My Own Refuge

                                                                             

The thing is I am never alone. Not without my fear. Not without a luring shadow attracting me to the dark. I’m never without that menacing voice in my head grabbing me by the neck, driving me by an insane and manic speed.

I’m never feeling any distinguishable light. There is no discernable exit from this puzzled existence. I can be at times claustrophobically-driven in my thoughts, if that is even a word. I’m even not entitled to describe myself as a well-brought up human being because I cannot differentiate between who I am and who I could be.

If I was asked a year ago where I could be in a year, I would have responded with a chuckle. A chuckle that would seem to the inquisitor that I am filled with hopes and dreams. To me, that chuckle is dangerous. It means that there is no knowledge within my mind as to where I can possibly be in a year. I don’t even know where I am now. I don’t know how I even got here.

But to me, it is part of being an idiotically idealistic person. How could I possibly know where I could be in a year or even a day? I enter the bathroom meditating on some thought. I get out thinking an entirely different one, mainly because I had already forgotten about the first one. You can’t even ask that question. It is not within any logical realm.

Whatever you may have that I do not have does not make me less important. In fact, it makes you more responsible. And with responsibility comes burdens. In essence, I am carrying a lighter weight than you do. Thoughts are the same. If you are mentally occupied by a certain idea, it will drive you crazy to the core. But if you are empty from the inside, like me, you won’t be having any trouble. The trouble you will be facing is society. Society orders you to be shaped into a certain form, which is illogical, yet necessary. See the thing is, if you do not obey society, society will disavow you. You will be the outcast. You will be shamefully painted as an unwelcomed guest who had overstayed his visit. That is a true fact!

Besides, who cares if I can be shaped into a form that is required by society? Haven’t you heard of that saying that goes like “No Man Is An Island”?  Well I am sorry to disappoint you. Man is certainly an island. He is an island of thoughts. An island of senses and feelings. An island of peace and perspective. An island that firmly stands alone by itself. So in retrospect, man can only be with another man only if their ideals and thoughts meet together. You can never force someone to be with another man unless they are compatible in a lot of humanistic themes and standards. Accordingly, let me introduce to you the modified version of the aforementioned saying. “Men Are Archipelagos”. Archipelagos are chains of islands collected next to each other, whereas men are defined by who they personally are, then by who they are with; not the other way around.

The result is you will be under the microscope for being defiant. But that’s okay. You will have your moments of declared defeat and you will choose to cower in and start going with the flow. You have to. That’s life! If you do not go with the flow, they will attack. If you go with the flow, others will attack. It is complicated. You just cannot satisfy everyone, which will mesmerize you all the more because you will always seek to fill that non-existent gap of always demanding people’s attention. But then you will decide to haplessly sooth yourself by admitting to yourself that one’s self is what is important and it is beneficial for you to pursue your own thoughts. At that point you will reach a crossroads. Which way will you go? Droit ou Gauche?! Food for thought!

So what can you do when you are faced with that futuristic question? Do you know how, why and what will you be in a year? You do not. You can however set a goal for yourself and strive for it. You may or may not reach it, but at least you gave it your all.

The last paragraph was pretty lame wasn’t it? Some sort of pep talk you hear from your mother or your father on a daily basis. Honey, you have to set a goal for yourself in order to become successful and make us proud of you. Let me strike upon you some realistic facts. Set a goal. Don’t set a goal. You think your parents or friends would care if you succeed or not? Of course they would. But they will get over it. They might get suicidal or negligent. But hey, you did what you wanted right? NO!!

You do not do it for them. You do not maintain an image of yourself you have been keeping for the past twenty odd years just so you not to piss them off. Piss them off. Fight. Agitate them. Face them off. Be scared from yourself. Decide that you do not want to decide. It is a decision that you have to live and deal with. Be able to do it now against others before you have to face your immortal enemy, that one that’s inside you. I know I know, again with the clichés. But clichés are there for a reason. They are here to represent  common occurrences that we all face regularly. So zip it!

Bellowing beneath that calm body you have is another person that is waiting to depart that box that is embodying it. Let’s call it “The Refuge”. Now the Refuge can take off at any given second. This can be caused by societal pressure, peer pressure, anxiety, illness, relationships, love and so on. Find whichever trigger, whichever catalyst you have to nudge that Refuge inside you. I might not know all of you who are reading that post. You might be friends. You might be past acquaintances. You might be distant online peers. But if you are still reading the post, by now it is safe to think that you are intrigued by the prospect that makes you think: “Yeah, I do want to change a couple of things inside me.” And I kid you not, obviously so do I.

It is Aching.. Lamenting.. Waiting..

Regardless of what you think of me by now, you have to ask yourself this question. Can I apply what was written on me, or was it just some rants that are posted and that’s it?

Looming behind that question is either an angel or a devil.

It only depends on your answer.

The God Connection

Do we generally feel a Godly connection? Is it something that we harness on a daily basis? Can we achieve a mental, or rather a metaphysical transformation to be connected to a higher entity? Do we have to be prophets or elected by God to earn such position?

Questions, questions, questions. People might think that topics such as God’s existence, His methods, His choices of articulating the universe should undoubtedly be dissuaded once they arise. Those topics, some might argue, would eventually lead the inquisitor to the land of confusion and alienation, which will then cause the end of his faith.

