As people, as human beings, we often feel the need to romanticize our states-of-affairs, to make ourselves feel the heroism that we most probably never possessed in the first place.
"I do everything I can for you, I put you before myself, I spend all my money, time, and energy on you, and this is the thanks I get?!"
*****
Why do we cry at movies? At weddings? Because we mourn for what we don't have, what we never had, and what we probably would never have. I don't believe those tears shed in happiness or joy for another person.
Tears are a lot like love - SELFISH.
*****
"Sadness is everyone's secret."
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Friday, October 13, 2006
Writers Block
Would you marry a writer?
Writers and their overrated blocks. Would you be able to live with someone who would shut you out every so often? Who would have prolonged bouts of depression and extreme mood swings: one minute overjoyed and the next sullen and silent? Someone who'd constantly feel the need to detach himself from you, clear his air of your presence, push you out of his personal space? A writer and his perpetual delusions?
I would. If he were hot enough. LOL.
Would it work if you were BOTH writers, attracting and repelling each other at the same time, bouncing literary quotes off one another? Would you be threatened by the other's success? Or held back by the other's lack of?
"On the other side of attraction lies repulsion."
*****
Is there guilt attached to feeling lucky?
Absolutely. Now that I think about it, it's probably my Numero Uno Problemo. I am guilty of being much more fortunate than my peers or family members. I feel so guilty that I hold myself back and strain against full-fledged success for fear of crossing over the line from Loser City to Great Rewards Metro. I repress myself and put my destructive mode on turbo, and then, when I've damaged my affairs enough, I secretly tell myself that I deserved it for even THINKING I could rise above anyone I know. In a sick way, I still want to be a member of that bitter community that does nothing but sulk and complain about pre-destined misfortune. Most of all, I am afraid of the person I migh turn into if I do become successful, the person I see myself turning into even now. The question now is that, if I do manage to let go of this guilt, would it be of any help?
*****
When did you have your first sensation of the passage of time? Of progress?
I don't remember the first, but I know the moments. It's when I see an old picture, or when I smell a scent that I used to wear, or hear a song I used to dance to, sing-along to. More specifically, when Princess Diana's death anniversary comes around. I remember that day so vividly: my father coming in from work with his newspaper under his arm, smelling of the sun; my mom doing the laundry in the small bathroom of our old house; the smell of the newly-mopped dining room floor; the electric fan in the living room. And yet, this was 10 years ago. There's no telling if THEN was better than NOW. But it sure does remind me that I am 23 and not 13 anymore.
In the words of the unlikely intellectual in that annoying film Tokyo Drift...
"Life is easy. You make choices and you don't look back."
I am tempted to take his advice. It seems like a good idea, if I am to move forward and break the stillness.
Writers and their overrated blocks. Would you be able to live with someone who would shut you out every so often? Who would have prolonged bouts of depression and extreme mood swings: one minute overjoyed and the next sullen and silent? Someone who'd constantly feel the need to detach himself from you, clear his air of your presence, push you out of his personal space? A writer and his perpetual delusions?
I would. If he were hot enough. LOL.
Would it work if you were BOTH writers, attracting and repelling each other at the same time, bouncing literary quotes off one another? Would you be threatened by the other's success? Or held back by the other's lack of?
"On the other side of attraction lies repulsion."
*****
Is there guilt attached to feeling lucky?
Absolutely. Now that I think about it, it's probably my Numero Uno Problemo. I am guilty of being much more fortunate than my peers or family members. I feel so guilty that I hold myself back and strain against full-fledged success for fear of crossing over the line from Loser City to Great Rewards Metro. I repress myself and put my destructive mode on turbo, and then, when I've damaged my affairs enough, I secretly tell myself that I deserved it for even THINKING I could rise above anyone I know. In a sick way, I still want to be a member of that bitter community that does nothing but sulk and complain about pre-destined misfortune. Most of all, I am afraid of the person I migh turn into if I do become successful, the person I see myself turning into even now. The question now is that, if I do manage to let go of this guilt, would it be of any help?
*****
When did you have your first sensation of the passage of time? Of progress?
