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?
Monday, April 19, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
And oh, she's only Seventeen.
What's it like turning eighteen? well.. I'm terrified. And I didnt get the chance to have my "first thirteen days of march" freak out before this birthday. I was "abit" occupied with Julie being in a deep coma. And I still am. I find it very hard to believe that the people that know me and her, actually have the energy to write a sentence that has the word "happy" in it. And most of the people who wrote on my facebook wall are people she knows. It doesn't seem right. But again, shady sadat keeps telling me to live as normally as possible because any other behaviour won't do her any good.
I'm listening to shallow songs about pretty seventeen year old girls, and it makes me hyper, but it doesnt make me happy. As much as I always wished my eighteenth birthday would be my good birthday.. (all my parties were horrible), I don't want to get any attention tomorrow. I just want to go to the hospital and sit there with her and hold her handand hope she wakes up before the day ends.
This year was the best and worst year of my life. Being seventeen, I learned to do what I want to do because it'll make me happy. I learned to love my family because they will care more than anyone else at times. I learned that doing what I want, means to learn to deal with my mistakes and their consequences. I learned to be happy. I learned that I can't expect myself to be happy every minute of everyday. I learned that I really have no Idea who I am. And I learned to love myself the way I am. Extra fat, spontaneous stuttering, the eyeliner at the corner of my eyes, my fat kid's appetite, my handwriting, my nose, my left elfish ear, my bad hair days, my limited shoes collection, the fact that I sometimes forget to think... All included.
This year I learned who is important and who isn't. I learned why people want me in their lives, and why others don't. I learned why I'm so afraid of loving people. I learned why sometimes keeping my mouth shut is the best thing to do (and i still don't keep it shut). I learned that I am the storngest person I know. I learned that I am the weakest person I know because I use my own strength against myself. I learned that other people don't try to break me, but I break myself in the process of protecting myself from them. I learned that nothing works the way I want it to. I learned that sometimes shutting everyone out and watching the simpsons while lifting weights actually could be good sometimes. I learned that I may be strong, but that doesn't stop me from always being afraid. I learned that promises really can be broken. And I learned that bad things really do happen. And I learned that better things(they maybe smaller, but they;re still better) happen when you least expect them. I learned that I need to be on my own sometimes. And I learned that some people, just some people are really who I think they are. I finally understand what unconditional love means, and I finally understand what it means to experience it. Good days will happen, and bad days will happen.
I don't need to think about everything. I don't need to understand, I just need to live through it. And when I'm out, then I can pause and think. There's no way I'm going to let myself think I'm control of anything other than my self after this year. I'm terrified, and I wish things were like how I want them to be.. but I guess that's one of those things about being young.. So I'll enjoy it while it lasts.
Wake up, Julie. I need to tell you something.
P.S: Julie, you made me sing again. And I love you for it.
I'm listening to shallow songs about pretty seventeen year old girls, and it makes me hyper, but it doesnt make me happy. As much as I always wished my eighteenth birthday would be my good birthday.. (all my parties were horrible), I don't want to get any attention tomorrow. I just want to go to the hospital and sit there with her and hold her handand hope she wakes up before the day ends.
This year was the best and worst year of my life. Being seventeen, I learned to do what I want to do because it'll make me happy. I learned to love my family because they will care more than anyone else at times. I learned that doing what I want, means to learn to deal with my mistakes and their consequences. I learned to be happy. I learned that I can't expect myself to be happy every minute of everyday. I learned that I really have no Idea who I am. And I learned to love myself the way I am. Extra fat, spontaneous stuttering, the eyeliner at the corner of my eyes, my fat kid's appetite, my handwriting, my nose, my left elfish ear, my bad hair days, my limited shoes collection, the fact that I sometimes forget to think... All included.
