Double

A lover first, a woman second.

--

There's something alluring about a first date. All dressed up, fancy restaurant. Stolen glances, secret smiles. Dim light, tall glass of red.

How to discriminate between love for a man and love for a woman?

Is it the long lashes, the perfectly manicured nails that look at you, or a meticulous tie and dimpled cheeks?

Is it the feline, ferocious sex appeal of a woman, or the overpowering dominance of a man?

--

And who is to say, who you should love?

Connect

What do you do when you want something you know you can't have? As glances meet and eyes connect, the link is undeniable. What human being can explain what happens when that link occurs? A jolt of understanding, yes, and vulnerability. Feeling naked. As I look up at you across the smoke-filled room, I am shocked to find you are looking right back at me. You don't flinch, you don't turn away. Hold your gaze like you know exactly how I'm feeling. Those few seconds pass by painfully slowly and everything else seems to swim by. You are a closed book.

A contradiction. You don't look like you're supposed to look. You don't talk like you're supposed to talk. The odd one out, the outsider. Everything ties back to you- you are the link. How did you take this role?

Everything I've built up breaks down near you. My confidence- shattered. You break me down and I fall apart. Am I everything I think I am? And then you come back, offer a helping hand. Maybe, just maybe. But you're good, right? Right?

It aches. A glimmer of hope, snatched away. I'm grasping at air, everything is just beyond my reach. Are you too high, or am I too low? I hate the doubts.

It doesn't matter. Maybe this is how it's meant to be. Maybe I could've been a fly in your web. Maybe I already am.

Or maybe, just maybe, you don't know what you're doing either.

Breathe

Breathe, breathe in the air.
Don't be afraid to care.
Leave, don't leave me.
Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you fly
Smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry
All you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be.

Run, rabbit run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.

For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave.

-- Pink Floyd (Breathe)

In Transit

I have become a traveller. I invariably journey alone... in fact, I do not remember the last time I flew with a friend or family member. I like the solitude.

A lot of the time, my life feels like it's in transit. Nothing is either one way or another. This is reflected in almost every aspect of myself: I am the offspring of two quite opposing cultures, but I identify with neither one completely. This is why I constantly need to be on the move. I can't stay long enough to soak up a culture. I need to be in-between.

My favourite part of the journey is the ride to the airport. This time, I am aboard an underground train. It will take me slightly more than an hour to reach what is considered the busiest airport in the world. I have taken this train many, many times before. To me, it is the in-between of my two homes. One represents sun, money and family; the other represents freedom, knowledge and cold. I love both dearly, but I cannot live in one without the other for too long.

I get on the train at the very centre of the city. The carriage is over-packed, but my first instinct is to immediately check who else seems to be going to the same place as me. There are businesswomen in suits, listening to their music; big, burly men dressed casually like they are on a lazy day out; students, on the way home from lectures, exhausted... and tourists, travelling in packs, always loud, always excited. As the first half hour passes, the crowd slowly trickles out. This usually happens by the time the train moves from being underground to overground. There is now enough space for me to sit down.

At this point in my journey, I always reflect on the other times I had taken it. I compare who I am today to who I was then. I go through some memories, remember how I felt, who I was thinking about, what I was looking forward to. I realise that every single time the answers to those questions would be different. And I am sure the pattern will continue. That is almost certain; who I am today will not be who I am tomorrow, or next month, or next year. I would like to say that it is just the surface that changes, but I fear that is not true. Sometimes, I know that my very core, my innermost beliefs have changed dramatically.

I observe the people around me. An old man near me has “PEK” written on his backpack... the handsome blonde one opposite doesn't seem to have much baggage, I wonder where he is going... a middle eastern young couple, students, stand close by. I always imagine these people on their planes, going off to their various locations, living their lives. For now, this temporary amount of time, our lives are interconnected and we will all come together at a point where we all disperse again. It seems like a beautiful idea. Life is so surreal in moments like these.

We eventually reach our destination. Here, it is all about wide spaces. Following rules, following directions. It's a miniature version of life outside, but at the same time, it's nothing like what goes on outside. This is its own world. Time, too, has an abnormal quality to it here. Everything seems to be swimming by in slow motion, yet the clock looks like it's racing.

