I would smash my watch, and make time stop.
It's a picture perfect scene. I hug my knees and lay down my head. I breathe in the salty smell of the sea and smile. A breeze in my hair. Nature keeps going, but you are frozen.
We are alone on the beach, under a dark sky of stars. The lonely moon has never seemed bigger and all I can hear is the crashing of the waves.
I take a look at you. You're staring out at the sea. Relaxed, content. You have the softest eyes I've ever seen. Even in moments like these, when you know the outcome can't be good, you seem to take it all in stride. It's disconcerting, the fact that I don't know how to provoke a reaction.
You've asked a question I don't want to answer.
And I know I'm a coward. I know I've been holding on to something that can't continue. And I know that no matter the answer I give, you're going to smile, and you're going to be okay with it. Be a comfort. But there comes a point when comfort isn't so comfortable anymore.
I can't deal with it, and so I'm going to run away from it.
I stand up, take one last look at you, still frozen in time. I turn my back and walk away. I have an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness, but it's better than the alternative.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Rider
It seems to me that there are few athletes that aren't at least a little superstitious. You read about it in autobiographies, you hear stories- there is at least a little OCD involved. I think that's hardly surprising, as the preparation leading up to the sport is a ritual in itself. No matter what it is you do, you have a routine to get yourself ready. You get your kit on, you do your warm up. The care you put into your specialized outfit, because you know how important it is to your performance, creates a certain connection. Just the amount of effort required to keep everything in shape, whether they are pointe shoes that need breaking in, to ice-skating boots with the sharpening of the blade, even football boots- knowing full well that soon, these very things you hold in your hands will cause you pain. Blood, sores, bruises- they all part of the process of a sport we love and give ourselves to.
For me, back in Dubai about 3 years ago, Fridays meant horse-riding. And horse-riding meant a long, long drive to the place where I would do it, which was in the middle of the desert. Back then I still didn't have my license, and my mum would be doing the driving. Thinking about Dubai inevitably leads to thinking about long, open, 7-lane highways, surrounded by sand. I would be the one in charge of the music, and I remember that Echoes and Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd were the two I played the most. They suited the mood.
The place I went really was like a little oasis. It was a patch of green- albeit quite a large patch- but it was still quite far away from the city and so just inside the sandlands. I did horse-riding for a while, I think it was 3 years. But there's a certain period that sticks out most in my memory, which involved a series of lessons with a specific horse.
Usually I'd do group lessons, and I almost never got the same horse more than twice in a row. The reason is that they wanted us to be able to experience all sorts of horses with different abilities and personalities. And believe me, they have personalities. After a while, you'd know which horse is good at what, which gets nervous when, and basically how to handle each one in its own unique way, to get the best out of it.
For some reason that seems to escape my mind, I did a bunch of private lessons. I also kept getting the same horse- an old, ambling guy by the name of Jasper. Jasper's HUGE- which means he isn't very nimble and not so smooth. The timing of the class was such that sunset would occur right near the end of it. The field next to us, at that time, was usually empty too- which meant that in a massive expanse of sand, it was just me, Jasper and my trainer at the time, Jason.
It was near enough damned perfect. Like something out of movie.
Jasper and I worked hard. You never know how difficult a sport is until you try it, and these professionals you see on TV really do make it look easy. I've done a lot of different sports in my life, and I can honestly say- nothing was as physically demanding as horse-riding. Every single muscle- the legs, the inner thighs, the back, the arms- they all get used. Not to mention it's a lot of cardio.
As I mentioned before, Jasper wasn't exactly the most graceful horse in the stable. He wasn't clumsy, of course- but he needed refinement. Jason had me working on getting him to do certain steps that specific horses are trained for that are considered “dance”. Ours was really simple- I had to get him to move sideways by crossing his legs as opposed to physically just going in that direction.
It was difficult, because Jasper wasn't the right kind of horse for these kind of exercises. We did laps and laps of shapes, circles, weaving in and out- going wider, narrower, round and round my trainer. Week after week, something noticeably changed.
