Every time I tell them about you, they tell me I don't sound like I am in love.
How can I explain that I used to have a fire inside of me before my tears put it out?

I want you young and angry and vigorous. I want you lost and horny. I want you hormonal and mean. I want you fashionable and careless. I want you sarcastic and apathetic. I want you cold and indifferent. I want you mature and busy. I want you exhausted and consumed. I want you hopeless and repetitive. I want you succeeding and failing. I want you drenching in sweat. I want your solid calves and obvious veins. I want your stamina and desire. I want you trying. I want you curious. I want you miserable and shameful. I want your inner child and spirit animal. I want you faithful and doubtful. I want you clumsy and stuttering. I want your scars and humiliation. I want you sobbing. I want you scared and alone. 
I want you whole. 

Relationship physics

You start as two opposite poles attracting each other so strong the clash leaves you dizzy kissing in the backseat of your car. Your love is too strong you start melting into one another. You start humming songs together and guessing their chuckles and giggles and tantrums beforehand. You are so similar, you lose your polarity. So similar it is time to repel slowly. Far and away. 

Things I wouldn't admit to myself

He looked at me like I'm a floating snowflake. Like he can have me all for himself. Like he wants to own me. Like he wants to hurt me then kiss it good. Like he wants to spread his filth on my innocence. Like he wants to get past the skin barrier and dig out my own inner filth. Like he wouldn't give up on me. Like he wants to see me weak, needy, helpless and holding tight on to him. I think I liked it.

Now, I got what I wanted. I can be old and worn out, and say "I once loved a boy".

- Am I beautiful?
- Yes, you are pretty.

love letter

You'd be an arrogant jerk to think my writings are about you, and you'd be stupid to think otherwise.

I'd love to hurt you. I'd love to punch you right in the stomach, and give you that fatigued muscle feeling mixed with nausea. I wouldn't stop until you can't hold yourself upright. Believe me, I wouldn't stop. I can and I would hurt you. Until you bleed or cry or hate me for it. And once you do, I'd be your best friend. I swear to God, I'd love you more than ever. That's the only reason I'd ever hurt you.

I'd love to break your heart and mend it again. I'd glue all the pieces together perfectly and leave one unreachable wound open, so when it itches, you'd need me.

I told them about you. God, I'll have to fucking kill you now. 

Untitled

He's like a cool summer breeze, but I love the wind.

Remarkable customers

Some customers are just unforgettable.

#1
*end of long shift, exhausted!*
me: "...is it large or takeaway?"
Customer: *didn't realize the nonsense*,"Chicken.."
me: *chuckle* "Oh god, it's a long day, isn't it?"
customer: "very!"

#2
*angry lady because her fucking burger is 1 minute late, store is absolutely packed*
*I hand her her burger and before she even grabs it she utters "That's been sitting on the stand for five minutes, it's cold n..." *she gets hold of her fucking burger, it's so hot she drops it on the counter*
Bitch continues: "I've been standing here for 5 minutes dskfjajfhjaf
me: (fantasizes about punching her in the face and feeding her the fucking burger while yelling 'FIVE MINUTES BITCH? I'VE BEEN WORKING FOR 7 HOURS STRAIGHT NOW'
*smiles instead* "would you like another one, ma'am?"

#3
*oh my god slow down Andrew (regular customer)*
Andrew, super decent 50+ year old construction worker: "hey furridah, are you Muslim?"
me: "haha, yeah Andrew I am."
Andrew: "I am too, listen to that..kolhowa allahho ahad, allaho samad...."
*he recites soorat el ikhlas skipping all the ح and equally difficult letters*
*I was so impressed and got really emotional*
"hey Andrew, don't ever change your name"

#4
*super drunk guy, 5 am in the morning, not my shift, covering for someone*
customer: "You look absolutely stupid"
Let me make that clearer. He was topless, barefoot, wearing red baggy pants, unkempt hair, tearful eyes, no sense of dimension whatsoever AND I LOOK STUPID?

#5
*I was daydreaming and I sobered up to an old man in front of me who I can tell by his body language, has been standing there for a while*
*it was a bad day, I was in one of the tense waves of homesickness*
customer: "Oh poor girl you're a million miles away"
I just cried when he left.

#6
*regular Israeli customer who knew I was Egyptian and wouldn't stop telling me how beautiful Sinai is, to which my response every time was "Yeah, it's the most beautiful spot on Egyptian soil"*

#7
*afternoon, boring shift, empty store, guy with heaps of change and coins shows up*
customer: "Can I have notes instead?"
me: "woah, are you a street performer?"
customer: "I play the guitar and sing, yes!"
me:  "are you going to write a song about me if I did?"
*His coins summed up to 113 dollars, he definitely got something special*

#8
*I work in a BURGER KING*
confused customer: "Can I have one MAC royale?"
me: "hahaha nope!"