I go through the motions that I've done so many times before. I'm in transit, again. In between. When it's time to board, I move to my little seat, look out my little window. I will be up in the air soon. And oh, there are things to look forward to. But for now, I don't mind being at a point where I am neither here, nor there. For this temporary amount of time, nothing from either worlds can get to me- no problems, no news, no people. I am unreachable.

Insignificance

Nothing makes you realise your insignificance like living in a busy, populated European city. As I sit here in my room listening to the strumming of a guitar, life seems so important. Life feels like it revolves around me, like the pain that I am feeling is enormous, that whatever decisions I make will be life-changing. And yes, to me, they are- to me, my life is what is most important.
I get to school as a faceless stranger, a human being in a sea of human beings. I cross 'the most famous bridge in the world', just as countless others have done, and admire the view of the city- just as countless others have done. I have to dodge tourists along the way, cursing them as if I am superior; completely ignoring the fact that not many years ago, I had the exact same status in the exact same place. I get onto an underground train, surrounded by people I don't know and people I will never see again. As the train rattles in its dark, deep tube, I reflect on how every one of these people has his or her own life. They have a job to go to, a family to hold together... but rarely do I see any emotions. The people on these trains switch off as soon as they sit down, almost like computers on hibernation. Once they reach their stop, off they are again, like ants going about their busy chores. And so do I. As I make my way out of the station and onto the street, I wait just like everybody else for the little man to turn green until I cross the road.
My lecture is in a theatre. Again, I am a faceless stranger among hundreds of students. My books are out and I am ready to listen... but it doesn't work. I'm finding it hard to control my feelings, and as soon as my lesson starts, I am lost in a sea of thoughts. It is almost like everything else disappears and I am in my own world. In this world, dark thoughts loom. Sometimes, all I know is despair as it feels like everything is slipping out of my hands. Everyone is moving on with their lives, but I feel so stuck. My life has always felt like it is contained between 4 walls. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out without explicit approval. My hope that being here will change things has failed... I have realised that the problem is not those around me, the problem is me.

Fear

You have a fear that grips your heart and squeezes your stomach. It’s quiet, too quiet… so the music you put on stays in the background. Your thoughts are wild, a hurricane in your head. You try to catch as many as you can, get a glimpse of your emotions. Because you don’t know how you feel, there are too many of them, not enough you. Your feelings of love, loss, hate, despair are all so intense that they hurt. Suddenly a memory comes up like a punch to your stomach. You try to clear it all, but you can’t, you can’t because pushing down the volcano will only bring it up harder.
If only we had an off button we could push. But then what? If we use it, will it all come back once we are on again? Is there no way to escape this? Are thoughts physical? Where do they go once we are done with them?
You can’t trust yourself, because you don’t know what you want. Does anyone? What goes on underneath that barrier to the subconscious? The only thing you are sure of is that you have a great sense of pain, and loss, and you are sitting here, your body has a mind of its own because you don’t know where you’re going. Maybe you’re trying to overtake your thoughts, leave them behind. And the darker it gets, the longer the road, the heavier and harder the thoughts push.
You’ve lost yourself. The person you trusted the most to tell you what is right and wrong is gone. Who can you listen to now, if not your own body? Nothing matters but the fact that you’re gone, and in your place is paranoia and fear. It’s like losing trust in your lover because of infidelity. How much does it take before you can trust them again? How much will it take for you to trust yourself again? And there will always be that doubt, the ‘what if’, and if your judgement is wrong, it’s all over.

Note: This was written from personal experience, and although the story is not really over, the post feels finished. Maybe it was because of the finality of the situation, but I cannot continue it. Whatever the case, I think it's good to have something to look at that shows you a time in life when feelings like these were still fresh.

Your Gracious Host

You wake up early to the sound of your alarm clock. It takes you a moment to register where you are; the room is small, the bed uncomfortable. Outside, the sky is black and the breeze is quite strong. You stumble to your bathroom and take a hot shower. The clothes you wear are warm, and you pick up an umbrella because you know you’ll need it.

