Between the nothings..

This week, I have felt like a giant, and I felt invisible. I felt like I couldn't handle the amount of people I have around me, and I felt completely alone. I felt like nothing could ever bring me down, And I felt like nothing could go right. I felt dangerous, and I felt terrified. I felt fearless, and I felt... human.

I never really cared for details, And I never understood why other people would. I believe that something just don't matter. I know it sounds silly, but this defines my existence. Intentions matter, nothing else does. It's easier to overlook the little things. It's easier to just look beyond what happened and see what people wanted to happen. It's easier to believe in what was said between the lines than to even read the lines themselves. It's easier to make sense of what doesn't make sense than try to oblige to what already does. It's easier to take the words of a song and sing them like they could be sung, than to attempt to sing them the way they should be. It's easier to trust people's good will than tormenting myself with doubt. And it's easier to not expect anything than to want and need. It's easier to be happy, it's easier to apologize, it's easier to say what wouldn't be said otherwise than wait for it to be said. It's easier to run sometimes. And at other times, it's easier to stand still and play dead. Sometimes, just sometimes, it's easier to do the hard thing.

Maybe details really are important.. Are they?

The day before yesterday, my mother didn't talk to me for 4 hours. Because I said I will be home by 8:00 p.m. I was home at 8:15 p.m. And as senseless as it seemed to me, it made sense to someone else.

yesterday, I "claimed" that someone, "poked" my shoulder. And I said that in the middle of a very long story. And because to me, it didn't matter whether someone poked my shoulder or even bit it off... I didn't think of it again. But everyone else did. And a "shoulder poke" was under scrutiny, and according to whether that certain shoulder poke or not actually did take place, my validity as a person was under inspection.

A few days ago, I was talking to a friend of mine, lets call him Bob. And another friend, lets call him Bill, rushed into the room and told me he needs to talk to me outside. So I ran outside to talk to Bill about what turned out to be a very important issue. 8 hours later, I found out that Bob thinks I was rude, and I shouldn't have just walked out like that. I will now be trying to prove to Bob that I am not taking his friendship for granted for as long as I can. And I am expected to use as many "excuse me"s and "sorry"s as possible.

Six months ago, I lost half of my grade on a Midterm because I thought one of the givens in my math problem was 4. Only to find out after fifteen minutes of calculations, that there's no way it's a four because it's the final answer can never be a Zero. That 4, was actually a .4. I mean for god's sake, how am I supposed to see that "." But everyone else saw it. people see dots. I don't see dots. And even when I did realize there was a dot, I never would have thought that a Point Four, was THAT different from a four.

Maybe details ARE part of the lines. I don't even see the lines, I see the spaces between them, how can anyone expect me to see the dots on the lines?

could I actually find myself on the lines along with one of those dots?

Dear Music Playlist,

For a year now, you've been becoming increasingly cold to me. You know how hard it is for me to live without you. I try to fix you everyday, and I just can't tell what's wrong. I can't fix what I can't see. Something is missing, and I can't tell what changed. It's like you don't want me anymore. And you have absolutely no consideration for how I feel about you. Don't you dare say this is my fault. It's you. I still want this to work. I'm still trying. But you... this is a job to you. You start a song, and you end it, like everything is the same to you now. I turn to you every time I'm vulnerable to my own feelings, and at moments like that, I can't help but notice how uninterested you are. You are everything that I am, and Everything I ever was. If I'm you then I seem noticeably unpleasant to myself. Please talk to me like you used to. I wish I knew what you want. I wish I saw you the way you want top be seen. Don't let go yet, you're all I have left.

love,
Eman Eldeeb

What does that even mean?? Why did I just write that? Am I supposed to know? Is it normal to see certain things as my reflection? My music playlist?? My pen? My hair?

Which brings me to the question that my friend Omar Hegazy asked me.. Why is it that when people talk about love, they automatically link it to their heart. When's the last time I talked about MY heart? And again.. why the heart? When he asked me I told him that maybe it's because any thought that occurs in the brain affects the heart rate. He said "well, Isn't that because the brain signals the adrenaline gland to secrete adrenaline and that causes the change in the heart rate?". I thought about it for a second and it made sense. So he came up with the conclusion that love is actually directly linked to the brain, and then the body's glands. Which brings us back to the question, Why the heart?


Yahia El sady, pointed out that it's because when you believe in something strongly enough, you feel it in your heart and no where else. Why? he doesn't know.

Nirvana thinks it's because when humanity first started, they had no scientific explanation for love. And they felt it in their heart, and it caught on from there.

I haven't talked about my heart since 2008. I really don't miss it. But I do notice the subject's absence.

"And now all your love is wasted, And then who the hell was I, And I'm breaking at the bridges, and at the end of all your lies." - Bon Iver - skinny love.

Who am I to be talking about my self at a time like this? And who am I do deserve this life? I don't think It'll ever be about me anymore, and I don't think I even care.

"started crying and I couldn't help myself, started running but there's no where to run to, I sat down on the street took a look at myself, said where're you going man you know the world is headed for hell, say your goodbyes if you've got someone you can say goodbye to" - Matchbox twenty - How far we've come.

I have someone I can say goodbye to, I'm just afraid that when that time comes, I wouldn't know who I want to say goodbye to first.

My music is still part of me, I'll figure this out.. I have to.