The Sink

Despite any assumptions about how our family apartment should actually be, we have one bathroom in this apartment. That's right. One Bathroom, and most of the time, Seven People. Seven people who happen to wake up at the same time. Seven People who eat at the Same time. And seven people who, most of the time, tend to decide to use the bathroom at the same time. So to avoid excessive knocking and screaming, (And if you forget to lock the door, it's just screaming), I learned to take a little tour of the house before I decide to shower, to let everyone know that the bathroom will be occupied for the next hour or so.

The funny thing is, because everyone always want what they can't get, I've developed the habit of reading on the washing machine. And ofcourse all of my important thinking happens in the shower. All of my singing practice happens in there too. In fact, this blog post started out in my head in the shower just an hour ago. I remember when I really realised I can sing, I used to print out the lyrics to "Every Breath You Take", "Under Pressure" and "All That I've Got" and I'd stick them in the shower. And it would be ages before my neighbours can take their hands off of their ears. And it's not just about the shower and the washing machine.

The sink. The part of the day when I wake up and drag myself to the bathroom and stand infront of the sink to wash my face and then look up at myself in the mirror, is never just a simple moment. Regardless of the hundreds of times my family almost knocked down the door because I was taking too long in there, that moment is something else. I never realise how long I'm standing there, looking myself straight in the eyes, with the water running to waste. Even if I'm an hour late for a lecture, I can never stop it from happening. I look at myself like I'm someone I haven't seen in years. The moment they start knocking on that door like madmen, I realise it's been 10 minutes, and I haven't even moved in an inch. No wonder they think I'm reckless and irresponsible...

I just remembered why I was writing about this in the first place, when I was telling my parents that I'm going to shower, my mom told me to wait till the morning because it's almost fagr and everyone will want to pray, and they'll need to use the bathroom first. I told her I'll only take ten minutes (yes, I lie when it comes to how much time things will take!). So my dad actually said, "Yeah, and you shouldnt wash your hair in the morning and then go out, you'll catch a cold". Umm, it's 40 Degrees (c). So, yeah... This house.. is REALLY weird.

I've been listening to a justin bieber song for about three hours now. Don't get me wrong, I can't stop listening to it because it's featuring Jaden Smith. And I can't get over how much he sounds like his father. Well the miniature version of his father. And I wonder if it really takes parents who have a great marriage to bring up emotionally stable, bright,and talented children.

"No pun intended, I was raised by the power of Will" - Jaden Smith - Never Say Never.

The Shade of Green You Never Saw

I am okay with whatever I have right now. The thing is, I don't know what I have. I really don't know what I have right now to keep me going.
there are few things I am certain about, and most of my certainty is about my uncertainty.

I know that I can write. I know that I can not describe an object, or a sight, but I can describe the feelings it gives me, or anyone.
I know that I have thoughts that are different from others around me, but I also know that the moment I try to express them, my heart rate will sprint out of control.
I know that I stutter most of the time.
I know that I write "your welcome" even though I know it's actually "you're welcome".
I know that reconnecting with a certain person could've been enough to shake me to my core, but it didn't.
I know that I laugh a lot, because it's easier, and because I can't control it.
I know that I am a Muslim, but I also know that I know less about Islam than I know about anything else.
I know that I believe in this country, and the people of this country.
I know that I can say " I know I can say" and I don't have to say "that". I also know that I like using the word that.
I know that my last statement could be very confusing.
I know that my spelling has improved drastically in the past three years.
I know that when I was a child, I wanted to paint. I wanted to paint because I wanted to move people.
I know that I cannot paint.
I know that I've always loved food. I also know that I love food more than I should.
I know that my hands shake in interviews. I know I let them shake.
I know I can sing. I also know I don't have control over my own voice.
I know I rarely ever know what I'm doing.
I know I can turn most situations to my favor at the end of the day.
I know some people scare me.
I know I rarely meet deadlines. And I always know if I will, or not.
I know I don't like to remember certain years of my life, but I have no regrets.
I know I'm the loudest screamer in any amusement park.
I know that if I died today, and everyone found out everything I ever hid from the world, most people will hate me.
I know I'm all you have sometimes.
And I know sometimes, most of the time, you are all I have.
And finally, I know I talk to myself like I'm a stranger, because that's really what I am.