MY FAVORITE STORY
#9
*burger is ready and he is eating in, 3 minutes until fries are ready*
me: "you can have a seat, once the fries are out, i'll serve them out for you"
customer: "okay".
fries are out, I pack them, come out of the kitchen door labeled 'staff only' which as a kid, I wanted so bad to enter (ambitious kid right there), and guess what? My boss was sweeping the floor. Now imagine with me, visualize! I maintain my pace out of the kitchen door, and while the lobby has smooth freshly swept tiles, I slide and fall off with all the fries flying and landing on my face, in front of eeeeverybody. That's my most embarrassing public fall so far. With all gracefulness, because I'm so used to falling and learnt to act normally, I get up, get back to the kitchen, fetch another pack of fries and serve it to the customer, who turns out to be so hot (OF COURSE HE HAS TO BE!!). He fights the urge to explode in laughter.
me, shamelessly smiling: "There you go, by the way, that's the hardest pack of fries I have ever given out"
customer: "oh no, please, can I have your number?"

(just a heads up, #9 fucking made my day, and I think that was his purpose anyway. I've dealt with so many people, some of them are total bitches, some are just unforgettable. As a staff, we had names for customers, especially regulars. Some of them were: 'fresh fries guy', 'one dollar cup lady', 'cappuccino lady', 'no bacon guy', 'no fries guy' and last but not least, 'cheeseburger with no cheese guy' (cheeseburger was on specials so it was cheaper to buy a cheeseburger with no cheese than to buy a normal cheese-less burger)

Backwards

  A huddle of them on fierce muscular horses fly in harmony. They ride fueled by the heartbreaking goodbyes of their loved ones before they left for a bleak unsure future. Soldiers. Knights. Armed men. Followers. They tense up, slow down, and jump off their breathing vehicles. They extract the blinding shining metals off the corpses and watch it regain warmth, gradually losing the blue veneer and radiating life. High pitch sounds of swords thrust in their cases. Grunting horses.
--
  After a lifelong of complexities, he extends his fingers brushing against his newly discovered hard muscles under his skin. He earned them. A little down the road, he trades them for innocence. His troubled aging mind finally finds peace.
--
  A gigantic black smoke slowly shrinks to one flammable point. Lots of disfigured members of living and non-living bodies integrate. You could actually observe the universe lose some of its entropy and reach higher order. An inspiring scene to watch.
--
  All your favorite music figures bunch up and form bands, album by album, their music grows more exotic and impressively appealing.
--
  They sit next to each other in the park. Exhausted after a long walk. Actually it was a very short walk, relativity is everything. Their frail postures seated on the bench. They just hang in there. He places his shaky hand on her thighs gracefully, she looks at him and smiles. They sleep next to each other, comforted by their rhythmic heartbeats that is the background sound of their lives. Gradually, the heartbeats grow lower, their lives blossom to a louder, busier, more violent version. Their extremes widen; more hopeful, more hopeless, more arguments, more passion. Out of love, in love all over again. Black and white, rarely grey. They stroll in a bar, have a drink. He places his coarse worn out hand on her soft thigh. Instincts arise as fiery as their burning cigarettes, as haphazard as its smokes, as loud and persistent as the music beat they eventually dance to. He is drunk on liquor, she is drunk on love. He looks at her, and for a moment, it's deathly silent, she is completely still in a mid-dance position frozen in time. He thinks she is everyone and everything, because at that moment she was. He tries to hold on to the thought so hard but fails. They sleep next to each other, his arms around her. She tears up silently because she realizes how she will forever need him. He tears up because he finally sees her soaking in her vulnerability, he likes to think. They feel bad for hurting each other before, they hug tight and never talk about it. Their love is so real, it has shreds of hatred.
  She's sitting in a cafe playing with sugar packets. He takes his time watching her from the glass window as he makes his way up to her. He thinks to himself, how can someone be that happy on a boring Sunday morning? She sees him, her eyes sparkle, she thinks to herself how a lifetime of friendship grows into this? He places his hand on her thighs. It tickles, but she takes a deep breath to contain herself, to contain everything.

