Nov 25: one.

You are a love that only comes once in a lifetime and I will try and fail to set in your place that of another

You are a story about a loss that i will live the rest of my life trying not to remember as I wonder how the odds were against us being together

You are a piece of me taken and given to someone else so that it’s certain that this part of mine is lost to me forever

You are the best and worse memories that i carry with me through it as I try to hold on to the happiness you caused to make me feel better

You are the air i breathe and the colors i see, the stars in my sky and the creases on my lips, my past and my always

You are the one for the remaining of my days

Nov 18: M. Aly

Dear Time,

It seems that you and I are in a constant race within which I always lose. On a quest to find what others may think of as a birth right, I fail. Disruptive, destructive, unhealthy, demanding, impossible, intense, prolonged, unforgiving, unwavering dictatorship of emotions and desires that have been embedded into my being so much that to separate my soul from the eternal longing is to render me, seemingly, without an identity.

Time, you condemn me to a fate of loss… ache. You rule over the irreversible succession of events with the promise that you’ll heal all. Sophisticated and cunning illusions in the form of better tomorrows and like the naive masochist that I am, I sell my soul to the devil.. to you. With every ‘almost’ you provide me, comes a jolt of pain that I think would be my last… for a short while at least. But, you are NOT forgiving and contrary to the optimist in me, you do NOT heal all. Your craft is to sadistically bring us all to the point just before impeccable happiness only to bring us back down to our knees.

What is it that you have to gain from inflicting so much pain? Where’s the wisdom in keeping us apart to bring us closer only to take him away from me again? Does the time past and lost not sufficiently serve as a gift to you? Why must my heart routinely break for me to gain strength?

He is a fragment from a picture frame that you broke so long ago. I’m trying to stick the pieces together, cutting myself in the process… please, don’t take him away from me. Don’t shatter the little bits again because my heart will break along with them. Not even with the strongest of microscopes will I ever be able to stick the little grains of glass together.

Nothing I can do will make up for the stories I never heard, the kisses I never felt on my forehead, nose or cheeks, the terms of endearment other little girls internalized in the soft voices of their grandfathers. Nothing I can do will make up for the lost pieces of you, time. Nothing I can do to reverse the misguided decisions that were made on my behalf when I didn’t know better… someone should have known better.

I hope love gives me the patience to withstand the tests of time… as I am very aware that there are more destructive illusions to come.

Sincerely,

A loving grand daughter

Oct. 26

Tonight I write through my phone (which happens to be something i find immensely irritating) however; why not?

I have recently let go of something.. or someone that i never thought I would because — until now — I have wholeheartedly believed my inadequacy in the field of walking away. Needless to say, my incessant need to avoid uncomfortable situations remains, but in a case as exceptionally self damaging as this one.. my pathological need subsided for a little while, at least. As a romantic, I enjoy exploring the pain caused by love and the boundaries that it pushes because I’ve never before been pushed so far as to abandon someone for whom i felt anything towards. In the face of emotional attachment I’m a masochist.

Experiencing loss and heartbreak is my measure of what’s normal, what’s worth fighting for. In spite of the little voice that lingers in the back of my mind to remind me that I deserve better, I allow the insecure to make me feel inferior. The keyword being “allow” because we all have some say in the way circumstances shape our lives. My sin, as I would describe it, is my inability to take red flags, seriously and my idealistic optimism when it comes to ‘fixing’ the damaged. I wonder why I’m so forgiving of those I classify as broken? As if hurtful behavior is somehow justified by unavailable parents? An unforgiving society? Toxicity in any form? Destructive tendencies driven by suppressed rage, sadness and undirected blame brought forth onto me because of me… as if I myself have no demons of my own.

That being said, I respect past pain, in fact I believe it to be beautiful —to have suffered and lived to tell the tale. Those who undergo a designated amount of pain prove to be the most sensitive, compassionate, cherishing, dependable, understanding, wise, patient… survivors. To hurt and disallow the agony to dictate your life is a form of grace that not many attain no matter the amount of time that passes. Grace ends where selfishness begins.

No matter how much we prefer to believe the contrary the prospect of unconditional love is minuscule. Some may argue, mothers harbor unconditional love for their offsprings, perhaps that’s true. But how can a human be so foolish as to believe in that when mothers like Diane Downs exist?… My point being, nobody is obligated to be abused, mistreated or controlled by someone else.. not even in the name of love. No love is without obstacles, but no love is worth losing yourself over. Coming face to face with a threat of this magnitude can have a bitter sweet affect.