There is an Irish saying that goes like: “If you aren’t confused, you don’t know what is going on. “

This saying should not be taken at face value. It has a certain moral behind it. It does not mean that you have to be confused in order to collect knowledge about something. It means that you have to be in a process of constant and rigorous questioning in order to hold a firm grasp on the wider aspects of a certain topic or issue. Naturally, with the complexity of the topic grows the confusion, and vice versa. So practically speaking, the God issue, it being an overly complicated and sophisticated one, will ultimately result in a confusing and, one might add, a disorientating debate.

The God connection that I am talking about is not derived from the practices of religions (Judaism, Christianity or Islam) that occur on a daily basis. The connection that I am speaking about is literal. To simply touch the hand of God. I might be insane to try and tackle such crazy topic, but I will try my best.

Let me dishearten your eager minds to say unto you that you cannot, in fact, touch the hand of God. Then why did I say it? To me, to touch the hand of God is to simply acknowledge the fact that your life, your existence, your conception is practically in his hands.

We were subjugated since our birth to think that religion is salvation. We were driven to think that we are Jews or Christians or Muslims by birth, not by practice. We were not given the option to think and contemplate about our choices, but simply be de facto Jews, Christians or Muslims. We simply inherited religion from our ancestors as if it was a written will.

But what if this “will” ceases to exist? What if our ancestors stopped the flow of religion? Would humanity be faithless? What would happen one day if you raise your kids haphazardly without any basis to raise them upon except logic, common sense or basic human knowledge, which are not sufficient in the first place?

As a Muslim, let me take an example from my own religion to better illustrate my argument. Till now, it is widely acknowledged that the technological advance the West is currently living in is mostly owed to the efforts of Muslim scholars who lived in what was called “The Era of Islamic Enlightenment.” Medical, social, political, technological and scientific breakthroughs that are still talked about to this very day. But let’s regress. Let’s not live in the wisdoms and triumphs of the past. Let’s get back to the present tense.

Islam nowadays is viewed as a religion of terror and violence. A religion of backwardness and uncivility. But do not blame religion, I beg you. Blame whoever dropped his balls and courage (Excuse my foul language) and decided to raise the white flag. Blame whoever decided to stop thinking and building over the schools of thought that were accumulated over the ages of Islamic victory. Blame whoever stopped thinking and relied on their “ancestors’ will” and was apathetic and indecisive. Blame whoever lost this Godly connection.

The God connection is a state of spiritual practice that is aimed at questioning, not your God, but your faith. A state in which you know how it will end, but within this process, will know its means. We the believers know that God exists and we obey His rules and words of guidance. But then, where is our human side? How can you recognize yourself as a true believer if you take what has been told to you at face value without arguing? Without asking questions? Without seeking answers that are supposedly, and in some countries, lawfully out of your reach? In the Torah, the Bible and the Quran, God aggressively commands us to think. Think. Not be led like sheep. Otherwise, he would be a dictator. And that is not the case. Far from it.

To touch the hand of God is, then, a matter of constant contemplation, in which all the equations, thought processes and mental and physical practices lead to one result. Some might argue that God truly is evil and omnipotent as He is holding us like puppets and swaying us wherever He wants and pleases as long as He is obeyed and prayed for. There is a flipside to that narrow-minded coin. Let me demonstrate it by presenting a simple mathematical equation.

1+9=10

2+8=10

3+7=10

What we understand is that it is true that God is the definite end result. But we all do it in our own ways and methods. We can be from different religions and still acknowledge God’s existence. We can be of different colours of backgrounds and still define God as the ultimate higher entity. I can be of no religion and yet at some point arrive at a conclusion that there is indeed a god. The saying that goes “Seeing is believing” cannot be applied to God. You cannot just rely upon logic or materialisation in order for you to know that God is there. You have to use emotional belief and not attribute everything to its logical genesis. People sometimes lack that leap of faith, which they understandably do. Yet they do not try to enhance it and simply take it for granted as non-existent compared to their rather shallow and obtuse angle of looking at things.

In my solitude when I am all alone, I sometimes write thoughts and doodles in my personal notebook. Things that will never see the light except that of the lamp that I turn on whenever I feel down or gloomy. I write and write till my palms grow sore and my heart pleas. I write sometimes till the morning beaming sunlight when I finally go to sleep, feeling care-free, rested, and spiritually released.

If you, the reader, understand and fully grasp the concept behind the previous paragraph, then you can begin to understand the God connection. What it truly feels to touch the hand of God.

The Magic of Books

I remember the day quite vividly when I first entered a proper bookstore. I was around 14 or 15 years old when I was at my Grandma’s in Heliopolis. Before she passed away just a couple of weeks ago, we used to have regular get-togethers at her house where we had lunch with my uncle and his family. Those were simpler times. Good times.

I had just finished eating lunch and there I was sitting next to my mother and sister. My father and my uncle would go have their usual after lunch cigarette along with a good dose of black coffee. My grandmother would enter the kitchen and start scrubbing away effortlessly at the dishes and spoons. We the kids would endlessly wait until all the grownups have went out to the living room so we can play hide and seek. It was a big apartment yet filled and stacked with chairs, chinaware and other stuff. Needless to say, there were a lot of hiding spots. But I was tall enough to be spotted from a mile away. Till the moment I published this blog, I kept thanking God that I did not go play hide and seek with my nephew and nieces that day.