You take the elevator down and exit the building. Outside, the busy street greets you, and puddles are already forming. But you love it, you relish the feeling of knowing that you currently live at the very heart of London, the city of eccentrics. To your left, Trafalgar Square, and not far away, Hyde Park, Picadilly Street and Covent Garden. You don’t have time to stop and think, however, as you have a lecture to attend. And this lecture is in one of the most prestigious universities in the world.

You debate whether you want to walk there. That would take 20 minutes or so, and the rain does not seem to want to stop anytime soon. So, instead, you choose the underground. No matter how many times you ride the trains, you wonder at how organized English transport really is. The number of people briskly walking around is astonishing, and there are constantly announcements on the radio. Around you are people off to work, some holding coffees, some reading newspapers, but all wearing suits. In a few minutes, you arrive. The building where your lecture is being held is old and traditionally English. You sit in class where an old, but obviously very clever man, teaches you about the economics of the world. His teaching leads you to wonder about how distinct the English really are. Forming little queues, being very polite and very good at following rules.

Your daily walk home is always interesting. What you love most is how naughty you feel crossing the street when the little man is still red. People here are always in a rush, always anonymous, and this makes seeing a familiar face a pleasure. Tonight, it’s a talented but unknown musician playing his guitar on the streets. You pass by him, wondering if you will see him again tomorrow. Here, nothing is definite.

Where will you spend the rest of the day? The choices are infinite. Will it be in the massive Hyde Park, feeding the ducks? Will it be shopping on Picadilly Street? Will it be visiting one of the many cultural museums? Tonight, you decide to see your friends at Covent Garden. You meet in a small pub with a low ceiling. The drinks are typical, but the atmosphere is not. Suddenly, you feel free. This is where you have no boundaries to do what you want to do. You are with the people you love most, the friends who will never judge you or betray you. The sip of your drink and squeeze of your loved one make you feel warm. Now, you can take your time. People around you are laughing. The pub is warm and you are safe. When you’re done, you all decide to take a walk. Covent Garden is dotted with little restaurants and cafes. It is so full of life, all the time, that it’s almost a blur. During the night, it is cold. But the hugs, the laughter and happiness make you feel satiated and warm.

Tonight, you don’t mind that the night might soon end, because you know that there are many more like these to come. London will be your gracious host again soon. Back at your tiny room, you get to bed feeling tired but content. You fall asleep to kisses, and you have never felt more comfortable in your life than in this cramped bed.

A week touring in Norway, summer '07

It was somewhere mid-March when my mum found a site advertising a week-long tour in Norway. We'd done something similar in Scotland, when we visited the castles there. This is not what you imagine it to be- the tour meant that every day, we slept in a different city and visited different sites with the same group of people and tour guide. We were eager for adventure, and my mum, being parters with the firm organizing the trip, decided to go for it.

The plan was to get to Oslo from Germany, because we have a place to live in Baden-Baden. This was different from everyone else- the rest of the group was arriving in Olso on the same plane together from Moscow. Anyhow, we talked to the organisers it was agreed that we could get to Oslo ourselves.

Because we had such long trips on the bus, the tour guide used the opportunity to get us familiar with Norway. We learnt that only 3% of Norway can be used as land for living. It's a pretty expensive country too, because of extremely high taxes. Education is free. Norwegians are fiercely protective of their country and nature, and try to preserve as much as possible, preferring not to disturb natural spots at all. At the age of 14, kids are given a choice to either keep their religion or refuse it. All in all, Norwegians aren't religious at all, and in our week there, we only saw one church. The cities are pretty much all very small, and Norwegians' definition of a city is the same as ours for a village.

So:

Day 1, July 27: My mum, small brother and I got to Frankfurt Airport, feeling excited and not really knowing what to expect. For those of you who don't know me very well, I have an irrational fear of flying. This started after the 9/11 incident, but, funnily enough, it's not terrorists I'm afraid of, but airplane malfunctions. So, on the Lufthanza airplane, I was pretty worried- I don't trust any airline except Emirates. Well, as you can guess, we DID arrive (though I almost pissed myself on the take-off), to the small, unusual city of Oslo. I fell in love the first minute we got there. My mum and I observed that all Norwegians are blonde and the men are quite good-looking. They have an interesting language that seemed to be a mix of others, and their own ancient language. Because we got there pretty late at night, we didn't get a chance to explore. So, exhausted, we got to our hotel, which was located in the very centre of Oslo. We tried to sleep, but it was Saturday, and our window was very close to a noisy nightclub. It was a long night...

