Posts

Posted on

Babel – another post about Monday

Today was not a bad day, it started with a nice labneh sandwich and is ending with me drinking tea and writing this. The fact that it’s 9:57 pm and I’m not working is satisfying by itself. Satisfying enough that I’m listening to Drake.

It’s just, Mondays have been so long. They are the beginning of a week and it’s a killer. I’ve become corporate; looking forward for the weekend and feeling like hell on a Monday.

I never felt this way before. I looked forward to Mondays during university because I loved university so much, and the same with my previous job. I didn’t like the weekends.

It’s not that I hate my job, because I don’t. I’m used to it and it’s becoming a scene I might finally fit into. It’s a provider for my actual life, and God, I am most grateful. But I have grown to hate Mondays, and I am looking forward to Saturdays.

I keep wondering lately about people and their lives. Do they feel the same way I feel? Are they as mentally ill or mentally confused? Do they think of the meaning and concept and existence of work as much as I do? Should it be this hard?

My mum wouldn’t like me using “mentally ill” to describe myself. Sorry, mum, I don’t know what to call it, myself. It’s just, is it as hard on everyone to wake up in the morning feeling like you absolutely do not want to wake up, ever?

I wonder what it feels like to feel a sense of belonging to all your life, not just a part of it or a person in it. Does anyone have that, the feeling of complete belonging?

Is it then, when we fully belong, that we feel happy? When we actually belong to our life and not just that moment when we see our person or that moment when we are in that safe place?

I don’t know. I don’t know if what I felt before was what I search for now. Maybe, but I don’t know. For now, I thank God another Monday has passed.

Please do yourself a favor and listen to Babel by Gustavo Santaolalla, the original and the Otnicka remix. It’s an absolute beauty.

Posted on

Safety; the myth

They’re so lucky, those who’ve found their place, those who’ve found their safety. They’re so lucky, those who are in the safety of their home; they know when to eat dinner and when to eat lunch and what to expect for tomorrow and what to not.

They’re so lucky, those with the stable routine and the weekly outings. Those who ride their bikes in the morning and finish their days in the afternoon. They’re so lucky, those who know where their place is and where to find it.

I find myself looking at photos of friends having breakfast, or a married couple finishing governmental papers, or a fifth-grader getting off the bus and running towards their house, or a taxi driver listening to the morning news and complaining about the economy. I find myself looking at those happy and unhappy faces who may not be having the perfect days, but they have found their safety.

Do you remember the feeling of when you lose, or when you think you’ve lost, your mum in the grocery shop? The coldness, the unfathomable fear, the tears you’re too proud to let out? This is how I feel, all the goddamn time.

I’m 22, almost 23, and I’m always cold and scared and feeling like I’ve lost my mum at a grocery shop. I never know where my mum is, no matter how much I run about or how much I search; I always seem to search in the wrong places because I could never find her.

The feeling goes back and forth, but it mostly stays lingering most of my days. I have some distractions, there are some places and people where I have bliss and where I try my best to shrug the coldness away, but it’s all very temporary.

I’m cold again the minute I step outside, the minute the people leave. It’s some drug, a really good one actually, but it’s not my place. And even within this drug, I’m so scared I might lose it.

I call this feeling a lot of things; anxiety, existential crisis, attachment/detachment disorders. I don’t know how it started, but I’m begging for it to leave me. A lot of people have found their peace and security at my age, why can’t I?

A lot of people, my age, younger, and older, have stability, and are leading a stable life. It doesn’t need to be happy, it just needs to be a stable life where they are not scared all the time and where it’s okay. Where it’s just okay.

It’s just that I’m scared. I’m very scared all the time. I’m walking an endless road, barefoot, and I can’t seem to know where I’m walking to and where I might reach. They keep saying that we need to go through some pretty bad things to reach our actual euphoria.

Can someone tell them I’m the weakest? That I can’t take this feeling of belongingness, this coldness?