This year I learned who is important and who isn't. I learned why people want me in their lives, and why others don't. I learned why I'm so afraid of loving people. I learned why sometimes keeping my mouth shut is the best thing to do (and i still don't keep it shut). I learned that I am the storngest person I know. I learned that I am the weakest person I know because I use my own strength against myself. I learned that other people don't try to break me, but I break myself in the process of protecting myself from them. I learned that nothing works the way I want it to. I learned that sometimes shutting everyone out and watching the simpsons while lifting weights actually could be good sometimes. I learned that I may be strong, but that doesn't stop me from always being afraid. I learned that promises really can be broken. And I learned that bad things really do happen. And I learned that better things(they maybe smaller, but they;re still better) happen when you least expect them. I learned that I need to be on my own sometimes. And I learned that some people, just some people are really who I think they are. I finally understand what unconditional love means, and I finally understand what it means to experience it. Good days will happen, and bad days will happen.
I don't need to think about everything. I don't need to understand, I just need to live through it. And when I'm out, then I can pause and think. There's no way I'm going to let myself think I'm control of anything other than my self after this year. I'm terrified, and I wish things were like how I want them to be.. but I guess that's one of those things about being young.. So I'll enjoy it while it lasts.
Wake up, Julie. I need to tell you something.
P.S: Julie, you made me sing again. And I love you for it.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Snow Day - A letter to God.
Dear God,
I'm sure you've been watching, And I know you know that thing's haven't exactly been good for me these days. I've chosen to write to you, not because I feel the need to publish what should actually go on between me and you, but because I'm sure you'd want me to be as comfortable as possible when I'm talking to you. And I couldnt think of a better way than to write to you.
I realise that you did this because it's about time for everyone to wake up. Whether it's wake up and realise how much they care for julie, or wake up and remember just how fast someone's life could end, there's definitely a wake up call involved. A few days ago, when I was thinking of what I want to say to you, all I could come up with is "Please god, just want her to wake up". For a moment there the thought hit me that you could actually not want her to wake up, and the "natural" scenario that I was expecting to happen might not actually happen. I didn't really want you to wake her up now, and I didn't really mind if it was soon or not. All I wanted was for you to want her to come back to us. Because if you did, then nothing would stand in your way.
I couldn't get myself to write to you about this any sooner, not because I didn't want to. But because the second I write about it, it's finally real. No matter how many time's I saw her laying there in that cold room in the ICU, half the size of her former self and with a machine breathing for her, it still wasn't real. This moment, I'm aknowleging it all in writing, and I'm hoping I can stay consious until I hit the Publish button. I guess I need your help with that, God.
So yea, it IS true. Julie did have a horrifying car accident. She did lose control over her car in the rain, and she probably screamed as the car slided and crashed into that pole. Yeah.. Julie. She screamed. She must've screamed. And the last thing she probably saw was glass and water. And julie -yes, julie- was rushed to the hospital, and JULIE was barely alive. And now she's in a coma. A severe coma to be exact.
Now this is the moment when I'd look up at the sky and pretend that my screaming at you would change anything. But I'm not mad at you, God. I never was and never will be. I have seen enough to teach me that things never just "happen". And this time, I can't help but admire the plan of it all. Everyone's thinking why julie? And all I keep thinking is, well.. it just had to be her. How else would you stop everyone dead in their tracks and make them run in the right direction? How else would you remind us that the things we so intensely pretend to care about are not even worth wasting brain waves on? How else would you finally change her life? It couldn't have been anyone of less importance than Julie Farouk.
I've spent the last year bragging about how I don't go to sleep without making sure everything is "fine" with everyone I know. And I was horrible enough to underestimate the pain behind the words "I need you". You watched me god. You watched me take those words, and react to them in a way that was too pathetic to be worth noticing. An extra phone call here and there. You watched me tuck those words away in the "too intense to handle" pile. You watched me forget the occurence of that conversation. And then two months later you watched me fall on my knees at the thought of something happening to her. And then out of nowhere, you send me this particular memory of her. And it's not a mystery why you'd send me this one.
Everyday, I have to stop myself from thinking that this is all my fault, that this was MY wake up call. My punishment. And it's funny how a person like Shady Sadat would tell me to stop my subconsious from trying to prove to me that I care. I smile at that, God. Because I know you're testing my patience, again. My subconsious is not trying to prove anything to me, God. Only you fully understand how hard it is to let myself wake up in the morning. Only you can see me look away from the mirror every morning. Only you saw me sprinting out of that ICU. Only you knew that I ran out of there not just because I couldn't see her that weak but more importantly, because I felt like I do not deserve to see her and touch her.