Day 2, July 28: Waking up early, breakfast at 8... and then looking for our guide. Being the freak that I am, I immediately starting thinking up all these scenrios where we don't find him, or he doesn't know about us, etc. But, everything was in our favour and we soon found him with the rest of the group, of about 45 people, all Russian. The guide was a Russian guy called Ruslan with very unusual eyes (changing colour from green to blue to a weird violet colour depending on the weather) and he turned out to be a very interesting person. The first day included a bus tour around Oslo, and then a trip to a city called Lillehammer, where the Winter Olympics once took place. It was surprisingly warm that day, and after a long drive to a small city called Otta, we spent the night at a hotel.

Day 3, July 29: Another early morning, and we made our way to the famous city Ålesund. Along the road we drove up through a valley to the top of a mountain, some surrounding it covered with ice. The drive to it was extremely narrow and windy, and, being on our massive bus, it was quite an exhilerating experience, especially when we met other gargantuan buses coming down the same way. After that, back on the bus, we finally saw our first fjord. The view was so unexpected and so much more beautiful than we anticipated, that there was a an audible gasp from the group. It was an unusual dark blue colour, a "river" (but not really) between mountains. We got onto a boat and sailed along the fjord, passing huge waterfalls, the most famous of them called "The 7 Sisters". When we were done with the cruise and finally got to Ålesund, we found a city that is mostly made up of little islands. It was typical Norwegian weather- rainy, cold, and windy. Nevertheless, it felt like a genuine Norwegian experience when we finally went to bed.

Day 4, July 30: The 4th day was mostly uneventful, filled with lots of driving on the bus on roads surrounded by beautiful mountains, lakes, rivers and fields. We saw the place in the sea where all the fjords start from and had a few absolutely heavenly strawberries. All in all, day 4 was mostly preparation for what was to come. We spent the night in a fishing city called Måløy.

Day 5, July 31: The 5th day was by far the most interesting, at least for me. On our programme it was written that we were going to visit a glacier. I sort of imagine it as white and flat, and that we'd walk around on it. I couldn't be more wrong. When we were about 3 kilometers away from the glacier, which was a massive block of ice wedged between two mountains, the road was narrow and on one side a huge lake a most unusual light blue colour. Waterfalls were everywhere. Closer to the glacier, a river flowed, also that unusual light colour. We were told that it had that colour because the water had melted from the glacier. We had to walk 1.5 km before an amazing sight opened in front of us- the glacier, a light blue colour, speckled with dust from the mountains, slanting down into another lake. It was so different from what we expected (and so cold) that we all stood frozen on the spot. Then we were told that we would get boats and drift up to it! And sure enough, using about 6 inflatible boats, we paddled to this giant. It was very, very cold and pieces of ice where floating around like icebergs. After half-an-hour of tedious paddling, my fingers numb, we got back the shore. Then we walked the whole 1.5 km back. By the time we got to the coffee shop and I had a steaming hot chocolate in my hands, I was absolutely exhausted. But, nothing comes easy... and I wouldn't trade that experience for anything. That night we slept in a tiny city called Sogndal.

Day 6, August 1: On this day we visited the famous town Flåm. What is so remarkable about it? It's railway station. We got into a train on a one-hour route to Myrdal. The route itself is under protection by UNESCO for its beauty, and truly, the waterfalls, valleys and mountains we passed were breath-taking. The night we spent in a (relatively) large city Bergen, which was also my favourite one.

Day 7, August 2: Our last day on tour was also an interesting one, as we spent the first half exploring Bergen. This city is home to the composer Grieg, one of my few favourites, and we had the chance to visit his museum, which was located in the very house he lived. It was truly an experience, for Grieg, rather unusually, composed significt Norwegian music. It was obvious to me now where he got his inspiration from- the surrounding nature and people of Norway. Listening to his music, you'd always hear the love of his country in it. The day was also an unusual one because when we were travelling before on the bus, the landscape was usually high mountains, fast rivers, waterfalls, forests... now, we passed through a flat land that had few or no trees, with still lakes and many rocks and stones. This road was taking us to the ski village Geilo, which stood 800 m above sea level. That night we went on walks in this cold and windy place, and finally got to bed quite late.