Questions

   Ever wondered what would mannequins say had they been given the chance, after spending all that time staring at us from clear glass windows?
Can you fully digest the fact that you're not gonna run into a deceased person on a random day in a supermarket?
Are you comfortable with the fact that you're basically a blood balloon that can burst and bleed if exposed to any sharp object?
How can any man in his right sober mind have sex with a prostitute without depression taking over them?
Is liking someone reason enough to hate them?
   Ever thought about how would you come out differently if no one had ever told you that girls wear pink and guys play with guns?
   How do you feel about hair growing out of every inch of your body?
   Have you recently tasted your ear wax?
   Do you laugh at the TV, regardless of how hilarious the material is, if you're home alone?

If who we are is a collection of what we do and how we act, then what does 'love me for who I am' even mean?

How do you feel knowing that your heart is moving along with your body that's speeding with the car that's rotating with the earth?

Ever wanted so badly to put your ear right into the vacuum cleaner's sucker?

How many times did you suggest a song casually and hoped the person understands that very indirect message?

How do born-blind people conjure up images for all the vague words?
Have you ever liked someone so much that your breaths start to be painful but tickling?

Were you hurt when you were fucking thrown out of heaven?

   Are yo troubled? 

Because I am interested if you are.

بحب علاقتي بالشمس. أنا شايفاها نُقطة وهي شايفاني نُقطة ومفيش مشاكل.

Timeline

I never dreamed of you. You can't dream of a dream, can you? I wanna know what book everyone disliked but you. I will only really figure you out when I know what song everybody seems to pass unnoticed, but you think is absolutely brilliant. You're bleak. You're those lyrics I never actually understood yet I totally understand their purpose. I want you to watch sitcoms with me and feel free to not laugh out loud purposely. I go through your photos all the time. I like the fact that photos don't show if you have a throbbing migraine or maybe if the sandal cut through your foot skin, but it's not helping. Sometimes my imagination is so vivid I can feel water splashes on my face from your canoeing paddle as it hit the water but your face is a hole. It's a scribble. I tried to draw you before, you know, but you're not a painting, you're a chaotic dramatic artistic collage. I'm not myself around you. You're not yourself around yourself. "You don't know how lovely you are", you sing along and I have to remind myself you're not singing for me. I liked you, waited for you, got stood up by you, all in my head. Now I am angry at you but I can't keep that in my head, it is real. I'm gonna cry weeks from now because you were totally singing for me. You're so unromantic that there's something romantic about everything you do. I'm always caught up between thinking I deserve much better and I am not good enough for you at the same time. I fall in love fast. Good sense of humor. Heartfelt piece of writing. Thoughtful gesture. I fall out of love even faster. One word. Keep me from stretching my thoughts so far. Bear your fucking soul to me and I'll re-read my favorite book, underline my favorite parts, leave a dried lily between the pages and put it over your one-way train ticket. I'll even go ice skating with you so we can fall side by side while skaters revolve around us. I cut myself on your broken pieces and you didn't even wipe your mess. I'm sorry, I'll have to chainsaw the tree down just under our carved heart enclosing our initials. I hate you. I hate you in a very flattering way.

  I'll wait alone for my pedestrians' signal on one side of the road. I won't cross the streets with you hand in hand making way through the flying cars.You wouldn't believe me if I told u it was raining like crazy on my way home but I miraculously did not get wet. I wouldn't believe you if you were on your knees. Not with tears in your eyes. Not with a convincing tone. I wouldn't even believe it if you punched me so hard while saying it and held me tight while the impact erupts and delves into me. While I take in the reality of it. And the throbbing pain. And the temporal suffering. And the resonations. 

But maybe, maybe then I'll believe you.

Dear David,

     I am writing to your existence. I am writing to the guy who wakes up with unkempt hair and hums with gravelly voice as sunshine penetrates his foreign irises. I am writing to your skin, breath and flesh. I'm writing to my friend with no chains, grudges, trails, DNA, history, last names or bloodlines.

   That's the thing with love, you always want to be a hero and to fix the fucked up guy and to overcome religious beliefs and to look beyond histories and wars and massacres. Here's the thing with love, you can't. 

   A list of things I hate: politics, suited up dictators, blood on asphalt, whole orphaned cities, children who were robbed of their innocence, obeying soldiers without a choice, wars, leaders who carve their names in history books by giving orders from the comfort of their offices, I hate your ancestors, I hate you, David. Because that's what I am supposed to feel without a choice as well. You see, we're soldiers too. And above all, I hate the circumstances. 

   Dearest David, I've never thought I'd be sending a letter without an address. I love you, but I hate your government. If it makes you feel any better, I hate mine too. 

                                                                                                                                             Farida

Asshole

He sneaked in.
He bent down and picked the most beautiful rose.
I liked him.
I liked him with no butterflies. I liked him because he was there. I liked him because I did not dislike him. I liked him in a really cold way.
But I liked him.
He scratched off his linings.
He wrapped himself in a cold steel coating.
He got himself walls all around him.
All his rose petals were 'He loves me not' petals.
Asshole.