Part of me wanted her to pull her hand away from me. It would've been the least I deserved. I can't help but to wonder why you're keeping me here, God. I'm sure I'm part of a plan too.
Thank you for keeping her alive, God. And thank you for making it snow that day.
I'm sure you've been watching, And I know you know that thing's haven't exactly been good for me these days. I've chosen to write to you, not because I feel the need to publish what should actually go on between me and you, but because I'm sure you'd want me to be as comfortable as possible when I'm talking to you. And I couldnt think of a better way than to write to you.
I realise that you did this because it's about time for everyone to wake up. Whether it's wake up and realise how much they care for julie, or wake up and remember just how fast someone's life could end, there's definitely a wake up call involved. A few days ago, when I was thinking of what I want to say to you, all I could come up with is "Please god, just want her to wake up". For a moment there the thought hit me that you could actually not want her to wake up, and the "natural" scenario that I was expecting to happen might not actually happen. I didn't really want you to wake her up now, and I didn't really mind if it was soon or not. All I wanted was for you to want her to come back to us. Because if you did, then nothing would stand in your way.
I couldn't get myself to write to you about this any sooner, not because I didn't want to. But because the second I write about it, it's finally real. No matter how many time's I saw her laying there in that cold room in the ICU, half the size of her former self and with a machine breathing for her, it still wasn't real. This moment, I'm aknowleging it all in writing, and I'm hoping I can stay consious until I hit the Publish button. I guess I need your help with that, God.
So yea, it IS true. Julie did have a horrifying car accident. She did lose control over her car in the rain, and she probably screamed as the car slided and crashed into that pole. Yeah.. Julie. She screamed. She must've screamed. And the last thing she probably saw was glass and water. And julie -yes, julie- was rushed to the hospital, and JULIE was barely alive. And now she's in a coma. A severe coma to be exact.
Now this is the moment when I'd look up at the sky and pretend that my screaming at you would change anything. But I'm not mad at you, God. I never was and never will be. I have seen enough to teach me that things never just "happen". And this time, I can't help but admire the plan of it all. Everyone's thinking why julie? And all I keep thinking is, well.. it just had to be her. How else would you stop everyone dead in their tracks and make them run in the right direction? How else would you remind us that the things we so intensely pretend to care about are not even worth wasting brain waves on? How else would you finally change her life? It couldn't have been anyone of less importance than Julie Farouk.
I've spent the last year bragging about how I don't go to sleep without making sure everything is "fine" with everyone I know. And I was horrible enough to underestimate the pain behind the words "I need you". You watched me god. You watched me take those words, and react to them in a way that was too pathetic to be worth noticing. An extra phone call here and there. You watched me tuck those words away in the "too intense to handle" pile. You watched me forget the occurence of that conversation. And then two months later you watched me fall on my knees at the thought of something happening to her. And then out of nowhere, you send me this particular memory of her. And it's not a mystery why you'd send me this one.
Everyday, I have to stop myself from thinking that this is all my fault, that this was MY wake up call. My punishment. And it's funny how a person like Shady Sadat would tell me to stop my subconsious from trying to prove to me that I care. I smile at that, God. Because I know you're testing my patience, again. My subconsious is not trying to prove anything to me, God. Only you fully understand how hard it is to let myself wake up in the morning. Only you can see me look away from the mirror every morning. Only you saw me sprinting out of that ICU. Only you knew that I ran out of there not just because I couldn't see her that weak but more importantly, because I felt like I do not deserve to see her and touch her.
Part of me wanted her to pull her hand away from me. It would've been the least I deserved. I can't help but to wonder why you're keeping me here, God. I'm sure I'm part of a plan too.
Thank you for keeping her alive, God. And thank you for making it snow that day.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Like sand through the (leaky) hourglass.
I'm turning eighteen on the fourteenth of march. It's not cool by the way. I'm trying to be okay with it. I need all the support I can get these days, but everytime I try to reach out, I remember how hard it is to be asked for help when you your self need help. And everyone I know currently has their own "thing". The ones that don't have their own little battle to fight, happen to be on my nerves. yea, not even getting on them, they're on them.
