July 3, 2017
Ya Allah, I am grateful for this year’s blessings. May Your Mercy envelop us…
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us.” A tale of two cities, Charles Dickens.
July 3, 2016
Or as Frédéric Beigbeder has it, “the bastard age where you are too young to be old and too old to be young.”
I’ll run the usual.
Ya Allah, Help me.
“I have little fear of getting older, but I live in constant dread that an evil genie will make me relive my twenties.” Elizabeth Gilbert.
October 31, 2015
I can say all I want about life, how nothing is written in stone, how there are no milestones, no check list of things that need to be done by a certain age, how everyone has a different pace, different needs, different motivations and aspirations. I can say all I want about how everyone is free to live their life the way they want to, but I can’t seem to apply the same philosophy to myself.
Age is just a number. Or a word. But I have never been young enough to have the carelessness, freedom and know-it-all arrogance that youth grant. I have never been in the moment, not dwelling about the past or fretting about the future.
I discovered that I have always had very strict and fixed ideas about what should come when. How the first job would be The Job. How the first love would be The One. How the first heartbreak would happen, if it must, after the first love. How the first kiss would be before the first quarter of life. How the first child would arrive after the first couple of years of blissful marital life. How the first promotion would not be apprehended, guilt-filled and undeserved.
October has always been the month of firsts for me. This year’s too. But there are still so many firsts I have not (yet?) lived, so many firsts I would so want to live, that I can’t help but feel I am beginning to run out of time, and fear that I may soon have to give up on them…
July 3, 2015
Nothing much to say today. Maybe I’ll just stick to the ritual:
Ya Allah, Save me...
“Why is it then that I run headlong into a house without reading the sign over the door, prompletly find myself in these corridors, and settle here with such obstinacy that I cannot even remember ever having been in front of the house, ever having run up the stairs! But back I cannot go, this waste of time, this admission of having been on the wrong track would be unbearable for me. What? Run downstairs in this brief, hurried life accompanied as it is by that impatient droning? Impossible. The time allotted to you is so short that if you lose one second you have already lost your whole life, for it is no longer, it is always just as long as the time you lose. So if you have started out on a walk, continue it whatever happens; you can only gain, you run no risk, in the end you may fall over a precipice perhaps, but had you turned back after the first steps and run downstairs you would have fallen at once – and not perhaps, but for certain. So if you find nothing in the corridors open the doors, and if you find nothing behind these doors there are more floors, and if you find nothing up there, don’t worry, just leap up another flight of stairs. As long as you don’t stop climbing, the stairs won’t end, under your climbing feet they will go on growing upwards” Franz Kafka
June 14, 2015
I wish I could do something about it. Seeing you there, smoking cigarette after cigarette, empty and broken-hearted, makes me feel empty and broken-hearted myself.
I know that there is nothing I could possibly tell you that can ease your pain or clear the fog. I know that there is nothing I could say that hasn’t been already said, and at the risk of sounding cheesy, I would still say this: Hold on. I know you have felt this way before, just like I know you will feel this way again. And I know that this too will pass.
I would tell you that it is all going to be all right. I know it is all going to be all right. Life has a way of making it up to good people. Just when you think that you have had enough and can’t take anymore, life makes a small, unexpected gesture that fills you up with hope, balms your wounds, and lets you catch your breath to set again on your journey.
Your pain matters. Your thoughts matter. Your feelings matter. You matter. So my dear, as Rumi says, “I know you’re tired, but come. This is the way.“
June 7, 2015
There comes a time in life when you start most of your sentences with “When I was younger”.
When I was younger, I spent summer in a big house in a small, beautiful village, surrounded by trees and parks. When I was younger, my best friend and I used to ride our bikes and race as if we were on the tour de France. When I was younger, I traveled the world. When I was younger, I loved to read. When I was younger, I had few but good friends. When I was younger, I took everything so seriously it hurt. When I was younger, I wasted so much time worrying about things that either were bound to happen anyway or that never did. When I was younger, I was so afraid of living that I almost didn’t.
There comes a time in life when you start all your sentences with when I was young, and I hope, when the time comes, that you will find plenty to say.
May 31, 2015
Funny things, fingers. One can make them say anything and its opposite. Hold a thumb up, and you make someone’s day. Hold it down and you ruin it, if they draw their self-worth from other people’s approval. Two fingers for victory. Three and you get the Serbian war sign. Add one and you move to Egypt’s revolution’s aftermath that seems to be straight out from Orwell’s “Animal Farm”. Five is the “evil eye” talisman in most Arab countries. Six is a genetic mutation. And I won’t talk about the various middle finger signs from all over the world, but you get the idea.
But fingers talk sometimes in a subtle way. One look at someone’s hands and you may learn more about them that they are willing to share: rough working fingers, very pale always-in-a-glove fingers, slender musical fingers, a vague trace of a wedding ring that is taken off the moment they step out of the house fingers… I guess that’s why she learned never to trust “fingers”.