Misunderstood.

Lately I have been feeling...
Neglected
Misunderstood
Lost
Undecided
Unattended
Exhausted and overused

It led me to feel...
Something small inside me is dying with which
My desire to live became weaker.

I have made a few interesting observations...

My stomach turns when I scream, and usually also a cold comes with it the next day and a soar throat- smoking can make it worse. I smoked 3 cigarettes yesterday.

No one is a smoker because no one is born a smoker. I was never a smoker, I just chose to smoke one cigarette after the other, and sometimes I forgot I had a choice is smoking it!

Living itself is much harder than wanting to die but dying itself is harder than wanting to live.

Living
Dying
Wanting to live
Wanting to die.

If I don't stop depending on people I will want to die more often, just as often as they will push me to want to live.

If you can't cry, no one will believe that you are in pain.
If you can't beg, no one will believe that you really need it.
If you can't be cute, no one will believe that you can be too shy to ask.

If you're comfortable, you will be mistaken for confident.

If we can sum all of those up into an equation, we will realize that one that fits the profile of those inabilities is most dysfunctional. I never thought it was that clear. Or maybe it wasn't clear and that's why it took time for me to understand!!

I wish there could be this state where someone could hibernate...not be alive and not be dead -- as if asleep for as long as they time their heads!


Here's to Nina Simone and the Melancholy:-

Misunderstood (Nina Simone's version)

Baby you understand me now
If sometimes you see I'm mad
Doncha know that no one alive can always be an angel?
When everything goes wrong you see some bad

Well I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Ya know sometimes baby I'm so carefree
With a joy thats hard to hide
Then sometimes it seems again that all I have is worry
And then you burn to see my other side

But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

If I seem edgy
I want you to know
I never meant to take it out on you
Life has its problems
And I get more than my share
But thats me one thing I never mean to do

Cos I love you
Oh baby
I'm just human
Don't you know I have faults like anyone?

Sometimes I find myself alone regretting
Some little fooling thing
Some simple thing that I've done

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

I try so hard
So don't let me be misunderstood

Quit smoking, start going to the gym!

I am/was a heavy smoker. These last couple of days I've been cutting down in order to quit starting Sunday. My "salvation pack" as I called it, I'm finishing the last cigarette in it right now. So, I have to start the non-smoker's life. 7 30 pounds less a day to spend. I can spend them on shampoo and soap to use at the gym. Or maybe I can get candy for Marawan, the little 5 year old guy who begs outside uni.
I will miss smoke. I can smoke once every blue moon once I know for sure that I'm over it as a habit. I'm going to miss the shapes the smoke makes in the morning light, and at night in the dark, when it glows.
The cigarette I will miss most is the morning cigarette, the one I have with my coffee at university. That's the one I'll miss most, because it marks the beginning of my day.
On the other hand, I'll be able to swim for more than 5 minutes, and maybe in a couple of months I'll be able to run, and not run out of breath!
Quitting smoking I would be healthy. I'm a healthy person, see I eat salad more than I eat anything else. I grill things. I never liked junk food. I don't like the taste of soda. By quitting smoking, I will be giving away the last bit of unhealthiness. I will bother less people. I will not have to cough endlessly in the morning when I'm washing my face.
I am now inhaling the last breath in the last cigarette I buy.


I just put it off.

Now I am a part of the non-smoking crowd. A crowd I don't really like. Non-smokers tend to have this "I will live longer than you" attitude. I don't think I'll ever have that. Eating McBurger is probably just as harmful to one's health as smoking a cigarette.

I won't have a cigarette when I'm writing my shitty poetry.
I won't have a cigarette when I'm experiencing insomnia at 4 AM.

I won't have the cigarette that's right before class starts, or the one right when class ends.

Welcome to a new era of my life where I go to the gym, swim every Saturday, and enjoy pure oxygen (not so pure since I live in Cairo, still).

My lungs will not be black when I die.
There are less chances of me dying of lung cancer.

I'm trying so hard to convince myself.

Random Facts...brainstorming.

I consider myself sincere, and people think that this way, I am concieded (sp?), and that I don't really know myself because of course I'm a big liar inside like everyone.