My uncle’s wife kept on going about this new bookstore that had just opened around the corner of grandma’s street. She was talking to my mother about how she and her daughters entered it and how they were fascinated by it and how the design helps customers to be further attracted to buying books. She had also mentioned that there is a huge collection of books where all tastes could be met. Whether you like fiction or politics, science or classic literature, you will find your preference there. On my face there was nothing to be said. I was just focused on what she was saying as if I was bedazzled. If anybody could see me at face value, they would not know that I was interested in any of what was being said. I kept a good poker face. But in mind, there were roller coasters roaring through the labyrinths of my mind. The sound of their engines was so loud in my head that I could not help maintain my poker face. I looked at my mother instantaneously after my uncle’s wife finished talking her sweet sweet talk. My mother looked back. She knew what was going on in my inquisitive head and she smiled, yet she was initially resistant. She kept saying “Some other time” and “We have to be home at a specific hour.” She failed in delivering her message. Miserably.

Next thing you know, we were on our way to the bookstore. Now you ask yourselves “What was the bookstore’s name?” To which I respond “Diwan Bookstore. “You might have your reservations regarding that particular bookstore but hear me out till the end.

If anybody of you went to their branch in Heliopolis, they would be fascinated by the place itself. The bookstore is a humongous villa that is located in the heart of the neighbourhood. We entered it and I was suddenly overcome by this beautiful scent. It was not organic. It was not artificial, i.e not Glade or deodorants or otherwise. It was the scent of thousands and thousands of books stacked atop the hundreds of shelves in the bookstore. If you did go to any bookstore in any place, you would definitely know the scent I am talking about.

Books I have never seen before in my life. Authors I would never fathom knowing. Titles that made my heart leap out of my chest. I could not believe that still after 6 or 7 years from that day, I would remember the books I bought from there which were “Robinson Crusoe “by Daniel Defoe and “Around the World in 80 Days” by Jules Verne, both of which might I add have not been fully read to this very moment.

To me, a bookstore is not where I go to buy books. A bookstore is where I find my muse. I go there if I am feeling down, and it sometimes happens a lot. I often go there to ponder and just look at the racks of books just sitting there waiting to be taken away from their families, waiting for me to just look at them. To reach my hand to touch them and hold them in my palms. I sometimes say to myself or my friends when we go to a bookstore “We are JUST going to take a look around.” Those nine words rarely take place the moment we enter the bookstore. To me, bookstores are therapeutic in so many different ways. They ease my mind when I am angry and lift me up when I am sad or happy.

Before anybody would hasten to assume that I am talking specifically about Diwan bookstores, this is not the case at all. There are other bookstores, street ones even that have clicked with me instantly. Diwan was just the beginning of a series of maniacal money-spending frenzy on books that I still had not read, and probably won’t in my lifetime. I kid you not when I say that I think of books as my inheritance to my children, that is if I had any.

Let me slightly deviate from the main aim of this blog to say that used books are, to me, a double-edged sword. On the plus side, they are cheap. I mean DIRT cheap. You can find old books and possibly rare ones. Nearly all bookstores have them on special racks. On the down side, they are possibly torn and misused. But most importantly I WOULD NEVER SELL MY BOOKS TO ANYONE. REPEAT, I WOULD NEVER SELL MY BOOKS TO ANYONE. Those who sell their books are not fully sane or thinking properly. But Alas, cheap books for me. Thank you O YE KIND PEOPLE WHO SELL THEIR BOOKS.

I am still young to achieve something big in my life. Up till now, I am proud to say that my biggest achievement is that I can read and I have enough money to pamper myself with loads of books. I thank God, my father, my mother and my uncle for instilling this insane affection towards this mesmerizing entity.

I had a lot of arguments with my sister, who is five years younger than me, about the power of books and reading in general. I failed the first time. I did so as well the second time. Third time. Fourth time. A couple of months ago, she opened her first book and started reading it. Granted, she still is reading it and she still has a long way to go to read other books. What I want to say is that, to start reading a book is daunting at first and sometimes even repulsive to some. But believe me, if you give yourselves the chance to buy a book in your area of interest, however minute or complex it is, however small or big, however cheap or expensive, I promise you, the best feeling you will have is when your fingers turn the page before the last one and you start reading the final words of that book. By the time you finish it, you would have earned a new lifetime friend. An honest one.

Now go grab a book and start reading it!

Light At The End Of The Tunnel: Uncategorized

وَمَا أُبَرِّىءُ نَفْسِي إِنَّ النَّفْسَ لأَمَّارَةٌ بِالسُّوءِ إِلاَّ مَا رَحِمَ رَبِّيَ إِنَّ رَبِّي غَفُورٌ رَّحِيمٌ

يوسف٥٣

“And I do not acquit myself. Indeed, the soul is a persistent enjoiner of evil, except those upon which my Lord has mercy. Indeed, my Lord is Forgiving and Merciful.”

Yusuf, Verse 53

HELL!!

IT HAS BEEN LIKE HELL SITTING IN THE CORNER OF MY ROOM THOSE PAST TWO HOURS!!

I have been subjected to a monstrous amount of thinking and rethinking about everything that surrounds me. The reason is unknown.

In fact, it is unnecessary in my condition.

Why in God’s name would someone sit down alone by the corner of his dark unlighted room? Just why? Give me one good reason.