I don't remember the first, but I know the moments. It's when I see an old picture, or when I smell a scent that I used to wear, or hear a song I used to dance to, sing-along to. More specifically, when Princess Diana's death anniversary comes around. I remember that day so vividly: my father coming in from work with his newspaper under his arm, smelling of the sun; my mom doing the laundry in the small bathroom of our old house; the smell of the newly-mopped dining room floor; the electric fan in the living room. And yet, this was 10 years ago. There's no telling if THEN was better than NOW. But it sure does remind me that I am 23 and not 13 anymore.
In the words of the unlikely intellectual in that annoying film Tokyo Drift...
"Life is easy. You make choices and you don't look back."
I am tempted to take his advice. It seems like a good idea, if I am to move forward and break the stillness.
Families At Work?
Whoever said that companies are like families? They're as different as different can get.
There's no place for feedback forms and evaluations in families.
There are no monthly meetings, no motivational speeches, no reward systems.
Emotions are unchecked and vicious words are flung with reckless abandon.
There are no efforts to make the environment pleasant.
Most importantly, there are no hirings of potential employees and no firings of incompetent ones.
In my family, at least.
There's no place for feedback forms and evaluations in families.
There are no monthly meetings, no motivational speeches, no reward systems.
Emotions are unchecked and vicious words are flung with reckless abandon.
There are no efforts to make the environment pleasant.
Most importantly, there are no hirings of potential employees and no firings of incompetent ones.
In my family, at least.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Thank You India**
** Remind me again why Alanis Morisette was thanking India in that song?
Anyway, I'd like to thank MY India:
~ Sally and Summer, who coerced everyone in our circle to give us the fright of our lives in Linzi and my surprise birthday party. We couldn't've asked for a better party!!
~ Everyone at work who turned up at Friday's.
~ My good Bumbum friends and their better halves: Suzann, Sharifah, Sheri, Sara Grace, Nadia, and Dina.
~ Everyone who went to the party: Mum Debbie, Ali, Sara (Minute!!), the guy whose name I forget, Aiman and Dulli.
~ The people who called me and greeted me on my birthday.
~ The people who gave me birthday presents, as if their presence in my life wasn't enough (cheesy cheesy).
*****
The thing about birthday presents is that we LOVE receiving them, never mind what they are. I was lucky enough to receive presents that I loved just as much. Thanks for the books, the perfumes, the CDs, the earrings, the flowers, the bags, and the wallet.
So that there's no confusion in the future, those above-mentioned are just some of my favorite things. I am also not above accepting cash. Haha.
*****
Ramadhan Kareem to everyone. May Allah accept your prayers and bless you on this holy month. Salaams!!
Anyway, I'd like to thank MY India:
~ Sally and Summer, who coerced everyone in our circle to give us the fright of our lives in Linzi and my surprise birthday party. We couldn't've asked for a better party!!
~ Everyone at work who turned up at Friday's.
~ My good Bumbum friends and their better halves: Suzann, Sharifah, Sheri, Sara Grace, Nadia, and Dina.
~ Everyone who went to the party: Mum Debbie, Ali, Sara (Minute!!), the guy whose name I forget, Aiman and Dulli.
~ The people who called me and greeted me on my birthday.
~ The people who gave me birthday presents, as if their presence in my life wasn't enough (cheesy cheesy).
*****
The thing about birthday presents is that we LOVE receiving them, never mind what they are. I was lucky enough to receive presents that I loved just as much. Thanks for the books, the perfumes, the CDs, the earrings, the flowers, the bags, and the wallet.
So that there's no confusion in the future, those above-mentioned are just some of my favorite things. I am also not above accepting cash. Haha.
*****
Ramadhan Kareem to everyone. May Allah accept your prayers and bless you on this holy month. Salaams!!
Doctor Doctor
In other parts of the world, doctors have a good - if not excellent - command of English. Here in Jeddah, forget your English and you'd better learn the localese.
Imagine, if you can, the blank look on my doctor's face while I was explaining the pain I felt.
"I have this pain right here," were my exact words as I pointed to my tummy. "It started this morning as a little discomfort, and it grew to a steady hammering pain that would last about 30 seconds and recur within 5-minute intervals ... " At this point, imagine my voice trailing off as I realized he was smiling at me with incomprehension written all over his face.