Day 8, August 3: The final day, and we, feeling tired and fulfilled, got onto the bus for the last time to make our way to Oslo Airport. On the way, our guide, Ruslan, told us about the place he lived in- Panama! We heard about South America and he was so good at advertising that we decided our next destination will be Brazil.

And that was our busy, tiring, beautiful and fulfilling trip!

Photos part I
Photos part II
Photos part III

The Room

On the first day, I walked in with buckets of paint and brushes. I set them all down on the bare floor and opened them up one by one. Red, blue, green, yellow, black, pink, purple, colors you wouldn’t even find names for. I took the first brush and dipped it slowly, gently, into the first can. I pulled it back up, the rich color dripping from the other end, and lifted it up to the plain white walls. The first stroke, the beginning of it all, and I couldn’t believe how right it felt. I dipped the brush back in, and put it up to the wall again, this time more confidently, painting quicker and stronger. For hours after that, I painted all four walls lovingly, passionately. I painted the story of my life, my thoughts, my emotions. I painted everything that meant something special to me. It took me the whole day, and at the end I saw a room given art. I was so exhausted, I lay down on the floor, covered in paint, but with a huge, satisfied smile on my face. It felt right.
On the second day, I walked in pushing a huge, black grand piano. I set it up in the corner of the room. The smooth wood felt good under my palms and after I was done familiarizing myself with every inch of what itself was a work of art, I sat on the soft leather stool and lifted up my fingers to the black and white keys. Then, I played everything that was in my heart and soul. I played my sorrows, my joys, my hopes and dreams. I played with a passion so strong I didn’t feel like I was me anymore, but something floating in harmony with the music. I played for the whole day, and at the end I knew I had given the room music. Tired but fulfilled, I lay my head on the cool wood. It felt right.
On the third day, I walked in carrying a shelf, a pillow, a cage and a box. I set up the shelf opposite the piano and opened the box. On my knees, I took out each object- always a cat from some exotic place, cleaned it lovingly, and put it proudly on the shelf. One after the other, pausing to relive every memory attached to each special cat, I patiently wiped and carefully added to the collection. When I was done, I placed the pillow next to the shelf and opened up the cage. I watched as a careful paw came out and tentatively touched the floor. I watched as a being of beauty, patience, and perfection stepped out and slowly took in what it was seeing. Carefully, the cat walked around the room and explored it with curiosity. Sometimes it asked me questions with long, beautiful meeeeeeows and I laughed at its acceptance of change. At the end, it walked over to me, its eyes filled with trust and love, and curled up to me. I smiled, knowing I had given the room a loyal friend. It felt right.
On the fourth day, I walked in carrying candles. Tall ones, short ones, round ones, thick ones, of every kind. I went around the room and placed them at the edges, one by one, lighting them all. I turned off the lights and sat in the middle, closed my eyes, finding peace and calm within myself. I let the warmth be my comfort, the aroma my tranquility and the darkness my friend. I sat there, allowing the calm settle down into the room. When I was done, I opened my eyes slowly and patiently- I had given the room peace. It felt right.
On the fifth day, I walked in pulling a bed and a couch. I placed them on opposite ends of the room and smiled at how complete the room had become. I spent the day with the knowledge that this was my room, made with my hands, my heart, my sweat. I thought about everything I had given this room, marveling at its sense of unity and harmony. I left that day knowing I had given the room comfort. It felt right.
On the sixth day, I walked in leading a friend. I showed him everything I had done and let him experience the art, music, friendship, peace and comfort in this room. With him inside, it felt truly complete. His presence made it special, understanding and open. I held his hand in mine and let his friendship, warmth and peace into the room. I closed my eyes and smiled, knowing that I was done, and the best was yet to come. I had given the room love; it felt right.
On the seventh day, I rested.