You will hear every rider say this- but eventually you start developing a relationship with the horse. You start feeling the subtleties, start being able to know what to expect. It wasn't just that I was learning to control him; he could tell what I needed as well. For a short, rare period of time, it was like we were in sync and every tiny movement I made was being fully interpreted, and so on. I didn't work him; we worked together.
One thing I never stopped appreciating over the whole time I did horse-riding was the fact that I was basically sitting on a beast; an animal that was by far stronger than me. If it wanted to, it could basically kill me. That feeling and that realization is absolutely exhilarating, and few other sports can compare, because few other sports involve animals. The fact that you have a living, breathing and absolutely gorgeous creature responding to subtle movements in your hands and legs is really quite something. And there are times when you really feel the dangers- at some point or another, no matter how good they are, every rider will experience some sort of accident. I've had my experiences, and I have yet to feel that kind of powerful adrenalin rush elsewhere.
Sometimes our lessons involved going out in the open, as opposed to practicing within a confined space. That was much more dangerous as obviously the horses could go as far as they wanted if you lost control. Again, it was just me and my coach. This time it was a woman, and she wanted me to try a gallop for the first time.
The various speeds we trained at were a simple walk, a slightly faster trot, a canter, and the fastest being a gallop. Each speed has it's own command and you don't have to go through them all. For example, one of the toughest exercises was to get the horse from a walk right into a canter. The reason I'd never tried a gallop before was that the closed spaces were far too small for that.
I remember feeling scared, and not knowing what to expect. That has never stopped me before; I'd done jumps that absolutely terrified me and not all ended well. But I knew I had to do it. And I did- and it was the most surreal experiences. The word “fast” doesn't really describe it; it was just a whirl. All I remember is everything around passing by in a blur, but the amazing thing was how smooth it all felt, how effortless.
I miss these experiences; I even miss the long drive there and back. What it was my mum and I discussed on the way there and back I can't imagine. It was good times though; the sun, the sand, the friends, even that specific smell- it's irreplaceable.
For me, back in Dubai about 3 years ago, Fridays meant horse-riding. And horse-riding meant a long, long drive to the place where I would do it, which was in the middle of the desert. Back then I still didn't have my license, and my mum would be doing the driving. Thinking about Dubai inevitably leads to thinking about long, open, 7-lane highways, surrounded by sand. I would be the one in charge of the music, and I remember that Echoes and Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd were the two I played the most. They suited the mood.
The place I went really was like a little oasis. It was a patch of green- albeit quite a large patch- but it was still quite far away from the city and so just inside the sandlands. I did horse-riding for a while, I think it was 3 years. But there's a certain period that sticks out most in my memory, which involved a series of lessons with a specific horse.
Usually I'd do group lessons, and I almost never got the same horse more than twice in a row. The reason is that they wanted us to be able to experience all sorts of horses with different abilities and personalities. And believe me, they have personalities. After a while, you'd know which horse is good at what, which gets nervous when, and basically how to handle each one in its own unique way, to get the best out of it.
For some reason that seems to escape my mind, I did a bunch of private lessons. I also kept getting the same horse- an old, ambling guy by the name of Jasper. Jasper's HUGE- which means he isn't very nimble and not so smooth. The timing of the class was such that sunset would occur right near the end of it. The field next to us, at that time, was usually empty too- which meant that in a massive expanse of sand, it was just me, Jasper and my trainer at the time, Jason.
It was near enough damned perfect. Like something out of movie.
Jasper and I worked hard. You never know how difficult a sport is until you try it, and these professionals you see on TV really do make it look easy. I've done a lot of different sports in my life, and I can honestly say- nothing was as physically demanding as horse-riding. Every single muscle- the legs, the inner thighs, the back, the arms- they all get used. Not to mention it's a lot of cardio.
As I mentioned before, Jasper wasn't exactly the most graceful horse in the stable. He wasn't clumsy, of course- but he needed refinement. Jason had me working on getting him to do certain steps that specific horses are trained for that are considered “dance”. Ours was really simple- I had to get him to move sideways by crossing his legs as opposed to physically just going in that direction.
It was difficult, because Jasper wasn't the right kind of horse for these kind of exercises. We did laps and laps of shapes, circles, weaving in and out- going wider, narrower, round and round my trainer. Week after week, something noticeably changed.
