Feathers

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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Tagged by Big Pearls:)



These are the rules:


1. Link the person(s) who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.




Quirks:


1- I don't eat gum. It disgusts me.

2- Sometimes, the characters in the books I read rub off on me, and I can't stop feeling what they're feeling until I sleep it off.

3- Music anytime anywhere sets me in motion whether physically or mentally.

4- I can look at myself in the mirror for hours.

5- I'm scared of throwing up.

6- Odd numbers, out of place hair, and noisy images (ex: a girl wearing leopard print from head to toe) annoy me.




I tag:

Sou
F.
Angel
Hussain
Kay Knight
N.

"I'll be you soon enough!"

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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I wasn't going to post the other two parts of "Psyche", but Soul ask for them. So, if you want to read the first part, click here, and here it goes:

"Psyche" II

The Genpet's mind is full of questions and answers. Who is this creature? Is this my master? Why is this strange being hovering over my head? Can it see into my existence? Can it read my thoughts?

My eyelids flutter. The beautiful creature is looking past my eyes. It is losing itself in my existence. Is there a way in which I can change my thoughts to affect hers?

I am perfect. I am beautiful. I am spiritual. What does that mean? I am spiritual? Why have I been conditioned to repeat that word in my head? Spiritual… Does it mean that I have a spirit? Do I have a spirit? What am I? What is the purpose of my existence?

Something within tells me that I am new, that there is a definite number of my kind. This number can increase. However, the result will be unknown. I wince at these thoughts. Am I betraying myself and my kind by thinking these thoughts? Again, can this creature roaming in my world read my thoughts and understand them fully? I gasp. It doesn't really come out as a gasp. It's just meant to be a gasp. A gasp of realization. A moment of epiphany.

I don't know what I am here for. I don’t know what spirituality is, yet I am expected to fulfill that as the time of my existence increases and then… Will I cease to exist? What is there after this confusing existence? What was before it? I glance down at myself. Perhaps, I can make sense of my physical nature.

My physical appearance seems similar to my observer. It does not move even though I am moving. I place my feet one before the other curious at the sound they will make when they hit the floor. The creature's gaze doesn't follow me…

***

And since I like being introduced to new/different music (mostly by J, Sou, Aj, and The Archer), I have to post this video from the CD J made me. I usually prefer male vocals, but this girl passed my test;)

Morphology&Syntax?

I want to...

SCREAM!

But instead I...

Image from DeviantART

It's late..

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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My mom needs to stop forcing me to eat.

If I change my name and move to Mexico, would it make a difference?

How about.. if I traded my life with Plainly?

My minor turned out to be taught in Arabic.

Define criminal.

I realized that I look and act nothing like my dad's side of the family. Actually, there is one thing, I share one eating habit with one of my uncles.

I wonder what the grandmother I never met would think of this blog.

I think a lot of people have a not so accurate idea of what it means to be liberal.

Ever wondered what you're stereotyped as? And if you live up to it?

I share a calculator with my father.

Is it possible to steal feelings?

So, who doesn't wear a mask?

Memory: I walk up a pedestrian road with my head down. Bag banging the side of my right leg, coffee in hand. The sun isn't up, yet. It's freezing. There's a cold fog. I sense someone approaching me, and I look up. She talks to me in Swedish. I shrug. She takes out a brochure of a health clinic. I turn it over. Yes, I know where it is. I tell her to follow me. It's on my way, anyway. We walk in silence. It was weird. When we got to the place, she smiled at me strangely and walked away. She didn't say a word. I wonder what happened to her.

For the first time in my life, Pop Art made me cry!

I'll use the 9 days of break to come to terms with my apparently psychotic self.

I'm listening to Savoretti intensively these days. I need to stop and try something new.

Finals have started. I'm so uncomfortable in that period. A break that isn't really a break. Oh, and my first finals without coffee. I'm curious how that would go.

If only I could scream loud enough for the whole world to hear...