Black and White

It’s alive. You can feel it from that very first note, the beginning of it all, that breath before a torrent of emotions. It is clear in the air, and in this enclosed room, you can almost see it, its shape definite yet at the same time without boundary.
The wave of notes that follow fill you up with warmth in every point of your body. The life and soul of the music that is now inside you mixes with that which is already yours, and you are at one with it. It is like a child- innocent, playful and inquisitive. It wants to be loved, and as it caresses you softly, beckoning to you soulfully, you cannot help but give in to it.
As you let the music take over you, you are stripped of all that is impure. Naked, you enter a world that is one of the few left untouched. Here, music is everyone and everything. It is that breath of fresh air, it is that cool breeze, that soft grass in a never-ending meadow of beauty. Here, it is innocence. It is love. Peace. Harmony.
The music has a story to tell, and it wants you to hear it. It sits you down and tells you all that it knows. It laughs at the humorous parts, its laughter sweet and melodic to your ears. It cries when it’s sad, the tears big and heartbreaking. All it wants is to share all it has with you, to sympathize with you, to comfort you.
Music is a force stronger and more pure than anything else in the world when it is loved and allowed to love. When it is ignored, however, it is weak and helpless. A child in need of its mother’s attention, a plant in need of the sun. It cannot grow without love.
When, finally, the story reaches its end, you wake up as if from a dream. You remember glimpses of what happened in this other world, yet you cannot grasp them in your mind. The feeling is like catching a lost memory- the harder you search for it, the further away it will get from you. It cannot be forced. It can only be reached through total surrender of mind and soul.

Him

It’s the piercing intelligence behind the beautiful blue eyes, the way he walks into a room tall and proud, his body strong and athletic. You know he’s not a child, but not fully grown either. He is fierce, independent and confident. Everything is of interest to him; his thirst is knowledge and he will seek it everywhere. Once he is satisfied, he sits atop his throne with the grace of royalty, but always alert. He has the patience that no-one can rival with, and he notices everyone and everything. He is conscious of every detail around him, and every new sound and smell will be investigated.

He loves company, and is not too proud to admit it. The delight you feel as he approaches you, for you are the one he has chosen, is immeasurable. You know he will do anything for you, his trust and loyalty will never be shaken. He is not afraid to show that your presence gives him warmth and comfort, and his dependence on you does nothing to lessen his pride.

He is not arrogant, rather, he’d share everything he has with you if he could. He knows more than you ever will, and the way he sits there so calm and composed, reeking of wisdom and knowledge gives you comfort, because according to him, everything is right in the world.

When threatened, he is patient and waits for the right moment to attack. He is strong and deadly, and will not back down easily. He will protect what is rightfully his with every drop of power he has, until he can do it no more.

He is a being of every kind of contradiction. He is intelligent, but does not like to show it. He is soft and gentle and loving, but his ferocity and strength is hidden behind it all. His voice is sweet and beautiful, and everything he says sounds song-like. He is warm and he loves you, and you know that no other kind of love exists other than the kind you love him with.

The Truth

She asked for the truth, and I lied. I lied and I knew that she knew, that she chose to believe me.

When you’re physically hurt, your body numbs itself, but only for a period of time. Eventually your body feels again. But what if you’ve been hurt in other ways? What if all you do all day is sit at home, the curtains drawn, the darkness comforting you? What if nothing matters to you anymore, what if all you have is your head and your thoughts? Are you numb?

Nothing’s changed. Another lie- what will that do to me? I came to our meeting feeling cold and tired, I left feeling just the same. Nothing’s changed.

Lying is protection. A kind of assurance. Those who choose to believe- and I truly believe it’s a choice- have found a way of comforting themselves. I pull the coat tighter around me. I hate the cold and the uncertainty, but I can do nothing about it.

People say that we should live each day as if it’s our last. They talk about traveling, climbing mountains, exploring. Does that mean that spending each day at home is wasting our lives? Wouldn’t it be a way of facing our thoughts instead of ignoring them? Wouldn’t it be more challenging than any adventure in our lives? We would learn more about ourselves spending a day alone than a month of physical challenges. Is not finding out how we truly feel a thousand times more rewarding than discovering the world?

I left knowing that my lie comforted her. I left knowing that she would never seek to hear from me again.

