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.    

Begin again

The 13th again, six months apart.

A mother wound, 

A daughter wound,

Timelines clashing, 

Shock and pain, 

I'm discombobulated, 

and what old news. 

A prayer sent your way every day, 

Come what may... 

May you always be surrounded by the light, wherever you go, whatever you do, whomever you encounter. 

May you remember, 

May you understand, 

May you heal. 

Truly now. 

I love you so. 

Mundane through insane

Three liters of water is what I shall be consuming from now on daily, as opposed to two liters. I also consume a lot of fluids via herbal teas throughout my days and evenings. Body is doing much better than weeks before, though I have come to believe that many of the chronic pains and ailments are directly related to my emotional state. Self care doesn't come naturally nor easy to me, but I'm teaching myself new habits, attempting to break old toxic patterns. 

I had my usual cold shower in the morning, followed by stretching. I cried in the shower, I cried when I was face down on my yoga mat, I cried when I was back down on my yoga mat, I cried when I stretched my shoulders, I cried when I cracked my back, I cried when I massaged the back of my neck. I cried when I made my bed, I cried when I squeezed my orange juice. When I sat on the balcony with the sun shining on my face, I was finally at peace, and quiet. I was soothed and comforted by the warmth, the light, nature sounds, and the bliss of finally being able to catch my breath, and for a brief moment, I was thoughtless, emotionless.  

I am so not doing well. I haven't been doing well in such a long time that I can't even remember the last time I was OK - truly being well and not just coping. I haven't realized just how fragile my mental health is, until I was forced to come face to face with my wounds again, those very wounds I thought I have healed, in several different stages too. 

My wounds are still open, and seriously bad. The more I threw myself into life, work, action, people, relationships, the more infected they've become. I have gotten so used to the infection and the numbing that I thought I was doing just fine. 

I no longer care about proper writing, impressive style, good English, proper grammar, or decent vocabulary. None of this is good for my mental health, pushing myself even more to be better in any new way is going to be detrimental on my overall health. I am to express myself and process things as often, as frequently, as much as I need from now own, zero fucks given to the outcome.

I no longer care about being perceived this way or that way. 

I am sick. 

I need to heal. 

That's just the way of life. 

Fuck people and so called friends and family. 

Fuck pretentious lovers and lost zombies. 

Fuck beggars, leaches, vampires. 

Fuck humans who have lost their humanness. 

Fuck all the pain that was ever inflicted on me. 

Fuck shame and guilt. 

Fuck gaslighting. 

Fuck enmeshment.

Fuck my silence...

I shall teach myself how to roar!

Flashback

I slept long hours and very deep, though the thunder was waking me briefly every few hours. It was a perfectly stormy night. I felt engulfed by the clouds, the rain was crying my tears for me, the mighty thunder was roaring on behalf of my pain. 

I saw Chris in the dream, it is exactly 4 years ago since I decided to call things out on our marriage. The love was gone long before I could notice it, I was too busy pushing through like my usual traumatized, survival mode self. If anybody I cared for was struggling, I would take it on me to rescue them. In love, I was the hopelessly romantic, dedicated, devoted, passionate kind. I like to believe I am different now, but alas all the pain, old and new, has only affected the romantic part. Romance isn't for me anymore, I am however still all about passion, fire, commitment, investment, fulfillment, dedication. 

Four years later, and the man whom I loved the most in my entire existence is keeping me hanging, zero effort and no apparent intention in sending me what is needed to settle the divorce as we have agreed several times already. Four years in distance has made me see and learn about Chris and our relationship more than I ever thought I knew or understood in the 10 years of knowing him. The pain gets messy; my mind is utterly confused by my heart, I weep for myself and for him equally. To cause so much suffering for another human being, knowingly, neglectfully, is beyond my understanding. I ought to stop, but I simply can't bring myself to cease this constant nudging desire to understand the true happenings of the heart of that person, whom I wrongly thought I've known so very closely all those years of being together. I sometimes wonder whether or not this coldness of heart, in this way and form, is considered an illness of a sort.

