الخميس، ديسمبر 30، 2010

Bygones

I am scared of being alone.

I claim to be a solitary person, a person who appreciates her isolated bubble, but I abandon my bubble most of the time just because I am scared of being alone.


ًWhenever I like a guy, I focus on the things in him that are missing in my life and blur out the rest. I fool myself into thinking I am in love and it could last.
It's not like I do this on purpose. When it is happening I totally believe I am in love. It's only when I step out and away that I realise the true depth of my feelings.

I love being in love.I love falling in love, this journey of discovery you embark on when you get to be with someone new, and the feeling that, right now, your are leaving your own  scent  in someone's memory .

I've never been really alone. I always had someone on my mind, someone occupying a big part of my thoughts and plans. 
I needed this presence in my life, someone on whom I could project my imaginery world.

But He was different.
 He was different because despite the harsh way with which things ended, I truly loved him.

I know loving him was an important experience for me. Something I had to go through to be who am I now.
I owe him many of the new layers and colors I've gained through the past years. 
With him I discovered a sensual side in me that I've always dreamed of but never truly felt.
In loving him I explored an amazingly wide spectrum of emotions. He'd come in the room and I'd melt on the spot, he'd write me that he misses me and my butterflies  flutter, he'd smile at me and I'd completely dissolve in colors. Together we explored the sexiness of words, of textures, light, lines, colors and curves. 

When I first saw him I dove right into love.Thiss sweet chidish rush-on love. 
There was something incredibly sexy about his grounded knowledgable manner, the grace with which he walks, his obssession with details. 
I was so mesmerized.

I was so in love. 

Then my feelings changed. They were not these volcanic costantly stirred up emotions. They settled down a bit. There was a peaceful element I have never experienced before. I loved just  studying while he sits close by, snuggling close to him while he is talking all serious with friends.I was warm and content.


Then one day I woke up and it was all in the past. It all belonged to a less complicated, more translucent version of myself.

I can not explain how this all changed in me. There were many layers to this decision: Exhaustion, my need to be free to explore other worlds, and a cold wall of loneliness that slowly isolated me from him and our colors.
.
My conviction that this was the right decision never wavered, but whenever I look back I long for the intensity with which I received every small gesture of him. 
I long for a time where life was simple, where it was all about the right music, the right color and a flare of imagination.

الاثنين، ديسمبر 27، 2010

من مذكرات الساحرة




كنت دايما بارجع لكلامه في دماغي لما اتوه عن نفسي

بافتكر ازاي بيشوفني صغيرة و نقية و لسة يا دوبك باستكشف بخطوات صغيرة عالم جديد مثير

كل اما اكبر كل اما تخبطني اكتر قساوة الدنيا. السنة اللي فاتت اخدت خبطات مؤلمة جدا. اعترف بان فيه منهم كنت رايحة لهم بكامل ارادتي , لكن فيه منهم اخدتهم على غفلة. خسارته كانت على غفلة ,و الغريبة انها اكتر خبطة وجعتني

  سنتين كنت قاعدة متصورة اننا بنمر بمرحلة في صداقتنا و هنسترجع علاقتنا زي ما كانت زمان., بس اكتشفت ان دي خيالات العيلة اللي جوايا و ان الحقيقة ان فيه علاقات فجأة بتغير مسارها و لازم الواحد يتقبل ده و يحاول يستكشف الطريق الجديد.

بس من فترة قريبة قابلته, و للحظة استرجعت ومضات من علاقتنا القديمة.
.كنت صاحية في حالة تسامح مع الدنيا و في حالة حنين للناس اللي ممكن يحيوا جوايا النسخة الملونة مني. فكلمته و قابلته.

من زمن ماحستش بالراحة دي في الكلام معاه. ماكانش فيه ادعاء, ماكانش فيه توقعات و ضغوط و غيوم سودة طابقة على روحنا. الطبقات القاسية اللي اكتسبناها على مدار سنين دابت و رجعت انا البنت الصغيرة اللي بتحاول تدعي الشجاعة و تواجه الشارع, و هو الولد الجدع اللي تبناها في صمت.

