illusion of a world, and you, and plenty of noise. Hear the loud noise of solitude, and the absolute silence of the most noisy lost souls. 

Ramble on

The day has started yet again, the sun is shy and the clouds are invading. I recognize the anger and frustration inside of me, there has been days and nights when I couldn't function from too much stagnated anger. I wish to roar, but I don't know how, nor could I. The days and seasons are folding and turning so very fast, there is no middle ground, there is no slowing down. Catch your breath when you have time, otherwise, just keep going, push through, hold on to anything at all, better yet, hold on to nothing at all, float or flow, hold on to yourself, or who you think you are, until there is nothing left but a fraction of an idea of a thought of who you might have been, or ought to be, or thought you were, until it all fades away, like the fallen leaves, like the evaporated ocean drops, like the melted snowflakes, like the intense heat that smashes your very existence, and the breath in your lungs that fights to exist still, with the ebbing and flowing, of your very chest, of this very extremist, most important, most futile reincarnation we call life. 

You chameleon fuck!

A lustful little boy in a shell of a grown man is what you are, you narcissistic fuck! You're the shadow of a human being. You're the essence of distortion. You're corrupted and mischievous. You're a fraud, a clown, a joker. You're a liar, a thief, an outlaw, an outcast. You're an actor, a pretender, a puppet, an object. You use, abuse, exploit and manipulate. You're absent, long gone, possessed, and overtaken. You're twisted and perverted and drifted from all that is natural and normal. You're sick, pathetic, disgusting and disturbing. I hate your very guts! Fuck you, you meaningless waste of space! Fuck all the stupid years I handled you like a human being! Fuck your double standards, you retarded eunuch! Fuck my 18th and the day I opened my whole being for you, you deranged opportunist! Fuck the age gap, your many games, your many faces! Fuck my innocence, you deceptive cheat! 24 years is more than half my age you fucking fuck! Enough is enough! Take your garbage of distorted realities, your projections, your rehearsed wordings, your weak delivery, your fake poetry, your filtered visions, your double standards, your bunch of meaningless useless emotions, your pretention of affectionate acts, your hollow words, your fake sympathy, your empty promises, your well of jealousy, your bitterness and envy, and shove them up your ass, you evil shit! Fuck you and fuck off, you piece of dirt! I forgive myself for wrongly considering you a heart centered human being, never mind a father! Oh the irony of your name, the "real" one now, your lordship!!!!!! Don't you dare think or utter my name again, you weakling gossiper, you drama queen, you empty headed, you vacant soul! And fuck your fake politeness and political correctness too, you psychopathic misogynistic fuck! 

Solstice contemplations

The noise from outside is quite today, literally and figuratively. I've changed the decoration inside yet another time. What's insane is the need to control my surrounding, but I really calm down every time I shift the furniture, and the energy with it. I've grown tired from the leading a life from home thingy. I'm not working now, so I keep giving myself things to do. I shall stop soon though, I gave myself a promise to myself this morning to keep things exactly as they are for the entirety of 2023, by the time I'm done that is, few days from now hopefully. I also made a promise to myself to love myself a little bit more, or at all. 

I must teach my rustic mind new habits, my body better comply. I'm sobering up on many levels, an excruciating detox like never before, and I'm suffering from it. I'm suffering from merely existing, but there is no way out. Ara says we wake up, we're alive, we carry on... 

Carrying on isn't the same as living, but yes, I keep going. I wonder how people are leading their lives as though nothing has happened; the country, the world, the big picture, the small details... they keep going in a rather unsettling way. I can't un-see what I've seen. I can not ignore what I now know. Finding a safe space to exist within this reality has proven to be of utmost difficulty. But I wake up before the sun, and I plan my day around it. 

It hasn't rained in a while, and for this, at least this time, I'm grateful. It's been extremely hard to dwell with the darkness and the heaviness in the air as it is. Stupid holidays coming up, I'm looking forward to just chilling, considering I manage to do so. 

What a year this has been, I've grown in so many different ways and expanded in many different directions, forcibly so, and perhaps for this reason in particular, I'm tired beyond words.

I wish to rest, on the inside too. 

Let's hope I do. 

Happy winter solstice Rana, try to enjoy! 

Not insane, just in pain

I'm not a housewife, I'm just a housekeeper. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a nanny. 

I'm not a wife, I'm just a cook. 

I'm not a friend, I'm just a projection. 

I'm not a lover, I'm just a body. 

I'm not a sister, I'm just a scapegoat. 

I'm not a daughter, I'm just a companion. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a housekeeper. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a companion. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a cook. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a counsellor. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a life coach. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a provider. 

I'm not a mother, I'm just a waste of space. 

Sober

I'm tired from the pain being my main motive to write. 

I'm tired from the need to write, from the pain, from existing. 

I'm tired from people, the demons, the dualities. 

I'm tired from the living, I'm tired from the dead. 

I'm tired from life. 

I'm tired from words, reading, and writing. 

I'm tired from the aches and the longings.

I'm tired from this body, from this land. 

I'm tired from sobriety. 

Take me Home.