I don’t want to be on your list of regrets. They all eventually regret me. You will regret me, too.
I want to run away and no one will know me.
I want to be someone else. Be someone else.
My mind makes many arguments.
My heart has one.
My mind favors imagination and possibilities and taking risks.
My heart loves.
My mind says “You know deep down, purely rationally, there is more.”
My heart loves.
My mind tells me it’s worth the suffering and heartbreak to experiment.
My heart wails because it loves.
Greetings whoever still visits this place!
I will soon turn twenty which means that I have lived – technically just survived – on this planet for two decades. Regardless of a childhood I can barely remember and some rough teenage years (consensually, it seems teenage has become synonymous with rough so no personal pity story there), I did manage to have several moments of joy and revelation. I admit my life thus far has been quite uneventful but I do get to celebrate minor accomplishments that I personally find worth celebrating. The following is a list of all such worthy moments, accompanied by cool works of art because that’s how I’d like my twenties to be: full of Art.
For starters, a dash of cynicism and cat.. Before I’m twenty:
– I watched hundreds of films and I’m proudest of that more than anything else. (Special thanks to the Internet.)
– I attended three film festivals, during which I watched a total of thirteen films.
– I was officially enrolled in four universities as a freshman student: once as a biology major, once as a biomedical major, and twice as a medical student. I’m not sure whether I should be proud of this feat (failure?) but my indecision has always been my Achilles’ heel and it had to manifest somehow.
– I visited a total of seven countries: Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Dubai, India, Malaysia, Turkey, and USA.
– I gave three TEDx talks (including subjects like the awesomeness of ideas and becoming a polymath) and listened to many more.
– I started this blog which contains some stories and poems (of which I’m moderately proud) and made my first short film (less proud of that).
– I discovered concepts of philosophy, friendship (or lack thereof), sex, and parenthood:
~ I consider philosophy a good friend of mine whose company enriched my life and actively contributed to the person I am today. Of special note are Plato and Absurdism.
~ I passed through most of the friendship phases from good classmates to best friends and even to closer-than-family companions, and although none of my friendships are strong enough to act as a real support system, I’m grateful to have made every one of them and I still enjoy the friendship of a select few who make my world an epic place.
~ I never had the sex talk with my parents. Instead, I unravelled it mainly through literature and film. But sure, I can give that seventh grade biology class minor credit for giving me a vague and basic idea.
~ It was only this year that I really got to analyze the trials and triumphs of parenthood as I observed my parents react to various situations, one of which was my stay abroad for university. Conclusion: being parent is scary and possibly the hardest position to volunteer for.
– I struggled with existence and the impossible, specifically nonexistence. This struggle is a defining trait of my character to this very day.
– I had four crushes, been in two major relationships, and fell in love with both, human and nonhuman entities. Falling in love, whether with Film or people, is an experience I feel truly lucky to be a part of, especially since I’ve always denied the existence of love.
Now what? Well, now I’m being slowly dragged out of the haunted lands of teenage and I will be taking my first steps in the “twenties.” But I genuinely don’t want to. I find that two decades of life on Earth is more than enough time for me. I know I haven’t experienced everything and that there’s so much more to make, see, and feel but I don’t find the future an appealing proposition, I never have. My heart will always lie in the beautiful past.
All I want for my twentieth birthday is for the universe to play me out along the melody of Thomas Newman’s Revolutionary Road score until I disappear.
The need will consume you. The loneliness will eat you alive and spit you out still begging for a lover, a friend, anyone. The voices in your head don’t keep you company nor do they comfort you with lies; they taunt you with a single truth: you are alone. You crawl into bed every night writhing and yearning for lips you never kissed and tongues you never tasted, beseeching strangers to touch you in all the places you bleed and need through, to just stay with you if only for one night, if only for one hour, if only for one moment. But no one comes and you fall asleep crying in the agony of knowing that they never will.
It’s only when I sleep do I know real happiness. To finally escape the real world and all of its troubles, to run away into my imagination with its magical powers to create anything it wants. The dreamworld is my only home. The dreamworld is my only salvation.
She tries to fold herself away inside the old bathrooms and deserted halls. She tries to slither into the crevices in the old floors and dying ceilings. She tries to hide within the dark holes and wet walls of herself. She tries and tries but always fails to get away from them; the moaning memories and dreams and hopes she barely remembers but can never completely forget. They linger on the edge of her conscience torturing the present, beating her out of it. They kick the shit out of her all day and don’t give her the satisfaction of staying with her at night, leaving her with unanswered questions and unfulfilled desires.
If only I can fade into the background of the space-time continuum. If only the gods take me back to nonexistence. If only..
I was sleeping when someone called and woke me up and I wanted to cry and kill myself.