There is no-one to trust but myself. Not the stars, not the sky. Not the people that pass me by as I walk. Not the cold, nor the snow, and especially not the rain.

---

I don’t know what I came expecting today. I don’t know what I wanted. Maybe I wanted an answer, any answer, whether it was the truth or a lie.

I should have known not to ask. Each question leads to another, each answer opens up thousands other possibilities. And even if we just sat there, saying nothing… I know that it would have been the same. Every silence, every unspoken word was heard and understood. A conversation is not all talking, the spaces in between have meanings as well.

It was cold. I knew that she hates the cold, she always did.

I felt weak. I felt like she was stronger because it was I who asked the question, it was I who was uncertain and wavering. I felt like she knew a lot more than I did, that she had all the answers. Maybe she found comfort in this. Maybe we all find comfort in knowing that those around us are as weak as we are, just as confused and just as unsure. Maybe giving answers makes us feel powerful.

It’s raining now. The sky cries for us, the heavens mourn us. My tears fall just as freely now. I cry for what happened today, I cry for myself, and I cry for her. I cry because I will never stop asking questions, because I will never get the answers I need. I cry because it’s cold, because it’s raining. I cry because the people that pass me by aren’t.

I cry because I know that I will never ask the question again.

Curious enough?

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Grade 12- we made it!

Ok, school in just about 4 days (no, I'm not counting down!)

Congratulations to everyone who made it- our last year together has approached, and we are in for one heck of a year!

So, what has been happening, then? Mostly people tell me they're so happy to be in 12SA... because both me and Fahmy are in the same class. I tell you: Don't expect anything except his hand finally reaching that damned ceiling- probably in maths class. Me, I'm sitting quietly. No more sarcastic remarks. No more extra chromosomes. My job as the big mouth has passed over- hopefully to Ashhad.

Who knows what this year will bring? Every year I tell myself I'll change and be better- it never works. Somehow, inevitably, I open my stupid mouth and say something that will land me a detention.

This year, friends will be made. Frienships will be broken. But at the end of it all- we will have a graduation to attend to. As well as a prom. And then- we are free, free, free. But is that a good thing? This year will decide.

So, congratulations to all of you again- and see you soon.

Don't piss me off.

Anansi Boys

"Stupid birds," he said, cheerfully. He pulled himself up on to the windowledge.
Flamingos are not famed for their cutting intelligence, nor for their problem-sloving abilities: confronted with a twist of wire, and a bottle with something edible in it, a crow might try to make a tool out the the wire in order to get to the contents of the bottle. A flamingo, on the other hand, would try and eat the wire, if it looked like a shrimp, or possibly even if it didn't, just in case it was a new kind of shrimp. So if there was something slightly smoky and insubstantial about the man who stood on the windowledge insulting them, the flamingos failed to perceive it. They glared at him with the crazed pink eyes of killer rabbits, and they rushed towards him.

(By Neil Gaiman from the book Anansi Boys)

Marbles

The touch, as light as a feather,
Barely there, but there all the same.
Soft, so soft, I can hardly feel it
Almost like the lips craving for the taste of rain.
The lights are dimmed, my eyes unseeing
Search for what they've searched so long.
The darkness is all around me,
I welcome it as the music of a song.
My breath is deep, my body warm,
My hands find the way instinctively.
I will not stop, I will not forget,
The reason that I guard so protectively.
Once it's finished, once it's done,
All that's left are fading memories.
I drop them like a bag of marbles,
struggling to catch the scattering stories.
Those that I retrieve, I hold on to firmly,
I will not let them go.
But, for now, I will not look behind,
Never will I stoop so low.

Passion

To exaggerate the light you seen when onstage would be impossible. The first thing you notice, even before the audience, would be the light shining so bright that it blinds you. To some it brings fear and nerves; I feel at home with it. The roar of the audience fed me as I sat down. I started my piece playing for the audience; I ended being completely lost in the music. The emotions were so strong that I did not have enough space to keep them in; I was transferring them all into the music. All my senses except hearing were lost; I did not see, I did not touch and I did not taste. Every feeling was exaggerated as the music went from painful to scornful to cheerful to sarcastic. Music has its own life- it feels, it grows, it changes. I spoke to the music and it spoke back to me. There was no boundary between us, I was enveloped in the beauty of the music. The final note hung in the air as the audience waited patiently. I left thinking, “you have no idea!”