It was almost as if the doctor pressed this huge, imaginary red button under his desk that prompted to raise a sound-proof, bullet-proof invisible wall (otherwise known as the Language Barrier), locking him safe from my attempts at medical-English. I imagine him hearing only muted elevator music on his side of the barrier. ARABIC elevator music.
Oi.
*****
That traitor Pepsi. After years of my undying loyalty, after all those mornings I chose Pepsi over a healthy breakfast, after all those praise and homage I paid it, this is the thanks I get. A gaping hole somewhere inside my stomach.
Imagine, if you can, the blank look on my doctor's face while I was explaining the pain I felt.
"I have this pain right here," were my exact words as I pointed to my tummy. "It started this morning as a little discomfort, and it grew to a steady hammering pain that would last about 30 seconds and recur within 5-minute intervals ... " At this point, imagine my voice trailing off as I realized he was smiling at me with incomprehension written all over his face.
It was almost as if the doctor pressed this huge, imaginary red button under his desk that prompted to raise a sound-proof, bullet-proof invisible wall (otherwise known as the Language Barrier), locking him safe from my attempts at medical-English. I imagine him hearing only muted elevator music on his side of the barrier. ARABIC elevator music.
Oi.
*****
That traitor Pepsi. After years of my undying loyalty, after all those mornings I chose Pepsi over a healthy breakfast, after all those praise and homage I paid it, this is the thanks I get. A gaping hole somewhere inside my stomach.
Sunday, October 8, 2006
This Guy
I love This Guy for so many reasons that I'll say YES in a NewYorkMinute if he ever asks me to marry him. The reasons?
1. I trust him completely.
2. He knows everything about me; there is no need for pretensions or lies.
3. Not to mention he's HOT.
4. He gets along famously with everyone in my family (maybe except for my Dad with whom he has a very interesting history HAHA), and my brothers respect him.
5. He's multi-faceted.
6. He's artsy without the fartsy.
7. I can always show him off to my friends because he's incredibly HOT (all my friends think so), and he has fantastic people skills. There is nothing he can and could do that would make me embarrassed of him.
8. He's funny as hell.
9. He educates me. He's that smart.
10. He's not filthy rich, but amazingly, with him it doesn't matter.
11. He let's me be myself. I can be stupid around him and tell him lame jokes and he doesn't make me feel stupid.
12. There is no Language Barrier, no Cultural Barrier, because we meet right in the middle.
13. He's streetsmart.
14. He's an incredible friend.
15. I know he loves me. I just know it.
If you see a ring on my finger, it's because I've bullied him into getting me one.
*****
Of course, this is the result of watching Gone With The Wind.
How can you resist a man who loves you unconditionally?
Easy. Women only want men who don't even know they exist. So the question should be:
How can you resist a man who DOESN'T love you?
And the moral of this story is:
Stop whining, and stop watching those gotdamn movies.
1. I trust him completely.
2. He knows everything about me; there is no need for pretensions or lies.
3. Not to mention he's HOT.
4. He gets along famously with everyone in my family (maybe except for my Dad with whom he has a very interesting history HAHA), and my brothers respect him.
5. He's multi-faceted.
6. He's artsy without the fartsy.
7. I can always show him off to my friends because he's incredibly HOT (all my friends think so), and he has fantastic people skills. There is nothing he can and could do that would make me embarrassed of him.
8. He's funny as hell.
9. He educates me. He's that smart.
10. He's not filthy rich, but amazingly, with him it doesn't matter.
11. He let's me be myself. I can be stupid around him and tell him lame jokes and he doesn't make me feel stupid.
12. There is no Language Barrier, no Cultural Barrier, because we meet right in the middle.
13. He's streetsmart.
14. He's an incredible friend.
15. I know he loves me. I just know it.
If you see a ring on my finger, it's because I've bullied him into getting me one.
*****
Of course, this is the result of watching Gone With The Wind.
How can you resist a man who loves you unconditionally?
Easy. Women only want men who don't even know they exist. So the question should be:
How can you resist a man who DOESN'T love you?
And the moral of this story is:
Stop whining, and stop watching those gotdamn movies.
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