Sharing a house and conspiring revolutions. We cook, we eat, we shower and we heat with laughs and cries, all under one roof in the name of friendship. Tiny numbers on a piece of paper arrive, magnified by their value, cause havoc and chaos! And the motions are set..
Accusations, heated discussions and unreasonable solutions create a loophole in our disturbed existance. Allies formed and reformed long broken friendships that had no hope of reconciliation. Meetings, deviced under secrecy and undercover stories take place. Enhancing the skill of the softly spoken word, without which communications in the fragile and thin walled house would break. However, the looming shadow of collaboration, compromise and the undesired verdict are ever approaching ...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
No!
You are here, you come to me, you give me you're all. A myth no more, a fantasy turned into reality, a dream come true, all handed to me on a platter of gold. Waiting, and waiting, eyes unwavering, hopeful and waiting.
A knott is growing, and growing in my small throat. Eyes wide open, shocked and fearful. Blood rushing through, flooding my crowded brain, whooshing endlessly... No...
A knott is growing, and growing in my small throat. Eyes wide open, shocked and fearful. Blood rushing through, flooding my crowded brain, whooshing endlessly... No...
Saturday, November 08, 2008
A Pipe Dream
People...people come and go. Some will turn to be best friends, some life long, prized connections and others will just be another face, name to add to the long list of acquaintances. However, it is those who pass by that can have a lasting impression. Those, who make the small remarks that have the biggest impact. Then, they leave and leave a changed person longing for their illusive return.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Barbie's Unforeseen Fate
Long, wavy, white blonde hair, sun-kissed skin, to die for body and the many gowns and outfits in all colours possible, these were my Barbie’s acquired traits. All that was missing was her significant other! It made perfect sense, for my precious Barbie to have her tall, dark and handsome Ken. I told mother of this ever persisting deficit.
However, Ken never came and strangely enough I was very relieved for my Barbie! Somehow, the theory of him coming, sweeping her off her feet and taking her away from me precipitated?! Whether this was the creation of my mother’s slick and witty escape or the intricate imagination of two little girls reconciling themselves and their Barbie, I have not yet come to the conclusion.
Either way, this theory has survived and grew with me through all those years, lying dormant, deep at the back of my mind. Until recently, with the news of my childhood friend marrying, and my cousin’s fast entry (to me) into wedlock and baby producing stage have brought back the anxiety I went through with my Barbie. The thought that they will no longer be mine, and mine alone, played on my mind.
Yet, they made the transition into marriage world in one piece and I pulled through unharmed in any shape or form; and so there were happy endings to scary beginnings.
Except for Barbie, who now resides in a dark, crowded box, up in the cold, dusty attic. So much for our protectiveness!
However, Ken never came and strangely enough I was very relieved for my Barbie! Somehow, the theory of him coming, sweeping her off her feet and taking her away from me precipitated?! Whether this was the creation of my mother’s slick and witty escape or the intricate imagination of two little girls reconciling themselves and their Barbie, I have not yet come to the conclusion.
Either way, this theory has survived and grew with me through all those years, lying dormant, deep at the back of my mind. Until recently, with the news of my childhood friend marrying, and my cousin’s fast entry (to me) into wedlock and baby producing stage have brought back the anxiety I went through with my Barbie. The thought that they will no longer be mine, and mine alone, played on my mind.
Yet, they made the transition into marriage world in one piece and I pulled through unharmed in any shape or form; and so there were happy endings to scary beginnings.
Except for Barbie, who now resides in a dark, crowded box, up in the cold, dusty attic. So much for our protectiveness!
Friday, October 10, 2008
You
You are a constant reminder of the burden I carry, the guilt I feel, the unspoken promises. How can I escape?
The need to run and run far and fast is itching inside of me. Slowly, I'm being enclosed on and in, surrounded by this deafeningly approaching ponderosity! The happiness is sucked out of me on the mention of You. How can this be when You are supposed to be the ray of light that brightens up my life?
Love...they say
The need to run and run far and fast is itching inside of me. Slowly, I'm being enclosed on and in, surrounded by this deafeningly approaching ponderosity! The happiness is sucked out of me on the mention of You. How can this be when You are supposed to be the ray of light that brightens up my life?
Love...they say
Friday, April 20, 2007
Battle of The Indices
The clock hits 4.30pm and the battle begins.
Each sat in their own room, at opposite ends of the house, one on his reclining chair, with his feet up on the table in front of him. The other lying down, relaxing after a long day in school, on the couch, with salt and vinegar crisps conveniently placed within hand reach.
