Homeless…

I was running an errand and I had to go to a home appliances and hardware store, and it hit me right there…

I am homeless.

I have been since I gave birth to my Beem! Since then, I lived with my in-laws and my sense of belonging to my own home vanished one day after the other; I couldn’t do my laundry whenever I wanted, yet I had to do it before anyone else beat me to it, making me look and feel like an incompetent wife. My life became even more stressful because I felt like a guest in addition to dealing with being a new mom. I kept failing one task after the other because I was spread too thin.

After I gave birth to my Mocha, I was back to my parents’, and until last May, I was struggling for my divorce. I have a room separate from the rest of the household, it has its own bathroom and it’s own “living”. However, I could never really do any of the little random purchases for none of the things I bought matched or belonged to my parents’ place, just like I no longer belong.

I stood there, staring at the laundry hamper trying to figure out if I shall buy it and keep it in my stuffed room anyways! The thought led to how I need to re-paint the damn room and get a closet to fit all our stuff in it, one thought led to the other and the final conclusion was clear, I do not have a home.

I know it’s a roof above my head and my kids’, but it’s not a home, not my home. I constantly feel like I have to abide by rules I supposedly outgrew just because I live under that roof. I am forced to go to Alex whenever there’s a family event, I am forced to go on vacations, I abide by dumb curfews because I do not want to upset my dad and because I owe them that little for taking care of me and my kids! Well, day after another, I feel less loved in this place, and it is most likely my oversensitivity, but I constantly feel used and disposable in a sense, and I don’t have the right to object because it’s not my place.

I need my place. I need to sit down and write how much it will cost me to move out and start making a plan, and follow it. I have no idea if it’s the right thing to do for either myself or my kids, but I am no longer sure what’s right; there are no guidelines, and every freakin’ thing is relative and all I know is that I can’t go on like that anymore!!

Not again!!

“… the profoundest changes take place within a very reduced time frame. When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready.

The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny”

- Paulo Coelho' Author's Note from The Devil and Miss Prym


That’s what I am so afraid of, and it stared me right in the eye when I was trying to distract myself by reading!

I don’t hate change, I am rarely ever scared of it or unwilling to do it, on the contrary, I throw myself right into it, and that scares me. The possibility that the change could be to the worse or that it would bring out the worst in me is what terrifies me.

Uff ba2a! we kaman I barely know who I am and what I want for it to change already, mesh 3ayza al3ab khalas! Being a Gemini can get really exhausting!

Mesh 3arfa!

I sat there all alone pretending to be someone else…

I had a strong urge to be anyone but myself if I was to sit and relive those memories in order to write about them; it felt like it would be easier to remember bad things as if they happened to someone else…

But I couldn’t…

I referred to each memory as mine, and every time I came close to digging it all up, I found myself revisiting recent memories that only occurred because of old ones…

And it kept hitting me that right there, as different as I looked, I was still the same person from whom I was running away… yes, I’ve changed a bit, inside and out, but change does not make you a different person…

I felt alone.

I looked around me, took deep breaths, and tried to write it down, but I kept getting stuck at the same point…

Do you ever go back to a turning point in your life and wonder if you chose the road not taken? Usually, when I do that, it’s does not bring regret or a futile wish that time would go back so that I’d redo things differently… but today it felt like it, it was overwhelming, and my mind kept resisting my attempts to remember…

I tried and I tired, and each time my mind resisted even more stubbornly…

It scared me that I just couldn’t do what I planned on doing… I could see how my mind tried every defense mechanism it knows and it scared me because it only meant something hurts in there and I was getting closer, and worse, I am not ready to feel that kind of pain…

I am the kind who would pour salt on old wounds just to make sure they’re dead tissue and they no longer hurt, but today, I felt too overwhelmed, I felt too alone to handle it on my own and I just found myself letting them be and I decided to distract myself…

After spending around an hour and a half in my own mind, I decided to leave my Pandora’s box unopened for a few more days, and I got in my car…

I drove in the direction of Kattameya road because I didn’t want traffic. I drove and I drove, and I let music play…

I made it until 90 kilometers to Sues and then I started looking for a u-turn, not because I wanted to go home, but rather because I needed to be home before 10 if I am to avoid an unnecessary fight with my dad…

This played…

"انت تمل، و راسي يدور... تقوم تفل، و بحالي دور... دموعي تكل، تعدي بحور... و انت بعيـــــد"

Feels like I’ve always been stuck there, always will be, I can see it, smell it, and feel it… and it hurts... and ana kaman bammel… I am tired and bored from that feeling I get when I am unable to let my thoughts out…

I feel crippled… paralyzed…

I am not sad; I am just utterly confused and lost in my own thoughts and attempts to figure myself out… I am not in peace with myself and it’s driving me mad…

I am waiting for my mood to change; this is when being moody is a blessing…

Friend of Foe?

Do I see the good in people because it's actually there or just because I desperately want to see it?

And by seeing what could be fake-good, am I setting my hopes too high only to fall after disappointment shatters my silly expectations?

It makes me both angry and confused that everyone else views what I see a nice gesture as a twisted and conniving move.

How stupid, delusional, and naïve must I be? Na2a, at this point, I am not unique or kind or even innocent, I must be plain HABLA, not to mention color blind if I fail to see what everyone else sees in bright colors!! I am still not even sure who’s right, those around me or myself?

Could it possibly be that I refuse to see the bad like everyone else because somehow it might diminish my self-worth – people are playing nice because they want something out of me, not because I deserve it…

Or is it simply because I do by people as I like them to do by me!

I can’t believe I still expect the truth from everyone just because I lay my cards as I promise in my most reassuring tone that I will not flee even if it’s not to my liking.

I have honored my word every single time; I have always told the truth, and I kept a straight face and even a compassionate tonee when told things others would reject, and I never showed any signs of dismay.

As hard as it is to believe, that I’d rather be insulted right to my face than be lied to or used without my knowing?

Why the games? Why the possibility of being played? Ufff!

People ask for honesty a lot more often than they can handle it, and more importantly a lot more often than they are willing to give it…

I will never understand people; how could I possibly when I fail to understand myself on daily basis?!

Mesh la3ba!

I don’t want to understand people, I don’t even care about understanding myself anymore; by the time I do I will either be dead or too old to make any use out of it!

But my question still lingers – have people become that cynical or am I that out of place and the world has gone bad a lot more than I can possibly think?!

In theory and in practice…

As a child, I remember being called “noisy”, “restless”, and “smart-mouth”; I distinctively remember fragments of incidents where people asked me to “pipe down” or “be quiet”, or the infamous “shhhhh”. Yet, I don’t recall being hated for it; I was the apple of my late nana’s eye, my uncle spoilt me rotten, actually all three from mama’s side, not to even mention my youngest two aunts!! I was the grandchild for mama’s side, except for my late grandfather, we disliked each other! As for baba’s side, I distinctively remember how kind my late grandpa was; I can fairly say I loved him. The rest of baba’s side is on the usual good and sometimes not so goodd terms, which is normal given that we live in two different cities.

