Hello Old Friend,

 This blog is 10 years old.

I started it in my senior year of high school, back when I was still young, confused, and brimming with potential. Torn between pursuing my passion of becoming a writer, or following the traditional path of getting a degree in the medical field.

Well, the degree happened. I never used it, but I did get it.

I wonder what 18 year-old me would have thought if she knew that 28 year-old me would still be writing here, but also working as a full-time writer.

I'm nothing special, though. There are like 50 more of me at my workplace and some of them are unbelievably good at what they do. But I'm okay with it. I'm okay with not being the best.

Yeah. After years of struggling with what I want to be versus what everyone else expected of me. Years of fighting with all my power just to stay afloat and keep my head above water. Years of hopes and fears and disappointments. Years of gathering all my strength to prevent myself from becoming another cog in this magnificent, grinding machine.

I just let it happen. I stopped grasping at straws and let myself be what I was always meant to be; just another person.

It's crazy but it also isn't. To think how the decisions that 18-year-old made are what brought me to this point of my life where I'm so at peace with being mediocre and seeing it as a positive thing. 

I stopped trying to stand out when swimming against the current for so long absolutely damaged me. Instead, ways to fit in became everything I hoped and dreamed to find. 

It wasn't that hard, either. In fact, it was one of the most liberating things to have ever happened to me, precisely because it happened to me, I had no incentive or hand in doing it.

How funny is it that I'm writing about this without bursting into tears, though? The worst thing I could have imagined happening to me ten years ago is exactly why I'm so at peace today.

Hope that's how I'll be looking at things in 10 years, though.

In the Middle

I'm not even sure whether it's me who's in the way of life, or life is in the way of me.
Periods like the one I'm going through are easily dismissed as "transitional;" something that won't last and probably is leading up to something better. But I have to wonder:
Is it real what we, human people, tell ourselves whenever things get too much to handle or life spurs out of control, that "everything will be alright eventually?" Is it not some random things happening to each of us, the bad and the good? If we tally the good and the bad in each of our lives, are they supposed to magically level off?

Self-pity is pathetic, but it's kind of comforting to know that you sympathize with your own self. I mean, right now as I'm feeling in the way of so many lives, so many happinesses, so much going right for people I care about (including my own self), I kind of like the fact that I'm not hating myself for it.
The way I see it, life also is getting in the way of me being a normally functioning human being. I was not made for waking up at 6:15, toiling my way through life without relishing in the sweet taste of meaningful connection with other human beings. The fakery of smiles and giggles to strangers you work or study with, who think they know you because they know your first name is draining. The weeks spent without good company, with no rush or excitement at the prospect of doing something or seeing someone you love is painful.
Monotony is painful. Loss of passion and purpose is painful. Boredom is deadly.

So I ask for help, and what I get is a concoction of tried and tested formulas of how to be a normal person. How to get your rough ends rounded enough to fit in the nice cookie cutter shape of the ambiguous yet weirdly specific good person. A good student, a good daughter, a good God-follower, a good friend, a good whatever-you-fill-in-the-space. The approach that everyone's going for is: "Well, looks like your life is pretty much a cleared piece of land, so why not build it up the way everyone around you wants you to?!" Sure thang! That's a pretty damn awesome plan, collective mind of the peoples!

I had mentioned in a previous post that my attempts to not get in the way previously prevented me from ever breaking rules or rebelling against authority even in my oh-so-vulnerable teenage years. But goodness gracious! It looks like now, at 21, I'm starting to think to hell with everyone!

Okay, okay. Not that drastically. But I'm getting more and more convinced that as long as I'm not actively trying to hurt someone else, I shouldn't worry too much about what people will make out of my life's decisions. Sure, I may do things I regret later, but it's those things that I might remember when I'm old and gray and think: "Man, I used my stupid young person privilege well!"

One of these stupid things is staying up writing till 3:15 on a school night. Oh well.

Finding my voice

It's quite painful to feel like you've lost your voice. Amidst daily struggles, suffocating routines, and the busyness of people who comprise your support system. It's almost like screaming in a crowded place where no-one can hear anything but their own voice, until they realize just how fruitless it is, and resort to mumbling to themselves instead.

I used to be able to "express" so easily. Thoughts I've had pop in my head at 3 am used to flow in words as if they were being recited to me. I took it for granted for so long until I realized that there is a time when I'll be desperate to articulate my thoughts and fail to do so miserably. Or even worse, to think to myself that what I have to say isn't worthwhile, that my experience as a human doesn't matter and I should just shut the hell up to avoid annoying people about my useless life while they go on with theirs.