I read and learned a lot about chord cutting, in my desperate attempt to release him even more from my system, on a deep spiritual level. I have done every little thing, thought every little thought, and took every little action I knew that could help with overcoming this attachment of mine to him. In my waking, I know it's been done, but every now and again, he appears in my dream, and I'm anything but loving and missing and longing for him. 

If I play out the entirety of my lifetime in front of me now, there are two moments that stand out the most; birthing Yasmina, and meeting Chris. 

Yasmina is teaching me every new day how she wants to be treated, how she wants this relationship to be, what are her rules, her boundaries, her needs and wishes from me, and I'm adapting, changing, accommodating, and it's working for both of us.

Chris simply abandoned me, our love, us, me, with zero desire to help me through any of it whatsoever. 

My soul has been deeply wounded since my realization of just how reckless and careless he was towards it all. It was never the separation that pained me the most, but rather his lack of interest. That shouldn't have hurt either, we change and evolve, so do our feelings. Love is either there or isn't, and I am mature enough to accept whatever is, because free will is very high up in importance for me. What saddens me however was that he was role playing everything out, just enough to keep me hanging, dedicated, and going, year in, year out, so that it works out for him in the best possible way. In the 8 years of being together as a couple, I changed my life upside down so many different times to please him. He worked on my insecurities, childhood trauma, abandonment issues, and I was repeating the very painful abandonment scenario by being unconsciously a perfect match to him.  

There is no therapy in the conventional way that would offer me what I am giving myself through intense inner work. The mere fact that I could express my thoughts and feelings now means that I've come a long way from hiding and feeling shame and guilt because of things happening to me. This here is my therapy, and I get to finally say the truth in the way I see it and lived it. The truth of my heart and soul, without being interrupted, silenced, belittled, wronged, or called crazy. Chris called me crazy in a humiliating way oh so many times, every single time I spoke the truth. 

My opinion is never needed; they hate me when I speak up, they love me when I take action. 

I've been called all sorts of things in my life, including not so long ago, supposedly playfully: "stupid white bitch" by a lost soul. A tormented little boy inside the body of a grown man, who's so consumed by, and failing at, performing the role of some macho man in his head. I was fooled there too, though for only a short period this time around. These gorwn boys and their mommy issues, I cursed them and their lousy mothers a hundred times for a job so very badly done.

World cup 2018 was very revealing, the contrast between Chris's carelessness towards our relationship and me, and the extreme passion, excitement, dedication and effort to a mere game on the screen, told me everything I needed to know about our relationship, and my true place in it.

Four years ago I used to think that a little time will heal all, and that life goes on. Now I know that there is a chance I might not be able to heal the wound my relationship with Chris has left in me, during this lifetime anyway, and I think I am OK with this notion. 

I keep praying though, for myself, for Chris, for all the tormented souls, for humanity. Everything and everyone is so very interconnected...

If only they see it.

 

Scaredom

I'm scared from my daughter. 
I am scared for my mental health. 
I'm scared from the truth I see in the dreams. 
I'm scared from the people, from their demons.
I'm listening to Sudani music, it's bringing solace to my aching heart.

I quit

I can't tell exactly when it happened, I just know now that I have officially surrendered. It must have been a little while back, or maybe it took a long time, breaking and crumbling a bit more every new day. 

I no longer fight, push through, persevere, contain and hold the light. I barely get by waking up and doing mundane living things, then sleeping it all off, and then repeat again. 

I have managed to salvage a lot of what I used to think valuable in the past, these days, there isn't anything worthy of any effort. Not my mental health, not my heart, and soul is barely keeping up. 

I've never experienced such extent of loneliness in my life as the one I'm experiencing lately, it isn't caused by aloneness, quite the opposite. I'm so lonely for being surrounded by so many people. It isn't for lack of self expression either, I'm the master of that. They just don't see me, get me, hear me, know me, and I keep failing at connecting. 