The same force with which i clung to a love i believed to be unwavering is now the reason I could never come back.

You.

It has yet to be an hour since our agreement, but it feels as if years have passed.

My heart is behaving as if it has loved you for a millennia.

Speaks volumes of the amount of affection, from me, you’ve amassed.

You, my love, are missed despite the fact that my heart mind and soul, you’ve harassed.

AUG 12: You are my war

At a time where my youth was more exciting and the air smelled like gold, I had an astounding and irrational belief in love being the strongest and greatest force of nature. Those who opposed this belief, in my eyes, were pessimistic entities that were not just missing out on how great love is, but beyond that. The map I fashioned for the disbelievers led to sadness and directed disappointment because in my mind love is all one needed. Along with this belief system was a shattering amount of patience that at times left me for emotional death, but Love’s ability to revive me always, for lack of better words, strengthened my faith in it. Like anything else in the universe, a great deal of whatever can never create positive consequences.

I will never truly understand where my belief stems from despite its nakedness. Of course, a lie inhabits the previous statement and I will leave it to time to specify it. It is known that were I the pessimist I will weaponize every word at my disposal to neutralize the original argument. I may just convince myself for the sole purpose that to be a disbeliever is to be protected. Just about the same time the air began to taste like copper in my mouth, my belief took its toll on the sparkle in my eyes. Everything that used to make me bloom began to watch me wither away and I lost sight of the difference between my faith being tested and self-sabotage in the name of love. My belief system was that and the same as a military operations plan. It was set in motion to initiate an impromptu attack using a rogue agent planted long before I even fell in love with the idea of love. It was as if he was guiding me down the path to love only to dance with me to the inevitable demise of it. An unforeseen consequence was my growing attachment to love despite all the pain. Of course, that is the result of the disbelievers’ inability to comprehend what it is like to feel love. By the time I realized the attack the damage had been done and fundamental pieces of land were subject to colonization. Short of breath and desperately fighting as the sensation of iron in my frame inches little by little to my heart I feel my faith dwindling and patience wavering. The cries of war within me amplify and I close my eyes to consider what I fight for allowing doubt to seep in. How much more can I take before I fall victim to something that stopped serving me any good? In the name of all what is good I pray that it all ends before I do. The noise deepens in my head as if I fell into a large bowl of water and for what seems like forever I forget to breathe.

In the middle of the suffocated voices and screams he breathes air into my lungs “You mean everything to, my love. Please, do not leave me,”. I was not looking for you, but you found me. You were sent to me to test my allegiance to love. Just when I thought it was time to abandon myself, what I believe is worthy for what is believed to be easy and leave my corpse in the battlefield I opened my eyes. All the veins in my body delivered loyalty to my heart, my nerves rose in the most delicious shock and even though the iron continued to inch forward to my heart I felt my body function in reverse. I watched the soldiers’ screams grow louder and quieter and then into nothingness, the agent danced me backwards to the beginning of love then walked me to the very top of the path. Suddenly, I was standing in a bright yellow dress dancing along with the voiceless breeze by myself watching the world return to its original state of serenity. Even though everything surrounding me was as good as the day I decided to fall in love, my hair was still a mess, the taste of copper lingered, my heart continues to be threatened by a piece of iron and my eyes are still sparkle-free. I was the only imperfect, wounded, destroyed part of this picture. I finally realised a warm breath just behind me and a coarse hand placed itself on my shoulder. I was not alone and suddenly, I understood that he came once again… to dance me to the end of love.

JUL 30: SHE IS MAGNIFICENT

You wouldn’t know it if you met me, because my height and physique may imply that I’m too delicate and yet to grasp pain. My posture may come off naturally straight and that may give off the fictitious perception that I am a delightful girl, but God forbid you catch a glimpse of me taking a breath of reality in order to revive whatever ability I have to keep the show going. 

I’m a bitch­– or so I have been told– perhaps I am… just a little bit? I am more than capable of crying on queue but most of the time if not all the time, the tears are easily run down because they’ve had more than enough time to move into and reside in my tear ducts. Being misunderstood, underestimated, relied on, overlooked and surprising is something I have grown accustomed to. See, people rarely see it coming when a reasonably attractive female comes along with something to show for her capabilities. To some degree I am aware of the blessings I have been given. I do not believe that being naïve and “unaware” of said blessings is smart. If the creators drew you to be a masterpiece that appeals to a fraction of the total audience then you should by all means learn how to weaponize the paint strokes you’ve been given. 