Probably something changed along the way when I was a teenager. I became more observing and less noisy for I didn’t have any significant mishaps at school that would require my parents showing in for any explanation. I was the kid no one noticed really, but I had an opinion about everyone I’ve encountered. When I tell people that I was rather shy at school, they roll their eyes as they say something like “ya moftareya, you, shy?!” And it never feels like compliment by the way!!

I remember whenever we travelled abroad during those times, my dad would push me out of the car (by yelling at me) to walk to the convenience store in the gas station and ask for directions, 2al eh “khaleeky garee2a”. Of course, until now, I am still sure that it was about the whole men-don’t-ask-for-directions thing. Bottom line, my dad always insisted that I should be roughened up, mostly because “al ne3ma tazool” and secretly because he did not have boys and I was his first born.

I never realized I took so much after him until a prof atcollege who happened to have have graduated from the same college as my dad said “fe3lan, man shabah abah...”! Turns out that my dad was a real trouble maker –like I was in college-, the kind who stands up for what he thought was right and never backed down until he got what he thought was his, except that I did better than he did academically!

Everyone I know who happens to know my father says that I take too much after him, I must have mentioned that quite a few times. Even the things, I don’t take after him are pretty much influenced by him; a few people told me I am that strong because of the way he raised me and I am that tough on myself because I don’t want him to be tough on me. Possibly true.

In summary, I am strong, opinionated, stubborn, proud, kindhearted, responsible, ethically and morally aware, hot blooded, emotional and passionate, capable of using logic, socially smart because I am what he made me. In theory it is like the perfect result for an equation that took 28 years to balance.

In practice, it means NOTHING.

I am strong, but I have deadly weaknesses. Actually, my strengths and weaknesses are very hard to separate; I am deadly stubborn for my own good, but it is how I manage to stand up and not fall, I am borderline masochist in a rhetorical sense because I am too proud to be caught in fault by other, so my conscience (the big bully) takes it all out on me and no one else!!

I am opinionated, but I can lose my focus sometimes because of my kindheartedness, not to mention my stubbornness and my ridiculous pride.

I am forced by myself (and my obligations) to act responsible 80% of the time, which is really hard because I am a 28 year old who still refuses to see anything but a 4 year-old in her mirror image.

As for my so called sense of logic, it’s a joke when faced by my blind passion when I am emotional about something. Don’t I have my dad’s passion after all? I can cry when I am talking about someone I love, or imagine what it’s like for someone to lose a loved one! Isn't death one of the most logical things! I have my dad's crippled-emotions syndrome; until today, I don't know how to just lay in father's arms and cry when I am in distress.

And my ethics and morals, they are challenged on daily basis living in this world and having to deal with things I was never subjected to. things I never thought existed!! Turns out, I only have those ethics and morals because I only lived in my dad’s bubble where it was so darn easy to practice them!!

And socially smart is the biggest joke. It goes down the drain the moment I step out of that bubble; I am constantly stuggling in my head trying to figure out people based on their reactions and lies and pretenses, as much as they’re probably baffled by my honesty and unexplained friendliness or rudeness, not to mention my ever changing moods.

I am a big mess that my father made, and I love him to pieces for it, and I am rather grateful on my good days.

But today, I feel like I was asked to change all that, for him to have more peace of mind because he worries and he would hate for me to get hurt again because of the nasty world we live in, the nasty world he never told me existed or prepared me for!

I love my daddy. I generally love my messy self most of the time. I would change some of who I am for my dad or for the people I sincerely care for, but I would never change for a society for which I have no respect.

I know, not exactly wise, but who said I had one ounce of wisdom in me.

The only reason I could possibly (and very remotely) care about what people think of me is because now I know how badly it affects my dad when people say anything less than how amazing and great I am!!

It makes me want to cry when I think of how disappointed he might be at me because of an insensitive word when I know that deep down he is actually proud! It breaks my heart to even think of all the things he would feel when he is reminded that I am not that perfect. The thought of upsetting him horrifies because I know I'd want nothing but my own death the moment he leaves this world even if I leave my boys behind (like a 4 year old, I pray each day that his day never comes).

That’s why I keep crying like a baby when I remember how he asked me to act more like a divorcee and mind what people may think of me. He said it while affirming that he knows I do no wrong. He said it admitting what he never exactly acknowledged before “da mogtama3 qazer”. But daddy, you never told me how rotten this society is and you left me to find that out on my own in the most scarring ways, and I know I have a lot to yet learn that I wish I wouldn’t .

I don’t know how to practice all I know is right in theory, yet keep my head held high when I worry about you daddy holding yours high if you worry that much about the scum of our society! We Kaman ana lessa ma3amaltesh 7aga astahel 3aleeha kol da!

Evidence that I shouldn’t be left alone with the voices in my head…HELP!

*stupid stupid stupid*
-ok I am stupid, no need to rub it in!-


*ya ghabbeya*
-we ba3dein ba2a!!-


-I’m bored-
*don’t do something stupid*
-ufffff-


I sit and overanalyze…
The why’s and the how’s and what the hell’s…
I hide from my mirror image; she knows too much!
Yet she follows me every time I wash my face, and her eyes stare right into the thoughts I hide, humphfff!


Flu bad…
I don’t need more time resting, not that way;
I’ll have more space to overanalyze some more, ehe2!!!
I lost my voice, I am not even sure it will be back…
I don’t have the energy to talk, ME!!!!
I sit back some more…


I sit an observe…
Are those mistakes similar to mine? Was I like that?
In my heart, I know I wasn’t…
Damn you self doubt!!


*you know it’s not the same, stop it*
-I’m bored!-
*and hurting yourself is entertaining?! IDIOT*
-uffff-


I stare myself in the mirror…
My eyes are red, blood red, and they hurt…
A7san bardu, I didn’t want to see whatever it is I was looking for!


-I miss…-
*shhhh, sleep! It’s the time when you’re of least danger to yourself, etkhemdy*
-but…-
*shhhhhhhh*


I keep coughing in my sleep, I can almost feel someone is snatching my throat out and tearing into it with a coarse knife…
It’s too hot and I can’t seem to have any good sleep, I lower the a/c temperature…
I go back to bed and fall into a comma that ends with a nightmare of the x going all coocoo and trying to kill me and the boys…
I wake up to find the scratches on my arms and my neck…
My eyes are still red like I’ve never slept in my entire life…


-I don’t care, I miss… I don’t know, I am missing something, having a goal perhaps, doing something I enjoy, anticipating something I want… I feel restless despite being sick and I wanna go out and do something about it-
*etweksy*
-na3am!!!-
*aywan, etweksy, need I say more?*
-uffff-

Mafeesh Fayda!!