I don't know how long it will take for my brain to unwind the damage this warped thought process brought upon me. I'm just sharing this to say I know it won't last, I won't let it.

The Ella Enchanted Syndrome

For my whole life, I've been the goody-two-shoes who follows laws, rules, and regulations with blind obedience. I was told it was best for everyone. I was told it keeps everyone safe, happy, and productive. I was told when things are in order, little could go wrong.

Throughout my almost twenty one years of life, I saw laws being broken, regulations ignored, and people doing whatever the hell they wanted to do, to little or no consequences on the greater good of the society. Sure, many of those instances lead to injustices that affected me directly and personally, but no one else cared and I knew it was best for everyone if I just kept my mouth shut. I realized I bend under pressure and cave in under the unjust rule of tyrannous figures who only cared about that elusive, mysterious "greater good."
And for the very few times I tried to play rebellious and pay no heed to their warnings, all hell broke loose.

This is not to say I got in much trouble, because the last "serious" trouble I ever got into was back in kindergarten when I publicly defied a teacher who didn't like that I talked too much. The situation worked out in my favor after my mother meddled, but ever since I've always thought twice and thrice and a million times before defying authority. Be that the security guard in front of a building who insists on making my life harder because he can, to the teachers, professors, religious leaders, team leaders and so on of the people who have a say on what goes and what doesn't in my life.

I just don't like using uncivil manners, which might seem contradictory to my feisty personality and quick temper. But screaming and using foul language always comes with more internal repercussions than external for me. I have terrible guilt that breaks me down every time I lash out at someone, whether they deserve it or not. Added to the perfectly convenient (hah!) unlikable aura that surrounds me wherever I go, it just makes life pretty hard for me to not be a complete and utter angel. I can't -of course- because I'm human, but my failure to conceal contempt or disgust or any negative feeling there is always makes me dissatisfied with my performance in the system I am currently living in; the system that both repels me and repulses me.

But I'm tired of that. I'm tired of feeling scared all the time lest I step on someone's toes accidentally while I go on living my life. I want, for a change, to not care whether my existence is causing someone trouble or inconvenience. I want to stop caring about everyone's needs and desires, likes and dislikes before my own. I want to stop regarding the laws and rules and unspoken conventions (which failed to protect my rights uncountable times) as sacred laws to be regarded above my personal comfort. I'm tired of being a coward and fearing the consequences of every action I take no matter how trivial and insignificant it is. And I'm tired of being scared to stand up for what I think is best for me, regardless of what people say and rules dictate.

I want to embrace this phase of rebelliousness now that I can, for one day I'll wake up unable to defend my rights that I let go of, when I possessed the voice and energy to stand up for them and receded. 

10 Things I Learned As A Short-haired Girl

I have really curly hair (3b on the curl chart), but for my entire adolescent life, I did everything I could to mask it. I never went outside unless my hair was perfectly straightened or waved, and my poor hair was so co-operative that nobody would believe it when I told them my hair is actually very very curly. I recently got it cut, it's now 12-16 inches shorter in different places, and the plan is to almost never heat treat it; i.e. to go natural.

 Here is some of my newly acquired wisdom regarding hair length (and texture!) on girls...and why it's nobody's business but theirs. 

               

1. My hair before the cut was really really long. Longer than I thought it was due to damage and split ends.

2. All guys love long hair on girls.

3. Most girls wish they could chop all their hair off. They don't because of the former reason.

4. People stare at curly hair as if it were an anomaly, which truly is paradoxical since I live in an African, Middle Eastern country. Tells you a lot about beauty standards.

5. I really really like it. More than I thought I would.

6. Change is really easy for me to adapt to; I feel like I've had my hair this short since forever.

7. People who are really close to you won't filter out their opinions of your appearance. Which means getting a lot of "you're insane" and "you look 40."

8. I spend much less time worrying about how I look, whether I have stray locks or frizz. I know I do, I just don't really care about it anymore.

9. "Going natural" made me realize I can feel beautiful with no maintainance whatseoever. But it also made me appreciate how much effort women put into their looks. It's no easy task for a girl, you know.

10. Personal choices are easy to make if you don't think much about what people would say. If I had thought of every time people would look at my short hair with pity, I probably would have had second thoughts about it.