Guess tomorrow is another mascara day for me.
Posted on

She said, “What if I tell you all the things I’ve done? Would you run away from me?”

How easier could it all be if we were just honest, if we didn’t hide behind a mundane pride and a million shards of dignity.

Suppose you could tell me how you feel or what you want of me. Suppose I can only tell you what I really need, what I really want to say. If I could be honest about everything, if I could only share with you some of the storms happening inside of me, instead of the unbearable squeaky silence that screams from within. Instead, I keep saying so many different words, without meaning any of them.

How easier it could be if I could tell you what I’m thinking of right now, and if you could do the same with me. If we’re all plain honest and straight forward, if we stop hiding for a day or two and show ourselves, show our hurricanes. How horrible could it really be?

The heaviness of my world-and words-is crushing my bones. The bleakness of this pit is taunting me, and I’m finding it hard not to let myself fall. Yet, I can’t tell you. Why can’t I say all of this to you?

What if I couldn’t find my safe place anymore, and I can’t but wonder if I can find my safety with you? Why can’t I say all of this? How come I can write it, but never say it to you?

I’m not saying it will be better if I did, I’m just saying that it could.

I always brag that I’m always honest, that I don’t go around in circles, I’ll shoot you straight, and I’ll tell you everything you want to hear. I always brag about being most honest, but I swear I couldn’t be more of a liar.

I’ll never tell you, because I am too afraid of letting you in. When you’re close, you’ll see that I’m much more vulnerable than I might show, and you’ll break me. You won’t see me the way I want you to see me. You’ll see me weak and shaking, and you will either break me, or leave, which will break me even more.

So I’m stuck. I’m stuck between my fear that you’ll break me, and I’m stuck that you might leave if I weren’t honest, and I don’t know what to choose or where I stand in all of this. I just know that it’s maddening to hope that you might understand, if only the scenario in my head can happen, if only everything goes my way and you say what I want you to say to me, without me being honest.

How hard could it be? To be honest?

Posted on

Escape with me?

This nostalgia is draining me, but I’ll talk about this some another time.

I’m sitting on my bed drinking my now cold tea and reflecting on my week. It’s Friday. There is nothing that beats the feeling I get when I’m out of the office and pressing the elevator button.

My week has been okay, better than last week. I’m having busier schedules than ever, which is fine; once I learn to trust that whatever tasks I’ve been given, I’m doing them the way they should be done, I’ll be okay. I mean, they did extend my contract, right? Doesn’t that mean that I’m doing okay? It seems like my anxiety only pays attention to certain things and neglects others.

I’m a little behind schedule, which makes an extremely task-oriented person like me, extremely nervous. But that’s okay. I have all Monday to catch up. Today’s Friday, and I don’t need to worry about this until Sunday night.

I’ll be taking 10 days leave at the beginning of November, which I’m very excited about. I’m hoping to travel, or at least escape everything for a few days. I think I need a few days in a faraway place where I only read, meditate, and watch Audrey Hepburn movies all day long.

I’m even thinking of escaping alone or with people, anywhere, I just need to get out of here and reflect. I think I might give this a shot, a small gem within Lebanon;

I hope I do actually, whether alone or with someone.

Posted on

Karma police

https://www.pinterest.ch/pin/141581982023684027/?nic_v2=1a5ftM5BT

It’s funny how we can associate a song with a whole emotion, how a memory can live in a 4 minutes lyrical guff, or how we refuse to revert to a tranquil state without the music that reminds us of the peace.

Karma police

I’ve given all I can, it’s not enough

I’ve given all I can

Karma Police – Radiohead

It’s weird how therapeutic a playlist can be, or how destructive it is. The relationship we build with these songs, the universe of unbearable being, and beautiful silhouette, all in a 3 minutes tune.

Did you know?

The reason why the average song is 2:48 minutes is that in the old days, 2:48 minutes was the maximum length the people in the music industry could fit on one side of the old 7 single vinyl records.