I'm joking and laughing as if there were no tears a while ago!

I'm telling myself that it was no big deal and that I better stop obsessing and move on already!

I'm too stubborn to allow myself to ache and take time to heal, God forbid I would collapse in the healing process, hasn't he said that in my stubbornness lies my strength!

So I lock it in, stand up and pretend nothing ever happened, it's easier, comme d'habitude!

I do it knowing that I am just burying something that will rise later to haunt me, and I am saying it's ok; I'll be stronger by then!!

But I know it will hit me when I need to be strong to make me weaker...

Yet I'm doing what I do best, I laugh and change the subject with a witty joke!!

In retrospect

The movie…

He looked like him. In real life, he doesn’t; just the petite structure and the haircut and the little beard.

He behaved like him. Not exactly, just the humor and the charm and the selfishness, only in real life he showed more kindness that hid the selfishness, kindness that made all his mistakes forgiven.

He reminded me of him when he shaved off that hair. Only in real life, he had bigger brown eyes, and higher cheekbones, the features we share.

I cried because under layers of years that hold anger, contempt and disappointed, I realized that I missed him.

The club…

I needed someone who would charm my boys and play with them like he did with me, I thought of him.

I needed someone who’d throw a punch for me without thinking of consequences, I thought of him.

I needed someone who’d hold me and tell me that it will be ok, and I realized I needed him, not him him, the him I thought he was.

The restaurant…

I finally talked about it, it was too clear in my head that I missed him and I needed him. I knew I did because I was vulnerable. Alhamdulilah, I had a great friend to listen.

I didn’t say how he disappointed me, I don’t think I really remember anymore, but I still don’t forgive him, and I know for a fact that I would never tell him how I miss him or need him if we ever talk again, not that I think we ever will.

Yesterday…

I kept going back to that little girl; I envied and pitied her for all she had…

She had the warm loving arms that she appreciated…

She had safe arms that she missed and idealized…

She had warm, loving, safe and overprotective arms that she resented and couldn’t appreciate…

She didn’t see things clearly. Like the movie, she needed lots of time to figure things out for what they really are, but in her case, a lifetime…

A lifetime where she stopped hanging around the warm loving arms that she loved until they were no longer there to hold her…

A lifetime of mistakenly believing in the safety of the arms she missed to realize that those arms were nothing but a heartbreaking disappointment…

A lifetime of avoiding and rejecting the warm, loving, safe and overprotective arms that she couldn’t bear, now, all she wishes she could do is hide in those arms and cry all those lost years… but she’s afraid… afraid of all the questions, afraid of the tears, afraid of being overwhelmed… but most of all, terrified of losing those arms the moment she surrenders to them…

A lifetime full of stupid mistakes she did because she never turned to those arms...

Yesterday, all I wanted was to run in those arms and cry, but I didn’t want the questions that I couldn’t answer and I didn’t know how to show my vulnerability, so I didn’t… I couldn’t even cry on my own…

Right now…

Tears keep flowing with every word I type! I am not crying, tears just fall out of my eyes hurting my eyes but not easing my soul.

And I still feel unable to find the words that tell any of it, it’s too hard to describe it to begin with…

I miss when my pain could find its way out without me looking for words, and I miss him and how he could have fixed me… I take a glimpse at my little mementos and try to remember his words to guide me, but I feel too confused right now…

I’m trying to learn from all the things that revealed themselves in the past days, trying to figure out how to fix myself so that I would not repeat any of my mistakes.

I don’t want to compile unpleasant experiences and lock them. I don’t want to pretend they never happened and they never affected me until they find the chance to haunt me and mess up my life like tides ruin sand castles… I want my life to be more than sandcastles, and I have no idea how…

On being a parent, the things they never told me!

I know I am not alone and I surely know I have it a lot better than other people, alhamdulilah.

However, that does not deny me the right to rant and wonder how to make it better, no???

So here is the deal…

I have two boys, ages (almost) 4 and 2, we live with my family (father, mother, two sisters), my father is usually away Wednesdays to Saturdays and the boys see their dad on Fridays.

Anyone who’s followed my blog long enough would know for a fact that the their father is “zay 3adamo” as an efficient father figure; his only job is to spoil them rotten in the sense of “you’re missing out on lots of fun” which the kids do not pick up on much due to their short attention span. Their father is the same guy who calls me on my cell phone around 5 times when I take a bathroom break away from them and decide to sit down and have coffee to help me survive the stressful outing. AND, he’s the very same guy who keeps receipts of clothes, toys and meals he buys them!!!!! Do I really need to say more?!

I love my kids to pieces; I mean yeah, I whine 30 hours a day about how I miss being just myself without worrying about others the way I do... and yeah I run away in outings with friends whenever possible… but when I am out and I see other people’s kids within the same age as mine, I almost cry because I miss them!! I almost feel my uterus contracting like when they used to be in it and kick!!!!! It makes me feel guilty, an emotion I am not that much used to… momken awy la2enny 7aloofa!

That’s still not the issue; that was an introduction because I am a very talkative person…

Beem (my almost 4 year old) as cute as he is, is showing signs of needing tarbeyah, which I think is critical at his age if I want him to be a half decent human being at some stage of his life, hopefully right after surviving the horrid teenage years.

Looks wise, I think he looks a lot like me despite how everyone keeps saying he takes more after his dad. The reason I am mentioning the looks is that I don’t want anyone out there saying that I am emotionally unstable because he reminds me of his dad that way.

But the poor thing takes after his dad; he’s too analytical, he has very selective memory, he LOVES preaching and arguing like there’s no tomorrow, he never takes the blame and when he does it’s ALWAYS justified, and he uses his charm to get away with EVERYTHING!! For the astrological people out there, his dad is Libra and he’s Virgo; these are more or less the stuff they have in common as sunsigns too!

Now, I keep reminding myself that those things are general things about kids, but let me be accurate; he takes them to the next level!!! And I also realize few of those are good stuff if they’re developed the right way, but I don’t know how to, especially that they remind me of his dad a lot which makes me overreact, yes, I am aware that I do overreact and I am trying to control it!

I appreciate Beem’s IQ, and I love how he is so analytical to the extent that he doesn’t miss a single detail! I like how he remembers things I said; it keeps me on my toes keeping all the promises I make him, but it drives me crazy how he would just pretend to not remember my specific instructions, yes I know he’s only 4, but I have lately realized I can be a perfectionist Nazi (and an ethics Nazi like my friend was telling me)! His arguing skills impress me; very few people leave me speechless the way he does, but the kid has to know at some point that it can be annoying like hell!! And I won’t even comment on placing blame and getting out of it with charm, it makes me want to kill him, and then I look at his cute little face and I want to keep kissing his cheeks and eyes; he’s my CUTE Beem!!