People and I, we do all sorts of things together, I host, I entertain, I nurture, I support, I help, but that's as far as it goes. I must be too stupid to create anything, anywhere, that could bring reciprocity in my life. Although I'm abundant, I seem to be only able to attract scarcity. 

Even the fight between my mind and my soul, each trying to convince the other of my worth - or worthlessness, is starting to lose its importance, and I'm starting to listen less and less to their arguments. 

The heart has been fluttering like crazy lately, I'm learning to ignore even my heart and the centre. 

What difference does it make whether or not I did a good job as a mother, or if I ever was a good daughter. 

The truth has always been straight and clear, I'm a motherless child, I'm a childless mother, despite what has ever been said and done. 

I will keep teaching myself quitting, inspired from all the quitters I've known in my life. I ought to quit even the writing, for there is nothing worth my words, my thoughts, my feelings. Definitely nothing is asked of my pain, it can exist or not, my suffering too, useless as I am. 

Here goes nothing, echoing in the nowhere. 

Viens de parler du temps de mon pere...

Dalida is playing in the background, the birds are singing too, and the crickets are just up. There aren't many left of them now, but they keep pushing and singing, in the desperate hope for mating before this season / their life ends. I too keep on pushing and writing, in the desperate hope for something that I am not totally aware of. I've found several different explanations throughout my life as to why I love, need and want to write, but I've dropped them all this morning, when I fought the urge to distract myself with other things yet again, and brought myself here.

I'm sitting behind my desk in the workshop, in the new corner, with the forest view, nothing but trees can be seen from this angle. I've changed things and the furniture around lately for the new season, I do all my creative work from the same spot these days, my writing too. The office room is small and cozy, it should be easier to heat come winter time. 

We're in the second eclipse season for this year, things are quite heavy and intense at this stage. 

I'm eager to start working today, I've been itching for copper, and now I finally have it. Beautiful copper sheets are calling me to mold and shape into whatever my heart and soul call for, and so I must answer. 

I have Dalida on repeat since I got up, perhaps I can make a silhouette of her, turn it into a piece of jewelry or something. I've been touched by her very existence ever since I was a child. 

I am going for a walk later today, the air is fresh after the heavy rain of late, and there has been some flowers blooming, I could see yellow spreading over bushes of greens from my balcony - I might use some nature in my new creations too. 

Though it's Thursday, it feels like Monday. Head is hazy, but I will allow art to create itself through me, no mental faculties needed, thankfully. 

فاقد الشيء لا يعطيه

 يمكننا معرفة الآخرين من خلال كلماتهم وعباراتهم الصغيرة. لأمي شعارات معينة كانت ترددها في أوقات عشوائية. لم تكن أمي تشبه أي شخص عرفته أو رأيته، لم تكن حتى تشبه أي شخصية درامية شاهدتها أو قرأت عنها. لم أكن أحب الألغاز، ولم تنفع يوماً الأسئلة المباشرة في أن تعطي أجوبة مباشرة، لذا لطالما لجأت إلى واعتمدت على تحليلي الشخصي لفهم أمي. مرت سنوات طويلة في جهدي هذا، كانت امي حية ترزق وباتت ميتة، وما زلت أحاول أن أفهمها وأفهم تعبيراتها. ما هي تداعيات أن تكرر الأم مقولة "فاقد الشيء لا يعطيه"؟ ما هو ذلك الشيء الذي عجزت أمي عن إعطائه؟ كنت أخاف وأقلق على الحب. رغم أنني كنت دوماً مقتنعة وعلى يقين تام أن الحب لا يُحتوى، لا يزيد أو ينقص، هو فقط يكون أو لا يكون. وإن وجد، كان وفر وبلا حدود، بلا بداية، أو نهاية. تمنيت دوماً ان تكون أمي مخطئة إن عنت الحب، وأنها كانت تعني شيئاً مختلف تماماً. 

