I asked for very little from life, and even this little was denied me. A nearby field, a ray of sunlight, a little bit of calm along with a bit of bread, not to feel oppressed by the knowledge that I exist, not to demand anything from others, and not to have others demand anything from me – this was denied me, like the spare change we might deny a beggar not because we are mean-hearted but because we don’t feel like unbuttoning our coat.
- The Book of Disquiet, by Fernando Pessoa (source)
So, I am no longer married. I am a divorcee at 26. It stings, until my brother brings along the cookies form Anoosh, then boy is it all alright.
How we ended up was not expected, in my part anyway, I truly thought this was “it” despite our contradicting EVERYTHING. Alas, it isn’t. I do hope he prospers better without me, as I will without him insha’Allah.
Now, the fun part. I’ve been using the “divorced” card just about everywhere to get what I want. It’s fun, that includes free coffee and privileged information. I’m sure it’ll run its course soon enough.
My parents are spoiling me rotten, I love them for that. Oh, yes and I did get my masters and submitted a paper for publishing (ya rb it gets accepted). So, don’t dare feel sorry unless you’re yearning for a verbal wedgie.
I’ve postponed my iPhD until September next year (Plan B), but I am currently applying for a PhD starting early 2012, I already hold an acceptance for the best up North for an iPhD but hoping for a PhD instead (am I making sense?)
The only thing that’s upsetting me right now is being so far away from my cats. They are currently at a boarding cattery in the UK due to stupid regulations that’ll force me to place them in quarantine for 6 months when I get back to the UK. I call the cattery every 3 days to check up on them, Jackie, the owner, is tremendously nice and I love her for taking care of them due to my circumstance.
I will be blogging more frequently *crickets chirping*
I can’t tell if it’s cute or damn depressing.
I’ve been absurdly obsessed with my weight lately. I didn’t know to which extent until today.
Around noon we decided to go out and catch a movie. We took the nearest metro, and all through the ride I felt “odd” then it ended with the hollowness that usually leads to me passing out. Passing out usually happens in stages for me, I first get tunnel vision and at the same time a slight ringing in my ear, that is then followed by an inability to speak or comprehend what on earth is going on, then flat out black out. It ain’t pretty, thus at the first indication I sat on the floor and asked Rakan to get me some orange juice. I drank it, felt better and convinced Rakan that I’m fine and that we should head out to the gate. I was fine all the way there; it’s about a 5 minute walk from the station. As soon as we queued to get tickets, I started to feel it again and opted to hold Rakan from behind until it passes. Bad idea, the last thing I know I’m on my knees and Rakan is freaking out. He takes me to a chair close by and he goes off to get me chocolate, I take a bite, feel better, but we decided to take a taxi home. As soon as I move I get dizzy again, juice usually does the trick for me and picks me right up, but today nothing is working. By now, Rakan is beyond freaking out and sits me on the floor and asks me one question after another. I do not comprehend what he’s saying to me then I start crying. Frankly, I was freaking out too, my “pass out sessions” never last this long, yet that one didn’t seem to end. Twenty minutes later we are home, and that’s when Rakan gets furious and tells me he won’t let me be on this diet. My reaction: Hysterically crying, I’ve never seen myself cry this way, and telling him, actually begging him to let me go on with it since I desperately want to be thin and eating more will only make me feel fat.
Most of you might think Rakan has gone too far by “telling” me not to continue with that diet, but I highly respect him and knew he must have a point. So, as I lay in the couch I realized my meal(s) for the day was a single banana. I was surviving on less than a 100 calories a day. I eat once a day, an hour after I exercise, a fruit.
Lately nothing is more satisfying than the emptiness of my stomach.
It takes a lifetime to actually learn how to live. Cash in early, or perhaps tread ever so briskly over my dreams?
Predicaments, predicaments, predicaments.
My niece and nephew sent this over as a Ramadan greeting. How my nephew pronounces my name at the end is beyond adorable!
I posted this before on my old blog, but it can’t stop being funny 
And later I decided what it was I believed about love. We think of it as an active force. My love makes her happy; her love makes me happy: how could this be wrong? It is wrong; it evokes a false conceptual model. It implies that love is a transforming wand, one that unlooses the raveled knot, fills the top hat with handkerchiefs, sprays the air with doves. But the model isn’t from magic but particle physics. My love does not, cannot make her happy; my love can only release in her the capacity to be happy. And now things seem more understandable. How come I can’t make her happy, how come she can’t make me happy? Simple: the atomic reaction you expect isn’t taking place, the beam with which you are bombarding the particles is on the wrong wavelength.
But love isn’t an atomic bomb, so let’s take a homelier comparison. I’m writing this at the home of a friend in Michigan. It’s a normal American house with all the gadgets technology can dream (except a gadget for making happiness). He drove me here from Detroit airport yesterday. As we turned into the driveway he reached into the glove pocket for a remote control device; at a masterful touch, the garage doors rolled up and away. This is the model I propose. You are arriving home – or think you are – and as you approach the garage you try to work your routine magic. Nothing happens; the doors remain closed. You do it again. Again, nothing. At first puzzled, then anxious, then furious with disbelief, you sit in the driveway with your engine running; you sit there for weeks, months, for years, waiting for the doors to open. But you are in the wrong car, in front of the wrong garage, waiting outside the wrong house. One of the troubles is this: the heart isn’t heart-shaped.
- Julian Barnes
The comparison to a garage and a remote is quite haunting. I also read somewhere, “I am so horribly in love.” Of course it made no sense! Love isn’t horrid! It makes a little sense now.
Bab alhara (باب الحارة), it ruins families.
