السلام

أضحك, يسمعني الأطرش فيرقُص, يراه الأعمي فيرسٍم لوحة تُعجٍب الأخرس فيُغني لينام الطفل ويختفي الدخان في هواء المدينة وتدوب الدماء في بحرها. أدعي في وسط كُفري وأوعي في وسط سُكري وأسرح في الزحام. 

Train of thoughts

I don't like crying in front of anyone. Not even in front of the mirror. I can't forget what my father said because it hurt then. And it still hurts now but not as much. The way you looked at me, you like me. Or you're doing a good job pretending you do. I'm fun and I laugh and I joke and I ask where are you from but all the time I'm thinking you don't know the rage I'm hiding with that high pitch laugh of mine, do you? He looks at me and says "Oh, poor girl, you're a hundred miles away" then he turns around and leaves. Tears begin to fill right away. It has nothing to do with you, or with him, or with my father. It has everything to do with me, with the conflicts inside my head, with the questions left unanswered, with the people and their excuses and their 'I never meant to hurt you'-s and their self centered treacherous nature and the brick walls I lean on and discover they're only thin paper and how weak I am. And how strong I can be. But the way you looked at me, you like me. Or you're dong a good job pretending you do.

..

لا أريد سماع شرحك المتناهي ولكني أخشي الندم فيما بعد إذا إفتقدتك للجنة أن يمُر يوم أتمني فيه سماع صوتك الذي يزعج أفكاري الآن و أفتقد نَفَسَك المُعبَئ برائحة السجائر القبيحة, لذلك أستمع ولا أنصِت فسامحني كما سامحتك علي تقييد يداي ولو إني أعرف أن الحياة ستثبت صواب وجهة نظرك يا أبي. 

Crush

Heart is wrapped in a plastic bag. Beautiful eyes. I like you. I push that strand of hair away to see you properly while hoping I look good pushing it away. I don't like your shoes but I like the way you walk. I like your eyes but I don't like your vision. I'm thinking you'll hurt me one day or another, one way or another. You'll prove me right. I want you to come with me watch the fireworks on the sea front but then what good will I get when I run away later on. I'll run away for certain, I know myself. The way you were brought up doesn't match my upbringing. It's romantic to think we can face this together but we won't. I didn't see enough successful love stories to have hope. I don't wanna have hope and then hurt myself. It's always easier to run. Tell me what music do you listen to? See? We don't suit each other. How stupid is it to judge a person on their music taste? I don't like when you agree with me because I don't agree with myself for the most part. How do I tell you I like you but I want nothing out of this? I don't. And I won't. Heart is wrapped in a plastic bag. 

أنتَ

أُحِب غضبك وسُخطك وبقايا براءتك وبداية نضوجك وصدمتك وخيبة أملَك ,ولكِن لا أحِبُك أنت. 

غفوة

   هاجرت بخيالي لمكانٍ بعيد ولكِن مسافته كانت بأكملها داخل رأسي وكُنت أفكر في أشياء لا أذكُر منها شيء الآن ولكِني سأتذكر تفاصيلها عندما يحِل النوم علي جفوني ويبدأ عقلي يفيق ليلاً ويتركني تائهة. سافرت بعيدا عن واقعي.

    فجأة سمعت صوت إهتز له جسمي و إرتعش له قلبي وتركني، مثل أي شىء يترُكني، خائفة وهو يحملني إلي الواقع. وصَل فكري لمكان وزمان وجود جسدي لأدرك إن الصوت صدر من أبي، الذي أخشي فراقه، عندما وقعت من يدهِ زجاجة فارغة لم تتحطم على الرغم من سقوطها من على ارتفاع كبير. إكتشفت لحظتها إني أندهِش بصورة مبالغ فيها وذلك لأني أستمع بدِقة لكل صوت يهمِس في رأسي وبالتالي يتضخم كل صوت أسمعه خارجها.
   كانت أذناي بدأت في إسترجاع حاستِها السمعية, عندها أنصَت لأبي وهو يقول 'الطيبون للطيبات'.
   لا أعلم . 

Fleeting moment

Hangout, we all look good, smell fine, ordering food, cool beverages, or maybe hot drinks. Side talks, small conversation, fun, laughter, smiles, sharp shrieks, jokes, laughter, loud laughter.. freeze

Who are they? How do I know them? How did I get here? She looks so beautiful, oh my god she looks so pretty. I wonder if he admires her beauty but never tells me? How do I look like now? Is my hair messed up as always? Zoom on his mustache. His mouth is moving, I think he's talking to someone, maybe he's talking to me but I can't listen, I hear him but I can't listen. His mustache is so distracting,  it is disgusting that hair grows out of our skin, I mean what the hell? Disgusting, and there's something between his teeth, he's talking again. I don't wanna talk to him, I don't wanna listen either but I like the way his jaws move. It is so masculine. I think I hate him, I don't exactly know him. Does her beauty prevents her from crying without any obvious reason like I do sometimes? Does she trust people? How does he see me? Oh my god, why is she so ugly, her face is so tall, she looks like a fish. I fucking hate her because she hurt me last year when we were in class. I like his shirt. His shirts are always wrinkled. I think his parents aren't on good terms, it shows. I've never met them though. His mouth is moving again, now I'm sure, he is talking to me. We're all gonna die someday. Why are we laughing? Everything is subtle. Trivial. Irrelevant. And we're dressed up and shit. I don't wanna be here. It's not that I hate them, it's just that I don't know them. At all. I can hear my name again in a bored tone. Seems like it was on repeat.. 