Both are clicking away at the small black buttons, each having a different number in mind. The white numbers have started to fade away, leaving the evidence for these persistent and childish acts.
With every successful click of his, her face reacts involuntarily to the results that appear on the screen. Lips mouthing incoherent, newly coined words and nose that has become asymmetrical, one half higher than the other, she determinedly presses hard on her chosen button “back up”, which never changes.
After ten minutes of this futile and frustrating game (to her) she decided to be the bigger person and give up the fight.
Remote controls, regardless of their revolutionary, lazy inducing advantages, turn everyone, whether it was the 80 year old or the already young 14 year old, into petty children.
Each sat in their own room, at opposite ends of the house, one on his reclining chair, with his feet up on the table in front of him. The other lying down, relaxing after a long day in school, on the couch, with salt and vinegar crisps conveniently placed within hand reach.
Both are clicking away at the small black buttons, each having a different number in mind. The white numbers have started to fade away, leaving the evidence for these persistent and childish acts.
With every successful click of his, her face reacts involuntarily to the results that appear on the screen. Lips mouthing incoherent, newly coined words and nose that has become asymmetrical, one half higher than the other, she determinedly presses hard on her chosen button “back up”, which never changes.
After ten minutes of this futile and frustrating game (to her) she decided to be the bigger person and give up the fight.
Remote controls, regardless of their revolutionary, lazy inducing advantages, turn everyone, whether it was the 80 year old or the already young 14 year old, into petty children.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
As I’m sat on my desk, working away, “Hilwa Ya Balady” playing softly in the background…a feeling, a fleeting image took me back to my grandparent’s house.
I was asking granddad to put on Dalida, after the pleading my wish was granted and the living room was turned into our dance studio. The music begins playing and my sister and I would be lost into its melody, arms flailing, spinning round and round until we were too dizzy to stand up and maybe fall once or twice while we gracefully jump from sofa to sofa.
Slowly the treasures of my grandparent’s house would come out of their drawers and cupboards. The Hijil, that was too big for our tiny ankles and the bright green piece of cloth that we would tie around our non existent bottoms, were an essential detail for our performance. The smiles and giggles accompanied us throughout the evening.
Those were the days when grandparents were young and fun to be with. Now I look at granddad, the most active person I’ve known all my life, sitting at his desk reading his newspaper with eyes slowly drifting and closing into a sleep that was brought by boredom. He shuffles his way from his study to the kitchen to his bedroom like an old person whose life has become a burden on him.
I’m sure he’s still the same person, somewhere the tennis player, the gardener enthusiast and the opinionated jido is there. I can hear it in his voice and see it sometimes but these occasions are becoming rare occurrences. The sharpness and attentiveness have been taken over by the unfocused, blue rimmed brown eyes.
Bebe has turned into this unhappy and depressed being. Only when her sons and family visit does she smile from deep within her heart. They give her purpose to life. Yet, this is taken away just as easily as it is brought, by their parting.
It is sad to think that once upon a time my Bebe and Jido were full of life and laughter.
I miss them and I miss being a child, unaware of these realities.
I was asking granddad to put on Dalida, after the pleading my wish was granted and the living room was turned into our dance studio. The music begins playing and my sister and I would be lost into its melody, arms flailing, spinning round and round until we were too dizzy to stand up and maybe fall once or twice while we gracefully jump from sofa to sofa.
Slowly the treasures of my grandparent’s house would come out of their drawers and cupboards. The Hijil, that was too big for our tiny ankles and the bright green piece of cloth that we would tie around our non existent bottoms, were an essential detail for our performance. The smiles and giggles accompanied us throughout the evening.
Those were the days when grandparents were young and fun to be with. Now I look at granddad, the most active person I’ve known all my life, sitting at his desk reading his newspaper with eyes slowly drifting and closing into a sleep that was brought by boredom. He shuffles his way from his study to the kitchen to his bedroom like an old person whose life has become a burden on him.
I’m sure he’s still the same person, somewhere the tennis player, the gardener enthusiast and the opinionated jido is there. I can hear it in his voice and see it sometimes but these occasions are becoming rare occurrences. The sharpness and attentiveness have been taken over by the unfocused, blue rimmed brown eyes.
Bebe has turned into this unhappy and depressed being. Only when her sons and family visit does she smile from deep within her heart. They give her purpose to life. Yet, this is taken away just as easily as it is brought, by their parting.
It is sad to think that once upon a time my Bebe and Jido were full of life and laughter.
I miss them and I miss being a child, unaware of these realities.
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