And there’s another problem, the kid barely hangs with people from his gender aside from the rest of boys at the daycare! Between my dad being away and being entitled as a grandparent to spoil him rotten and his dad being a spoilt brat, I don’t have a strong authoritative figure who can also be a role model, which leaves me to do that role! Like I needed more reason to be more “man-like”! Now, I yell in thick scary voice when I have to, I do the threatening walk, and sometimes I hit… my heart aches when I overhear my mom telling him “hatesma3 el kalam walla 2a2ool le mama 3aleik” the way she used to tell me “haaaah, 2a2ool le baba!!”; I don't want to be the bad guy to my kids, not that kind of bad guy anyways... I've always pictured us being more like friends, not really happening :'(

I hate it when I am angry at him, especially that he is so sensitive; all I really want is for him to be able to realize right and wrong on his own and stand up and admit it when he’s wrong and be a man about it!! I realize very few men behave that way, and I realize the little thing is not even 4 yet, and I can tell I am being cruel, but I am scared of the alternative!! I don’t want to be one of those parents who bring more jerks into the world and end up defending their sick actions because there’s nothing that they can do about it!! My friend tells me that being too righteous is just as bad because it might actually lead to the same outcome, and the sad thing is that he’s right and I know it, but it’s HARD to figure out a balance, let alone keeping it!!

And that was just Beem!!!

I have double the worry about Mocha because he copycats his own brother and adds up more attitude since he’s the trouble maker!! I also have to watch out for sibling jealousy and be really smart about it when one of them tries to get the other in trouble (Mocha is a master doing it to Beem!!!), and I have to be very subtle about teaching them a lesson and being fair especially with how hillarious Mocha is (I respond better to good sense of humor than I do to charm!)

I feel tired just writing this, I can’t even imagine having to live it day to day, let alone doing it right!

I love them, I REALLY do, but I keep thinking “I didn’t sign up for this, I wasn’t even that enthusiastic about becoming a mother” (yeah not so motherly of me to say it!!)… A friend of my father laughs and tells me “if you do all the things your dad did with you, you’ll be safe; you and your sisters turned out great”, as sweet as it is, it’s not exactly true; MOREOVER, I am not the father in this scenario, I am the single mother and it makes it twice as hard especially when the other party is such a bad influence and barely acts as any sort of support!!
I don’t know how to be like my father when I still feel like one BIG child myself! I don’t think I’m fit to behave like an adult just yet!! I see now why baba did so many things I once disliked, and I feel for him.

When did it become not-ok to cry and kick the floor when things didn’t go my way!!

On Boundaries…

Almost a year ago or something…


Looking into the random scribbles and smiling without looking back at me…

“You’re very aggressive. Thing is, you have every right to be; you don’t just burst for no reason, you hold it in for too long until you can no longer handle it and then you become too aggressive, it comes from pain”

Looking at me…

“Why is that??”

I smile and I shrug…

“It’s just who I am I guess!”

Still looking at me…

“It’s not ok because it gets to you more than it should. You let people abuse you in a way because you don’t want to acknowledge that you’re not ok, they push you far beyond your limits and you still try to pretend it’s ok until you no longer can… at that point, it’s pretty much too late for them to fix things and also very late for you to forgive them for messing things up… you’re already too hurt and you burn those bridges with both pain and rage”

Avoiding eye contact…

“I don’t know what else to do; I expect people to understand me well enough to not cross my boundaries!”

Still staring at me, yet maintaining the quiet tone…

“Do you know your boundaries? I don’t think you define yours clearly enough although you're very aware of others'; it’s a loose term when it comes to you because once someone gets close enough; there is almost nothing you wouldn’t take from them … isn’t that what happened with your x? It does not change that he was not a good person, but you let him get away with a lot of things he shouldn’t have until you no longer could, right?”

Nodding…

He resumed…

“You should make boundaries, clear ones, especially for those you love and care about because those are the ones that hurt you the most. If you let them know in advance that you’re not as strong as you come off, they’d be more careful… and if they don’t, at least it would be early enough for you not to hurt. Be as assertive as you seem to be”



He was right. Boundaries are such a loose term for me, not just with the ones I care for! Once I feel comfortable enough, I sort of let my guard down and make room for jerks to take me for granted.

Problem is, there is a nice-gene in there somewhere that doesn’t recognize harassment or abuse even if it hits me in the face! No not a nice gene, I’ll call it stupid-naïve-gene, and it keeps causing me emotional trauma and my mind keeps blocking it somewhere until the next one!

Ufff, when did people become so damn evil! I feel like an idiot just like my friend kept saying yesterday… no, not utopian like I kept correcting him, a complete idiot.

And now, I will try to figure out how aggressive I will have to be with that one! Given the circumstances, passive aggressive is the way to be… and complete avoidance, like the couple of ones before him. I see a pattern, one that I do not like, and I am thinking it’s also me, not just them.

I could listen to this all day!

I first listened to this song when I watched Love Actually. I like this version from the movie better than the original one with the perky guitar; I feel it, I relate.

I give you Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now.

Bows and flows of angel hair
and ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere,
i've looked at cloud that way.

But now they only block the sun,
they rain and snow on everyone.
So many things i would have done
but clouds got in my way.

I've looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions i recall.
I really don't know clouds at all.

Moons and junes and ferris wheels,
the dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real;
i've looked at love that way.

But now it's just another show.
you leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know,
don't give yourself away.

I've looked at love from both sides now,
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions i recall.
I really don't know love at all.

Tears and fears and feeling proud
to say "i love you" right out loud,
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds,
i've looked at life that way.

But now old friends are acting strange,
they shake their heads,
they sayI've changed.
Something's lost but something's gained
in living every day.

I've looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose, and still somehow
It's life's illusions i recall.
I really don't know life at all.

P.S.: Looks like this will be a radio station until I figure out a way to let it out!

Why doesn't revenge taste so sweet?

Did I ever mention that I find vengeance to be one of the most interesting notions? It is; it’s such a drive that has its very own strong momentum and it can just drag for years and years, and like it or not it’s behind a lot of good plots be it in reality or fiction.

Is it a co-incidence that most of my favorite movies revolve around the consuming idea of vengeance. When I first read A Tale of Two Cities, as appalled as I was by Madame De Farge’s unforgiving pursuit of Charles Darnay and his family, deep down, I couldn’t help but sympathize for the amount of injustice she’s been subjected to which completely changed her into what she’s become. You must react to that kind of hurt and feel for it even if it turns into something so cruel.