كان نفسي احكيله ازاي مشيت و انا ممتنة اليوم ده. اكنت عايزة شكره على الدفا, الذكريات, الرضا, الدلع,بس اهم من ده كله , على انه ساعدني اضيف اخر غرزة في جرح  كنت فقدت الأمل في انه يلتئم.

ملحوظة: التدوينة دي بدأت في كشكول الساحرة الشريرة في يناير و اكتملت النهاردة :)

Kiss me


So, kiss me

سلام


الخميس، ديسمبر 23، 2010

I was created with love!

When I was young, I had a theory about love. My theory was that the more pleasure and love a man and woman share during sex, the more beautiful the kids they will conceive.
My theory was based on solid evidence. People commented on how me, my brother, and my little sister were beautiful kids, and I knew for sure that my parents invested a great deal of love and pleasure while creating each one of us.

I love stories. I love attaching stories to small moments that may seem insignificant to others. So, I'll share with you my favorite one.The story of how I was conceived:

I was created with love.
I was born while my dad was in prison.
He was sentenced to spend 5 years in prison because he was part of  a communist group opposing Mobarak and his regime.
When the verdict came, my mother was not in Egypt. Their friends managed to hide him away and bring them together before he goes to prison.
Mama knew Baba will be away for years. They both wanted a baby girl and she thought that having a baby would soften the coming years with out him. So they hid away, took their time in creating me and in bidding each other farewell.
When they were certain my mother was pregnant in me, my dad went and turned himself in.
I had images of visits to my dad in prison. Blurred images stored in my head. It was strange because I was too young to remember. But when I sat with mama and described the images and she confirmed them. Then she started telling me how it was.
Alot of her friends shielded their children from this. They thought that exposing their kids to seeing their dads in prison is a harsh experience that they should try to avoid as much as possible.
Mama thought differently. She thought this should be a day to celebrate. She turned it into Eid day. She would dress me up in a nice dress, arrange my hair in my favorite updo (i used to call it the palm-tree style :) , and we go visit Baba in our most colorful bubble.

I remember that one of the guys working there used to prepare a box full of sweets and biscuits for me to take every time i visit. I also remember a small black board and me drawing cats with chalk. Back then I didn't know how to draw anything but cats.
When Baba got out of prison, he came back with a treasure of stories. My dad could do magic with simple words. He could change the bleakest moments to colorful wondrous stories.
My favorite bed time and travel stories where of his time in prison.
It took me years to realize that this place which was the source of an amazing fountain of childhood stories, was a place where my dad was severely tortured.
It was silly because I was old and I knew many stories of activiist friends who were tortured, but the childish part in me refused to allow it to sink in till my first year in university when there was no way I could escape the truth coz I had it right in my hands, ink on paper.
Those are the people who raised me up.
This is the kind of love I grew up around.
This is the kind of love I've been seeking ever since I could remember.

When I was seven, I walked into my parents room unannounced. I saw him kissing her stomach tenderly. I squeaked an apology, ran to my bed and hid under my covers. Mama followed me, and with a smile asked me what I wanted. I told her I just wanted to make sure she remembers i have an exam tomorrow. ( hehe I was such a nerd!)
Years later this image returned and assumed a new meaning for me. Suddenly this memory wasn't about a moment of embarrassment but rather of discovery. I knew then that there was more to love than what I am grasping. I also knew that for always this image will be my definition of love.
Now every time my soul gets bruised and I lose bits of my wings I remind myself that love - like what mama and baba share - is waiting for me around some corner in my future.
What keeps me going despite the pain and disappointment is the belief that at some point in my life I will meet someone and in my mind see him kissing my stomach tenderly for the rest of my life.



الاثنين، ديسمبر 06، 2010

?

I remembered her

years ago
She was so in love

How did she end up here?