I'm not feminist, I'm not misogynist, either. I have very few prejudice on sex and gender. I can't remember myself saying, men do that or, it's a woman thing except jokingly.

I either stop myself from the beginning, or I get addicted. That's why I quit drinking before I start it. I'm a quitter.

Safe is nice. I respect risk-takers even though I know I'm definitely not one. I'm not brave enough, probably never will be.

I love change when it's not caused by me. I find things that just happen to be much easier to deal with, and absorb the consequences of than my own choices.

I am optimistic, but I make fun of optimisitic people. Also, I'm usually drawn to pessimistic people!

Often, my silence is not out of acting cool, nor is it because I have nothing to say...it's me not finding a point of saying it.

It's hard for me to deal with people who have a different rhythm. People who are slow in doing everything just tire me, people who are too fast make me feel overwhelmed.

I'm often doubtful of my capabilities. I find it comforting when people cut it short and just tell me that I suck, or that I'm good at something.

--The End--

Fears

I never realized being abanadoned was one of my phobias and fears. I never realized that until today. Maybe it has to do with my father leaving the house when I was 5. My father...my father left the house.

I never realized I had a fear of people underestimating me. I realized that today, too. I realized how much for most of my life I had been underestimated. How happy I was when someone said I did something well, or well enough. Something I think I am good at. My father, again.

I never realized that I had a fear of dying, or leaving without having given enough. I realized that today! I realized that I feel guilty when I know there was something I could have done to make something better and I didn't. I dont know who gave me that.

I never realized I had a fear of fitting in, and being left out. I never realized that I have both of these fears at the same time. Fitting in feels as if it's a lie, and being left out feels cold, estranged. Now that's because of my mother, because she's both at the same time, sadly.

I always knew I had fears that I do not know of. It's good to realize them. Now that all these nightmares are coming true, I can realize that I had them in the first place.

Sometimes

Very few time in my life did I tell myself this "Oh, wow, look at me, I am pathetic and I am all alone. No one will help me". Actually, only once. In that one time, I decided that my way IS the highway. I decided that the face I am sad is all my fault, and that I am going to change it.

Well, I thought this time had passed. Life surprises me, all full of surprises. It's so strange how idiotic I turn out to be each single time. Sometimes, I try not to learn if learning will make me not trust people, and so I realize that I am an idiote because I fell for the same thing for the second time. This is my second time to fully-comprehend that no one will run after me if they know I am heart. No one will try to hug me again if I pushed them away. It makes me realize how naiive i am about the world, how young and easily-heart.

Last time I did it, I didnt care about people so much. This time I care about people a lot. Last time I had no friends, this time I do.

I always thought of suicidal as a remantic thing, it's so dramatic, and so "forever". I always smile when I think of people's reaction to my death.
Shehab will not cry, shehab will run his hand on his face and decide not to come to my funeral.
My father will not cry, he will laugh remembering me doing the silliest things.
My mother will cry because I died before she did.
Leila will cry because she will never see me again.
Nada will not know that I died, they'll tell her I left the country.

All people whom I call friend or who call me friends will/will not cry depending on their belief system and sadness-management.

Fouad will cry because he thinks I am the only one who will ever love him.
He who shall not be named will not cry because he knows he will always remember a little detail about me in his heart.

Now, thinking of everyone's reaction to my death makes ME tear because only I know how much I love life in all its forms.

My stomache hurts because I havent eaten is so long. My throat hurts because I'd like to cry and be a drama queen but somehow I cant seem to be able to do it and the rest of my body hurts because the yoga was too hard on someone who hasnt exercised in ages.

Isnt it strange that the more you give people the less they realize it? OK, it IS strange. Oh my god, I'm being such a drama queen. What the hell am I supposed to do when my life turns into drama? pretend that everything is OK and live with it? No idea.

I Shall Be Relieved

It will never get better till I make it so, or so I realized. I can get lost in the life I lead, or I can stop and think about it so I figure out a way to enjoy my stay better. And i say stay because I know even though one thinks one will be staying here for 60 years, they have all the time to think about the way their lives will turn, they dont. Time passes by quickly, ask me about that.
I have all I need. I have few people I can talk to, feel familiar around, I have a family that can undrstand a lot of me, I have me.
All I need.