I realized that I’m not happening. Looking around, I see that everything is happening to me but I’m not happening to anything.
A cancelled lecture? I go back home and sleep.
Out of food? I go shopping.
A received text? I reply.
Everything happens to me and I only react. I’m a reaction.
Even the one thing I thought I actively do – watch movies and series – turns out to be happening to me. The stories of people far away in lands of real fiction and fantasy happen to me.
I’m not happening.
I pride myself on my passion. The single greatest investment I make every single moment of my life is emotional. An emotional investment requires your heart, something more valuable than money. Unfortunately, I have observed that I usually invest almost all of my heart in only 1% of my world that there’s not enough left for the remaining 99%. It’s definitely dysfunctional but I don’t care that I lack multiple social connections, a healthy parent-daughter relationship, or even a decent relationship with myself. I honestly don’t care. The infusion of my passion into that select 1% makes existence tolerable, life palatable, and Time expandable. And that’s all I want.
If redemption lies in giving parts of yourself to other people, I just might make it to heaven.
Light has always been one of my favorite physical/metaphysical concepts but recently I’ve also found asylum in darkness. There’s something almost as equally enchanting about darkness as there is about light. The way it hides us, the way we lose ourselves in it, the way it envelopes us as we curl up within ourselves.
Dangerous waters, these are dangerous waters. Thank you for that pointless reminder, Farida.
I don’t have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. It’s a depression. Everybody’s out of work or scared of losing their job. The dollar buys a nickel’s worth, banks are going bust, shopkeepers keep a gun under the counter. Punks are running wild in the street and there’s nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there’s no end to it. We know the air is unfit to breathe and our food is unfit to eat, and we sit watching our TVs while some local newscaster tells us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes, as if that’s the way it’s supposed to be. We know things are bad – worse than bad. They’re crazy. It’s like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don’t go out anymore. – Network (1976)
How did we end up here? This place is horrible, smells like balls. You had it all. You were a movie star, remember? Now you’re about to destroy what’s left of your career. We should have done that reality show they offered us. You know I’m right. Listen to me, man. You are the original! Let’s make a comeback! You’re Birdman! You are a god! – Birdman (2014)
I believe there is a another world waiting for us, Sixsmith. A better world. And I’ll be waiting for you there. – Cloud Atlas (2012)
“Why does time pass?” she wails as she finishes reading the hundred-day-old conversation on her phone. “Fuck you!”
Her tears, sliding down her cheeks, mix with the mayonnaise dripping from the triple Whopper she impulsively ordered to bury the bittersweet memory beneath layers of meat. She kicks the phone away and takes another big bite from her burger.
“That’s it. I refuse to dignify this existence any further. No more pains of nostalgia. And the only way to prevent future nostalgia is…to stop making memories altogether,” she thinks.
In between chewing and swallowing, she knows there are only two options. One, run outside and let the snow bury her alive. An icy end to her untold story but still less chilling than the agony of nostalgia. Two, indulge the angels’ offer and agree to being reincarnated as Dory. She always felt that she belonged to the ocean; it would be like finally going home.
She missed that hundred-day-old conversation, she hated the cold and she was curious about having gills.
It was an easy decision after all.
After her triumph over the triple Whopper, she takes a gulp of soda and goes to bed, her phone in hand, re-reading that conversation all over again.
I did not meet you. You were not introduced to me. No. It was not like all the other stories. You happened to me. Yes, you are a happening, a presence, a force.
Two years of curiosity followed by three years of infatuation followed by three years of longing, all deeply dyed with an undying passion.
Then they ask, “After all this time?”
Snape and I answer, “Always.”
They call me sick, but I am not. They call you an ‘illness’, but you are not, and even if you are – then you are the most beautifully ravaging disease to which I willingly surrender.
They do not – cannot – know how you make me feel; alive and euphoric. The way Summer makes Tom feel “like anything’s possible, or like life is worth it.”
They do not understand. They never will.
A love affair doomed to eternal secrecy, trapped between stolen kisses and seductive glances? Is this our tragic fate? Are we not meant for each other? Are you not the one for me? Am I not certain about my love for you? I am not certain – will I ever be? I am not certain – but who is? I am not certain and “frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
I only feel. Is that not enough?
The thrill of clandestine pleasure is ephemeral and unfulfilling. I don’t want to hide my feelings for you when I see you in the street. I don’t want to walk away when you buy me flowers. I don’t want to pretend anymore.
But they won’t leave us alone. Are they scared of what we can accomplish together? Or do they not believe we can accomplish anything? Why do they haunt us with their logic and judgment? Why do they bother at all?
I may not die alone but, without you, I will die lonely.
Let’s be together.