When I read The Count of Monte Cristo, I was satisfied with Edmond’s revenge and it was as if I was getting my own. Yes, I believe in payback and it in its healing power just as I believe in the destruction it could cause to all parties.

I could go on and on about vengeance and how I think it could be legitimate, as well as when I think it went to an uncontrollable extreme, but I’m not sure I’d come up with something any more brilliant than all the things that’s been previously written. Just take my word for it, revenge is a very strong thing and it’s anything simple or marginal; it’s also the thought that came to mind as I started writing this.

Where do I begin, I’m sure a lot of those who read this know where it started, or at least are familiar enough. Nonetheless, I find it hard to write this coherently because if I do it will be too long for me to write and it might get more personal than I can afford, so it will just be bits and pieces, and I’ll leave it to your imagination to fill in the details.

I once told him I’d break him to pieces if he’d ever hurt me that way again. I looked him right in the eyes saying I’d destroy him and he’d see a side of me neither of us knew existed. I guess he knew me better then because he never believed; he hurt me anyway! When the time came for me to use everything I could possibly know against him, I just couldn’t. I am not saying I am a better person here, I am not; because I spent enough time thinking of how I could harm him, and there came times when I was very close to doing it, I just didn’t know if I had it in me to live with myself and whatever consequences there were to come.

Some time long after I got over my shock and my agony, I stumbled into a movie, Something’s Gotta Give. At the end, when Jack Nicholson goes all the way to Paris to win Diane Keaton back, only he finds her there with Keanu Reeves (EWWWW). There is that moment where they’re singing her happy birthday and she’s laughing so happily in Keanu’s arms (EWWWW again), and you can see the way Nicholson looking at her an you can almost hear him thinking “that should have been me holding her”. That was when I decided that the only revenge I could get without being a horrible person was to see that very same look on his face. I wanted him to see me living happily, enjoying the life he can no longer share with me.

I forced myself to move on and be stronger just to have that moment. I glorified the feeling I’d get and used it as a motive to get myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again. I can’t deny that I have a relationship phobia or that I have so little faith in love. I can’t deny that in the process of moving on, I almost stumbled and fell, and that I still look back and wonder what the hell happened back there. I always end up shaking my head and saying it didn’t matter; I was never ready and it was never meant to be. Little by little, it started to be less about my revenge moment and more about just getting by day after the other.

Now, that we’re on talking basis again, I see him quite often. He very occasionally hints that he still wants me back and that I’m better off with him than with anybody to the extent that I find it insulting because WOW, if I’m better off with him then I’m really bound to misery! Seeing him, talking to him and having to communicate with him amicably for the boys’ sake, I realized I’m actually capable of being a bigger person, something I never thought I could do! It’s not that I am not that forgiving or that I am vindictive by nature; it’s just because I distinctively remember how hurt I was and how the idea of revenge helped me get back on my feet, or close enough.

Yesterday, I took a leap of growing up. I agreed (without much argument) to have the kids visit his grandma before her surgery. I did that knowing there will be all sorts of people I dislike there. I wasn’t that pleasant except to the one person in his family that’s been decent to me, and the sick person to whom I couldn’t really afford beingharsh, given her age and her health status despite how much I dislike her. I could clearly see how embarrassed he was when his kids didn’t know his own immediate family and were too intimidated to let go of my hands, I actually felt sorry for him and kneeled on my knees as I tried to soothe the boys and tell them to go say hi to people I don’t even like. I don’t know, I really surprise myself at times.

Today, I had that moment I had almost forgotten that I once wanted! I just did a while ago. It wasn’t face to face, and I didn’t have a Keanu to hold me (THANK GOD), only I didn’t think it brought as much comfort as I once thought it would.

He apologized, he acknowledged his faults and he said I was never the bad person he worked so hard to make it sound like.

He said he was lonely and with all that money could buy him, he couldn’t find someone who loved him the way he knew I once did.

He said he was miserable, and it was eating him up that he can no longer see that love in my eyes, and that the best he could hope for was indifference.

He said he found some of my last journals from before I left, and that he read how I gradually lost hope in him, and he couldn’t believe he had become that person he himself detested as he read on.

I wanted to stop him because it sounded too sincere and I didn’t want him to put himself out there when I knew I was going to reject him at the end of his speech. Only he wouldn’t let me, he said his apology was due and it was hard enough for him to apologize so I should just let him.

Why didn’t I feel the warmth and fuzziness I promised myself all those two years? Why did I not smile contently that he’s sorry and suffering? Why did I not find solace in his misery and regret?

I have two theories; it’s either because I have more damage than him only it wasn’t my own doing like it is in his case, or because I have taken my time healing on my own, I no longer need any revenge from him. I don’t think it’s either, at least not exclusively.

Either way, his apology didn’t bring that much of a victory I long anticipated! In the contrary, it brought confusion because as he spoke of good things we once shared, I found my mind drifting to the horrible things that happened and took all the good away. He spoke of memories that were no longer so vivid and it confused me even more to be caught between resentment and sympathy for the same person.

I really wish we could write the words “The End” now, and that we can manage to be good to each other outside the marriage just for the sake of the kids. He still says it’s too hard for him to let me go, but I would like to think he would after all is clear enough to him. He thinks I might change my mind given time, but he doesn’t get that the more time I spend with him, the more I realize we were not a good match like I once thought and that there is nothing in the world that would make me repeat the mistake of choosing to be with him.

At the end of the day, I am glad and grateful I am not in his shoes and I do not have his burdens or his guilt. I realize that it is a blessing that I am not enjoying my revenge because it means that there is something in me he couldn’t change. Did that make any sense?

Some unresolved anger

It’s been a while since I talked about the x or any of his detailed stories! It’s about time.

We’ve been meeting weekly on regular basis, we take the kids out on Fridays, have a family lunch and then he drives us home. To any outsider, we’re a perfect family made of two young parents and two adorable boys. However, if you look close enough, neither of us wears our wedding bands and we do not touch or have any private moments at all; and if you look really closer, you’ll see a dirty look I glare at him whenever he tries to move closer to me or flirts.

Nonetheless, I try to help him bond with the boys; when he gets them stuff I tell Beem “ben2ool le pappy eh?” he’d say “merci papa” and I’d tell him “meen bey7eb pappy”, he laughs and says “anaaaa”, and with Mocha I just tell to give daddy a kiss and he does. I love seeing how happy they are around him and how even happier they get when they get him to buy more toys than I would normally get them; I admire their intelligence and how they pick on how he wants to impress and use it to their advantage.

Between him and I, I tell him he should tone down the whole fun figure and act more like a parent when they’re being stubborn. Of course he doesn’t always listen because he’s tempted by the notion that they’d love him more if he always spoils them rotten, but they failed him the couple of times I disappeared to go to the ladies room or something; both times I found them waiting right outside all cried out cause mommy was gone. I just love my boys they make me feel like I’ve been doing an ok job all this time.