Almun is starting again on Friday inshaa'allah, and I seriously can't wait. I miss everyone there and I miss talking about things that matter for a change. Amgad is moving out on the third of march inshaa'allah, and from then on, it just me, mom, and dad.
speaking of mom and dad, I have to go.
P.S: Unicef could actually be home. not Almun's unicef, the real one. it could be. it really could be.
Almun is starting again on Friday inshaa'allah, and I seriously can't wait. I miss everyone there and I miss talking about things that matter for a change. Amgad is moving out on the third of march inshaa'allah, and from then on, it just me, mom, and dad.
speaking of mom and dad, I have to go.
P.S: Unicef could actually be home. not Almun's unicef, the real one. it could be. it really could be.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Those Evil Evil Clowns with their Wicked Red Noses.
The one time I came face to face with someone dressed as a clown, I tried to squeeze his nose expecting that hilarious squeaky sound I heard in cartoons. I squeezed too hard and I ended up pulling it off of his nose, and it didnt even make a sound. Actually, the nose was part of a mask, a rubber mask. So I ended up pulling off the whole clown face, and exposing the clown's face. His name was Damien, one of the housekeepers we had in zambia. You'd think that a girl turning 8, the same girl that had already started trying to figure out the meaning of life, would know that its not a real clown. But no, I actually thought it was a clown. One like I saw on television. I don't think I've ever laughed at anything a clown did ever since then.
My laugh has changed this year. It's louder and more glass shattering than ever before. It sounds like a mountain lion being run over by a train if you ask me. And I always think everyone's looking at me when I laugh in public, even though I'm sure people don;t have enough time on their hands to pause everything they're doing to stare at the girl with the scary laugh. but I guess I don't mind, and Its okay. My laugh always did change every year, and this year was alot like my laugh, so its perfect and I'm happy about it. so people at hardees and macdonalds and the streets of cairo, stare all you want.
I just noticed that I was worrying about peole staring at me when I laugh. I kind of forgot the little piece of information that I actually walk around making animal noises (barking, meowing, baaahing, and quacking.. etc.) and sometimes I even aim at people's ears. I can bark on cue, and it's funny how I'm actually proud of that.
I had my first long phone call in about a year. I talked to Mona bassel on the phone for about two hours today, and It was me doing most of the talking. I'm not worried about her these days, that's a first.. hehe. She really is the chocolate sprinkles on my life. I love her, all of her, the crazy over reacting, hyperventilating over nothing, posessive, sweet, hilarious, irritating parts of her.
I'm off to read more of Love, Rosie by cecelia ahern.
oh and for some reason, I'm downloading pink's discography. is that normal?
oh and can someone please let me know how I can spell check my posts now? because the layout changed and I can't find the spell checker anymore, And I need it, for your sake not mine =)
My laugh has changed this year. It's louder and more glass shattering than ever before. It sounds like a mountain lion being run over by a train if you ask me. And I always think everyone's looking at me when I laugh in public, even though I'm sure people don;t have enough time on their hands to pause everything they're doing to stare at the girl with the scary laugh. but I guess I don't mind, and Its okay. My laugh always did change every year, and this year was alot like my laugh, so its perfect and I'm happy about it. so people at hardees and macdonalds and the streets of cairo, stare all you want.
I just noticed that I was worrying about peole staring at me when I laugh. I kind of forgot the little piece of information that I actually walk around making animal noises (barking, meowing, baaahing, and quacking.. etc.) and sometimes I even aim at people's ears. I can bark on cue, and it's funny how I'm actually proud of that.
I had my first long phone call in about a year. I talked to Mona bassel on the phone for about two hours today, and It was me doing most of the talking. I'm not worried about her these days, that's a first.. hehe. She really is the chocolate sprinkles on my life. I love her, all of her, the crazy over reacting, hyperventilating over nothing, posessive, sweet, hilarious, irritating parts of her.