I’ll tell you why. Because he/she has nothing to do except exercising rants on his social life. Someone who is not confident about his social skills. Someone who is not willing to compromise. Someone who is not willing to open up about what drives his attitude or psyche. In a nutshell, someone like me.

When it all bottles up into a life of solitude and loneliness, a dimmer view about life has to occur.

For the past couple of days that preceded this situation, I used to wake up after 3 or 4 hours sleep, feeling empty. Hollow. Nothing. I look deep into myself thinking, how could you think such thoughts? I mean are you really empty from the inside? Don’t you have anything to proclaim or stand by? Can nothing in your life vouch for your accomplishments or achievements? Can anybody, acquaintance, friend or family claim that you are SOMETHING or SOMEONE? I strike conversations with my inner self, declaring war against it.

I say why do you think like that?

Don’t you have any belief in me?

Don’t you see what we have done together?

Why are you so negative and diminishing?

Why do you always keep on degrading me and dragging me into the caves of darkness after I saw the lime lights of tomorrow?

Must we continue in these puzzling feuds and non-ending discussions about being positive or negative?

Can we stop being so Goddamn misanthropic and melancholic?

Should we not listen more to our heart and lessen our thinking with our mind?

If you explode I will implode from the inside. 

You HAVE to know that. And that is no good for either of us.

If it is prosperity that you want, you will not find it. 

If it is destruction that you want, you will have it, but you won’t be here to enjoy the scene. 

You will be dragged with me into the abyss. I will be the death of you. You act as if you do not want to inhabit me. 

As if you’re a demon trying to enter the souls of humans, nothing entailed except greed and misery. 

As if you’re entitled to wear me down and beat me to the ground.

But there will be a reckoning.

I will defeat you by defeating myself if it takes my suicide to end it. 

You think what you’re doing is depressing? Think again. 

I will school you in manners of depressive attitude. 

I will haunt you like a ghost that haunts a cemetery, longing to get out of its desolation.

In a manner of speaking, these thoughts take place in all of our minds. So generally speaking we are on equal levels regarding that particular aspect. Accordingly, it is a question of the TIME OF ARRIVAL rather than why they do take place. It might seem that they are the same, but they are merely interconnected.

I lost you again, didn’t I? I just can’t seem to be simple enough to convey my thoughts clearly. Oh well.

Nevertheless, it drove me to re-shuffle my thoughts. In my head, those thoughts occurred so as to differentiate between two periods. Those two periods can be categorised under four concepts:

1.       A period of darkness into a period of light

2.       A period of darkness into a period of even more darkness

3.       A period of light into a period of darkness

4.       A period of light into a period of even more light

My head was exploding as I was contemplating those existential themes. On the surface, they seemed very simple and elemental. Dig deep and you’ll find yourself at a series of puzzling mazes and crossroads.

Give it a shot.

For me, the first concept is more suitable for my condition at the moment. Here is why.

The second concept does not apply because I have already experienced that phase in my life before, several times. In my shallow head, it is not until a couple more years for it to welcome me into its mournful embrace again. At least I won’t let it.

The third concept does not apply because to be honest I have never really witnessed stability regarding a period where I don’t feel dark from the inside. In other words, light has never been able to occupy my head as much as the sun has never been able to be in the sky more than its already set time. Do you follow me? Dammit. I keep sucking at delivering my thought process onto you. My father once told me that in any conversation, the responsibility of delivering a certain message falls entirely unto the sender, not the receiver, even if the receiver does not follow through. Which means I am the one to blame.

Look at me drifting away with my head again. I deeply apologize. Let me collect my thoughts one more time.

There it goes…

The fourth concept does not apply because, well, if you’ve read the last paragraph you’ll know why!

So why this particular time?

Why in this period of my life?

Most of it has to do with the idea of developing yourself. The idea of a relay race as a matter of fact. A period is handing the torch or the stick to another period and you are merely an instrument. A tool even. 

Monotony is never good. It kills you from the inside out. Change has to happen either swiftly or slowly. It keeps you regularly on your toes trying to jump over whichever obstacles life throws at you.

Listen to me going all psychiatric and psychological. I am sorry. I should have known my boundaries.

Darkness is the absence of light, which means that its absence is only temporary. It is only a matter of when.

When will you be able to climb out of this hateful, angst-ridden pit that you have sunk yourself in?

When will you stop postponing and tell yourself things will sort themselves out? BECAUSE THEY WON’T!!!

When will you disregard any non-constructive criticism and start listening to yourself instead?

When will you face yourself in success or even in failure?

When will you be able to look at your image in the mirror and smile with a clear conscience?

I know one thing about myself.

I have started climbing!

Maelstrom: A Short Story

Maelstrom: A powerful whirlpool in the sea or the river. (Wikipedia)

Whirlpool: A quickly rotating mass of water in a river or a sea into which objects may be drawn, typically caused by the meeting of conflicting currents. (Oxford Dictionary)

He never thought it would come to this.

The sea was dark blue. The sun was bright orange. The sky was clear. The clouds were beautifully collected above him.

Nothing to his right.

Nothing to his left.

Nothing behind.

NOTHINGNESS is in front of him as his eyes faced the impending doom, welcoming him aboard .