People still drop sour comments about it and some of them kind of sting, but at the end of the day, I look myself in the mirror feeling beautiful and feeling like myself. I wouldn't trade that for all the "good hair days" in the world if they don't give me that. smile emoticon

Thoughts in the early (morning)

I'm lying on a couch at 5:43 am. I've only been awake since 8 pm last night, which felt like the early morning of my warped day.

I'm unhappy. The most unhappy I remember myself being in a long time. While I know the definite reasons for this unhappiness, I know how they came about and how my recklessness was a major part of that, I keep reminding myself that life's lows are life's lessons.

I can't write very well when I'm happy. I can write fairly well when I'm stable and indifferent, but not when I'm too excited or elated. I write quite well when I'm unhappy or lonely or even depressed and frustrated, and though it's been a while since I posted anything on here, I have been very active on other, more private platforms.Those keep safe the sides of my life that I wish to remain hidden, and also provide the venting I get from writing here.

Having a good memory and a knack for keeping "mementos" from each part of my journey through life had been two of the major things that feed my nostalgia. I would love to travel to the past if possible, but for now small trips down memory lanes suffice. But as of late, they also started to feed a sense of regret for all the times I know I should have acted differently, that could have most likely spared me my current "low." I know I just said right above that lows are lessons, but some lessons are best learned by observation, not trial. I know mending one's broken heart is hard to learn by just observing, but in the midst of all the pain, a few regrets make the red carpet appearance.

Being objective and telling myself I acted in a wrong way when I really should has not always been a merit of mine. I tend to either shake my mistakes off after correcting the done damage, or lie in this endless hole of shame and misery and absolute mortification, blaming my mistakes on my nature rather than my conscious (or unconscious) actions. I don't do self-accountability exactly right, which is a shame because I really need to learn how to.

I don't have a very healthy self-image. I work on that when I'm in a good place mentally and emotionally, but every once in a while a blow to my self-esteem causes me to try to rebuild what was shattered and broken down from the foundation rather than build on it. It gets disheartening at times, but I know it's worth the effort every time I look in the mirror and feel grateful for what I see.

I'm still rather emotionally inclined while making decisions. I appreciate it because it helped me maintain most of my current healthy relationships. It led me to some paths I wish to never tread again, but I'll count it as a blessing in today's solid, rational, materialistic world.

It's quite different for me writing this post, because contrary to my others on this blog, it doesn't revolve around an idea. It's just a bunch of stuff I wanted written down to remind me of my thought process during this time of my life. I'll try to be more frequent in writing on here, because frankly I need it more than anything right now. Although my other platforms which have been either private or anonymous offered some relief at time of need, I think it's about time I got back to being myself.

If you reached the end of this kind of irrelevant post, I truly thank you. Till next time!

Friends or allies?

So I've seen this pic on my news feed several times now and I have a little rebuttal for the argument presented and the very "matter-of-factly" way it's presented in.

Friendship is a voluntary relationship. No one forces anyone to have friends or hang out with completely unrelated people to him just to make this person's day worse...just for the hell of it. We choose our friends, and suppose we do it in a healthy manner, we choose them based on common interests and fields of enjoyment. We choose them to make our days pass by a little better and to share with them our crazy antics and passions. We have so much to talk to them about, and what we talk about is completely unnecessarily related to our separate social lives. We talk sports, music, literature, long walks, health, philosophy...etc. with the occasional banter about current events and/or work and life troubles.

Friendship is optional. You don't have to call a person a friend if you two don't have anything in common. You can resort to acquaintance/colleague to rightfully label a person you don't choose to accompany willingfully. It's totally okay to have this as a circle in your life as a mature adult. You no longer play with the kids in the play ground and call them all your besties the next moment. There are boundaries and correct labels to be used.

However, and this is my main conflict with the picture, you can't really complain about a friend wanting to contact you daily, nor is it possible that you call someone a "friend" and be bothered by their wanting to chat up for a few minutes every other day. Of course we all have the "leave me alone" days in which we feel rather inclined to being solitary, but wanting to be alone and away from people you call your friends is quite an unhealthy sign if you ask me.

Second point in the picture is "if you need me I'll be there," well, it goes in line with the old saying we always hear: "A friend in need is a friend indeed." I want to say that's just not what friendship is for.
Friendship is a mutually enriching experience, it's not "I'm here for you today so you should be there for me tomorrow." It's not a who-repays-whom game. It's not a collection of tough moments in which you had a friend help you or you helped a friend. In fact, people who view friendships this way might suffer such lousy time with their "friends" when nothing crucial (whether good or bad) is happening. A sad sight indeed.
I'll leave the always articulate C. S. Lewis explain this better from his book "The Four Loves." 

