It Wasn't Too Late for Crepes Either...

I planned to sleep at 10.
Around 1 am I started making a dozen of my very own delicious-special-recipe crepes.

Some people are stress eaters. I, on the other hand, am a stress cooker. Yes that's true. There is such a thing... and even if there wasn't then I just invented it. But the valid question here would be: What is there to be stressed about? Everything. But nothing at all.

I lay awake, insomniac; watching bad 80's movies just to distract myself from all the things that could be upsetting me with the world. Who on this planet hasn't done this before?

It's only healthy to start pinpointing the things that stress out the soul one at a time, deal with them, and then put them up on the trophy shelf next to all the other solved puzzles. So now that I have identified the structure of the most efficient and effective process of thought for the night, the task becomes actually finding out what is stressing me out. Which is a task that cannot be called neither simple nor easy... that's also why talking to people about random things helps.

I was talking to a friend (the same friend who says I have my nice plastic moments) and I realised one thing. I realised that one of my best chances at fulfilling a dream of mine - and of my mother's - as well had slipped by swiftly and unexpectedly, even though it had been there for almost 20 years.
My great aunt; my grandmother's sister, who was the eldest of her 9 brothers and sisters and who had the entire family story saved in her memory passed away on a hot summer night.

How does this have to do with the opportunity of my life? Simple. My mother's hope of me, and my own 10 year old dream is to put my family history down on paper as solid and documented as can ever be. That history that is so rich and so intertwined with my own community's and city's and country's history is attached to everything I am and everything that I hope to at some point become.

And I feel as though those generations of stories and anecdotes crumbled and fell in those moments when I heard the news. It all just flew by too that I did not get to mourn properly or to contemplate and reflect upon all of this... I tend to go blank and reaction-less when death's stench reeks and hovers around my soul... I only realise much later.

Another very humane habit that requires some scrutiny is being "too late".

How late is "too late"?

I prefer to believe that as long as the loss of a life is not included in the story, then it isn't too late at all. There is always time to catch up. To pick up. To fix up. There is always time... Only as long as one decides that is is already late enough.

What people need to start learning - and especially yours truly - is that its unhealthy to postpone and it is even more unhealthy to give up on things.

I shouldn't have to give up on my doing something amazing because those around me think I should focus on available resources. I shouldn't have to give up on my need to feel accomplished because people tell me I need to be more grounded. I shouldn't have to give up on world peace (only with a completely and utterly made-over definition of "peace") because of the fact that it has become a ridiculed concept. I shouldn't give up on reaching the people I want to reach just because they live half way across the world. I shouldn't feel like a total waste of space and breathing air only because a boy my age on TV managed to become a swimming hero never to be forgotten.

And most definitely I shouldn't have to give up on writing my book because of the passing of the most beautiful and brightest and most colorful woman I have ever known... She would have scolded me bad for giving up; she would've told me she is unimportant, that she is just one of God's creations, and that everything I need I would find in the rest of His creations.
No one should... It just needs a bit of effort and a plenty of support. Or maybe its the other way around.

No I don't want to battle from beginning to end; I don't want to cycle, recycle revenge; I do not want to follow death and all of his friends.

One more Infinite Abyss

12 days 19 hours and 30 minutes.
That’s how long ago it was.

We just stand by and wonder how fast those hours just swoosh by. It can get absolutely ridiculous. Even then, those wondering thoughts crossed us, but for completely different reasons. They were more bittersweet than the ones I think right now. Now they’re as simple as the word “sad”. And Hurt... That’s another appropriate word for it.

What hurts most is that it is beginning to not hurt as much as it did 12 days ago… or 10 days ago… or 9 days ago. Some people say that forgetting is actually a blessing and gift from God to mankind. I say it’s both a gift and a curse. A blessing because one always needs to forget the ugly things that have happened in their pasts (insert a loud “Duh” from the crowd); in parallel, it remains a curse because when that disease of forgetting falls upon us, we forget about the pain that we feel when we part from loved ones, or when we say our goodbyes. Yes, it is healthy to forget about the hurt and pain, but who said a person – and I in particular- would want to be healthy and forget about the pain that makes them happy. If that's what it's called then so be it; I'd definitely rather be "unhealthy".

Yes, pain can make me genuinely happy. That is in the specific case when it is connected to people I love that I might never meet again, or to the times that in their turn caused genuine happiness.

It is difficult for me to not wallow about certain things and experiences in my life.

My mother tells me I should stop creating my illustrious and illusionary worlds that revolve around much simpler and imperfect concepts and people. But to me those will always remain perfectly imperfect.

In the words of Charlie the Wallflower, “I feel infinite”.