This video is amazing. I can't stop watching it. The part where he wipes the tear, and the paint reappears... Damn! It's just so satisfying!

Forty-one!

"Life is sweetest before the feelings are awake - until one learns to know joy and pain."

-Sophocles

Thanks, J;*

After what?

I'm sitting in the living room reading Invitation to a Beheading. I'm indulging myself after a long day, and Nabokov is painting colors and feelings in my mind and heart.

Mom: Did you have lunch?

Me: *looking up* No, I'm not hungry.

Mom: When was the last time you ate?

Me: I had a little piece of cookie at around noon.

Mom: When was the last time you ate?

Me: Yesterday, I think?

Mom: Are you becoming an anorexic?

Me: Anorexics don't eat ice cream.

---

Bro1: Why are you wearing black?

Me: I'm only half dressed. I was wearing white, too.

Bro1: You look weird!

Me: *looking down at my cotton black dress* Okay?

Bro1: Go change!

Me: Huh?

Bro1: You look like a psychotic version of you!

---

Dad: Are you going to have lunch?

Me: I don't know. I need to shower before I decide.

Dad: You didn't shower?

Me: Is my hair wet?

Dad: Why are you here reading then?

Me: I'm escaping reality for two minutes.

Dad: *Laughs* Why?

Me: Because I'm tired, and I don't want to think of all the things I have to do.

Dad: I wonder what would happen if your books finished.

Me: That's why they won't. They like to keep you wondering.

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Bro2: Hey!

Me: Hey..

Bro2: What are you reading?

Me: A Nabokov that wouldn't interest you

Bro2: Why?

Me: Because it interests me!

Bro2: No, I meant why wouldn't it interest me?

Me: Yeah, that's what I answered.

Btw, my brother doesn't read. If a book "interests" him, I read for him.

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Next time, I'll just read in my room.

My Own Little Hypocrisy

Check out the baby's face at the very end;p

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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Every time I babysit my cousin's kids, they ask me to tell them a story. I have a thing with storytelling. I fine it hard to tell them the common fairytales. Usually, I turn to Hans Christian Andersen. However, last week, my cousin's boy kept insisting I tell him "qesat eltheeb." And, so I did. I sat there telling him three different wolf stories.

Later, I thought about when he will realize that if a wolf does eat someone, you can't cut up his tummy and get the person he swallowed out. How about princesses? Not all pretty girls will find a prince charming. They'll grow up believing that until they are slapped in the face by an inconsiderate male. Again, they'll find out that nothing ends in a complete happily ever after, if there is a happily ever after at all.

I remembered my days as a kid when I used to question all the events in the story. People stopped telling me stories. My parents started buying me books. That didn't really stop the questions. And for the longest time, I believed that only evil people felt pain. And now, I realize that there is no prince charming that can handle the extent of emotion that a damsel in distress goes through.

So, why do we tell these stories to our kids? Why do we paint a world with rainbows and butterflies that weren't caterpillars? Why do we teach them that evil can be undone when it can't?

Next time, I'll make sure I twist the stories, so that they are less misleading...

---

Don't you just love this version of Chopin's "Fantasie Impromptu?" The best I've heard yet...

She killed my birds!

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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She goes out for a drive. An hour and a half of sleep did not allow her to sleep off any of her thoughts. She drives with her windows down, hoping some of her thoughts would fly out the window. She wonders how her thoughts would mark the road if they were to fly out. She smiles at the thought of streaking the roads with fiery magenta, serene turquoise, and hopeful violet.

She looks down at her white pants and white shirt. She wishes her life could be that white. It is pure, but it is not blank nor simple. Far from it. She glances at her puffy eyes in the rearview mirror. She knows she looks drained. Is there anything she can do about it? Probably not.