"Yes, yes..what?"

laughter, I feel young. That was so funny. Smiles. I'm actually happy. Side talks. I love them, we're good. Laughter, loud laughter. 

Transient thoughts

Thought

  You are basically just a sperm who made its way to life, a coincidence, a possibility that developed into a human like million others which makes you a complete nothing, a soul that is unintentionally living and will unwillingly die. So you're alone, you're suspended, you're a dust particle in the evil wind and nothing you do will matter, no decision you take will differ. 

Contradictory thought

 You're the center of the universe, everything revolves around you. People are just actors in your life which is a big god-sent test, so either you fail or pass and accordingly enter hell or heaven afterwards. Once you leave the room, people are all going to drop dead, to evaporate, because they don't exist, they're the result of your imagination, they're just a thought. You're alone.

Usual thought
  Why wipe away dust when you know it will accumulate again anyway?

...

أحياناً أقرأ الكُتب لأتكد من وجودي في الدنيا, لأتكد أن الكاتِب مَرّ بنفس الفِكرة التي تمُر في ذِهني وتترُكني أشعُر بالعجز, أو الإنعزال. أحياناً أقرأ في الدين وأنا أترَجَي كلِمات الكِتاب أن تُجيب علي السؤال الذي يشغلُني. أو أتمني أن يوافقني الرأي ويُثبت العالم علي خطأ. أحياناً أقرأ وأُعيد قراءة الجُملة وكل مرة تَعني شيء مُختلف ولكِن شيء يتِرَتب مثالياً علي ما قبله. أحياناً أقرأ الروايات هروباً من الواقِع. أحياناً أقرأ كُتب لأكتشف إنها رديئة المُحتوي ولكِن أعرف أنها ستكون مِحوَر حديث عُشوائي مع غريب في وقتٍ ما. أحياناً أقرأ وأنا أعلم ,حتي لو طويت الصفحة او تَرَكت الكتاب حتي ترسب عليه التُراب, أن الكُتب لا تغير أقوالها.

Best Passages

The Catcher in the Rye  
   by J. D. Salinger.    
 "Nobody'd be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you'd be so much older or anything. It wouldn't be that, exactly. You'd just be different, that's all. You'd have an overcoat on this time. Or the kid that was your partner in line the last time had got scarlet fever and you'd have a new partner. Or you'd have a substitute taking the class, instead of Miss Aigletinger. Or you'd heard your mother and father having a terrific fight in the bathroom. Or you'd just passed by one of those puddles in the street with gasoline rainbows in them. I mean you'd be different in some way - I can't explain what I mean. And even if I could, I'm not sure I'd feel like it."

The Unbearable Lightness of Being  
    by Milan Kundera 
 "But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid?
  The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.
  Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant.
  What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?
  Parmenides posed this very question in the sixth century before Christ. He saw the world divided into pairs of opposites: light/darkness, fineness/coarseness, warmth/cold, being/non-being. One half of the opposition he called positive (light, fineness, warmth, being), the other negative. We might find this division into positive and negative poles childishly simple except for one difficulty: which one is positive, weight or lightness?
  Paremindes responded: lightness is positive, weight negative.
  Was he correct or not? That is the question. The only certainty is: the lightness/weight opposition is the most mysterious, most ambiguous of all."

Thousand splendid suns  
    by Khaled Hosseini 
 "So much had happened since those childhood days, so much that needed to be said. But that first night the enormity of it all stole the words from her. That night, it was blessing enough to be beside him.It was blessing enough to know he was here, to feel the warmth of him next to her, to lie with him, their heads touching, his right hand laced in her left.
  In the middle of the night, when she woke up thirsty, she found their hands still clamped together, in the white knuckles, anxious way of children clutching balloon strings."

Nineteen eighty-four  
   by George Orwell
 "When you make love you're using up energy; and afterwards you feel happy and don't give a damn for anything. They can't bear you to feel like that. They want you to be bursting with energy all the time. All this marching up and down and cheering and waving flags is simply sex gone sour. If you're happy inside yourself, why should you get excited about the rest of the bloody rot?"

   "It had never before occurred to him that the body of a woman of fifty, blown up to monstrous dimensions by childbearing, then hardened, roughened by work till it was coarse in the grain like an over-ripe turnip, could be beautiful."