Moreover, I’ve had a chat with Beem’s teacher at the nursery and she bluntly asked me if things were fixed between his father and me. I smiled at her and told her that the decision to end the marriage is final but the procedures are taking some time. I confirmed that none of it shall affect the boys. She said she was happy Beem is adjusting because recently he’s been saying papa this and papa that while before that he used to stop talking whenever any of the other kids mentioned their daddies. So my decision to do the whole weekly outings was a good one.

One thing though, the x has been asking nonstop if he could take the boys to Zamalek where we used to live so that they’d see his grandma and his aunts. Normally, I would have been the softie I usually am and agreed except for a very important detail; last time I went there to pick my stuff two Ramadans ago, I was brutally kicked out and had my purse thrown behind me. That day I swore my kids would never get inside the place from where I was once kicked out. I think my pride is still a bit bruised because I can still feel a bit angry when I relive that day in my head and remember my feelings back then.

Today, I told him over the phone that we will not be seeing him this Friday because we’ll be in Alexandria for the weekend and out of the kindness of my heart, I offered that we’d meet on Monday instead since it will be an official holiday. This is how it went:

Him: ok, mafeesh moshkela
Me: tab ok, ana bas olt 2a2ollak abl mansa, bye
Him: tab estanny, 3ayez 2a2ollek 7aga
Me: mmm??
Him: eh ra2yek nekharaghom fe 7etta maftoo7a, zay el nady masalan?
Me: yeah sure, no problem as long as the weather is fine we mafeesh torab…
Him: tab eh ra2yek nekhaly 3amety teshofhom
Me: X, I will say this one more time, welady mesh hayroo7o beet ana edtaradt menno, and I really don’t think you should keep asking
Him: ana ma2oltesh yeego el Zamalek, net2abel fel nady, 3amaty 3ayzeen yeshofoohom
Me: fffffffffff
Him: betonfokhy leh? 3amaty makanoosh mawgoodeen 7ata yoomeeha…
Me: (annoyed that he’s getting around with a technicality and trying to avoid that my father hates for those two aunts to see the boys because they lied on the investigation reports) well, whatever, if anything I do not like happens, I’ll take the kids and walk out….
Him: ok, law 7ad day2ek be noss kelma emshy
Me: and your cousins will not be there, none of them
Him: ana 2olt 3amaty bas…
Me: if I spot any of your cousins I will not be nice or decent, I will probably be very rude
Him: I said none of them will be there…
Me: (mumbling)

I am very disturbed with that settlement, especially that I have just confessed to a friend of mine –as well as myself- that as much as it seems that I have come to good terms with everything that’s been as far as my wreck of a marriage is concerned, I am definitely not ok on a few aspects, like his family. I know he’s more flawed than they are, but I am also aware that he is the way he is because they taught him one way or the other that he can get away with anything; moreover, I cannot deny my kids a father, but I can keep their distance from his family, no?

There was a time back in my marriage when I lived with his grandma and aunt, and they always did things with my Beem that got under my skin, like feed him too much chocolate, yell at me when I try to discipline him or just interfere with what I choose for him to wear as if they were the parents! I used to take all that for the sake of whatever harmony I thought was there. Not anymore, the slightest criticism and I am likely to say something nasty and inconsiderate; not because I can’t help myself, but rather because I want to be nasty.

I am not proud of myself for feeling that way, but I am sure as hell convinced that I have very good reasons to. Yes, I have displaced my anger and rage at him towards them and I am not ready to deal with them on fake friendly basis yet, if that makes any sense.

Unresolved emotional issues

When I was little, I remember barely crying in front of people. I don’t remember or understand why, I just know that whenever I wanted to cry I’d hide from people. Of course, it was always obvious that I cried; I am that transparent, people always knew I was crying, but I always took consolation that they didn’t see me cry.

I was once surprised when one of my school buddies joked saying that I cry so easily; he’d never seen me cry! He said I turn too red, my eyes shine too much he can clearly see the tears, and then I disappear, he said it happened a lot especially when I was angry.

In college, I was only seen crying twice, once after a burst at class, I stormed in the washroom and broke something and started crying. The second time was the day after my late nana died and I went to college for a presentation, right before I started it, I had an argument with a professor and I just couldn’t contain the grief and the anger.

I cried on my wedding day; seeing my dad choking on words and fighting his own tears, seeing my in-laws and how annoying they seemed to be talking about things that do not compare to what my daddy was going through made me want to cry. When D walked towards me to give me a congratulations hug, I told her to hold on to me until I could hold back the tears because I was so determined not to cry, God bless her.

My x was the person who had seen me cry the most; I lived with him for five years. Sometimes for him, sometimes because of him, sometimes he was there and well, I trusted him with my tears even when he caused them. He would have anyone believe that I do nothing but cry, that I have constant emotional outbursts, and he might be right! I just don’t have someone to serve much as a second opinion because no one lived with me that long and the few who had seen me cry are too graceful to complain about it.

Today, I cried. It wasn’t anything special, but it made me think of all the above, it made me reflect on so many things, and the more I realized about myself, the harder I found myself sobbing…

The people I don’t care for, they can NEVER make me cry. There is a thick wall between them and me; however, the only way they can get through is when they make me angry. Anger makes me want to harm them, a punch in the face would do, but neither am I the violent type (even with that temper), nor am I capable of inflicting harm, which makes me feel extremely helpless when dealing with that anger; hence, I cry.

The people I care for, they make me cry so easily and they see me cry so often! This is why I’ve been avoiding most of my friends lately whenever I am feeling blue; I don’t want to burden them, I don’t want to bore them with my emotional crap. I have troubles saying the things I feel to people’s faces, I’ve been working on my emotional expression and I can fairly say I am progressing, with my own terms that is. However, when I am crying, my emotional blabber comes with sobs and incoherent phrases, and I can never risk letting that much out when I have least control over it.

That being said, it confuses me that I cried today because of someone I no longer care for. It is not even the first time; I see it coming every time, and it gets to me every single time! You would think that this happening too often would make me less vulnerable, would make me more able to handle it now that I can predict it, think again! The whole anger and helpless theory does not serve given how often and how predictable the provocation is.

And before you jump to conclusions, it’s not the x. It’s someone whom I don’t have the power to cut off my life yet gets (and has gotten) to influence it big time. I would like to think I have tried working my issues with that person before I declare that I have miserably failed. I would like to say that underneath my anger, I might still care, but I have come to peace with myself accepting that I don’t care.