Lovely.

P.S for readers, Yah, I too think that this is a diary of someone turning insane. lol

Do not bother read this, it's me trying to get it out, that's all

Do not bother read this, it's me trying to get it out, that's all

The more true I try to get with her, the less she trusts me, the more she judges me and the more she discovers that I am not the daughter she dreamed of. The perfect daughter. She wants me to be the perfect woman, someone who puts morality above everything. As much as so many people think I'm a moral person, my mother thinks I am pragmatic and immoral.

She says, why would you go to a place that has shisha in it? Mother, she's an arab friend, they always have shisha's in their home. I dont like these kind of places and people, she replies.

What kind of places? What kind of people? Did she even ask what the hell we were doing? Did she even bother asking about what kind of things I do? What kind of person I am, or what kind of person I like myself to be.

She says she doesnt talk to me to judge me, but to ask me...Well, that's a wonder because the first line in the phone call was "Sara, I dont like your lifestyle", so much for asking!

In the middle of all this self-explanation I am supposed to do, I am also supposed to survive my mother thinking that I am an immoral hoe who doesn't care about anything, and survive my father who thinks that he needs to "tame" me, and reconstruct my personality.

My boyfriend who will not let go of a relationship I am not ready to have.

My best friend who doesnt understand that he hurts me in every other sentence he utters.

My other best friend who never called, and at the same time hates being called a traitor.

A dear friend who needs me, and does not understand that I need her too, and that we can help eachother.

University work that drains anyone, and rewards no one.

And, at the same time, I am also supposed to reconstruct my life, make peace with things that had hurt me, and try to be happy again...and find comfort in the solitude and absence of all the things I should but am not able to survive.

One's Own World.

I can help people, but I cant help myself.
I probably need someone to help me...but they're probably too busy getting my help.

I said I needed to get away, I needed to get away from everything and everyone...then I discovered that I had forgotten how to. I thought of getting away by being absent in the mind, it kind of works.

I still need to create my own world. I loved my own world. I miss it.

Blabbering Around

So today,
"Gogo, are you OK? You didnt seem OK today."
"Oh no, I'm OK. Why doesnt everyone say I am not OK?" silence and then she continues "Am I OK?"
"You tell me", I say.
"Oh, I think I'm OK"

lol.

That's one strange conversation, I guess.

See, I dont know if I'm OK, either. I do not. I will not pretend to be that I'm OK when I'm not. I have stuff stepping on my toes. The problem is, I dont even know what is bothering me. It's as if all of a sudden I abandoned myself and stopped thinking about my problems and try to reconcile. I abandoned myself.
I abandoned myself.
I abandoned myself.

I do not like myself being different. I liked myself better when I was happier, and less chained. I think that my life has to go on a cycle of happiness, and numbness and then sadness and so on. It goes on like this forever, and it pains me to realize that I never learned to stope that cycle.
I dont know how to stop myself from being down.
I dont know how to.
I dont know if I can.

Part of the reason why I am not happy is that not only I abandoned me, people also abandoned me. People gave up on me. I have this stupid silly feeling of having people not caring whether the hell I am alive or dead. I mean, not to that extent but, not caring enough about my emotional well-being. They never had to think about it, because I was almost always strong enough to survive these things, and really fast, too. People think I'm strong, and that's why they leave me to deal with my own problems...even though i never claimed to be strong.
I never claimed to be strong.

There's a point of writing this, it makes me feel better.