A monstrous whirlpool. Magnificent in its width and depth. Enormously amazing if you see it from atop, immensely devastating to whoever is witnessing and experiencing it. Mankind has never seen such great and grave force of nature. Mankind in all of its fallen civilisations has never beheld such dangerous and yet magical power.

But he saw it.. He is beholding it..

He was not naïve enough to call for help, certainly not for a human-like creature’s one. Who would help him; if ever there was anybody to help him in the first place? Maybe ask for God’s help? Why, he thought, would God put me in such abandoned position? He never suspected his faith, only doubted his sometimes unanswered requests and questions in his already passing lifetime. He concluded, rather quickly, that God would not have put him in this abandoned position unless there is something larger than what he had expected; even if it required his mortality. He firmly believed that. He had to.

He was not naïve enough to depend upon his swimming skills either, expert as they may be, but relatively helpless in his dire situation. His legs, arms and body gave in to the sucking force of the whirlpool. He had no control over them. He had no command over his physical body. He figured it was a fair trade from the sea. A bargain even. The sea only took away his fading body and left him with two main and everlasting instruments; his mind and soul. People can live without external limbs. People can go on with their lives without the need of mortal entities. It is their hearts. It is their minds. It is them that could carry on people’s legacy forever.

“Mother,” he cried out loud to no response but the sound of the rustling water surrounding him. Tears dropping down his face, not being able to identify them from the already salty water embracing him. “Please forgive me for not saying goodbye to you,” he mumbled and spewed the words while some water entered his mouth. They say that when people are on their deathbeds, they often think of their mothers who bore them. He was not different. In the past couple of years he has had a rife relationship with his family; his mother in particular. As he was going into this unspeakable black hole, he imagined; what if I did not do what I did to her? She did not deserve it.  He guessed it was too late for him to connect with her again. Maybe on the other side he might. He only wished.

He could not fathom the idea of being distant from his life and arriving into another one. Change is inevitable perhaps, he assumed. But that is not change. That is something else, something inexplicable and daunting to even think about.

As he commanded his mind, his body was in another place. Cold and damp. His shirt was glued to his skin as if they were one. His shoes, which he already took off to give himself less water resistance, were floating beside him as if they were telling him “Hey, at least it is not smelly here.” His already tired legs were struggling to keep his head above the water. It soon will be under. Very soon.

As his life will shortly be changing, the weather caught up with him. The sky is now growing darker as clouds are narrowing closer above him, bright colours playing through them. Lightning he believed. He is now closer to the center of the whirlpool. He can see it. He can see through the sea as if it is parted down the middle. It was a live model of a big vortex. As he is now within the force field of the whirlpool, he found himself going in circles. Obviously he couldn’t fully use his muscles to fight it. It was stronger than him. He ultimately gave in to it and realized that he has to accept his fate.

The whirlpool’s radius was large as it grew in size, taking all the water surrounding it and pouring it down into the abyss. He was still midway between the farthest point of the whirlpool and its center. He still had time. He still had time.

Thunderstorms began to crush the sky, sounding electrified fear into his heart. He usually was not afraid of them, looking at them from his room’s window at his family home. When he looked at them when he was a kid, he was amazed by their beauty. He was astonished by their presence. His mother used to come to his bedside trying to comfort and ease him, only to be surprised to see him refusing her hug. Not because he hated it, on the contrary, but he wanted to watch the thunder glow and liven up the sky. He loved it. His mother would smile and join him, never leaving his side.

Black rain started to drop on his face. He can clearly see into the sea now. He thought of it as a portal that is going to take him into another dimension. A more beautiful one. A more hopeful one.

He started to descend gracefully into the void. His head is facing upwards to the gloomy sky. Maybe he was praying to God, but most definitely he was trying to breathe in a lungful of air to aid him into the abyss. The sea is a harsh mistress, he thought. He had to be prepared.

He felt relaxed while he was going under. This way, he assumed, his fall would be easy and without pain. “It is only water,” he thought to himself.

The maelstrom’s magnificence finally pulled him in to its embrace. He was still looking upwards towards the surface, only now to say his goodbyes to the world he left behind.

His mind and soul gave in too. However, they did not wither as his body did. They only were transported into the other unworldly life while he was falling away graciously into his blissful demise.

“To her, the one and only. Mother.

 I promise when I see you, first I will smile to you a most recognizable smile that you would instantly know it is me. Then I would run at you as if I am haunted by a demon, only to be rescued by your sweet and shielding embrace. We would look at each other. I would be lost in your warm eyes, trying to hold on to you for dear life. I would never think of what happened between us. I would only think of this moment in which I can live forever and ever.

I Am Sorry.”

The Late Truth: A Short Story

5 years make the difference between their ages. He was 20 and she was 15. He has just graduated from university, while she was still in high school. Although they loved each other so much, they did not express their affection in the same way. Like any brother and sister, they argued constantly. But, they shared something in common. They have always looked after each other.

Their relationship when they were young was not very good. They used to quarrel and fight all the time. They did not care for each other and did not share anything except that they lived in the same home. He wanted to live his life on his own without any responsibilities towards his sister. She needed her brother’s attention. Yet when she did, they fought on very simple things.

When they grew up, they saw each other differently. They began to understand and consider the importance of having a brother or a sister. They have also understood the responsibility that they had towards each other. They were flexible in their relationship with each other. He saw that he is the bigger brother, so he had to protect and take care of his younger sister. She looked to her brother as someone who is caring and loving to her.