عندما أردت معرفة أمي، كنت أستمع لأغنياتها المفضلة معها، ألحق انفعالاتها، تحركات جسدها، أصغر تغيير في وجهها، فمها، عيناها، غُناها، صوتها الشجي الشجن. حتى حزن أمي، كان عميق ومميز. كانت أمي تغني فقط عندما تكون غاضبة أو حزينة. أُغرِمتُ بأمي لا لمجرد أنها أمي، بل لشخصها وشخصيتها. أحببت فيها حتى ذلك الشيء الذي لم أستطع ان أعرفه عنها أو ألمسه. حبي لأمي كان أشبه بالوله.

عندما كنت أحتاج لأمي، كنت أسعى لفهمها حتى أعلم ما كان يحول بيني وبينها, والحب الذي احتجته وأردته منها ولم يكن. كنت أراقب  عيناها بتمعن وأحاول قراءة دموعها والمشاهد المحببة أكثر لديها عندما كانت تشاهد الأفلام. كنت أغرق في تحليلي لاختيارها للأفلام, لشخصياتها المفضلة، للممثليها المفضلين، أصدقائها، جاراتها، مواضيع أحاديث قهوة بعد الظهر، نظراتها لوالدي، طريقة أكلها، معاملتها للغرباء، صباحاتها، سيجارة آخر النهار في سريرها، وضعيات نومها. لم تشبه رائحة سيجارات أمي دخان أحد. أغرمت برائحة دخانها، وصوت أنفاسها، وصمتها.  

علاقتي بأمي كانت تشبه علاقات الطرف الواحد، كانت أيضأ اشبه بعلاقة الحب بلا أمل. هل كنت مهووسة بها، لغموضها، لتميزها، لذكائها؟ أغرمت بمعرفتها الواسعة عندما اكتشفت لأول مرة أنه يمكنني أن أسألها عن أي كلمة عربية قد كتبت يوما، وإمكانية تفسيرها معناها لي عن ظهر قلب وبالتفاصيل في ثاينة. لم أعد ألجأ إلى القاموس من بعدها. اعتقدت أنني وجدت أخيرا ما يمكن أن يجمعني بأمي وهي على سجيتها،  مستمتعة، فخورة، غير مرغمة أن تكون في هذا القالب أو ذاك. الأمومة التقليدية لم تكن يوما تليق بها، ولا هي عرفت طرقاتها. أرغمَتها أمها على ترك المدرسة وهي في الصف الثاني ابتدائي. أخطأت جدتي، وأبت أمي أن تُكسَر. إنما هل فعلا لم تنكسِر أمي، أو أنها كانت تتقن التظاهر؟ هل فضحت عبارات امي والمقولات مكنونات صدرها، تلك التي كانت تسعى جاهدة أن تخبئها في مظهر القوّة الذي عُرفت به معظم حياتها؟

 