Mere humans enjoy playing the role of glorified saints as if totally oblivious to how unmanageable that could be. We strive to not consider physical beauty as a factor when picking an employee, for instance, – of course this does not refute competence– but it does make it easier to hire someone with a face that one enjoys looking at. Therefore, I do not deny using the color on my lips, the direction of my eyes and how wide they appear, or even my voice when I venture out into the world. Some may think that it’s unfair and degrading and of course that is just fine, but in reality… the young, small girl with the pretty dress and soothing voice is the candidate that is remembered. That is the case in any aspect of this unfair, retched world. Pretty does not last but it sure as hell has a louder kick when it brings down the door. 

The difference between pretty and magnificent is simple. Pretty can get through the door, but magnificent gets through the door and evolves on the other side. Magnificent is elegant, smart and has values and limits. Magnificent is aware of whatever she holds in her arsenal and knows exactly when to use what. Pretty depends on the artist’s work as opposed to her own and therefore pretty does not last or move forward simply because pretty is not fully equipped. The world can be unfair in the manner it handles pretty girls… giving them a multitude of opportunities only to have their spell ware off some time between the third of fourth failed attempt of succeeding at one given task. 

Personally, I try with all my might to be magnificent and I would never dare refer to myself as the mighty She. In fact, I believe I am about 47 kilograms worth of disappointments, pain, insecurities and doubt stacked on 155cm long shelves crafted with the impenetrable belief that everything will go well. Most of the time, wondering how I wake up every morning sets camp at the very remote corners of my mind, but today they’ve decided to take a hike to the very peak of my thoughts. In the middle of the humid heat of this summer night, I smell rain. Heavy drops of never being able to get to where I want to be simply because I do not even know where that is drench me. They get into my clothes and now I’m freezing hoping to be saved. She is sitting across from me, tapping her heals on the marble ground beneath her, watching me be soaked in the rain and expecting more… expecting magnificence. As I try to watch her, hoping for her aid through my blurred up eyes I realize the features of her face. Suddenly it becomes clear that She is me.  

Jul 24: Introducing myself?

On this Friday evening, 7:49pm to be precise, I have been trying my best to compose something half bad to serve as an introduction for anyone interested in the chaos that is me. In my venture to find a job– or anything that pays, really– until I graduate with my Bachelors degree in English and be forced to face the world at a larger scale I will be writing with no particular format or a specified method.

I have only been a guest on this planet for 22 years and for four of those years I have been working part-time within different fields while simultaneously pursuing other things for short periods of time. I painted, sketched, and wrote prose; however, with the exception of writing, none of them captivated enough of my attention or energy for me to keep going or mature my talents. I have been told that wherever I am put I will be able to learn and adapt, but the issue is that no one really wants to simply “learn and adapt”. I for one hope to “learn and excel” or “learn and love” when it comes my career and finding my place in the world. Observing different people in my life branch out into such different areas in the world while taking note of the manner in which they behave, think or aspire to achieve their goals taught me a great deal. In spite of many things I will not bore you with now, God brought forth to me many examples from which I learned that the mindset is always the key to everything else, be it failure or success. Growing up, accepting or taking advantage of any opportunity that presented itself to me was my way of living despite the fact that I was not always conscious of this behavior within myself.

My mother taught me the importance of education and self-sufficiency at a young age due to the fact that she regrets ever choosing marriage over a degree and building a career. Needless to say, she has had plenty of positions and many alternative certificates and diplomas to support herself through a career and elevate her status in the late 90s and early 2000s. It all did not hold so much weight until her (and by proxy my) support system passed away– as all mothers do, eventually. As time progressed, all that was flushed down the toilet due to ill timed circumstances and unwise decisions on her part and just like that my belief in pursuing a higher education grew into a “must” as opposed to a “should”. The apple does not fall so far from the tree and that is both my curse and my blessing.

My father also taught me to be independent and expect nothing from anyone. To normal girls, a father is the first knight in shining armor, first love… first many chivalrous titles. To me, he was not present, he was a piggy bank that I had to beg and plead to provide me with enough droplets to accommodate necessities when all else fails. As much as my resentment towards him grows so does my strength when I am faced with the difficulties as do all people. Of course I am a textbook case of a girl with “daddy issues”; however, that will not stop me from telling my story further within the upcoming posts. To be frank, I am not entirely sure if I will be writing about him. Time will tell.

This post is not complacent to any rules of grammar or language propriety, in fact the point is to create a dialogue. Hopefully, the future will document a growth in style, diction and the whole shebang. Maybe by the time I am 23 I will critique my own work and post refined drafts.

Good bye… for now.