I'm off to read more of Love, Rosie by cecelia ahern.
oh and for some reason, I'm downloading pink's discography. is that normal?
oh and can someone please let me know how I can spell check my posts now? because the layout changed and I can't find the spell checker anymore, And I need it, for your sake not mine =)
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Al Raqessa Walteneen*
So this week wasn't any easier than the one before it. TA-DA! but I managed to squint my eyes and smile through this one. If you know me, you'd know that I have two smiles. My smile, the normal one, the one you'd see in pictures. And the smile I have on my face when Im greeting someone I don't know or dont like. I squint my eyes and I have a little too much tooth exposure and my chin points out like an arrow. so in case you're wondering (you're probably not wondering, I know), this week seemed more like a year, and everyday I had more ups and downs than usual. I laughed alot, but I did more of my squinty smile than I usually do in a month.
Why is it so hard to believe that when I'm writing, and someone calls, it really is worth rejecting the phone call? And it's funny how many high fives I ignored from my brother, and consequently he can't help himslef everytime he notices I'm writing. The second I start writing he decides to either tickle me or ask me to make him hot chocolate or sometimes just placing his head on my shoulder and pretending to read aloud what I'm writing. And most of the time what I'm writing isn't private, but seriously, I can't think of a distraction worse than the head on shoulder thing.
Ive been wondering for the last couple of days if I'm the only one who doesn't enjoy appreciating the same things that others enjoy appreciating. Like the smell of coffee in the morning, I think it's amazing, yet I hate to state that because it's stated in like most movies, and everyone says it all the time. I'd rather go on and on about why I think rats and mice are cute, than saying I think puppies are lovable. puppies are adorable, fine I get it. Move on. Why does this paragraph remind me of Omar Abhar??
Speaking of Omar Abhar, we had a little incident when we went to the book fair. The day was bumpy and everyone was all over the place and my temper was out of control. And though normally a day like that would "Yefselny" from Omar abhar and any other person that was within a 10 K.M radius from where I was standing. For some reason, I'm a bigger Omar Abhar fan now than I was before that day.
so now that I'm here, I just have to Comment on our beloved brothers, Arar sandod, Abo El leef, and Ahmed spider. If you're not familiar with them, you're missing out. Seriously. You're missing out on the concept of stripping yourself of any values, or self respect or simply a freaking brain. These people, as irritating and rediculous as they are, I respect them. Not because they're "talent" is respectable, oh god no. But because they had the courage to make complete fools out of themselves and they still choose to appear in public. Seriously, how is it possible to not admire Arar sandod's perseverence, this whole thing started last valentine's day, And I don't think a soul in egypt has been cussed at more than Arar Sandod. And he's actually back for more this valentine's day. It just triggers thoughts like.. If only that kind of spirit was placed into something more useful for himself and the people around him. Let's assume these people do this for the attention, is it his fault or ours that we'll pay more attention to an idiot that thinks he's talented and is actually barely even human than we'd pay to someone and came out and said "Hey, I want to make this world a better place". It's actually our fault. So when someone like Abo el leef comes out and sings the "inspiring" words:
"Bet7ebeny, laa ashokk.
Meen dol elli 3al "fesbok",
law mashelteesh el 3yal di, 3alek hassokk.
wana, ana mesh 5orong, la laa laaa ana king kong,
dana wana rabet eedy bal3ab Ping Pong.
Mesh ebn hanem wala ebn lord, etfadaly haty el "bass bort",
dana aragoz metrabby fi serk, mesh 3ayel kawerk."
We can't really blame him, can we? some argue that the attention we give to these people is negative, so it isn't our fault. Actually, All they want is attention, they don't care whether it's negative or positive. They just want to be seen. They want to feel like they exist. It's intoxicating and I don't think it's fair to blame them. People have been asking me I have Arar sandod and Ahmed spider on my facebook contact list. And well, if Abo El leef had a profile I would've added him too, but sadly he doesnt.
It could be hard for people to understand, but I had to see the "normal" side of them. And I should have you know that these people are human on some level. they have lives, they wake up in the morning, they spend time with their families and the go to sleep at night. just like the rest of us. Arar sandod, actually has fans. And he has friends who happen to support him like crazy. And when you talk to him, if you didn't know that this person is THE arar sandod, you'd actually think he's a normal egyptian guy. Incase you have no Idea who Arar sandod is, here are three links to three out of 7 of his videos, I wouldn't advise you to read the comments though, they contain some serious prfanities.