One day, he was getting married. The wedding party was amazing and beautiful. Everyone was there. His friends, family and close ones. He was busy entertaining the crowd who came to see him getting married. However, his sister came close to him. She was wearing an attractive silver dress which he bought for her a day before the wedding party. She said “I want to talk to you.” He responded “Is there something wrong, my dear?” She said “No, but it is something important and we need to discuss it now, please.” He looked confused. Yet, he said “Ok dear,” and he followed her into a nearby room.

He was very curious. He was interested in what she was about to say to him. It was not of her nature to discuss anything with him. She felt very shy and confused. She said “Brother, I want to tell you something, something that I have been hesitant to say to you.” “What dear?” He was worried when he asked her. She said “I would like to apologise to you.” He asked again “For what?” She said “On not being a good sister to you, or at least not to your expectations.” He felt surprising and sudden relief taking him over and finally exclaimed “So am I my dear.”

She was puzzled. She was the one to make the confession. She was the one to apologise without any response back. On the other hand, he felt an obligation to say that he was sorry too. They were both willing in expressing their feelings. She said “Why are you apologising? You did nothing wrong.” He responded back by saying “No! There were things that I could have done better towards you as my sister.” She said “So tell me then.”

He continued “Well for example, I was not there when you wanted to talk to me when we were young. I know you needed me as a big brother, but I was too selfish and self-involved. All I ever wanted was to play around and have fun. But I should have taken care of you, dear.”

She looked shocked, but then said “Well.. You are right. I needed your help when we were young. But that is the past and it cannot be changed. Besides, when we grew up you have been beside me all the time giving me advice.” He responded by saying “I had to my dear. Our father had passed away when I was 16. So I felt committed to be your role model, especially that our mother could not help us due to her illness.” She said “So what you are saying is that you felt obligated to help me? That you were forced to?” He rapidly said “You do not understand. I...” She quickly interrupted him and said “Well that is what you are saying right now. Had our father been alive, you would still be distant from me without any relationship combining us. But as we are siblings, you were forced to."

He finally sighed and said “What did you expect? I was a professional football player playing in the greatest clubs of the country. I was going to be a star. But when my father died, all of my dreams were gone. I had to take care of you and our mother” She looked amazed when she exclaimed “What do you mean? You preferred to stay in your career rather than looking after your own family? I cannot believe what you have just said”. Before she began this conversation with her brother, she thought it would end in a different manner. A moment of silence had passed before he continued “Look dear. All I wanted was for everything to be normal. But I could not do that.”

They kept staring at each other for a long time.  He then said “Are you calmed down now?” She answered back, rather loudly “After all these years you come and say that protecting your family was not your first choice, and you expect me to calm down?” She felt dizzy and weakened after what she had heard from him. She sat on a nearby couch to regain her strength.

He said “My dear, do not be angry. We are brother and sister now like you had hoped. Besides, your final exams are coming soon. It is important for you to be focused.” She then said “How am I supposed to focus on anything after what you have just said? How am I supposed to trust you after what just happened?” He followed by saying “Can’t we just postpone this talk after the wedding party so we can talk freely?” She screamed at him “You prefer to go to your wedding party over solving your responsibility problems towards your sister?” He said “Do not take it this way”. At the precise moment he said those words, she fainted. She fell on the floor. He was shocked by what just happened. He rushed out of the room to bring in a multitude of his guest friends who work as doctors. He hoped that it would not be serious. He then, with the help of his friends, took his sister to the nearest hospital.

He waited outside her room. He was worried about her. His relationship with his sister is not good at all right now. Moreover, her illness might cause difficulty for them to get along well again. He kept waiting for countless hours outside the room, waiting for her to wake up. But he did not know what was wrong with her. After a while, a doctor approached him. The doctor asked him “Are you a relative?” He responded “Yes. I am her brother.” The doctor said “Well, do not worry. She is fine. She was just very weak and ill and this caused her to faint. Nothing serious.”

He then asked the doctor “When will she be able to get out?” The doctor said “She can go out in one week. She has to take certain medications that are necessary for her recovery.” He then said “Thank you, doctor”. He sat down, thinking about what had happened. It all began when his sister wanted to apologise. But then, he found himself apologising to her. He now feels responsible for what his sister is currently in. His sister did not have to suffer like that. Now it is up to him to make things right again. It was his responsibility to straighten things out between them.

He entered her room slowly so as not to wake her up. He was hurried in his steps yet very quiet. He approached her bed and planted a kiss on her forehead. She then very slowly and tiredly lifted up her eyelids. She looked very sick and weak. He looked at her with brotherly affection and love. She smiled when she saw him next to her. They kept looking at each other for what seemed like forever. He was getting out of the room to let her have some sleep. But then she said “Brother?” He turned around and faced her and said “Yes, dear?” She said “I am sorry for ruining your wedding party”. He came next to her and looked deep in her eyes and said “My love... It would not have been a party without you.” They both smiled.

Just Another Life: A Short Story

And he died a miserable and lonely death…

He was not known at all. At least from the inside. Most of his acquaintances are friends that only knew him from his physical features and what he allowed from his ideas and thoughts to be conveyed from his head. Greatly misunderstood, seldom dealt with. He was your typical outcast.