   "It was curious to think that the sky was the same for everybody. And the people under the sky were also very much the same — everywhere, all over the world, hundreds of thousands of millions of people just like this, people ignorant of one another's existence, held apart by walls of hatred and lies, and yet almost exactly the same — people who had never learned to think but who were storing up in their hearts and bellies and muscles the power that would one day overturn the world."

Lolita  

   by Vladimir Nabokov

"The stars that sparkled, and the cars that parkled, and the bars, and the barmen, were presently taken over by her"

Life of Pi  

   by Yann Martel
 "There is commonly an element of silence and solitude to peace, isn't there? It's hard to imagine being at peace in a busy subway station, isn't it?"

:المشهد

      سَمَعتهُ يتسلل في منزلها. مكانِها. لم يشعر بضرورة الدق علي بابها. لم يهمه إعطاء أعذار وهمية، لم يحاول إخفاء أكاذيبه بتمثيل ردئ، لم يكترث. ولكنه دخل للتو. أخذها فجأة بعيونهِ القاسية، وإيماءاتهِ العنيفة ويديهِ الخشنة. وبصرف النظر إنه مزَق ملابسها حتى توهَج جسدها في الظلام، إلا إنه لم يتركها عارية الجسد فقط، ولكنه أيضا منعها من عزِة نفسها وكرامتها. حرمها من إنسانيتها. ترك الندوب والجروح البليغة العميقة تشقُ الطرق من سطح جلدها حتي تلتقي في صميم جسمها تاركة لها جوفاء. فارغة. عقيمة. ولكنها لم تتوقف عن القتال للحظة. صرخت، بكت، إشتكت، نزفت، ولكنها لم تتوقف قط عن المقاومة.

      إمرأةٌ جميلة قوية تصارع الموت من أجل حياة كريمة في بيتها. حقها. تلهث أنفاسها وسط حُطام شظايا الزجاج علي الأرض. مشهد بشع. ولكنه مشهد مُلهم. جميل، يصوّر الحياة.

      كان زوجها يترقب المشهد من خلف النافذةِ منذ بدايته. الخوف يمنعه من المواجهة. اللا مبالاه تمسكه عن التحرك. الأنانية تجمده عن تلطيخ يديه بالدماء وتخليصها. جُرِد من إنسانيته ورجولته ونخوته وبقي يترقبها بعينٍ دامعة وجسدٍ مُتجمد, لا حياة فيه. ولكن سيأكل الندم جُثته لاحقاً. 

      كما سيبقي العالم يتفرج من خلف النافذة علي فلسطين تُغتصَب وتُنهَب ويذَل رجالها ويراق دمائها ويُشرَد أطفالها ويُرمَل نسائها ولكنه ينبهر أيضاً بصمودها. 

                                                            

Script.

I'd let you kiss my cheek, give you my chocolate bar and eat your mom's sandwitches. We'd play on the monkey bar together.

You'd leave a love note in my notebook and I'd run after you down the staircase, you'll hold my backpack and help me into the school bus.

You'd storm out of your house after arguing with your dad because he doesn't get you and you'd find me waiting for you out with my car. We'd eat junk food together, complain, laugh, listen to music, do mistakes, have regrets, be angry at the world.

You'd get jealous from that hot guy and I'll promise I won't wear that short sun dress again that you love so much but you never say it. We'd ponder the silver moon with sand between our toes, make promises we're gonna break, I'd draw you, you'd write me, we'd mute the world.

Rings, lights, vows, tearful joyful eyes, loud applause, words of love, slow dancing, passion. You do.

I'd burn the food, you'd pretend it tastes good, I'd do the dishes and you'd do the tea.

We'd argue endlessly, the house would grow noisy, we actually love spending time apart, but it's good to know at the end of the day, we'll sleep next to each other.

Maybe now we 'need' each other more than we 'want'. Told u a couple of things that you won't forget, you hurt me deep down, I scarred your ego, we'd end up hugging anyway.

I'd wait for you in the balcony in my red robe, silver thin hair, my pearl earrings you bought me, you'd come along slowly with a single red rose, hold for me a chair, talk about how young we once were, plan a trip to Venice. again.


I still hold that handkerchief you bought me, it wipes away my tears just fine.

Imperfect

What if I like the way you stutter, the way you wipe away a tear that escaped in a sensual scene in a movie?

So what if I like the way you understand me, the way you think you understand me and the way you completely don't understand me?

So what if I like how your clothes are all wrinkled up, the way you carelessly ground your cigarette butt to put it out along with your anger?

So what if I like the way you hum along with songs that I hate & the way you head-bang to angry music?

So what if I like the way we're so free it hurts, the way we blindfold each other and the way we're suspended?

So what if your dreams crashed, your dad isn't proud, you're bruised under that ill-fitting outfit, you're scared shitless but you like me?

And what if my mascara smeared, my nail polish peeled off, my hair is a mess, my dress is stained, and I like the thought of you?

I never met you.