1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vn4vtt5NnGA&feature=channel
2) (My personal favorite =D) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBpiTrhPWT8&feature=channel
3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03pMOn-LSRc
Enough from me today. And certainly enough about the people who have dragged art to hell. :)
Why is it so hard to believe that when I'm writing, and someone calls, it really is worth rejecting the phone call? And it's funny how many high fives I ignored from my brother, and consequently he can't help himslef everytime he notices I'm writing. The second I start writing he decides to either tickle me or ask me to make him hot chocolate or sometimes just placing his head on my shoulder and pretending to read aloud what I'm writing. And most of the time what I'm writing isn't private, but seriously, I can't think of a distraction worse than the head on shoulder thing.
Ive been wondering for the last couple of days if I'm the only one who doesn't enjoy appreciating the same things that others enjoy appreciating. Like the smell of coffee in the morning, I think it's amazing, yet I hate to state that because it's stated in like most movies, and everyone says it all the time. I'd rather go on and on about why I think rats and mice are cute, than saying I think puppies are lovable. puppies are adorable, fine I get it. Move on. Why does this paragraph remind me of Omar Abhar??
Speaking of Omar Abhar, we had a little incident when we went to the book fair. The day was bumpy and everyone was all over the place and my temper was out of control. And though normally a day like that would "Yefselny" from Omar abhar and any other person that was within a 10 K.M radius from where I was standing. For some reason, I'm a bigger Omar Abhar fan now than I was before that day.
so now that I'm here, I just have to Comment on our beloved brothers, Arar sandod, Abo El leef, and Ahmed spider. If you're not familiar with them, you're missing out. Seriously. You're missing out on the concept of stripping yourself of any values, or self respect or simply a freaking brain. These people, as irritating and rediculous as they are, I respect them. Not because they're "talent" is respectable, oh god no. But because they had the courage to make complete fools out of themselves and they still choose to appear in public. Seriously, how is it possible to not admire Arar sandod's perseverence, this whole thing started last valentine's day, And I don't think a soul in egypt has been cussed at more than Arar Sandod. And he's actually back for more this valentine's day. It just triggers thoughts like.. If only that kind of spirit was placed into something more useful for himself and the people around him. Let's assume these people do this for the attention, is it his fault or ours that we'll pay more attention to an idiot that thinks he's talented and is actually barely even human than we'd pay to someone and came out and said "Hey, I want to make this world a better place". It's actually our fault. So when someone like Abo el leef comes out and sings the "inspiring" words:
"Bet7ebeny, laa ashokk.
Meen dol elli 3al "fesbok",
law mashelteesh el 3yal di, 3alek hassokk.
wana, ana mesh 5orong, la laa laaa ana king kong,
dana wana rabet eedy bal3ab Ping Pong.
Mesh ebn hanem wala ebn lord, etfadaly haty el "bass bort",
dana aragoz metrabby fi serk, mesh 3ayel kawerk."
We can't really blame him, can we? some argue that the attention we give to these people is negative, so it isn't our fault. Actually, All they want is attention, they don't care whether it's negative or positive. They just want to be seen. They want to feel like they exist. It's intoxicating and I don't think it's fair to blame them. People have been asking me I have Arar sandod and Ahmed spider on my facebook contact list. And well, if Abo El leef had a profile I would've added him too, but sadly he doesnt.
It could be hard for people to understand, but I had to see the "normal" side of them. And I should have you know that these people are human on some level. they have lives, they wake up in the morning, they spend time with their families and the go to sleep at night. just like the rest of us. Arar sandod, actually has fans. And he has friends who happen to support him like crazy. And when you talk to him, if you didn't know that this person is THE arar sandod, you'd actually think he's a normal egyptian guy. Incase you have no Idea who Arar sandod is, here are three links to three out of 7 of his videos, I wouldn't advise you to read the comments though, they contain some serious prfanities.
1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vn4vtt5NnGA&feature=channel
2) (My personal favorite =D) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBpiTrhPWT8&feature=channel
3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03pMOn-LSRc
Enough from me today. And certainly enough about the people who have dragged art to hell. :)
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