The embrace

I'm sitting on the balcony this morning, it is facing south west, the air is slightly cooler in the morning here, though it's still considerably hot and humid. I've been avoiding all balconies most of summer. It's not just the intensity of the heat, but also the sounds. I have all windows and balcony doors open in the house throughout summer this year, we no longer have air conditionning on non stop like the olden days, saving on bills is key these days. This means we get the wild wind and cool breeze all day long, but also crazy dust, and all sorts of outside noise. The generators, the neighbours, the roads, the cars, the sellers, the factories, the dogs, the cats, the crows, the birds, but the loudest of them all, is the sound of crickets.
There was this specific place in a mountain village called Ghosta that stands out in my memory as a child. We used to go there regularly as families and neighbours at summertime, picnicking and barbecuing between the trees in a pine forest on Sundays. Soon after we would arrive, I used to wander away by myself, getting distant from the crowd, the noise of chatter and loud kids, to get a sense of a connection with nature. The farther away I would get from them, and the lesser their sounds were clear, the louder the crickets singing sounded. I remember the feeling of overwhelm, of being contained and consumed by nature through these very loud sounds. Somehow the song of crickets became the sound of freedom for me, and that of celebration and connection.
After the Beirut port explosion I was looking up apartments to move to, my daughter and myself, I wanted us out of Beirut at any cost. I had an appointment set with a real estate agent who was going to show me few different places that I liked from the photos and their ideal location. We have seen few really beautiful ones by then, but daughter was disapproving on them, without particularly being able to state the reason, just her hunch. I believed in her gut feeling, especially then, so I would agree with her  and we would move on to checking the next available option. Few seconds after stepping foot into this apartment that we now live in, and the moment right after seeing the pine forest that overlooks the bedrooms and kitchen, she was sold. From her confidence in her choice and that feeling of ease she experienced, I knew that this was going to be our home for the next phase of our life, and so I signed the lease contract the very next day, two years ago.
The pine forest is healing and soothing. Although my feet aren't on its ground, merely staring at its trees from our balconies, hearing its sounds, smelling its earth and greenery, can have a very calming effect on my being. I can't remember the exact moment when the sound of crickets started to affect me negatively though, not so long ago, maybe few weeks back. By then I had suffered the continuous loud sounds of my neighbours on the east side, and the extremely disturbing screaming sounds of the neighbours below us. I had to redecorate the whole place recently and switch rooms only just so that I can spend my days as peacefully as possible, battling through the chaos that is living in summer Lebanon at this time and age, without additional outer stressors.
This morning the sounds of crickets isn't too unbearable. I was wondering as to what is bringing this change, my ears are still super sensitive, and the crickets are as loud as their usual, if not more. I pondered upon this for a while, and I could sense this peaceful feeling inside of me, similar to that one I feel at the end of a phase or a cycle, which usually means the beginning of an end, also the start of a new one. The crickets are soon to die with the beginning of autumn, their sounds are going to remain loud only for another short while now, it all suddenly became much easier to bare.