When I listen to those certain tunes that make every single taste, smell, graze, ray of sunshine, drop of rain, laugh, tear, heart skip and van ride flood back into my system. And when I breathe in just one very specific breeze, and when I am reading this exact page of that particular book and I remember everything that once was and never will be again; and that is when I begin to feel that beautiful pain and that hurt again; that is when I feel infinite.

I do sincerely believe that I have the right; the absolute right -without the fear of being committed- to feel this way about the reasons behind why things have changed so drastically for me. Because they have changed as drastically. And the new thing is that the implications of those changes and their consequences, are not within my grasp of control and… honestly? I do not wish them to be.
I have made yet another conscious decision (another of my self-found central concepts). It is the same as the one I had made just 2 years before: I’ll let the events of my life flow with no control.

Yep, that’s true; I’ll let them flow from the midst of the pain, the missing, the love and the bittersweet genuine happiness, without once trying to apply my chains of control that I sometimes barely live without.

If it’s a broken part, replace it. If it’s a broken arm then brace it. If it’s a broken heart…then face it.

I sat on the roof of our little Mediterranean chalet reading the book that revolves around the wallflower. It was around my favorite time of day; after the sun leaves mid-sky and right before it sets; exactly when it’s in 3 quarters of the blue that turns into the perfect tinge of orange. It needed a picture. But I knew that bothering to go fetch the camera was not worth ruining the actual moment. So… I let it be.

Luckily enough however, my cat had to escape me as fickle as she is. And I did get the chance to grab that camera and snap the just as fickle beauty. Maybe Fate likes things to go my way too…

Suggested Music: Details in the Fabric- Jason Mraz
That Green Gentleman (Things Have Changed)- Panic at the Disco

Suggested Reading: The Perks of Being a Wallflower- Stephen Chbosky

Suggested Movie: Garden State

Another Lame attempt at Genuine Happiness...

I probably should not be pre-judging this newly-found trial arena before I even begin my attempts, but something tells me it won't not really work and the purpose would yet again be unfulfilled.
Most probably those voices again...Darn them can't live with them can't live without 'em.
Oh well!

I get tired of hearing people say "Oh you looked happy!". Of course I looked happy; I was happy. What do they think I'm made of plastic or something? I can be happy, I can be genuinely happy too.. because of course those are two very very distinct concepts.

Allow me to elaborate; being happy is an everyday thing; you meet an old friend, you have a good time or a good laugh in your own hometown, you play a game of monopoly, maybe you finally find a good movie on TV.
Being genuinely happy on the other hand..that's different. You cannot be genuinely happy all the time. It just does not happen. Genuine Happiness is a once-upon-a-time kind of thing.

That was the kind of happiness I found in a country for which I supposedly harbored all kinds of resentful emotion for. In the midst of all the circumstances that cannot be duplicated no matter how hard I try, I found love, I found bittersweet sadness, I found loud silences, I found overwhelming soberness and fragmented thoughts just the way I like it. My guess is..you most probably experience that kind of genuine happiness only away from your loved ones. Only when it's quiet and you do not have to live up to expectations..
Whoops..There goes another judgement with no foundation.

Call me crazy, but I just like to assume that what applies to me should apply to the entire world. Things are just better my way. I truly believe that.

So what caused that genuine happiness? Was it Breaking the rules? Meeting the people of the earth that made my heart skip? Finding open skies allowing for unlimited opportunities?.... Being alone again..?
I won't even try to look into those now... That needs a good book, some yoga and the beach.

Instead I think of all the unfulfilled scenarios that might have been in the case I had let that side of me that knows it does things best, really take full control. The ironic thing is, some people really do think I'm plastic... at least sometimes.
A friend told me a few days back "When you're plastic, you aren't necessarily nice.. But believe it or not, plastic gets things done. If it weren't for that, we would have never been able to get all that we did done". But I know it was not in full mode. Had it been in full mode, those 138 people in that room in that hotel in DC, would have seen something they had never seen before. Ever.
All those "peoples" that intimidate me and that have me fall in love with them over and over with their amazing capabilities, would not have had the chance to tell me "Oh but you were okay too!"
But then again, that's just the kind of people we are; we don't get things done like our potential would allow. It's how we're built. It's in our genes that we do not go out further than the horizon and explore our own limits. And that is the difference between us, North Africans, and my favorite people.

Okay, here's a good question: If that happened then and I was still genuinely happy, so why am I now "unhappy" (as lame as that word actually sounds and looks) and why is that something like that may begin to bother me now?

The fact that I am back and that I am no longer surrounded with the people and environment that had been associated with that specific kind of happiness makes sense. but also that kind of happiness -as had been derived earlier- is distinct and separate from the usual and normal kind of happiness that can be found...well..anywhere! If those are the givens, what are the conclusions?
It can't be just a classic case of Sktizo can it.. is it the other kind of longing? Maybe it's my usual nostalgia...

The thing is...I sincerely believe it has gone beyond that simplistic notion this time. Far beyond.