عَورة

لا أحِب أي شَخص بما يَكفي للمَوت مِن أجلهِ. أحِب نفسي أكثر.

لا أنتمي لبلَدي بما يكفي للموت فداءً له. فإنه دائماً يبدو وكأنه موطني وليس وطني.

لا أؤمن بعقيدتي بما يكفي للموت في سبيلها.

وأخيراً لا أحِب من يختلِف معي في ذلك, لا أحِب الملائكة, لا أحِب من هو أفضل مني, ولا أحِب الكذِب.

أحِب الحقيقة والناس الحقيقية. 

To every guy I used to like

 I swear I could spend all day sitting like that watching you watching me then go home and stare at myself in the mirror trying to figure out why do you look at me that way.

 To that time when you pushed me to say what's wrong with me and I blurted it out angrily and hesitantly to get rid of your nagging only to realize I wanted to let it out for once. To the coldest guy out there who managed to utter the sweetest words only when needed.

 You've got the hungriest eyes I've seen on a decent guy. And you're not even decent.

 You're good to the core. Could have been a great best friends-gone-all-romantic but you're stupid.

 You're ground. If I asked you 'do you prefer blue or green?', you'd reply 'blue'. Today, tomorrow and forever, it's blue. But I prefer green. And I liked you for your non-volatility and I lost interest for the very same reason.

 You've got the most beautiful mind. I never really liked you, you know because you're kind of imaginary, but I never stopped liking you as well. Exactly the mind I'd like to watch its attached face develop wrinkles on the other side of my bed.

To the guy I like now:
 You're the idea of ... I'd probably write something huge then read it months from now and laugh bitterly so I'll refrain. I'm just waiting for you to let me down and fade out, leaving a new addition to To every guy I used to like.

Try not to.
I know you will, anyway.

I am beautiful

If you look at my naked side view, you’ll find a skin fold just under my last rib that I despise. 

If you pay attention to my nose, you’ll realize it gets bigger in a funny ugly way when I laugh. Or even smile.

If you look at my skin closely, you’ll find all the scars from the scratched mosquito bites and hot oven door burns. 

And my unwanted body hair, my obvious facial pores, my childish hands, my skinny wrists, my dark appalling knees. 

To count a few.

But I am beautiful if you say so.

Wellington, New Zealand.

  The windiest place on Earth. I don't think that's an overstatement, I mean elders used to hold on to light posts for the couple of seconds when it went crazy. I lived there for almost five months. The city is so beautiful it's kind of depressing. It is so picturesque that you always think it is unreal, that something is missing. Its beauty was so overwhelming that my profound admiration slowly changed to apathy and blindness to the natural magical scenery. I'd always find my eyes lingering on artistic graffiti on walls or any form of man-made contribution. And that's what people there did, they all had a very genuine style considering their clothes. Everyone had strange haircuts, and weird hair colors. A lot of green, blue, violet, red and rainbow heads. A lot of punks around, street performers, random citizens dancing to their music. Quarter of the population wanders the city barefoot. People go grocery shopping in pajamas and I've seen a few shopping in just their swimsuits. Plenty, plenty of gays. It almost became common to me seeing men in heels, nail polish and wearing full make up and I wouldn't flinch if two girls kissed on the bus. The individuality was loud and clear. People made out in the streets, romantically and sometimes explicitly.

  That city witnessed a lot of my 'firsts'. First time to cook, first time to stay the night alone, first time to feel horribly homesick, first time to miss chaos and noise, first time to work, first paycheck, first bicycle tour in a city, first public bus ride, first jog in the streets, oh, they're countless.

  I remember feeling chained when I first arrived. Like why the hell am I supposed to press a button, wait for my pedestrians signal to cross a goddamn one-lane street? That's of course normal since back home, I used to cross a four-lane highway with the sole help of prayers. I remember feeling like I'm the basic model of a human being, like way too normal for Wellingtonians, like they call themselves. I wear my hair in a normal pony tail, I wear jeans, I rarely ever wear anything but normal black eye-liner. Just a normal girl, very basic, no bizarre hair-do, vintage clothes, astounding tattoos or any of the likes. Just me, which was very unique to them apparently. I mean if you walk into a circus backstage in your denim with all the performers, freaks, artists, illusionists and extraordinary people around, you will feel odd.

The suicidal rates were relatively high. Like I said, it was so beautiful, kinda depressing.
I remember thinking 'oh, that's how it must feel if I ever walk into Tumblr'.