And I'm okay with all I have.. for now.

She Has No Time

When is the last time I felt big? And do you know what I mean by big? not weight big, and not height big. and not any kind of big that might cross your mind when you see the word big. Big?
I feel like typing fast enough to match the keyboard's beat with this song's tempo. Tempo?
Question marks make it easy to walk out, don't they"?"

Chris Martin lied, you know. He won't try to fix me.
Someone once told me never to trust two types of people, Brits, and Alexandrians. I now know that she was right, I also learned not to trust her.
Someone once told me, that they were glad I wasn't theirs, because they were afraid that if I belonged to them, they would abuse me. I will never stop being afraid of them.
Someone once told me that one day I will be loved. but there are too many twists in that story for one piece of writing to handle, so I will spare you the details.

I will spare you the details of everything. They are not important. Long story short, my story can not be shortened. And Long story short, My story is not significant enough to tell anymore, but I am not indifferent enough to forget all of it. The details of my story, can not be given justice.

Now, how hard was that"?"

Thirteen Months.

I followed through with this blog, finally. I capitalize my I's more often. And I use less dots. I still cant start a sentence in past tense and keep it that way though. I still run into walls and I still havent let go of enough crap to feel any lighter.

Immaculate Bridges

I hate to admit my shallow thoughts. I hate to admit that I would change my mind about someone following just how big their lips look at a certain moment. The moment some one's lips look abnormally large to me, I know that for some reason I have or will have a change of heart about them. As misleading as something like that SHOULD be, it has saved me from several situations I'm sure I wouldn't have liked being in. It pushes me to take a mental step backwards just in time. I never quite know what I'm being saved from, but I've learned not to resist the instinct to run.

Leonard Cohan actually wrote Hallelujah. He wrote it and he sang it. And no one really listened then. Everyone's singint it now, and the words somehow changed everytime someone new sang it. I've seen "she broke your throne" turn into "she broke your crown" and "the holy dove was moving too" turn into "the holy ghost". And "All I've ever learned from love is how to shoot somebody who outdrew you" turn into "All I've ever learned from love is how to shoot someone who overthrew you". 

The thing is, i thought I was so observative when it comes to covers of this song and then I realized I never actually heard the original version by Leonard Cohan. I couldn't even get half way through it. and what does most of it mean anyway? what's the forth and what's the fifth?

I know nothing.

I wish when I write about this song, Im just writing about this song. But that's never the case. I never just mean this song. I never just mean music.
I could be the most uninspired human being on the face of this planet right now. I'll stop now.

The Broken Cookie.

A man once told me that he fell in love so many times in his life not because he loved women, but because he loved the anticipation of it all. His favorite part of the date was getting ready for it, and not the moment he sees her. His favorite part of a phone call would be hearing it ring. He said that nothing could have ever ruined that for him, unlike the rest of it all. Sometimes I'd make a play list, and put my favorite song last, so I'd have to wait for it. And then when it's finally played, most of the time I don't even concentrate as much as I did with the songs before it.

There's something unavoidable about reality that we tend to postpone whether we know we are or not. We wait for the introduction to reality and then when we get there, we hesitate and we shake. We fight for what we want and we're never sure if this is all we could be doing. We fight and we wait and we're okay with it because we hope that it will pay off.
I always did wonder, every time I watched a "Hell's Kitchen" Finale, how it felt to turn the door knob and find it locked. And how surprising it must feel to turn the knob and have the door open. And what was it like to not have to go through lists of all the positive things that will come out of not winning the million dollar restaurant of your dreams?

I'm okay with being the kind of person that comes to dead ends and turns around to take other roads. Longer Roads, with more people, and more time to think. But do I ever do anything else? Do I really need more thinking? I'm running out of things to think about, I'm running out of things to confuse myself about. I'm running out of tests for myself.