She parks in the middle of nowhere. She is very lost, but she does not care. She steps out of the car and leans on it. There's a soft hot breeze blowing. Her shirt is caught in wisps of air. She looks down. Her feet, in white flip flops, seem ugly. There's nothing interesting to see. But what could be interesting anyway? She does not even know where she is. Ridiculous.

A few more minutes and she's back in the car. She does not know where to go. The windows are still down. Music plays, but the volume is three. She knows the music well. There is no need to increase the volume and have the whole world hear it. She starts the engine and takes a deep breath.

She drives aimlessly. She does not make an effort to look for clues on where she should go. She is out of credit. She does not even want to call anyone and ask for directions. She drives checking off thoughts in her mind, ending each one with a sense of closure. That way, there is more of a chance she can get some sleep when she gets home. If she gets home.

An hour later, she is singing along with the music that is playing: "Mr. Therapy Man how can I live on?" She is heading home, now, her body covered with a light shiny film of sweat. She knows where to go. She could not care less about her tear-streaked face or her crumpled shirt. Her family has already noticed that her life has shifted in a way.

She walks through the big door of where she lives. She wipes her face with her sleeves and puts on a sincere smile. She hugs her parents and playfully punches her brothers. Her parents ask her where she went. She looks up and says, "Nowhere, I was just around the corner the whole time." They exchange a look. They know she is lying, but they do not ask anymore questions. So, she heads upstairs.

She takes off the only pants that fit her perfectly after her weight loss and walks over to her special chair. What now? She picks up a book her friend has lent her. No, she is not in the mood for disturbing stories. She gets up and throws herself on her bed. She lies there with her eyes closed for a while. No sleep. She gets up again and signs in from the laptop. The only person she can talk to is online. But what does she say? She says nothing that has been on her mind for a long time now. She silences her thoughts and stays uncomfortable in her own skin. She ignores her restlessness and stares at and through the screen.

She shrugs every once in a while. As if she is shrugging off all her worries. And she takes a deep breath after she shrugs. As if she is cleansing her soul. And after that, she smiles. As if the world does not know what is behind her sincere smile. So, she laughs at herself. Not in pity, but in wonder.

.

---

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And this made me angry.

Impromptu Life

[UPDATE] Since many liked the idea, I tag The Archer for an "I am" post;)

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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A puts me through this every once in a while. This is the most recent. And I love how A is a mystery on this blog;)

I am. I am the little girl who broke her arm in second grade because her cousin lent her roller skates that were too big for her. I am the lady who observes passers by in wonder because they have a life just like and just not like hers. I am the person with a purple internal self. I am the girl who asked her mom if everyone in the world will feel pain. I am the little girl who refuses to cry in front of people, and when she does, she denies it with tears rolling down her cheeks. I am the woman who isn't afraid to cry when she's alone. I am the little girl who stares through people she can't understand. I am the girl whose hand is shaky when she's upset. I am the friend who won't let her friend take antidepressants. I am the woman who doesn't want to go back to being emotionally safe. I am the control freak who needs anxiety pills. I am the girl who learned to bottle things up and not spill them. I am the woman who misplaced her heart somewhere down the road. I am the girl who smiles through her fears and disappointments. I am the little girl who cried for her dad when she had a nightmare as a teenager. I am the lady who blinks back pity when the person she's talking to looks into her eyes. I am the friend who pushes her issues aside to play therapist. I am the person typing this without doubt.

A, okay? Anything else?

---

To watch the actual video, click here. Embedding is disabled;\

Zendagi Migzara

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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"Psyche"

The new packaged Genpet sits on her desk. She looks at it, hesitating whether or not she should free this thing from its plastic packaging. Her dad must be crazy for buying such a grotesque looking half-living creature. She can actually bring it to life, but does she want to?

She keeps staring at it. The Genpet looks like a peaceful sleeping baby. She imagines that the ugliest baby is better looking than the most beautiful Genpet. She gets out of bed and walks closer to her desk. She gazes at the package. The top right of the package is marked with a heart monitor. Under the pulse is a block of pink with the word "Spiritual" embedded in white. Spiritual? She smirks at the word. This hideous animal-like bio-engineered product is capable of being spiritual?