You will hear every rider say this- but eventually you start developing a relationship with the horse. You start feeling the subtleties, start being able to know what to expect. It wasn't just that I was learning to control him; he could tell what I needed as well. For a short, rare period of time, it was like we were in sync and every tiny movement I made was being fully interpreted, and so on. I didn't work him; we worked together.
One thing I never stopped appreciating over the whole time I did horse-riding was the fact that I was basically sitting on a beast; an animal that was by far stronger than me. If it wanted to, it could basically kill me. That feeling and that realization is absolutely exhilarating, and few other sports can compare, because few other sports involve animals. The fact that you have a living, breathing and absolutely gorgeous creature responding to subtle movements in your hands and legs is really quite something. And there are times when you really feel the dangers- at some point or another, no matter how good they are, every rider will experience some sort of accident. I've had my experiences, and I have yet to feel that kind of powerful adrenalin rush elsewhere.
Sometimes our lessons involved going out in the open, as opposed to practicing within a confined space. That was much more dangerous as obviously the horses could go as far as they wanted if you lost control. Again, it was just me and my coach. This time it was a woman, and she wanted me to try a gallop for the first time.
The various speeds we trained at were a simple walk, a slightly faster trot, a canter, and the fastest being a gallop. Each speed has it's own command and you don't have to go through them all. For example, one of the toughest exercises was to get the horse from a walk right into a canter. The reason I'd never tried a gallop before was that the closed spaces were far too small for that.
I remember feeling scared, and not knowing what to expect. That has never stopped me before; I'd done jumps that absolutely terrified me and not all ended well. But I knew I had to do it. And I did- and it was the most surreal experiences. The word “fast” doesn't really describe it; it was just a whirl. All I remember is everything around passing by in a blur, but the amazing thing was how smooth it all felt, how effortless.
I miss these experiences; I even miss the long drive there and back. What it was my mum and I discussed on the way there and back I can't imagine. It was good times though; the sun, the sand, the friends, even that specific smell- it's irreplaceable.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Lifeline
I'm reaching out, about to catch you. The room is hot, filled with people. The music is loud and sweaty bodies are jumping in unison around me. I'm pushed and pulled from one side to the other. Where are you? I see you out of the corner of my eye, but as I turn, you're gone. God, it's so hot. But there's no-one else here I know. The flashing lights, the grabbing hands. It's becoming too much. I need you...
--
I wake up in a burning hot room. I throw off my duvet and shakily try to get myself together. I'm sweating.
I switch on a dim bulb and throw open the window. In the bathroom, the cool water is my only source of comfort. My reflection is not. I hate the person I've become. I used to be strong. I used to know who I am. But I'm pathetic.
And I'm a liar, a first-class liar.
I'm trapped. The closer I get to admitting it, day by day, the more suffocated I feel. The walls seem to be edging together. A wave of nausea takes over and I know it- that's it. Something has to change.
I pick up my phone. I go through the list of the names... I know these people. But they are not my people. I'm starting to panic. There has to be someone...
--
You're waiting for me. We barely know each other at all.
Smoke curls out of your cigarette as you let out your breath. Your eyes have a hint of amber in them. There's something we have in common.
You listen to me as I talk. About superficial things at first. Shaky, trying to find my ground. You know that's not why I'm here, or why you are either.
As the story finally unwinds, your stony exterior softens- but only slightly. I've made you uncomfortable. But now I know you care, and as you open your mouth for the first time to tell me what you think, I know that I will do as you say. You are going to pull me through.
--
Sometimes it feels like the decisions we make, the ones that affect the rest of our lives, aren't really choices. Sometimes it feels like every tiny detail of our past is what led up to them. In that case, do we really have control over anything?
I've become a floater. The anchor that kept me grounded is gone. Anchor, shackles- is there a difference? I don't know.
I throw down my smoke into the grass and step on it. Look up at the sky and smile. So blue, I have never seen it like this. A few puffy clouds and the sun in beating down on me.
I start to run through the park. I start off slow, but soon I gain momentum. Faster and faster, the trees racing past me, the lawns greener than green. I see the music and take off...
I run along the clouds, and they belong to me.