It's funny how one person's judgement could affect so many things at once. And it's funny how hard it is for me to accept how anything would affect me. I have never felt colder in my life. I have never felt more uninteresting in my life. I have no taste in music, any song is a good song. I have no taste in movies, any movie has something good about it. I have no interest in having opinions anymore because I have realised that all my opinions are too flexible for my own good. I feel like Ive officially bent until I broke.

Here I am again, feeling like the clingy younger friend that won't stop nagging her older friend about everything and anything. I laugh at everything, even the jokes I know aren't funny. I eat when I'm not hungry. I agree to things I don't want to agree to. I am trapped doing what's easy again. I might even be looking for approval again. I am here right now, writing this, to save myself. I am writing this now just to make it real. I need to see it to understand it. And I need to understand it to know what to do about it.

I miss talking.. I miss telling stories without giggling in the middle like an idiot because I'm afraid the person listening to it won't think it's interesting. I miss feeling like the biggest person I know. I miss feeling like I don't need anyone to make me feel whole. I miss it all. and here I am again, wanting to stop, afraid that I'm boring you with this. Who are you? You never did me any good any way. None of you ever will unless I'm willing to let myself be. Misery still is beautiful, and so is failure. But I don't think I recall seeing success, what if it's a different kind of beautiful? A kind I need to see. What if turning the door knob and winning the restaurant will bring you closer to your family and friends and you passon and everything you ever loved. What if thinking that the one who found the door locked will be the one who has the last laugh is just another comforting thought. What if I didn't exist? It wouldnt matter at this point. And I can't live like this. This is not who I am and this is not what I'll let myself be.

Will I laugh when I read this a year from now? What if I don't?

Duets.

I am the nick pitera of my own life at the moment. And it's actually irritating how everyone seems to be belting out in some insane duet. I'm standing in front of a mic, singing the Aladdin part of A whole new world, and then running to the other side and singing the jasmine part. Nothing is more irritating than the people who think they can join in... if you can sing better than I can sing it, I still like my own version. And if you can't even sing, then why are you here? and my favorite, if you think I sing so well, therefore I will make your song better, you're a moron.

About my hair... I understand that it looks better straight. I realize that it looks longer straight. I realize that it looks darker straight. I understand. Yes, I know. And yes, I will still ignore you. I refuse to run for shelter when it's about to rain. I refuse to starve myself instead of working out because I can't wash my hair everyday. I refuse to blush when people ask why a strand of my hair is curling up. I refuse to spend time making my self something I am not. Why is it suddenly a bad thing to like myself? it's bad enough that I choose to put on eye liner everyday.. that makes me feel fake enough.


Lately, I've been going to teenstuff magazine more often. What happened to teenagers? Since when did it become cool to stay IN the box? "we're tired of everything controversial, can't we talk about something normal for once?" SERIOUSLY? tired of controversy? I need the person who had the master plan to make the new generation as boring as possible and just shake their hand until it falls off, because he definitely succeeded.


My sister is having a baby in three months inshaa'allah. it's going to be a boy inshaa'allah. 
question is, now what? or then what? I keep thinking I'd be the kind of aunt that makes the baby bleed while attempting to change it's diaper, and I have an image of me with a dirty diaper stuck to my back, a spit up stain on my shoulder, and I'm holding the baby's leg and carrying him upside down with his head dangling.. so the phone rings, and I let go of his leg. *applause* I can't be absent minded with a baby around. I can't be the person who puts her notebook in the freezer and tries to mute the Television using her cell phone any more. because that notebook could be the baby! what if the baby isn't in the freezer, what if the baby starts learning to speak, and then his first word is something horrible I said while changing his diaper. what if, the baby grows up and deletes a file off of my laptop.. My music folder, and I *accidentally* kill him? what if the baby hates me? what if he doesn't hate me, what if he likes me so much that he doesn't want to go home with his parents, and then THEY hate me. What if I'm the kind of aunt that people avoid? What if I'm the annoying aunt that's so critical of everything? what if he's the annoying kid that throws home appliances out the window and pees on the wall?


what if it's all perfect? and what if nick pitera really is unnatural?


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9-CS2v8wcc


Oh and.. I found the Spell check button, it was there the whole time, right infront of me.