The photos I went through this past weekend were mostly from my infamous house wedding at my grandma's with my dying mother. The last months of my mother's life battling last stage stomach cancer were spent with and around her, mostly in Saida, so she could be close to her own mother and family. I had been engaged to be married for a while by then, and at one point, her family got together and decided it was best I get married the soonest possible, so that she could witness it and be "happy for me". Such an absurd and backwards notion, yet I could not say a word about it. Suddenly what was supposed to be an important life passage ritual or my own, became a mere act of kindness for my dying mother. Life after my father died had changed upside down for us. Our autonomy as a family was gone, mother sought strength and guidance from her people, which broke havoc on our bond as one unit, one family. I, for instance, did not matter that much anymore, nor what I thought or felt. Everyone was busy trying to rescue himself or herself from the agony and pain, and finding their feet on the ground, from the disorientation of not having the solid figure that our father was with us anymore. Out of the blue, I found myself having to fill roles given to me, following advise from people I not once in my whole life listened to, nor them knowing anything about who I was beyond my being simply my mother's daughter. I was assigned jobs to do that I took on without much resistance. Everybody agreed to it being a sensible idea, this rushed, low key marriage, including my husband himself, so it became a plan.
I was in the market with my cousin one day, she was helping me do some of my shopping in preparation for the marriage. All of that was being done while I was simultaneously being of assistance to my mother, both at home and in the hospital, studying for my high school official exams, preparing for my first year in university, getting ready for my new life in my new home as a married woman, coming to terms with the discovery of my soon to be husband cheating on me, and the realization that he's probably a cheater and / or doesn't actually love me. There wasn't much free time for me to roam freely in the shops or wallow on any intuitive feeling, thought, or emotion. I became mute, and unlike my usual rebellious self, very accommodating and docile. I could not and did not want to cause trouble or discomfort, this is when I learned to be practical for the first time in my life, and just swallow truths and gulp harsh realities down my throat.
At one point during my shopping for my lingerie wardrobe and bridal bed linens, I stopped off in front of the window of a clothes shop. I looked Rola my cousin straight in the eye, and I told her we had to get in, I needed black clothes, I didn't have any. Rola understood what I meant, she obliged and helped me there too, not a single word uttered. That was us trying to do life the way it was asked of us. Marriage and funeral shopping on the very same day, for convenience, practicality, appearance, and conformity. I was 19 years old, Rola was 18. We were racing time, would my mother's frail body and weakened soul last long enough? It was all up in the air, we just battled through, and acted upon the grown ups' supposedly wise advise and instructions.
That wedding idea and execution was the most horrendous thing anyone could ever suggest on someone. Death should have been honored, my mother's passage, her time, her goodbyes. Death should've been about celebrating her own life, not some ritual celebrating somebody else's milestone. The slowing down, the sitting with the pain, the grieving, the presence, were all needed and necessary.  Her family wanted to swipe it all under the rug because it was all too painful for them to bare, and so I became the gift they were giving my mother on her very last days, and the perfect distraction, all socially, culturally, and religiously approved! 
They did not know, and we could not tell them, because no one would have fathomed it, not even us, but my mother and I never had this kind of a relationship, she did not need to see me getting married to make peace with her dying for instance. My life and my mother's life, and her death, were not exactly linked. When the doctors were figuring out the case of her cancer, they estimated the time it started and its development stages, and we knew how long she had approximately. It had started days after my father passing, this is how little other people, factors, and things affected my mother, not myself. She was ready to leave right after father died. The notion of sticking around to witness her adult children grow further in life, expand, be around for our milestones, and our children, never occurred to her, just like our earlier milestones had less importance in her life than one would assume.
My mother and I had an understanding from a very young age, she does herself, I do myself, I respected and honored this non vocal agreement my whole life, there were boundaries and we were worlds apart. Not once did I ask her to be more present or motherly to me. Not once did I blame her for anything that she did or did not do for me or outside of me. I don't know how, but I understood her, never resisting, never forcing, never projecting. She was on her path, I was on mine, we never intervened with each other's paths, though we were mother and daughter, and I was an extremely affectionate person with a need for closeness that goes beyond anything I've seen in average people. Yet, there we were, suddenly finding ourselves being the puppets for the family and their agendas, and this was, above all, very painful for me to witness in my mother, who used to have a larger than life persona and presence.

My mother did not need this kind of arrangements being back with her family. She simply needed their presence, so that she could say goodbye peacefully, and not alone, like she felt back home with us her kids. She suffered great loneliness since the passing of my father a year earlier. He wasn't just a husband to her, but her lifetime lover, partner, best friend, family, and companion. We would be back from school or work, to find her sitting on the couch, my father's place empty, and she's starting at his photo that she would have placed on the coffee table in front of her, sobbing and crying uncontrollably, for hours on end. If anything at all, my mother needed the attention on herself, not derived somewhere else, so she could gather strength and courage to handle the physical pain she was enduring, and the concept of forced departure. I suppose at that time, we had both become victims of social codes, culture customs, and family enmeshment.
When I held her to say goodbye before leaving with my now husband, we cried very painful tears. It wasn't the traditional cries people see and assume of a mother and daughter upon the daughter's departure on her wedding day. There was melancholia, sadness and depth inside each of us in very similar ways that we have both acknowledged in each other, our entire life, without ever speaking of it. There was no more escaping during that embrace, nor could we carry on with our prolonged pretending. Life has gotten totally out of control for both of us and it was all felt at that very moment. I could not tell her about my new pains, new realizations, new  disappointments and fears. She could not tell me about her self betrayals, her regrets, her old sufferings, and the missing. There was no time for that, nor space, we were strictly and merely just two women, beaten and broken, crying our helplessness and despair, saying goodbye, and parting in two opposite directions, having become so very close, yet still very distant. 

Un-limbo

I was in limbo most of the day, heavy dreams last night and a very long week took their toll on me. By the afternoon, I decided to get up, shake it off, and dance. It wan't the smartest of ideas considering the chronic pains in my body have all flared up lately, but I decided to move anyway. I watched my body as I was swaying in front of the mirror on some of my favorite Pakistani songs that the mood called for. 