He was known amongst his family and friends as “The Foreigner”. He roamed around with his mind when he was joined by his fellows and peers. They talked about sex, football, women, sex and stuff. He listened, did not interact though. He supported the motto of “Friends” in general, yet he did not fully succumb to it in his daily life.

The need to his friends was minimal, yet required. What he needed was a sense of reality. A sense of salvation. A sense of approachability. A sense of attention perhaps.

A main thing in his daily routine was him entering the bathroom in the morning, or at night, or when he wakes up at any time of the day. He enters the bathroom, closes the door, feels his belly button and begins his day. He would stroke his stomach’s hair and look at them as if they are aliens or unknown objects. He would then, almost automatically, look at the mirror, yet he does not look at it for long, not yet at least. He finishes his daily homework, then the contemplation begins.

“What am I to this universe?” He would ask himself, while sitting on his thinking chair, i.e. the toilet seat. A pretty weightless question when uttered, yet to him it meant something more than that. He was not one of those goal-driven individuals who thrived for success. Being successful and having a meaningful life are two different concepts that are usually mixed and understood as the same; at least that was what he thought.

“What am I to this universe?” That particular question has a snowball effect on him. Rather, a domino effect in his case, as it all tumbles down to a non-existent answer to that demonic question.

“What am I to this world?” It starts now. The unfulfilling, undesirable and untimely feeling of all. Making sense of things was not one of his strongest traits, nor was his sense of self-worthiness. But Alas, it is a rollercoaster. He had to go through it whether he liked it or not. He must, or else why does he live?

“What am I to my country?” He made progress. He went on to the next level. He was ACTUALLY making progress. Non-materialistic progress at that, still felt and to some extent realized. Why would I make progress? He asked himself over and over. I will die anyways, he would fantasize, thinking of the unthinkable.

“What am I to my family?” As you can see, it is starting to get more and more personal. Not because he thought of his family. But because he knew where this is all was going. Where this has led him to daily battles against his inner devils. Where this has led him to that final and most cathartic yet surprisingly relieving question of all.

“WHAT AM I TO MYSELF?”

I am nothing. I am nobody. I am non-existent. I am null.

Negative thoughts perhaps. But when he gets out of the bathroom, he relived them again, but with a clearer mind. It does not necessarily subtract from his bathroom experience to think with a clear mind. On the contrary. It adds to its negativity.

It was like a train. Stopping at stations. Passengers coming in, passengers coming out. The train is the same. The driver is the same.

Regardless of what he thought of himself as a person; or rather as an entity, he managed to get through the day. As much hate he  had towards himself or disdain towards his surroundings, he did not overreact or tried to project those thoughts in any physical way. For example he did not cut himself or hurt anybody. At least what we know of.

He was sullen, observing, quiet and detached. It did not get him in a lot of trouble. Though he had to answer to some inquisitive remarks said to him by his friends. Remarks such as “Why don’t you go out with us?” and “What is it with you and loneliness?” His answer was simple and concise at all times. “I just prefer to be left alone.”

Granted, it might have rubbed his friends and peers in the wrong way, yet they were always subconsciously attracted to him. They did not perceive him as repulsive or unwanted; rather, as different. They respected his privacy and knew whenever he wanted to climb out of his reclusive cave, eventually he will. And he did on several occasions. Occasions which affirmed and cemented their belief in him as “One of them.”

At one occasion there was this girl he knew from class, just on a superficial level. They only knew each other’s names and spoke briefly and they both forgot about that conversation they had. He saw her walking down the other side of a street by herself. He acknowledged her presence and waved at her. Something difficult for him to have done. But he did. She was on the verge of waving back, but she failed. Not because she did not like him, but because she was being harassed by a guy. Almost instinctively, he went to them and it is safe to say without getting into much detail, he was more than capable of handling a fight. The harasser went on his miserable way and left the girl alone. With our guy. They talked again, only this time a bit longer. He walked her home and she thanked him with a kiss on his cheek.

Other guys would have thought that kiss to be the first cornerstone of something romantic to come between them. He on the other hand did not. He just felt recognition and attention. He did not act upon it. He never did in his life.

Young, different, detached, aloof. Those are the traits that are remembered by anybody who knew him. His inheritance so to speak. Someone who, in one way or another, made a difference in their lives. Not a physical one perhaps, but at least he did something that will be stuck in their heads.

If people were granted the power of consciousness while they are dead, he would have been one of the first people to use it.

His first thoughts in his grave would have been: “I WISH I COULD CHANGE THE LIFE I LIVED.”

The Ultimatum of Reality

It usually is not that much of a contradiction when you feel good at day, but comes the night you feel disheartened and vice-versa. Being moody is completely normal yet irritating. Intriguing, yet repulsive.

There is not any particular reason as to pinpoint why, how or when this fluctuation strikes you. It just does. And when it does, I often tend to sulk into it. I give it unwordly reasons to legitimize its existence in me. Again the actual mood change reasons are still unknown. But the fact that it lives in me can mean two things. Either I am a pessimist and I just prefer to live in solemnity and loneliness, or I just do not have the power to fight it off, which technically drives me to the same conclusion. Reality.

It does not ring the bell or knock the door. It does not call before coming or whatsapp you to meet it. It practically has the key to your bathroom door. It literally does. You cannot stop it from welcoming you in its embrace. You cannot tell it to not to speak to you again. It is a permanent ghost inside us all. It just times its appearance to you. SURPRISE.