Loving Things

Loving people, and things does not mean that you let them force their aura on you. I sit in the middle of downtown listening to the music of downtown, which I do not necessarily like. I love downtown but I dont always like its music. I play music in my piece on technology and I listen. I watch the people move and imagine them being the video-clip of my own music. They suit my music, all of them. They all have a place in my cadre.
People pass by, some of them I know. I smile at them, some smile back. I realize that the more I love people, the more space I give them to choose or not choose my own company. Sometimes, this makes me suffer. When they choose not my company. I feel abandoned, but I still do it.
Last night I watched for the second time the movie "The Seventh Seal", and Ingmar Bergman movie. I loved it. Somehow, it made me feel familiar with the persona of death. He's there to stay! And even though the movie ends with an almost religious ending, I still love it. I keep my own theory of nothingness. The character who respresents my skepticism is skeptic till the end, and that's how I liked the last scene.
Why are you reading this? :D

My New Room

The new room is small, but not cozy. The new room is tidy, but not settled. The new room is Fresh but forgetful. The new room is the pill I need to start a new phase of my life.

Days ago I dreamt that I lost my teeth without realizing. In the dream, I look at the mirror and suddenly I realize that I have no teeth now. I have no teeth. The interpretation would be, I feel old. Suddenly, I realize that I had been alive for more than 19 years. I have no idea where they went or what I spent those years on.

The room has a bed, a closet, a mirror, a desk and two windows. There's also a bamboo chair.
The bed is small and comfortable. On it, two pillows lay. They are hard, just as I like them. The bed is small. The room is mine, alone.
The closet is a wooden one. There are things in the closet, now. My things are in the closet. Things that belong to me are in the closet. The closet looks like a classic 80's closet. I love it, and it seems to like me back.
The mirror is oval-shaped like the frames that have sepia pictures in them. It is familiar. It is the only familiar thing in the room, other than myself. This mirror is different. This mirror is dreamy.
The desk is the only stranger. It's a very modern-style, I hate the colors of it. I sit on it because i have to. The things in the room are all in harmony, and the desk is the outsider. Sometimes, I feel sorry for the desk.
The windows are looking on the street, and on the balacony of the house. The windows are big, glass windows. The let in the sun, and that's why I like them. One window is the other window's company. Their company makes the room warmer, or maybe it's the fact they let the sun light in.
The bamboo chair is my new friend. It is elaborate. I like elaborate people and things. The bamboo chair is comfortable, it is the only thing that hugs me in the room. The bamboo chair's hug is warm, it reminds me of Sarah's hug.

My new room is new. My new room is small. My new room is tidy. My new room is a lot like the new me.

Forgiving

Forgiving. Or not. Forgetting, or not. When does forgiving stop being a virtue and start being a disease? When does it become addictive and destructive?
If someone slaps you, and you let them slap you on the other side, they might learn from it...from the fact that they had been mean to you and that you were good to them. But what if someone slaps you on one side and you let them slap you on the other one...so, they slap really hard it breaks your neck?
Forgivingness, and too much forgivingness...where do you draw the line?

And the questions IS:

Today I just watched this movie about a guy who works as a reporter in a newspaper. The guy fabricated over half of the articles he wrote there, they were funny and people didnt pay attention to the fact that these stories might not be at all real. He then got fired when he was caught and wrote a novel. He probably realized that fiction is only appreciated in certain places. The movie is called Shattered Glass.
Now the question is this: How much does the truth really matter?
The question is this: How much truth is from the heart, and how much fiction is from the heart?
If fiction is from the heart, it is the creation of imagination, imagination is the creation of impossibilities, the dreams, the fantacies. Imagination is what we want, not what actually happened. The question is: For what extent do we tolerate stories from the heart?

Everything.

Today i walked into my sister's room. Everything was in place, it felt so human. I remembered my room in a flash. It looks like a trashcan :D I concluded something about myself today. It's that I want everything. I want my camera, I want my bass, I want my pictures, I want my paints, I want my makeup, my earrings. I want everything. I never throw anything away, ever. Things make me alive but they also drown me. I feel drowned in my room. I know there must be things out there that I can get rid of, but I never spent the time to think what *exactly* I want to throw away. So I keep everything, and I keep a noisy room.

I want everything in there, and it makes everything not want me.

I need shoes, too. And I want contact lenses. I want a new skirt because I feel weird. Whenever I feel weird i get a skirt...I dont know why, but I do it!

Gogo gave me a photoalbum for my birthday. Now I am starting to use it. Decided to make it my favourite memories photoalbum. I will put pictures of everyone that meant anything to me. (At least the ones I have pictures of!).