My belly dance accessories jiggling away, my curves a little bit smoother than last summer, my hips so sore but holding up, my legs stiff, my knees weak and aching, but I kept going. My back looks a little bit more toned than how it was in wintertime. The hump on the back of my neck has returned, I have made a good progress with it in early summer. After the right shoulder pain was back some time ago though, I had to stop the stick exercises I was doing for it and for my shoulders and upper back. My belly is still too big for my liking, but I'm satisfied with the weight loss progress I've made this year thus far, it is very slow, but really steady. I now have bat wings but they don't seem to annoy me that much. I've prepared myself for lose skin and I'm eagerly waiting to embrace the changes. This gracious body has been through so much, I'm so grateful for it. 

I danced for 40 minutes, I used to take 45 minutes for warm up alone 3 years ago. I miss dancing for hours and losing touch with time and space, like the pre-corona days. I am hoping my body will restore its previous strength and flexibility soon. I am itching to move it in ways I have not even dared to do before. There are so many dances I wish to learn and experience, not to mention all the other passions that I need a strong body for. I am learning to heal it through attention, connection, love and patience, one body part at a time, one organ at a time, one joint, one muscle, one limb at a time.

The sun is just after setting, I'm looking at the mountain in the north direction, the breeze has slowed down now, the heat is very intense still, we're officially in our last summer days. A box of photos is on the ground waiting for me to go through it. I'm sticky with dry sweat, I will have a shower soon and then will get to the ground with a nice cup of herbal tea and dive into the box. I need strength of a different kind for that. As of late, I've been leaving all the memories sorting for the book project until the weekend. I can't afford getting emotional mid week when I'm usually busy with many different tasks, errands, and chores.

Limbo doesn't stand a chance with me, life is calling to be lived, and answer it I must. All those past memories waiting to be reconstructed, understood, processed, integrated. All those ambitions waiting to be dreamed and achieved. I am often feeling as though I'm lost in between different timelines lately, there is no other way to exist now but through expansion. I am grateful for free will and hope. I will write a little prayer on my journal before bed, many things I'm thankful for, many precious beings need healing thoughts and well wishes today. 

Enter at your own risk

 Gabor Mate went live last night on Instagram. I had been twisting and turning in my bed for hours. My usual bedtime routine of winding down, face massaging, legs up on the wall, reading and listening to soothing music, took longer than the usual. My mind was racing instead of slowing down. There was a knot inside of my chest, and I just did not want to feel it, nor did I have the energy or presence needed to deal with it, and so I watched Gabor. 

Hannah his daughter was on with him, she's a psychologist herself as well and the one who runs his Instagram account. Watching Gabor or even just listening to his voice has a soothing effect on me. He has such a tired, worn out face and features, and boy is he compassionate! He's usually talking about very sensitive topics regarding the psyche, trauma, relationships dysfunctions, addictions, childhood, and so on, yet one could easily fall asleep while watching him. His voice is comforting, his words have an instant healing effect, his eyes are promising. Few people have brought faith in humanity back into my heart recently, Gabor is one of them. How heart warming it is to see a human being fully open, bereft of any ego, continuously and constantly working on improving himself and expanding, while sharing his acquired knowledge, his experience, insights and wisdom so very openly with the world, without seeking accolade. The people who keep on going, who love working, who are consistent and committed to their vocation and their passion, touch me very deeply. 

It isn't just the scholars, pioneers, or intellects, I also follow many other random people on Instagram, many touch my very core in the same way. I follow few belly dancers who shine the same bright light, full of love and grace, fully committed to themselves, their passion, and their audience. I also follow shoe shiners from around the around. One particular guy from the States is my favorite. ASMR brought me to his YouTube account, and I stuck around since, almost 6 years now. He delivers good content, is very passionate, consistent with his videos posting, but also the growth of his techniques, styles and ways of filming. People who are so busy being and doing themselves are the most beautiful, and they shine so very differently. 