She has always believed that spirituality is something limited to humans. Will this Genpet have a spirit once she brings it to life? Will it have spirit enough to be "spiritual" like the package says? Will it surpass mere physical existence? The thoughts roll in and out of her head continuously, mentally draining her.

She goes to her bed and lies down, still staring at the bizarre restrained creature that could be set free easily. Maybe too easily? At that, she drifts off into transparent sleep. Her threads of thought weave and unweave to stitch together a quilt of events.

The pulse on the heart monitor slides horizontally. She blinks to make sure. Yes, the Genpet's heart monitor is pulsating. The Genpet blinks, too. Its eyelids glide up to reveal piercing ice blue eyes. Its eyes are as profound as a human's. Does this profoundness advocate its spirituality? She keeps wondering as she unties the chains on its limbs.

The Genpet moves. She registers every baby move it makes. It walks on two feet rather than on all four like animals. It's more human-like than any animal she has ever seen. Is it meant to resemble human beings? Does its mind function like mine?

Suddenly, she finds herself in complete darkness. She doesn't know it, but she is in the mind of the Genpet. The place is pitch black for a while. She blinks several times before she can see dots of soft pink light. She walks towards them.

* * *

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Yes, it's too long for one go. I'll post the next two parts later.

Sabre Tooth

It's just not the same...

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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Do you know how it feels fighting for something logical and nonsensical all at once? Contradicting yourself, or who you thought you were all along, and then, realizing that you're up against your whole life rather than just one simple issue? Having a moment of epiphany which shows you that life shouldn't be conditioned? I'm so mentally and emotionally TIRED!

Oh, and screw migraines. The vein next to my right eye is popping out, and it looks damn ugly!

On a lighter note (sarcastically), this is just plain old OUCH! I sure as hell hope she feels better. I just despise entertaining such thoughts and feelings even though they're there. Cruel world is an understatement. On another (not so sarcastic) lighter note, I still think I'll be happy. Pathetic, I know...

---

Anyways, one of my professors decided that we write a short story about Genpets instead of a midterm. So, here, here, and here are a few links before I share my squeezed out during writer's block short story.

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I better go work and study.

Have I mentioned that I have a witch of a migraine?

Indifferent, really

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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It truly feels like summer. Cold AC. Minimum clothing. Fresh bed covers. Good books. No routine. Just me in bed. Reading and sleeping without a sense of time. Until school happens.

---

I've been asked...

[Day of elections]

Woman: Why aren't you married?

Me: I'll marry when I can vote! *FAJ2A!*



Mom: Hathi benti.

Dr. N: Oh! *shocked look* Mashallah et`habel!

Me: Heh? *thinking why she's surprised that I look good*



Girl: Laish ma tebtasmain?

Me: *Stares*

Girl: Hehehe, et`tha7keen!

Me: *Walks away thinking why strangers are asking weird questions*



Old lady: Bentech cham 3umirha? *looking at my cousin's daughter*

Me: Hehe, bent bent khalti, kamelat 3yrs.

Old lady: Wentay wain e3yalech?

Me: Ana mu metzawja:)

Old lady: Haw, ya 7afeth, sh7aga? Elreyayeel 3emyan?!

Me: Taw elnass:)

Old lady: Laish taw elnass?! Ana youm kent kubrech kan 3endi 3ala elaqal 3 yahal...

Me: *Mental eye-rolling fiesta*



Lady: Hatha semach wela deyay? *pointing at something in the buffet*

Me: Deyay w dakhla sabanekh:)

Lady: Ya 7elwech bas!

Me: *Huh?*



My mom: Wayhech ta3ban.

Me: Adri.

My mom: Ee saway shay, tadreen w chethi 9ayer?