Ok, I am not sure where I stand emotionally from that person; it’s too confusing. I have strong resentful feelings for that person; everything about them gets on my nerves making me feel like I would wanna beat myself dead before having to spend more time with them! I have come to the realization that the saner choice is to not care, that obsessing over the issue and trying to resolve it will only keep getting to me that perhaps one day I might wake up to find myself another version of that person. I am so scared of one day becoming like that person, one of my biggest horrors.

I just want to know how to block that person out, how to stop them from getting to me that way from ruining every moment of peace I get. I am tired of feeling that way and I am tired of reacting the same way over and over again! I wish I could say more about this but I have just dealt with the whole marriage ending issues, I can’t deal with that now.

So, advice anyone?

In my darkest hour…

I don’t believe in regret; to me, it simply does not fix things, it just makes one feel worse about things that are most likely too late to change. However, there are always times when I wonder “what if..??”; I always find it intriguing to think, like it’s my own mental exercise.

Since all my drama began, I would have those thoughts from time to time:

What if I never befriended him?

What if I never believed his lies when I first called it off?

What if I walked out when it got complicated?

What if I called off the marriage like I wanted to when it kept getting complicated?

What if I never agreed to move in with his family after his father died?

What if I never forgave him when he first screwed around?

What if I had decided to stay?

I have a could-have-been answer to each of those, but I really have peace with what really happened versus what could have happened.

But in my darkest hour, one very persisting thought haunts me… what if I never had kids with him?

Every time I find myself asking that question, I realize I’m hitting rock bottom. Don’t get me wrong I love my children, they’re probably the only real thing in my life.

The thought starts creeping in by me thinking “had I not had children with him, I would have walked away for good and never had to look back or be forced to sit and have all those futile arguments”. After all, most of the time I seem to manage not to cross ways with those I don’t like.

Then, I feel horrible having those thoughts in my head, and as I start blaming myself, I hear the other voice justifying “but they deserve better than such messed up parents; and let’s face it, aside from their crazy father, you know you are far away from the perfect mom they deserve. You wouldn’t be wondering what if they were never there if you were a decent mother; but you too want the easy way out, perhaps you’re not much better than him”

What I hate the most is that the silly voices in my head are right; I am a lousy mother, the only thing that makes me a good parent is being compared to him.

Now, I should shake off the silly thoughts, and tell myself it will be over; that there are so many reasons behind it all, and that most of which must be good because my kids are two amazing, cute and innocent children who must not pay for the stupid choices I made. I should tell myself to get it together and stop wallowing in those dark thoughts and go try harder at being a better parent.

Well, if you can’t right now, then it’s ok, send Beem to the club with your parents, put Mocha to bed, and go eat away your bad mood with your friend.

Must get ice cream on my way home.

On hope…

“Hope is a dangerous thing; hope can drive a man insane” Red (Morgan Freeman), The Shawshank Redemption

I believe hope is a good thing; it helps us get by in our darkest hours. Nonetheless, I can see how the above quote can make sense; you see, of all the things that can have a negative impact on a man’s life, hope can top them all because hope in its essence is a good thing. It justifies making decisions perhaps we shouldn’t be making, or believing in things that have previously gotten us disappointed.

They say stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results; sometimes hope is our motivation to do the same thing one more time thinking the result would be more favorable this time, making us more vulnerable to disappointment. Hope is the honey that hides the taste of poison but fails to hide its lethal effect, disappointment and regret.

I am a person who lives by hope. Hope for a better day, hope for better things coming my way. I find my own ways of holding on to whatever hope there is no matter how crappy things seem to be; it’s somewhat my bliss, or perhaps my curse!

I’m afraid I am knowingly taking my own sip of what could be poisoned honey just because I don’t want to allow my doubts and my previous disappointments to get the best of me. I don’t want to give up on my hope and wonder “what if?”... I tell myself it’s ok to have hope even if it turns out to be false, because at least I am quite aware of the possible disappointment, and somewhat ready for it if it takes place.

Does disappointment count when we anticipate it? Does it hurt as much when we know it’s more likely to happen?

Is it stupid to have a hope that had previously led to a disappointment? Or is it simply hopeful?

I guess I should find out on my own even if I end up feeling like an idiot afterwards.

It hurt…

I am not sure where this came from, but as I was driving home with both of my kids in the backseat when this conversation took place….


Beem: mommy…
Me: na3am ya beem
Beem: (pointing at a Toyota) heya el 3arabeya de eeh?
Me: esmaha ToYoTa ya beem
Beem: heya beta3et meen?
Me: beta3et uncle elly saye2ha…
Beem: ana 3ayez arkabha
Me: mmm, bas e7na mane3rafsh uncle da a beem (thinking to myself, he’s almost got into all the car brands we bump into except Toyota, how perceptive!)
Beem: ana 3ayez arkabha ma3 pappy
Me: (WHAT!!!) bet2ool eh ya beem?
Beem: 3ayez arkab Toyota ma3 pappa! Pappa Ahmed, howa bey7ebeny wana ba7ebo we harkab ma3ah…
Me: (WHAT WHAT WHAT!!!! Think of something, QUICKLY!) bas bas ya beem pappa masmoosh ahmad!
Beem: la2 pappa esmo ahmed, ana 3ayez pappy ahmad…
Me: ya 7abeeby walahy masmoosh ahmad! Pappa esmo (my x’s name, obviously not ahmad), mesh enta esmak (his full name)… yeb2a pappy esmo (my x’s name)…
Beem: howa 3ando 3arabeya eh
Me: mesh 3arfa ya beem… tab enta mesh beterkab ma3aya fe 3arabeety, we beterkab ma3 geddo fe 3arabeeto we ma3 agga fe 3arabeetha we goody fe 3arabeetha, enta zehe2t wala eh!!
Beem: ana harkab ma3 Geddo 3arabeya Toyota
Me: (relieved he stopped referring to his dad) ok, hanshoof el mawdoo3 da ma3 geddo
Beem: (coming closer to me while driving, within my reach to hug my right arm) ana ba7ebek awy ya mommy…
Me: ana ba7ebak aktar….


OUCH!!! Who the hell is “pappy ahmad”??! I couldn’t see the road clearly and I started feeling like I was about to bump into the sidewalk with the dizziness i felt!



Later right before having lunch at home…


Me: yalla ya beem ta3ala 3ashan takol ma3aya
Beem: ana ha2akel nafsy
Me: tab ma 2a2akelak ana 3ashan matwasakhsh nafsak
Beem: bas ana kebeer
Me: tayeb ok, hat2akel nafsak bas el kebeer mesh yewa2a3 3ala nafsoh
Beem: ana hakbar tany lessa?
Me: (smiling) ah taba3an, hatekbar lessa in sha2 Allah
Beem: we hageeb 3arabeya Toyota kebeeeeraaaa
Me: (smiling even more) in sha2 Allah
Beem: we hakhaly geddo yerkab ma3aya feeha
Me: (on the verge of tears, and my voice choking) enta gameel awy ya beem, yala ba2a ta3ala kol
Beem: malek ya mommy?
Me: (running in his direction, and making a funny tone) ana hagy aklak 3ashan mesh takol akly
Beem: la2 ana hakol el akl kolo…


And we ate!