How Om Koulthoum could sing and release an hour-long song is still beyond me.

I’m listening to Karma Police by Radiohead right now, but I have another song in mind for the nonsense I mean by writing this. I’d like to write a different blog about it, the song in mind, a different mood maybe? Because that’s my “I’m too sad to exist” kind of jam. It should be hyperlinked somewhere, once I get the courage to write about it.

I’m enjoying this music category because I get to write about my story with every song I love, and often these are stories I cherish. These are the stories and songs that got me through all the nooks and crannies until now.

Random NTR

I’m still unable to comprehend emotions. The overwhelming emotions are slowly being replaced with a painful void, and I do not know how to feel about it. I have a few things in my mind though;

  • 22 years are enough years for existing. I’ve done a lot, I’ve seen a lot. It’s okay to leave.
  • Tomorrow is Friday.
  • A lot has changed. Like a lot.
  • I’m craving Trix, the cereal,
  • I wish I can skip Friday and get right to Saturday.
  • I wish I can find myself.
  • I wish I was born in Brasov.
  • I need to get out of here.

For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself
Phew, for a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself

Posted on

In these shadows

“When the night falls, i know i’ll lose myself again.”

In these shadows – Fytch

I first heard In These Shadows during the summer of 2014. I was in a car some time after midnight, we were driving so fast, Fytch’s weird gaming tempo music jamming so loud that the car is shaking, and Carmen Forbes singing like there is no end to the bleak. There was no moment more perfect to hear this.

“Blow this pain to smithereens,

Help me fight this storm before I wreck myself”

Out of my many phases throughout the years, the nights when I first heard this was one of my darkest; I did not have any control. And that very night as we were racing the empty streets and trying to escape June’s humidity, I had no control over anything, and this song made it easier to lose control and dive into the darkness.

“Under these skies of doubt

Help me get back up before I drown”

It also scares me how relatable it can get. I am scared i’ll lose myself. I’m scared I’ll lose myself to the shadows. I’m slowly feeling like i’m fading, like with every nightfall, with every burden, I’m starting to care less about everything that makes me want to stay alive. I feel like i’m slowly losing control, slowly losing myself.

Maybe this is why I’ve been listening to Fytch a lot lately, maybe not because I want the adrenaline to kick in again, but maybe because I want Fytch to teach me how to get used to it, to losing myself. 

Posted on

Angry;(adj) feeling or showing strong annoyance, displeasure, or hostility

All my life, I’ve been trying to avoid lashing out at people that sometimes I don’t know how to lash out anymore. My tantrums aren’t many, and rarely do I fight with anyone. It’s just that if we fought or if I got angry and said all the things I might or might not mean, it will probably hurt me more than it will hurt you, so I avoid it altogether.

I’ve become immune to offense and criticism; both don’t affect me. I never know when I’m offended, and when someone in front of me is angry, I think I’m pretty good at absorbing the anger.

I’ve built a quite thick facade and normally do not show my anger unless it’s at home or with my family, and even that is not as occasional, but I have times when I’m upset, and my mum is just there, and I lash out.

Then I feel bad and apologize or continue to feel bad until I see my therapist, and he tells me that lashing out and being mean sometimes does not make me a bad person. Still, it hurts me more than it should.

Today, I was about to get into a really bad fight. I was mad like I was never before; the anger that makes you cry or murderous. It was just too much; the scene I was in was hurtful; I felt like exactly what happened and how it happened is the reason for my trust issues and why I’m so messed up. I was furious at the irrelevant situation I was put in; I don’t deserve to be here, I don’t deserve to feel all of this.

And then I froze. I detached myself from everything going on around me, I left the French fries I was making half cooked, I wiped off my tears, and I’ve been lying on my bed for four hours, unable to talk.

