jeudi 16 mai 2013

Everything in life is temporary. So if things are going good, enjoy it because it won’t last forever. And if things are going bad, don’t worry. It can’t last forever either.

To become as absorbed in any subject as I am in mine, that is a curse. A pundit shrap. Now we don’t have these passionate disagreements anymore, where we both had the same problem, both thinking we are always right. The monster-reader she was, "stuck a bookmark in my heart and walked away". We reached that milestone where I have to traverse a desert for days and days while holding a glass of water, and though I may die of thirst, I shall not drink. Because you were that glass.

So she did far worse than killing me, she hurt me, and she intends to go on, hurting me. She left me as I left her, as she left them. Marooned for all eternity at the centre of a dead planet. Buried alive. But of all the souls I met on my journey, she was certainly the most human. She was seductive, endlessly fascinating, but eternally elusive. I could imagine marrying someone like her because she wanted someone who will not leave, no matter hard it is to be with her, and I promised to follow her into the dark. While she would have been my priority, I would have been a mere option.

We should have known that forever is a long long time. And time has a way of changing things.

For the past few weeks, there was no phone, no internet. Just me, a carpet and a direction. Now I’ve been staring at my phone waiting for its light to shine because she was that light. I smiled to myself, content. But it was only football scores notifications and David Beckham retirement. Facepalm.

I’m writing from my orchard where branches sway and creak with yawns of awakening. Slowly, petals begin to fall. Until the air is full of petals sighing. Soon my kitchen garden has a thousand petals scattered over it, contrasting the brown soil with soft reds. Like rose petals at a wedding. Our. An occasional wayward raindrop slid off a branch and struck me in the face and I felt ridiculously happy. Tears came. It’s not sadness, it’s a simple breakdown, because tears do not show how weak you are, they silently display a feeling that you have been strong for too long and today I’m tired of fighting. Car je croyais assumer cette blessure à jamais ouverte.

But she was my light, my water. 
Someone bright, not to alter.

In the old backyard, I can see rocks surrounding a small tree. Each one is in the form of an independent brick or a ball, and yet they nestle and cuddle with one another for support. Each has an upper side that reflects the sky and a mysterious dark underside. These rocks have been partners for so long they have grown toward one another and are blended by their mutual mosses and lichens. So I end up curled in a foetal position in the middle of my garden.

Light, water, mosses, lichens. Sounds like ingredients for a one syllable word heavy as a heartbeat or for a sort of traffic accident of the heart - Diane Ackerman. Or for the L word pour une éponge jamais essorée. Mon coeur. (comme si j’en avais un).

For long, I tried playing up the melodramatic aspect because it’s easier if you make the end of your relation funny, put on a mask, and act like it’s not bothering you. But a total fiasco. Today, I can just go to her grave and whisper that “mieux vaut mourir incompris que passer sa vie à s’expliquer”- William Shakespeare.

Still I wish we could talk. But I know what she did was for our good. Burning the bridges because Melchizedek must have preached her that ce que l'homme ne veut pas apprendre par la sagesse, il l'apprendra par la souffrance. So sit still and look around, “cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me. And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be. Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet. You'll see me waiting for you on the corner of the street. So I'm not moving, I'm not” moving on. Even if she won’t be where we met or will never come to Paris.

Pour que tout soit consommé, pour que je me sente moins seul, il me reste à souhaiter qu’il y ait beaucoup de spectateurs le jour de ma mort et qu’ils m’accueillent avec de belles paroles mais surtout qu’ils me pardonnent et qu’elle me pardonne.

How am I supposed to smile when you refuse to?
How am I to live when you have ceased to?
- ZT

A Love Witness

vendredi 3 mai 2013

When Dad’s shoulders were the highest place on earth and Mom was your hero…

Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see a large black old suitcase wide open waiting for me to fill stuff in it, or maybe waiting for me to fit in it. So I tried it, I folded my knees and stayed in it for a while. I felt like I was traveling back to my childhood where my Dad’s shoulders were the highest place on earth and my Mom was my hero… But I think it’s time for me to come out from that suitcase and leave behind me memories I want to burry forever. Of course, not such sweet memories. But of her…
A new destination to visit is calling me. Expectations are filling my head with good intentions. But wasn’t I supposed to live frugally on surprise and expect nothing? I’m not sure anymore.
Surprising, shocking and drastic changes are expected. I wish to enjoy the travel like Malcolm X did for its first time, feel the freedom, the peace and the universality of the mankind. To be one with all nations, tough it’s better to be part of all nations puisqu’il est commun de faire partie d’une nation, mais avoir l’opportunité d’embrasser plusieurs nations, là il s’agit d’un luxe que très peu de gens peuvent s’offrir.
It will be a new start, a new commencement, a new beginning… a resurrection. All my sins will be cleaned. I’m given the opportunity to restart everything, to rewrite every chapter of my story, or at least correct all the erasures. Or rather than turning the page, I can just throw the book away.
Then I’m asking myself what if I want to roam the world and learn of all of its people… but end up not belonging to any of them? What does that make me? A crazy guy who need psychiatric treatment? No, because most of the revolutionaries were always standing alone for their rights at the beginning, and then people would have joined them, so thank you Nelson Mandela, thank you Martin Luther King, thank you Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi and thank you Albert Einstein. I’ll stay one of the craziest human being on earth and I’ll gather all nations around cultural richness; though diversity is a cultural asset.
I often cry on matters that go beyond xenophobia, racism, homophobia, terrorism… I cry on poverty and how people ignore it, how people give more importance to a mere problem of a society running after its own happiness. How can you be happy while your neighbor is starving to death, and you just slam the door on his face?
I was 4 when I was told that something like poverty exists, without really understanding why it exists. On a random day, my mom and I went at a charity to give a big bag of rice of 10 kilos for kids living in Somalia; I still remember the smile of the volunteer who leant at me to thank me while putting its hand on my head without realizing what I did. I felt like I met a Somali kid and made a new friend, I felt like its happiness was my happiness, I felt like what was mine, was ours, I felt like there was no boundary, no nationality issue, no religious concern, no xenophobia… a simple help. Is that what you call humanity? Putting aside everything and share whatever you can, a smile, a hand shake, a hug, a talk, a meal… whatever you can.
I've tried frustration, anger, disappointment, tiredness and misery, and they all work to a degree, but joyous satisfaction and a sense of élan work best to stabilize your happiness compass. So here is seven steps to happiness: think less, feel more; talk less, listen more; judge less, accept more; watch less, do more; complain less, appreciate more; fear less, love more.
And I will leave you with a poem I once shared.
When clouds of pain loom in the sky,
When a shadow of sadness flickers by,
When a tear finds its way to the eye,
When fear keeps the loneliness alive,
I try and console my heart.
Why is that you cry? I ask
This is only what life imparts
These deeps silence within
Have been handed out to all by time
Everyone’s story has a little sorrow
Everyone’s share has a little sunshine
No need for water in your eyes
Every moment can be a new life
Why do you let them pass you by
Oh heart why is that you cry?
- Javed Akhtar