Me: Ee, cuz ma etyeeni nouma w wayed a7es 3endi ashya2.

My mom: Ee, namay!

Me: Ma etyeeni nouma!

My mom: Haw, ensad7ay befrashech w sakray 3ainech w betyeech elnouma bedal ma lazga elketab b wayhech w tegrain..

Me: Yumma, 7bbti, ana ma agra ela 3ugb ma ansede7 sa3a wana emsakra 3aini w ashouf eni mara7 anam. Kel wa7ed y3arf nafsa..

My mom: Betrou7een 7ag istiqbal ********?

Me: La:)

My mom: Laish? Mu ahalech?!

Me: Embala ahali, fi blood bas ma a3arefhum.. Arou7 abarek 7g meno?

My mom: Haw, rou7ay w ta3arefay!

Me: Mabi azeed my circle of acquaintances, mashkoooooooora. Khasa mn 6araf ahalech, law sema7tay. Kelkum etsawoun 3azayem ezyada 3n el lezoum. Mabi an3ezem;\

My mom: Madry entay 6al3a 3ala meno!

Me: Uuuhhh, ana adri! Athakrech b da3wat omech?



Complete stranger: I like your shoes.

Me: Thank you *quizzical glance*

Complete stranger: What do you study?

Me: Literature *friendly smile*

Complete stranger: Thought so:)

Me: How come?

Complete stranger: Your shoes! *like it's obvious and I'm stupid for not getting it*

Me: *Nervous laugh* Right! *Walks away hoping we're not introduced later on*

Weird?

Laish ma tebtasmain?

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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Waiting patiently for the results of the elections...

---

I sit cross-legged on my bed surrounded with marked books, newspaper clippings, and papers. I go through them one by one, willing myself to comprehend the world. A motorcycle accident I witnessed years ago flashes through my mind when I glance at the article. An article about how people prefer "The Road Not Taken" triggers a series of thirsty questions. A book about a lady Burned Alive in her own country due to social chains brings to mind the many that have gone and are going through what she has. And then, I remember a book that I never got back, One Hundred Years of Solitude, and I smile at the magic of Macondo. I turn to the piles of paper, and I hesitate. I pick one up.

I read something I wrote ages ago. I am the same different person, now. Funny how the pages tell me that I was lost back then, as well. In a different way, of course. I pick another paper up. It ends with "Why not?" I remember the many times I said that in order to justify my reading. I pick another paper up. A definition of beauty. That hasn't changed. Slight alterations in my choice of words. I pick another one up. I blink twice. I smile. I tear up. I still smile.

I can never forget those days. The days I was challenged to answer questions about my existence, my life, and my purpose. Each question is written with a sophisticated hand. Then, the answer. The answers. Like the rules demanded, in blue or black ink. No corrections. If a thought seems incomplete, put a period. Go on. Don't scratch things out. Leave them the way they are. This way, I'll learn who I am. I read them all. Every single word.

I haven't changed. Not really.

The Kite Runner

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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Setting: A frequently visited library in the house of A. The windows are open despite the heat. Both A and I are sitting on the floor, their legs stretched out in front of them, their backs to opposing walls. The smell of Chinese noodles merges with the smell of dusty books. There's music playing in the background of their conversation. The color of the scene is blue.

A: So, what happened to you?

I: What happened to me?

A: Yeah, what happened to you?

I: You weren't there for me when everything happened. Why do you feel like you have the right to know?

A: I wasn't there for you because you were being stubborn.

I: Accusations will only lead to another fight...

A: So, what changed you?

I: I'm not changed. I'm just a bit more grown up. *cracks a sincere smile*

A: *Raises an eyebrow* And you're a bit more grown up because?

I: Because life's cruel?

A: Life's cruel? What've you been living since you were born?

I: Some strange reality?

A: Called life?

I: Called the attempt of life?

A: *Laughs*

I: What?

A: You never give up!

I: Why would I?

A: Because I'm trying to break the ice and get you to spill!