I can feel a little fire in my chest, and a few tears still burning to come out, but I’m frozen. I can’t eat, I can’t move, I can’t talk. I’m stuck and I don’t know how to proceed.

I’ve had my silences before, but this scene’s new to me, and I’m not sure it’ll stick with me. I think it hurts less because I’m not hurting anyone but myself, which is always a bonus. But I do hope I get rid of my anger before it gets rid of me.

I’m looking forward to tomorrow because I will see people who make me laugh and happy.

I like laughing and being happy. I do.

Posted on

Can we skip Mondays?

What is it about Mondays and its 88 hours a day? I feel like I have been living in this Monday for 3 years, and I still haven’t even finished my working hours.

I recall times where I looked forward to Mondays, and I didn’t feel like Mondays are longer than other days. All days were short; all days were fun. But now I finally understood people’s complaints about work, long hours, coffee, and Mondays. Now, I have finally been accepted to the hood of grownups. I have officially grown up. (I think)

I’m slowly coming at peace with this new reality, not having work as my source of happiness but rather an income for all the other enjoyable things in my life. Okay, okay, the universe reasons with me, even though I’m still bitter.

I’ve been welcoming the not-so-hot evenings with all the positivity I could summon from my winter lover heart, and I’ve been showing that by regaining the strength to walk to any destination in Beirut instead of getting in a car. So for this Monday evening, I am planning exactly that.

I’ll walk to a bookshop 30mins away from work, buy a book, and then walk right back and hopefully get to my therapy session in time. Let’s see if this will make this Monday any more tolerable.

Hoping you’re having/you’ve had better Mondays.

Posted on

Dear diary, it was Sunday

I’m sitting by the seashore writing this, wearing my cool new sunglasses and drinking my pepsi, feeling like I actually own my life.

I’m listening to music but I won’t tell you what it is. It’s a “cheap” depressing song that I most enjoy in times like this. Makes me nostalgic, with happiness that is close to sadness, because even though this moment is nice, it will end.

But right now, as the wind nestles within my long striped dress, and as I get ready to dip into the sea, I’m learning what it feels like to live in the moment rather than everywhere outside of it.
Let us focus on the warm sun blushing my cheek, and the feeling of sand tickling my feet, and the guy in front of me trying to steady a bottle with the back of his middle finger. Let us stay here, safe, and content.

Virginia Woolf has been running through my mind saying;

“Pale, with dark hair, the one who is coming is melancholy, romantic. And I am arch and fluent and capricious; for he is melancholy, he is romantic. He is here.”

I can’t wait till sunset.

Posted on

It’s 5:30am again.

But this time, I’m happy. I woke up to a text that made it all okay. I woke up at 5:30am and I smiled to myself.

And I couldn’t sleep again because I keep thinking of it, everything. And right now I’m smiling again just remembering. What an odd feeling that is, to be happy because of a word, a gesture, a sense of hope?

Anyway.

I’ve grown to love car cruises. They are a pause from the destinations, from the action, from life at the end of the tunnel. To be moving, unable to work or be as productive, just a small break before we’ll have to go on again,

I love that feeling.

Car cruises have been my favorite thing to do for years; I always ask for a car cruise as a gift for my birthday. And a car cruise doesn’t have to be so hard; we don’t even need to be talking, loud music, and fast speed are I all need to be happy.

Yesterday I had one of those really nice car cruises. Even though there wasn’t any music, but my company was beautiful. We talked and talked and we drove through sunset and the wind was cold. Imagine. Cold air in the middle of this hell weather we have been living in. Nour could not hide her joyful heart.

I’ve had a tough week to say the least, with a sleepless night and a panic attack at 5:30am on Friday, and seeing their beautiful faces yesterday smiling back at me with all the sprinkles and rainbows in the world, it made me feel the grace I thought I have lost last week.

They’re my heroes and I don’t think they know this , but they have saved me so many times from so much pain and anxiety and depression. They’re my heroes.