--
I wake up in a burning hot room. I throw off my duvet and shakily try to get myself together. I'm sweating.
I switch on a dim bulb and throw open the window. In the bathroom, the cool water is my only source of comfort. My reflection is not. I hate the person I've become. I used to be strong. I used to know who I am. But I'm pathetic.
And I'm a liar, a first-class liar.
I'm trapped. The closer I get to admitting it, day by day, the more suffocated I feel. The walls seem to be edging together. A wave of nausea takes over and I know it- that's it. Something has to change.
I pick up my phone. I go through the list of the names... I know these people. But they are not my people. I'm starting to panic. There has to be someone...
--
You're waiting for me. We barely know each other at all.
Smoke curls out of your cigarette as you let out your breath. Your eyes have a hint of amber in them. There's something we have in common.
You listen to me as I talk. About superficial things at first. Shaky, trying to find my ground. You know that's not why I'm here, or why you are either.
As the story finally unwinds, your stony exterior softens- but only slightly. I've made you uncomfortable. But now I know you care, and as you open your mouth for the first time to tell me what you think, I know that I will do as you say. You are going to pull me through.
--
Sometimes it feels like the decisions we make, the ones that affect the rest of our lives, aren't really choices. Sometimes it feels like every tiny detail of our past is what led up to them. In that case, do we really have control over anything?
I've become a floater. The anchor that kept me grounded is gone. Anchor, shackles- is there a difference? I don't know.
I throw down my smoke into the grass and step on it. Look up at the sky and smile. So blue, I have never seen it like this. A few puffy clouds and the sun in beating down on me.
I start to run through the park. I start off slow, but soon I gain momentum. Faster and faster, the trees racing past me, the lawns greener than green. I see the music and take off...
I run along the clouds, and they belong to me.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
2010
It has been an intense year. Sometimes intensely up, sometimes intensely down.
It feels like the year where most has happened to me- the biggest changes, the biggest realizations. I have made decisions that have now placed me on the path I'm treading, but where it leads to I don't know.
As always, it is hard for me think of a year in non-academic terms. It's usually September- June, and then that big irrelevant gap in the middle. I guess that says a lot about what I think is important, and lately I have come to realise just how much emphasis I put on education, and how much I genuinely enjoy being part of academic life.
The previous new year was met in the middle of my time at LSE. Yesterday, my brother told me that the way you meet the new year is the way you will be spending it, and it seems that last time it was true. I had met so many new people over the year, but not many lasted. I kept a few close by. So far, 2011 predicts the opposite with the many, old familiar faces, and I do hope it will be true.
There is not a month I can think of from the previous year that does not bring up intense memories and emotions. From new experiences to exhaustion, understanding to embarrassments, joys, family illnesses, depression- it's all in there, both good and bad. But as always, there are no regrets. Everything I've been through is a result of the past and the decisions I've made, and I would not change any of them. I am who I am, and to change the past would be to change who I was.
The strongest feeling now for me is that things are changing. I'm on the very cusp, that point in my life that will determine a lot of the future. It feels like the right moment to make conscious changes, as well as acknowledge those that were not. Everything that has happened has led up to this- the decision to allow change. Change in friendships as I let go of those that have no meaning anymore, change in relationships as I wipe a clean slate, change in family as I strengthen the ties with those who matter most. Changes as I try to let things flow on their own, to let the pieces fall instead of attempt to catch them all and place them my way.
Most of all, it will mean acceptance. And that will be the hardest thing to do.
It feels like the year where most has happened to me- the biggest changes, the biggest realizations. I have made decisions that have now placed me on the path I'm treading, but where it leads to I don't know.
As always, it is hard for me think of a year in non-academic terms. It's usually September- June, and then that big irrelevant gap in the middle. I guess that says a lot about what I think is important, and lately I have come to realise just how much emphasis I put on education, and how much I genuinely enjoy being part of academic life.
The previous new year was met in the middle of my time at LSE. Yesterday, my brother told me that the way you meet the new year is the way you will be spending it, and it seems that last time it was true. I had met so many new people over the year, but not many lasted. I kept a few close by. So far, 2011 predicts the opposite with the many, old familiar faces, and I do hope it will be true.