" Others again would say that Friendship is extremely useful, perhaps necessary for survival, to the individual. They could produce plenty of authority: "bare is back without brother behind it" and "there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother". But when we speak thus we are using friend to mean "ally". In ordinary usage friend means, or should mean, more than that. A Friend will, to be sure, prove himself to be also an ally when alliance becomes necessary; will lend or give when we are in need, nurse us in sickness, stand up for us among our enemies, do what he can for our widows and orphans. But such good offices are not the stuff of Friendship. The occasions for them are almost interruptions. They are in one way relevant to it, in another not. Relevant, because you would be a false friend if you would not do them when the need arose; irrelevant, because the role of benefactor always remains accidental, even a little alien, to that of Friend. It is almost embarrassing. For Friendship is utterly free from Affection's need to be needed. We are sorry that any gift or loan or night-watching should have been necessary - and now, for heaven's sake, let us forget all about it and go back to the things we really want to do or talk of together. Even gratitude is no enrichment to this love. The stereotyped "Don't mention it" here expresses what we really feel. The mark of perfect Friendship is not that help will be given when the pinch comes (of course it will) but that, having been given, it makes no difference at all. It was a distraction, an anomaly. It was a horrible waste of the time, always too short, that we had together. Perhaps we had only a couple of hours in which to talk and, God bless us, twenty minutes of it has had to be devoted to affairs."

- C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves

L

Twenty (Collective Thoughts from Birthday Week)

Okay, so here it goes...
I turned 20 exactly a week ago. I don't really know how I feel about it, but the immense love I received from so many people (both close to me and just acquaintances) was more than enough to make me feel blessed throughout the whole day. So here's a long due "Thank you!" to everyone who took the time and effort to wish this girl a happy start after a second decade done.

I got into a messy argument with a friend that night. It was not how I imagined my twenties to start, but God only knows what good intentions were put into my actions.
This is all I'm saying about the cause of the state of shock that took over me for the better part of the three days that followed.

I couldn't stay there. I needed to pull my act together both for college, and for a moment I awaited a long long time, the closing ceremony of a civil society project I'd been working on since last July.

When that moment came along, I was very proud of the work my team and I put into the project, and the incredible outcome that I saw in the eyes of everyone, whether staff or participants. Each "thank you" I received reminded me of how much of a privilege it is to be able to help people reach a better understanding of their potentials. And of the impact that the experience, and each and every one I worked with has left in me.

I took a leap of faith to do somethong I always wanted to do, which is sing alone in English in front of a large group of people. I have performed alone before through acting, and I'm already a member of a choir group in my church, but this experience is completely different. I know I don't have the nicest, strongest voice out there, but I also know that a deeply felt song is almost always well-received.
So, I picked "Fix You" by Coldplay. It's a song I truly love. It holds dear memories to me and it's somewhat popular. And I got up there on the stage of the Great Hall in the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, in front of over a thousand people, and sang it.
I wouldn't lie and say I was afraid, because I wasn't. But having tried that feeling is still a big experience for me. I enjoyed that moment despite all the background noise in my head that had my feelings blurred and distorted for the previous few days. I had fun.

So, to wrap it all up, I need to work on my ability to properly react on time. I remember vividly how each situation leaves me feeling, but I need to allow these feelings to show up like they used to.

Words

I've always wondered what my purpose in life was. I don't really know what makes me special, what people like about me, and why my existence is beneficial to other people. The thoughts that I'm inadequate, average, not special and at times a failure still haunt me and get the best of me at times. However and regardless of my person and my fallacies, I found my true gift that I can offer to humanity: my words.

My words may not be the flashiest or the most inspiring, they may not hold the deepest of meanings and the most divine of messages. After all, they're just words...
But my words come from a sincere place. They capture what I'm thinking and feeling and offer it on a silver plate to whomever is reading them. They're the essence of my being and the fruit of my experience, the only thing that I can't forge or fake; me.

I understand that by sharing my thoughts I'm making myself vulnerable and weak. But aren't we all just that? No matter how hard we try to conceal it and how special we seem, we're all that helpless little child that wants to feel safe and accepted, that seeks approval and love wherever they're found.

Words are a powerful tool and a sacred gift, but they're also all I have. So I'll keep on filling my soul till it pours out, and maybe the flood will quench some stranger's thirst.