We all love surprises in one way or another. Birthdays, celebrations, parties, gifts, etc,.. But when reality surprises you with the loss of someone close. Or a person you care about does not care back anymore. The fact that you have to be at times diplomatic in your behaviour, yet from the inside you are on fire. Getting bad marks on your exams. Not tolerating even your own parents. You just cannot escape its claws. You just cannot design your own reality. Even if you do, it will find its way back to you.

So imagine if you are just laying in bed, reading a book, getting comfy and being really relaxed and enjoying the moment. Not thinking of what is going to happen next. Not realizing that something bad might happen to you or anybody within the vicinity. The agony of it that you do not perceive it before it occurs. You cannot expect what is going to take place next.

This is not a bout to argue in existentialist themes. And this is definetely not an attempt to channel through my inner reclusive pessimist. You cannot control it. You can sleep one night happy and  be excitingly overwhelmed by something. The next day you just do not feel like getting out of bed. You keep asking yourself why is that, but you get no answer back. You can however try to shake it off. Call a friend, read a book, watch your favorite sitcom, listen to music, or just be with someone you love or appreciate his/her company. Although in general it has a short-term effect, results may vary.

Anyways, I am not the kind of man who belittles the power of happiness. I am not the one who discourages people around me, I am in fact the opposite. At least I like to think that way. What drove me to write this in the first place was that if I had something that might affect me negatively, I write it down. What made me share it, was that even if any of you felt like that somehow, and I am sure you did, do not ignore it. Do not over-analyze it though. You just have to acknowledge the fact that reality can bite. But it is not posionous. It is in the end liveable.

Polarized over Kofta

This post was not written by me. It was written by Mohamed Magdy Fahmy, a friend and occasionally a brother. It is his thoughts and writing. I owe him that much. 

I’m pretty sure that most people reading this post have watched, read or at the very least heard about the great achievement that our military has accomplished (a cure for AIDS, HCV, Diabetes, Cancer and every virus known to humanity for that matter). Of course there were different reactions to this announcement; skepticism, sarcasm, outrage and some people bought it and believed it to be true.The reason for the controversy is mainly the way the “epic” discovery was presented “soba3 kofta”, “kan 3andak AIDS w ra7” and the mere fact that they stated that the device can cure anything.  But at this point we must ask ourselves a few important questions:  How come a very large segment of Egyptians (who are well educated) actually believed this garbage and even went all the way to defend it? Why did the military release such an absurd announcement that was full of scientific errors, misinformation and lack of any supporting evidence that a person like myself who has only studied Biology at high school was able to spot out easily?

Let’s analyze the people that are defending this device or at the very least believe it to be true, but let’s exclude illiterate people and people who suffer from any diseases that the so called doctors claimed can be cured by the device. I pity these people the most because they “want” to believe and currently their dreams are being manipulated. But what about the educated segment, there is an obvious polarization in stances. The educated people who are defending the device are needless to say pro-Military, pro-Sisi for President and as we recently discovered pro-any thing the military throws at us. These people refused to consider the whole issue from an analytical point of view and decided that the military knows all. The military is saying the truth and even if they weren’t “ya 3m msh moshkela” that was a quote by a person that I managed to convince that the whole thing was bogus after a few days of endless arguments. 

This ladies and gentlemen is a great sign of a Polarized Egypt in the making and it’s not about the Muslim Brotherhood vs. The Military. It’s going to be “You are either with us or against us” and being with us means that you will cheer, clap for and praise anything we do whatever it is even if it is “Treating AIDS by turning it into Kofta” and you will not under any circumstances question anything we do. Now consider this for a moment; if we had a polarization in opinions among the educated and elites in society on something as absurd as “C-Fast, I-Fast and Complete Cure” which was obviously complete garbage from the way it was presented not to mention all the scientific bullshit it had. What do you think will happen when the military officials or the regime decides to pass a controversial law, forge the elections...etc. 

We’ll have the same situation we have right now, people arguing with each other and that controversy is exactly what the regime aims for: Controversy; it’s the perfect solution, we already have an illiterate base that doesn’t question anything, all we need to do is to polarize the educated people and push them to argue with each other (balance out each other) and we’ll just keep running things the way we want. This theory has been put to test and has succeeded the fact that we had a controversy over “Soba3 Kofta AIDS” means they have succeeded. 

What we are witnessing now is a phenomenon known as “Perceptual Screen” and it is a very common phenomenon in US political behavior where the perceptual screen acts as glasses that a citizen wears that makes him look at any issue from the eyes of his party (in our case the military), this screen makes the person take in distorted and irrational positions, stances and decisions without any analysis or reviewing of facts. Sounds familiar? Today we have many people that support anything the military does under the argument  that they saved us, they know what’s best for us...etc. Although a lot of these people stood against the same issues in the time of the MB and “Bassem Youssef” is the most obvious example of that. This perceptual screen will inevitably lead to a disaster in any upcoming elections in the future and this time the damage will be beyond repair.

My advice is to stop arguing with these people, you need to let them find the truth on their own. Tell them to use the internet for something useful for a change, to look, explore and decide on their own. Arguing with them will only make them more extreme, more radical and more reliant on the perceptual screen. If we don’t help these people analyze in an unbiased way, then don’t come complaining about all the bad conditions we are suffering and how the revolution has failed. These people need to realize that, and you need to help them.