There is not a month I can think of from the previous year that does not bring up intense memories and emotions. From new experiences to exhaustion, understanding to embarrassments, joys, family illnesses, depression- it's all in there, both good and bad. But as always, there are no regrets. Everything I've been through is a result of the past and the decisions I've made, and I would not change any of them. I am who I am, and to change the past would be to change who I was.
The strongest feeling now for me is that things are changing. I'm on the very cusp, that point in my life that will determine a lot of the future. It feels like the right moment to make conscious changes, as well as acknowledge those that were not. Everything that has happened has led up to this- the decision to allow change. Change in friendships as I let go of those that have no meaning anymore, change in relationships as I wipe a clean slate, change in family as I strengthen the ties with those who matter most. Changes as I try to let things flow on their own, to let the pieces fall instead of attempt to catch them all and place them my way.
Most of all, it will mean acceptance. And that will be the hardest thing to do.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Invisible Strings
We are burdened by the rules of society.
And it's a shame. It's sad that we cannot be who we want to be, that we can't say how we feel, that we can't simply do what we want to do.
These rules of “morality” are what cause so much pain. We are internally tormented by the conflicts between what we want and what is expected of us by others. We have so many people to please – our parents, our partners, our colleagues, even strangers- that our needs practically come in last.
What would it mean, to live in a “free” society? I don't think I'm talking about anarchy. Laws and regulations have their uses. But what about social freedom? Freedom to talk, to make, to criticize, to love, to feel.
No matter what people say, we are meant to have partners. Someone to share our lives with. The question is, are we meant to share them with one person forever? Surely relationships, just like anything else, eventually run of steam, eventually reach the end of the line.
And that doesn't have to be a bad thing. I honestly believe that the most I've learnt about myself was through other people. Why lose out on opportunities to learn, to grow?
The thought that we have one life, just one chance, has been weighing on my mind for a long time. It makes me want to take chances, take risks, do as much as I can. If I want it, I'll go for it.
That's not to say that all relationships must end after a certain period of time. Who am I to dictate anything? There are many couples that stay together, happily, for years and years until the end of their lives. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that- the point here is, we should maximize our happiness. When we feel that things are not working... we should not be afraid to let it go.
We must be confident. We must know who we are. We must believe that everything will be okay, that we have to change for no one, and be under nobody's rule. We must believe that everybody has the right to do what they want, as long as nobody is getting hurt. Otherwise, what is the point of it all? What is the point of living life by a bunch of rules, sacrificing, avoiding certain things just because they are considered wrong by the society?
This doesn't mean we have to be harsh, or exploit people. But being honest about how we feel, and just talking, can come such a long way. There is nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what is on our minds. Absolutely nothing.
And it's a shame. It's sad that we cannot be who we want to be, that we can't say how we feel, that we can't simply do what we want to do.
These rules of “morality” are what cause so much pain. We are internally tormented by the conflicts between what we want and what is expected of us by others. We have so many people to please – our parents, our partners, our colleagues, even strangers- that our needs practically come in last.
What would it mean, to live in a “free” society? I don't think I'm talking about anarchy. Laws and regulations have their uses. But what about social freedom? Freedom to talk, to make, to criticize, to love, to feel.
No matter what people say, we are meant to have partners. Someone to share our lives with. The question is, are we meant to share them with one person forever? Surely relationships, just like anything else, eventually run of steam, eventually reach the end of the line.
And that doesn't have to be a bad thing. I honestly believe that the most I've learnt about myself was through other people. Why lose out on opportunities to learn, to grow?
The thought that we have one life, just one chance, has been weighing on my mind for a long time. It makes me want to take chances, take risks, do as much as I can. If I want it, I'll go for it.
That's not to say that all relationships must end after a certain period of time. Who am I to dictate anything? There are many couples that stay together, happily, for years and years until the end of their lives. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that- the point here is, we should maximize our happiness. When we feel that things are not working... we should not be afraid to let it go.
We must be confident. We must know who we are. We must believe that everything will be okay, that we have to change for no one, and be under nobody's rule. We must believe that everybody has the right to do what they want, as long as nobody is getting hurt. Otherwise, what is the point of it all? What is the point of living life by a bunch of rules, sacrificing, avoiding certain things just because they are considered wrong by the society?