I: There is no ice. It melted the moment I agreed to seeing you, darling. Now, I refuse to spill.

A: Okay, give me an idea of what happened.

I: Something unpredictable happened, and it brought out a different side of me.

A: That's it?

I: That's it.

*Silence. A is staring at I. I is pretending to read her book. She's staring at the page, and her mind is wandering to some other place. She snaps back to reality when A coughs.*

I: Why are you staring at me?

A: I'm trying to read you.

I: You can't.

A: Why not?

I: Because what you're trying to read is gone. I let it all out last week before closure. *laughs nervously*

A: Does that mean you're happy now?

I: Why should it?

*Silence again, and like the previous silence, I pretends to read her book, and A stares at her.*

A: We never talked like this before.

I: Yeah, we did! The time you were trying to get me to understand where I would be crossing the line of "social boundaries".

A: *Laughs loudly* That doesn't count. You were upset.

I: I wasn't upset. You weren't explaining things correctly.

A: I didn't know what exactly there was to explain.

I: *Grins* Exactly, you were bullshitting philosophically 3ala rasi!

A: *Laughs again*

I: Hmm?

A: It wasn't meant to be like that.

I: But it turned out that way, now, apologize for confusing me even further instead of straightening things out!

A: *Still laughing* Ridiculous!

I: Hehehe, I know.

A: Read aloud.

I: I don't feel like it.

A: Read dramatically, feel it.

I: Mali khelg. I can't.

A: Mu bkaifech!

I: Fine, but not this book. Let me get something else from the shelves.

A: Poetry?

I: Arabic or English?

A: Shayfa wayhech tabeen tegrainli 3arabi?!

I: *Cracks up* I can do Elyah Abu Mathi really well!

A: 9alay 3al nebi bas.. Pick something else.

I: *Walking around, looking at the shelves* Walt Whitman?

A: Whitman will do.

I: *Leans on the shelf and opens up to her favorite part*

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you..."

*A few minutes later*

"A Phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,
The genius of poets of old lands,
As to me directing like flame its eyes,
With finger pointing to many immortal songs,
And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said;"

*Still later*

"But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead."

*Later, after the Whitman has ceased to delay A's curiousity any further*

A: So, what happened to you?

I: You can't be serious.. Now, who do you feel bad for more, the Captain or the persona?

A: The Captain. You're ignoring my question.

I: Why the Captain? Yes, I'm ignoring your question.. Intentionally.

A: *Stares at I helplessly* You're shutting me off.

I: I know. Will it comfort you if I tell you that you're not the only person I'm shutting off when it comes to this?

A: No. I'm not one of your friends.

I: I know. I could tell a stranger, A, but I can't tell you or anyone who knows me as well as you do.

A: You're scared.

I: Terrified. And I won't let you in. You'll only make things worse.

* A walks over*

I: Please, don't touch me. I'm okay. I'll be fine.

A: Okay.

I: *Smiles* You read for me this time. *Handing over a book to A*

A: *Takes in a deep breath and sits on the floor at I's feet*

"She had read my newspaper articles, my stories, and my only novel... Yet I did nothing but elude the traps of nostalgia with the mean-spirited cowardice that only men are capable of..."

3atham Allah Ajerkum

90% C.I.

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

---

A bits and pieces post.. I am feeling much better. I've been able to clear my head and come to terms with myself. Thinking positive...

---

What is it about the world that we fail to understand? What is it about life, then?


Life as I have come to understand it is a series of unpredictable events. Some good. Some bad. Some somewhere in between. However, I see everything as somewhere in between. I don't know how to explain it. So, I won't kill my mind trying.


Moving on... I've decided to be happy. Even if it means sweeping certain events and feelings under the rug. I don't care how long it takes. I've also decided that I will take on the damage any of the sweeping will cause later on. That is, if I allow any damage to happen. It seems to me from my previous statement that I truly have my life under control although it was all over the place the past few months.