How does this kid come up with all those thoughts and ideas and puts them in words? And what’s with the Toyota obsession??!!

More importantly, what do I tell him when he starts focusing more on the fact that he’s missing a father? It hurt like hell when he said “ana 3ayez pappy ahmad” and “howa bey7ebeny”! he’s missing a love he never even received from my idiot of an x. moments like these make me resent my x much much more than I already do. I can only quote my own dad “A7MAQ”!!

The jigsaw puzzle inside my head…

I’m confused; nothing is making sense, nothing! It’s driving me crazy because I always try to make sense out of everything, to a rather unhealthy extent I suppose.

Every time I sit and try to organize my thoughts or make sense out of the mess in my head is like I had opened a box of an old jigsaw puzzle, the ones with 500 pieces plus. A box I open from time to time, but before I start working on putting each piece into its place, I got overwhelmed with the number of the pieces and their small size.

I know each piece has its own unique place, I am certain; but I am not sure if I have all the pieces. It’s like with every time I had opened that box, I seem to have lost a piece, which means that the big picture, if ever completed, will be missing pieces.

The possibility of finishing that puzzle to find pieces missing scares me; because at this point, I have no idea if those missing pieces are forever lost, or just misplaced in my clutter of a life. Are they important pieces that cannot be replaced and must be found? Or could they be of average or even no importance and could be replaced with vague pieces that only seem to fit in the same void? Or must they remain un-replaced; be it as a reminder of things we lose, a lesson that I should be more careful, or that some things are meant to be lost?

Will I ever sit and finish that puzzle? Will the big picture, if ever completed, look anything like the one I have in the back of my mind? Or has my mind messed with those pieces and altered them in ways that would critically change that big picture? Do I even still have that big picture in the back of my mind like I think, or have I lost it and I am still unaware?

Like I said, I’m confused.

to losing…

Around a couple of months ago, I started feeling like I was losing something. The concept felt rather confusing because I was convinced that the “loss” was not even mine to lose! I was not sure why it was being lost, and I was not even sure if I really wanted it to begin with! And even now, I don't have such answers.

Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art” kept coming to mind and haunting me. I had strong urges to just post the poem on my blog as an acknowledgement of my “loss”, only a little voice in me kept arguing that there was no real loss, and that if there really was any, it has not yet been lost! Thanks to my short attention span and my wide range of commitments, I ended up forgetting about the whole thing.

In rare moments, I thought of that “loss” and it kinda made me blue because I never really understood why I even considered it much of a loss. Anyways, earlier this month, while talking to a friend, I realized that whatever my “loss” was, I was ok with the term and more importantly, I was ok with the fact that it was no longer there. I found myself accepting and moving on, and it felt good.

Today, something very small and insignificant happened that reminded me of all that. As minor as it was, it was a sign that accepting and moving on were the right things to do and that losing things is not always that bad, even if it feels that way at some point. And in that spirit, I decided to post the poem from my new perspective.

To losing…

One Art
By Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

A phone call I needed

There are a few aspects of my divorce and my feelings about it that I never discuss. Some because they are too private, some because they are too painful I have decided to block them and force myself to forget them. It’s easy to understand that some things will forever remain private, and I have my peace with never discussing those matters. As for the painful ones, I think it’s best to burry them where I can no longer remember, even if it means that from time to time they will cause me to have some thoughts that I will never find words to express.

My most reoccurring thought was “what if it was me?” I understand that it takes two to make a ruin out of a marriage, I really do, and in that sense I acknowledge most of the mistakes he accused me of. However, a voice in me always shouted that his reaction, his chain reaction of humiliation, the pain he inflicted was too malicious and it made him the bad guy at the end of the day. My friends and loved ones echoed that voice and repeatedly told me to stop being silly and that no behavior of mine could possibly make anyone behave that way, but my secret wondering always lingered and found ways to haunt me at my weak moments, only I never expressed it half as eloquently as it was said to me yesterday even though I never spoke of my wondering before!

Yesterday, someone put on the unbiased hat and spoke those words to me. Yesterday, for the first time, someone found the words that describe one of my worst and most haunting thoughts; and not just that, but also out of being a good friend advised me so calmly on how I should approach my divorce for once and for all before I ended things.

“Before you proceed with anything, take a moment to think of things from a perspective that I know could be painful for you, but you have to do it for the sake of your kids. I know things have come to a point where you can’t re-love him or cherish a good memory, but you owe your kids that much before you eliminate their chances of having a normal relationship with their father.

Since I’ve got to know you, I have been wondering what could possibly make anyone do all that to you. Perhaps there were things you did, words you said that broke your relationship, after all you were in love, and you married for love. There is always one thing at least that must have broken such a bond, it could be too small and insignificant for others, but it could have had a huge impact on him. I know there are things I would not accept of people, no matter how much I love them, and I think it applies to each one of us.

Next time you talk to him, ask him about the moment he started drifting away from you, ask him what caused it, and ask him about a specific incident with its details. Don’t take answers like 3asabeyetek or esloobek, only accept an answer that includes an a moment, a specific incident that made him pull away, because once he pulled away, all the other things would make sense, at least to him. If he does not give you an answer, then he is the asshole I think he is, and leaving him was definitely the right thing to do, and you should never look back and wonder. However, if he gives you that very specific answer, take the time to think about it without bias, and start weighing everything that happened from that point forward all over again, perhaps then you’d be more willing to give him a chance.

I know it’s not something you would want to do, going back to him, but I also know that you love your children that much. Can you do it?”*

Needless to say I cried hearing all those words –and more- being said to me so plainly and directly, silent tears kept rolling as I curled on that cushion feeling so cold. I pulled it together and controlled my tone of voice as I said “Do you know I ask myself that question every day since it all fell apart? Do you know I never stopped wondering if it were me? You know what, I will do what you suggested, even as I know that 90% chance he will not give that answer! I will do it, not because I would ever consider going back to him, I could never do that. You don’t know how much I love my kids, but I do, yet I would NEVER go back to him. I will only do it for me, to have something to shush those thoughts and stop them from haunting me”

My friend did not leave me in the midst of my tears, my friend talked to me about random things that made me really laugh and made sure I hung up with a smile on my face to wake up with a clear head for a change. Yes, I will do as my friend suggested, but I am sorry, even if it turned out that it was me, I will not go back to him, it is over that way, and I will do everything I can to make sure it ends sooner rather than later.

* Of course my rephrasing of those words is not accurate, and I must have skipped more words, but I guess I covered the general idea.