I decided that i will listen to "Who Wears These Shoes" by Elton John more often. It makes me feel really good! It has this beat. That's the thing about Elton John, he has the beat...
I have been watching too much Ally McBeal- yes, it's true! I like this series a LOT lol. I know it's crazy, i was never for TV or TVseries but I like it. Just like I love Sex and the City.

Nuweibaa was so kool. We went me and Sarah. This time was very different. It made me understand Sarah much better, actually. I want to go back there in the winter.

The math.

I dont know what love is.
I like, I am attached to, but I love myself more. God does the math.
I am away, I dont talk a lot, I dont visit a lot. I feel like it's a heavy obligation to sit and talk. God does the math.
I study, I hate writing, I hate it. I get so stressed. God does the math.
I feel, I care, I am left. I am lost. God does the math.
Till when will god do the math?

Runaway

Runaway. I need to runaway. I need to leave everything here and go there. Sit by the sea and think nothing, be careless. I need a break from everything and everyone. I need a break from everything and everyone. I need a break from all the things everyone needs. I need to rest and dream. I need time for myself. I need to breathe in and breathe out as slowly as I can.
I need to know that I exist.
I need to know that I exist and that I can.
I need to know that I can have time by myself and not run to talk with someone or even something.
I need to go back to having fun all by myself.
I feel like I am going insane.
People are taking so much energy from me. I need to breathe in, breathe out and know that I can regain the energy taken away.

Maybe I was asking for too much when I asked for more than survival.

Maybe this is my going insane blog!

Company and What Not

I need to rethink about the people around me. I need to put new definitions for myself with those people. I need to ask myself: who deserves, who doesnt. I need to ask myself how much I trust each of those people. I need to reevaluate people.
Amgad has proven that he is not trust-worthy. I need to understand that!
Gogo has proven that she is too close to live in Mohandeseen. I need to travel to Mohandeseen more often.
Hany has proven to want my company even though he disappears too much. I need to be more pushy.
Hossam seems to be disppearing, I need to talk to him about it and find out where he stands in the middle of my life!
Mark is the only person who's stable in my life right now.
Jazz, though, is also stable. If only I could get inside her head, or convince her to speak up.

I need to speak up. I need to understand why I do things, and refrain from doing others.
I need to read more of Milan Kundera! I think I will do a booklist later...!
Concentration of the summer is Dario Fo, Milan Kundera, Borges and Kafka. I might also want to do a bit of Brecht.

That's it, I'm calm now!

He's back to burning himself with the cigarettes. He doesnt want me to be happy because he doesnt know HOW to be happy. Two bodies can never separate, two souls can never separate...how then am I supposed not to feel for him when he burns himself with cigarettes? He knows that I empathize and that is exactly why he showed it to me today. He pretended that it wasnt there, I pretended it wasnt there but it was right there. The S shape with cigarette burns was right there.
What am I supposed to do?
Why is everything suddenly just piling up on my fucking head?
Why cant people understand that I am NOT OK! That for once, I need THEM this time to feel for me and help me and talk me out of things. Why cant people understand that sometimes I am weak...??

Maybe I should just be weak for them to understand.

Love, but not again.

Love, but not again.
Love, but differently.
Love, but,
Calmer and more observing...
Like quiet people on the bench,
Starring at each other, maybe,
Or at all kinds of different things.
Tasting different kinds of comfort,
Different kinds of knowing that:
One can lie, but one will not.
Love, but less revolutionary,
Love, but more stable...
Maybe mundane.
But, love.

Which is Which?

Which is better? The love that brings so much more pain than it takes away...or the loneliness and damp? Which is better; the lover that will torture me, or the lover I am not sure will come? Which is better?
Which is better; years of sadness and poetry and years of happiness and second-like passing times?
Which is better? The choices we make to determine our lives? or the choices we hold but put us, for good, in bad temper?
Which is better?
Which is better; asking who you are, or asking who do you want yourself to be?
Which is better? Asking "which is easier?" or asking "which is more loving?"

And, which is which?