This doesn't mean we have to be harsh, or exploit people. But being honest about how we feel, and just talking, can come such a long way. There is nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what is on our minds. Absolutely nothing.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Poison
One of the hardest things we can do as humans is admit to ourselves about how we really feel. But sometimes even admitting it is not enough; not enough to find a purpose and not enough to get onto the right path again.
For some reason we need a constant reminder of why we should be happy. And what does that mean anyway? Everything is relative after all... we can be grateful for what we have, the opportunities we have been given, but it doesn't mean we will be happy. And that is the curse of being human, of being conscious and aware.
Almost exactly a year ago, I lost something that had huge meaning in my life. It had a profound impact on me, knocked me off balance. Since then I feel like I've been living a surreal life, memories are hazy, sometimes I don't even believe it was me. I have been regaining my footing, but I acknowledge now that where I am heading off to is not where I used to be.
Don't get me wrong. Yes, the loss was sad, and sad is not even really the right word to describe it. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, and the pain changed me. But I don't regret it. And this is where things are important... no matter what happens, you have to understand and accept the part you played in it. You must admit that things happen for a reason. You cannot blame yourself.
Things weren't right for a long time, and there was no way to fix them. But this is what happens when we hold on to things that are broken. They become toxic, they start to poison your life, but you hold on. You hold on because of the sentimental value, because of its meaning. These are the things that separate us from machines, from animals. Empty, rotten energies become the centre of our lives, and we cannot give them up until they are wrenched from us. We are forced to let them go, desperate and pathetic, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.
So how honest can we be with ourselves? Can we admit that we are hurt, or that we feel empty? Or would we rather fill the gaps in, with other temporary things? I think we are master liars- but to ourselves. We deceive ourselves into believing we are who we want to be, that even the idea of being honest with the self seems quite ridiculous. I think that even in moments when we think we are being bitterly honest, admitting to ourselves we are nothing more than we really are, we are still fulfilling an image in our heads of ourselves- the “honest” person.
We are ever-changing beings, so fickle, so unclear. Extreme emotional situations especially can easily deter us from our paths... “there's someone in my head, but it's not me”.
For some reason we need a constant reminder of why we should be happy. And what does that mean anyway? Everything is relative after all... we can be grateful for what we have, the opportunities we have been given, but it doesn't mean we will be happy. And that is the curse of being human, of being conscious and aware.
Almost exactly a year ago, I lost something that had huge meaning in my life. It had a profound impact on me, knocked me off balance. Since then I feel like I've been living a surreal life, memories are hazy, sometimes I don't even believe it was me. I have been regaining my footing, but I acknowledge now that where I am heading off to is not where I used to be.
Don't get me wrong. Yes, the loss was sad, and sad is not even really the right word to describe it. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, and the pain changed me. But I don't regret it. And this is where things are important... no matter what happens, you have to understand and accept the part you played in it. You must admit that things happen for a reason. You cannot blame yourself.
Things weren't right for a long time, and there was no way to fix them. But this is what happens when we hold on to things that are broken. They become toxic, they start to poison your life, but you hold on. You hold on because of the sentimental value, because of its meaning. These are the things that separate us from machines, from animals. Empty, rotten energies become the centre of our lives, and we cannot give them up until they are wrenched from us. We are forced to let them go, desperate and pathetic, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters.
So how honest can we be with ourselves? Can we admit that we are hurt, or that we feel empty? Or would we rather fill the gaps in, with other temporary things? I think we are master liars- but to ourselves. We deceive ourselves into believing we are who we want to be, that even the idea of being honest with the self seems quite ridiculous. I think that even in moments when we think we are being bitterly honest, admitting to ourselves we are nothing more than we really are, we are still fulfilling an image in our heads of ourselves- the “honest” person.
We are ever-changing beings, so fickle, so unclear. Extreme emotional situations especially can easily deter us from our paths... “there's someone in my head, but it's not me”.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
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?
--
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?
Friday, June 18, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
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)
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)
Friday, March 19, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
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 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
Monday, April 02, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, November 06, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
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.
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.
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