Numb

I am strong,
hidden behind a curtain of black.
I am hard,
I will lose myself and not leave a track.
I will keep everything inside.
You will not hurt me.
I will give away nothing,
You will not find me.
Try, but you will not touch me.
You will not reach me or teach me.
I am lost within myself,
My world is mine alone.
My sanctuary is here but you are there.
The distances to me you will not bear.
The pain will never catch me.
You alone will never match me.
I stand, watching you.
What do you see when you look at me?
I am frozen, hard, dead on the outside.
If only you knew the storm on the inside.
Delicate yet strong, but always tense.
You will not feel me in that sense.
To you, I am numb.
If only I was.

Dubai Desert Rock Festival

Thursday March 16th, 2006. Location: Dubai Country Club. Event: Dubai Desert Rock Festival.

As you all know, I woke up on that fateful day running to the bathroom, puking all over the place. I spent the rest of the morning either in bed, or in the bathroom, damning those Spicy Cheetos to hell. At 3pm, I received a call from my friends- they were on the way. Feeling like the undead and half-delirious, I was intent on going to this concert. I had been waiting for it for over two months- I stumbled to my wardrobe and picked up the first thing I saw. Tied my hair, applied eyeliner, and got my brother to drive me. I tell my dad I'm leaving and looks at me suspiciously, but can't refuse.
"Is there gonna be alcohol?" My brother asks.
"Yeah," I reply.
"WHAT??!!!!" Ever the over-protective brother. The whole way there he lectured me how never again was he going to drive me to a concert.

Testament were onstage when I got there. I joined my group of friends, noticing they looked at me kinda strangely. I look down at my clothes- I was wearing a pink Crew shirt that said "Beach" and my jeans. WAY outta place, what with all the goths around me. We rocked to Testament, way up front, and the people behind us started moshing, I was in NO condition to mosh. My hair kept getting pulled and me face was shoved up a guy's armpit. Testament finished, there was a break. Met up with some more friends and we were getting jollier by the minute. Drinks all around (which I was gonna refuse, what with my queesy stomach) and we're feelin' good. After the break, Reel Big Fish came on, they were fuckin' good, we got to the front again and kicked everyone's asses. The sun was setting, and we were getting happier and happier. After an hour of playing, it was about 8:30 pm and they left.

3 Doors Down came on and sucked ass. I was supposed to be home by 9, but my brother was getting held up. I was crossing my fingers- Megadeth were next and I really wanted to see them. I was called and told my brother was waiting outside. Right in the middle of the only 3 Doors Down song I knew- "Here without you". I kissed everyone good-bye and got the hell outta there. On our way home we stopped for Burger King. I didn't have ANYTHING to eat that day except that I drank some tea, so I got myself a burger.

Today at 4 am, I ran into the bathroom again.

Cultures

Come to Arabia, where we will welcome you with open arms, bound to the rules set thousands of years ago. Wear our traditional clothes, see our dances. Visit our holy sites, learn of our history.

Come to Asia, where in China we observe our customs that we pride ourselves in. See Japan, with our myths, legends and enthralling history. Visit India, speak our many languages. Join us in our hard work and listen to our stories.

Come to Africa, where you will find a land of mysteries. Lose yourself in our forests, cross our deserts, climb our mountains!

Come to Australia, where you will find sanctuary in our homes. Discover what makes us unique and different. Here dwell creatures you will find nowhere else. Feel like you are on the tip of the world, far away from everyone else.

Come to Europe, where you will always be awed by our various traditions. Come to Italy, taste our food, see the works of art that will captivate you. Visit Russia, where we pride ourselves in our history and our patriotism. Come to Finland, smell our clean, cold air. Embrace life in our nature.

But what about you, America? What traditions have you got? What have you to show me that I have not seen before? Where does your pride lie? Is it in how you choked the traditions before you to death? Is it in your food, your obesity? Is it in your dominating nature, feeling the need to bully others? Is it in your clothes? You trampled on your history- what have you left? Money? Power? Ignorance?