I really never thought I could be this weak with emotions. Ravished by overwhelming unfamiliarity. Possessiveness. Everything beautiful. All at once. Again, it's overwhelming. At least I'm elevated in a good way at the moment.

---

She smiles at him. Helpless. Not knowing what to think or say or how to act around him anymore. She's at loss for words. She can't remember how she used to be because she was herself. Now, what?


Something is bringing her down. Negative thoughts are swirling in her head. Confusion on who she is is overwhelming her. But.. there is a sense of relief. Where does it come from? She mentally shrugs because she can't let people know that she is conversing with herself in her mind.


It's him and his ways that save her from screwing her life some more. She feels guilty for being the cause of his worry. She just couldn't help it. Really.


He's smiling back. And she's wondering what he's thinking...

Hiatus?

BEFORE

.

A few nights ago, I went to a dinner I was invited to. I decided to be observant. I was tired, and being quiet and reflective wasn't a challenge. I took on the role of Nick Carraway in Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby.
That was fun. Really. How people look at other people. How they smile at each other. How they eat, punishing their food for what other people are saying. Strange. Everything changes when you withdraw and look at the scenario as a member of the audience. A person who is watching a "slice of life."

---

Is any girl reading this an only daughter? Do you get dragged to social events? Forced to attend 3azayem? Have your outfits been checked and double-checked? Your make up and hair scrutinized? Please say yes. Otherwise, blekh!

---

More pictures that express how I feel. I'm doing this because I don't think I'm willing to find words to describe what's going on inside.

AFTER

I cried last night. My silent tears soon turned into loud muffled sobs. I cried with my whole body. I cried so physically hard, it took me two hours to muster enough energy to get out of bed.

I have a migraine.

Don't ask what happened. Don't expect much the next few days. I'm at complete loss for words.

Hubris

This reminded me of some friends of mine. You know who you are. The ones who do weed impressions mn elseb7, ask me if I got them "the stuff", w *cough* elbaji 3arfeen rou7kum. Good times. Lol, a7ebkum;*

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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He sits in his car. He contemplates getting out to see her. She's always there. Sitting and laughing with her friends. Talking about how men do women wrong. Covering her mouth with her fingers when she eats. She makes him nervous. That stiff concrete wall of confidence she is building between his attempts to approach her and herself.

He turns the car key to silence the engine. He's only a two minute walk away from her. From her alluring eyes and suggesting smile. He smiles as the image of her lights up the dark room of his mind. The light shines through the thick black walls of his skull and through his eyes. His eyes glint. He realizes that his palms are sweaty. Is he that nervous? Why does the thought of her fill him with the impatience of seeing her? He hits the steering wheel with a fist of determination.

He locks his car and listens to the sound his steps are about to make when they hit the gravel. He checks his reflection in one of the windows. His laid-back style, unshaven face, and profound eyes stare back at him. Nothing seems to be good enough for her. He walks in through the door. His heart skips a beat. She's there in her white glory. He greets the group of people sitting at her table. Yes, it's her table. She rules the world in his eyes. She smiles and nods at him. He gazes into her eyes. She's not looking at him anymore. But he gazes into her eyes.

He sits at the table. Not really there. Able to make the right talk at the right time. Yet, he feels like he is there to simply watch. He watches her eyelashes flutter, hiding then revealing the magic of her looks. He watches her lips curl to reveal straight white teeth. He watches how her fingers fly up to her mouth after she takes a bite of her food. He watches her play with her necklace, rings, and phone. Fidgeting while absorbed in indulging herself in ways to express her thoughts. He watches her cheeks blush gently and gradually when she realizes that he is watching her.

Soon, she gets up to leave. She is asked to stay by many, but she insists that she has to leave. She gives logical yet usatisfactory reasons for her departure. He sighs in anticipation of a hint on when and where he will see her again. As usual, she leaves him suspended in mid-sigh. He'll never have enough of her.