There have been times when I used to sympathize with people going through stagnation. So much so that I used to think that it was my role to share my light with them, energize them, lift them up, give them a nod, push them to get up and go, be, and do. I learned the very hard way not to do this anymore. More than 8 years of my life spent with a stagnant partner, it brought my whole life to a standing still position. I then got myself in short term relationships with stagnant men , addicted, with idle great potential. I often questioned what exactly was I doing. I knew there must've been a certain pain inside of me that was attracting these patterns, and that it needed healing for sure, I just didn't know how or where to begin. Self preservation was never my thing after all, and I realized I I needed to start from there. These connections were stepping between myself and my own light. I didn't just have one passion in life, I had so many, and I neglected every call to action just to be of assistance for others, for many long years. 

You could blame that on growing up not knowing my value or worth  as a child, for not getting validation or guidance growing up, but also not having been treated decently as an adult. This resulted in me not knowing the concept of boundaries or how to treat myself, let alone the healthy way others handling me.  I just did not know what self preservation felt or looked like, so I did what I knew to do best, serve. I also thing, that somewhere down the line, becoming a single mother at a relatively young age must have somehow wired me to be out-focused, driven to support, assist, give, nurture. Self love was a totally new concept that I had to teach myself how to integrate into my system.

 When I eventually managed to break away the pattern of resonating with stagnation, I started attracting people who were on the other end of the spectrum. Not only were these really motivated and active men, but also their ambitious was way too big, making them do anything to get what they wanted and desired, at any cost. Their passion and fire, so very magnetic, was detrimental to burn some things. Before then, I had been too busy for too long inside my cocoon, not realizing how some things played out in the relationship dynamics. I was totally oblivious to the games, manipulations and lies that were at play. Learning to ride these waves was something I didn't think I had in me, but thankfully I managed, though the cost was very high. 

I have just received a notification from Tinder as I write this, a new match has initiated a conversation with me. He's a film director, bearded, nothing unique there, but the artists in particular do attract me and trigger my curiosity. Most Lebanese men look the same way these days, sadly. I love beards, but not the way it's been used to hide the faces, or the extravagant ways they dress it up. After inspecting the looks and identifying a certain level of physical attraction, I usually start looking for cues in their photos, in their bio, and the smallest of hints and nuances in how they present themselves. When we start chatting, how present they are, slow or fast in responding, the politeness and mannerisms, their attention spam, what they give focus to, the little words, the pauses, the silence, the chatter. Excitement, eagerness, attention and care can easily be signs of a predator in disguise. Softness, humbleness, realness, and interest can be signs of depression in disguise. Tinder gives no promises, enter at your own risk is the motto. I often think to myself when a conversation starts and goes smoothly, now what Universe?! I stay open to receive the answers and messages, when I ignore them, the result is almost always sure to be disastrous. 

I met a brutally honest man a while ago, who said it as it was. In his bio, he wrote two words only: heartbroken and angry. I asked him if this was sarcasm or the truth. He said it was the truth, and he was indeed very honest and open. Such a refreshing encounter, so much so that for a while, I was clueless as to how to handle myself. I have grown so accustomed to people wanting to dress up realities or hide facts that simply and merely just being open and present with the other, stating facts and truths as they were, openly sharing wounds, doubts and fears felt awkward, though very humbling and beautiful. 

The sun has only just left my room, I've just finished drinking my 2 liters water bottle. I'm ready to get up and have my fruits breakfast, and catch up with daughter. I want to tell her about the new realization I came to last night, regarding the boundaries of the child with an overbearing parent. I didn't think I was, but it seems I can be sometimes, talk about too much passion and fire! She's teaching and showing me how to handle her, and do our relationship now based on her needs and preferences. I'm so glad that for once, here's one person and a relationship dynamic I don't have to tip toe around or try and guess and look out for cues. Direct, straight forward instructions, and clear boundaries, I like the sound of that, any day, any time.