She leaves him there, basking in the delirium of her aftermath..

"I'm a good girl, I am!"

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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If you haven't watched this, yet. Please do;p

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YA JIMA3A BULLETI W OUTKASTY MASEKHOUHA! WELA SHRAYKUM?!;\

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Images that express how I feel..

Archimedes' Eureka

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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I chide my insomniac self. Staying up all night, thoughts swimming around in my head. That can't be good. Right? When the thoughts get too intense, too confusing, I pick up a book. Only to find out that it increases the profoundness of the thoughts that I am trying to get rid of. At times, I meditate. And for a while, my mind is blank of everything except a nonexistant spot hanging in mid air and the sound of my systematic breath. But.. only for a while.

I wake my sleeping phone. I decide to call someone who would exhaust me mentally until I feel sleepy enough to close my eyes and get lost. It's not difficult to decide who to call. But then, I hesitate. How selfish of me to disturb other people in the middle of the night or at the break of dawn! I kill my phone again.

Then I realize that only one thing will cure this thought addiction. I walk over to my shelves. I take a pencil and tap it against my pouted lips while I look for paper. Should I write in one of my notebooks or on loose leaf? I smirk at myself. Why is that so important?

I sit on my bed. I tap the pencil against one of the numerous scattered pillows. I can't write. Too many thoughts. Too many ideas. Too much to spill. Too much. I try to scribble until I come up with something that makes sense... Nothing. Not one thing. Not even a sentence fragment.

I sigh and push back my freshly cut bangs. The strands rush back home. Then, I do what I always do. I bite down on the end of the pencil. And I curl a strand of hair around my index finger. Over and over and over again. And my mind starts functioning under the magical combination of stress and insomnia. Generating thoughts. Putting them in order. Evaluating them. Making sure they aren't nonsensical.

Ha! I take the pencil out of my mouth. My mom would be appalled at all those bite marks. I put it against the paper. And I write... I write this. I spill out the daily routine resulting from my confusion. Who am I, really?

"Men"

I love my friends. Really. Not because it's that time of the month. I love them for dealing with my crappy identity crisis. I love them for being crazy with me when I feel like it. I love them for listening when I don't really have anything to say. I love them for all the comfortable silences that we don't have to fill even if it's on the phone. Yes, silent phone conversations. Do you mind?! I love them for understanding me without me having to say much or anything even. I love them for being themselves in this strange world. A7ebkum yal zift w 7ada thank you;*

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My answer to the previous post would be either:

I think, therefore I write.

OR

I think, therefore I cry.

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I lie in bed. One hand turning my mobile over on its sides. The other hand curling a strand of my hair. And I think. I think, therefore I write.

Strange, isn't it? This world. It's just confusing. And it's confusing me. And it's questioning everything I do, believe, think, or say. Why?! Why everything?!

Why does everything have to be so right and wrong at the same time? Why do my loved ones have to go through heartbreak after heartbreak? Why can't I make people who are down feel better? Why do I cry when it's not me who's going through hardships? Why are the rules of society ridiculously stupid? Why is literature underrated?!

I sigh. I turn over my mobile some more. I let it slide through my fingers. I turn it over some more. Silence. Just my phone against the covers. And in my head. Just my phone against the covers. And then, in my head, it's me breathing. It's me existing. It's not me confusing myself on why the world is the way it is. It's just me.. alive.

I continued this, but the laptop crashed, and it didn't save. So, now.. It's gone.

Passion

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

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I've been intending to post some of my writing for a while, now. However, I feel like crap. I've been throwing up since last night. I have no energy to think. So, instead.. You will be the unfortunate victims of another sentence completion thing that I've been wanting to ask since forever.

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Rene Descartes said, "I think, therefore I am."

You say, "I think, therefore I..."

Surprise me.

P.S. There are no rules. I'll share mine when you guys are done, but you are free to guess;)