Things I don't tell about Myself - LBC

Things I don't tell about Myself - LBC

This is my weekly post with the Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC) including Rummuser, Anu, Ashkok, Gaelikka, Grannymar, Conrad, Padmum, Anki, Will Knott, Maria The Silver Fox, Noor,Paul, Plain Joe, Rohit, Magpie, Delirious, and myself, where we have a Weekly topic to discuss. Please visit their blogs to get different views about this. This Friday's topic has been chosen by Gaelikka and Anu.

I'm so mad I actually missed last Friday's topic on the culture shock, too bad I was having such a hard time.

Most people will talk about the imperfections, right? The paranoid part of us that gets us feeling everyone's hatred on their way to our hearts when we mention our negative traits, no? I don't know but, I think the positive parts are the ones supposed to be hidden.

Someone once told me about a man who proposed to a girl and told her about all his flaws, literally, whether he smoked, was an easily-provoked person..everything, and then let her decide. Some people would say this is so like low self-esteem, but I actually liked what the guy did; and like they say "If you can identify your own flaws, then you've already won half the battle", or something of that sort..

If I actually tell you the things I don't tell about myself here, the contradiction here would be just perfect. So let's give a hint: I don't always talk about the things that obsess me, or the things I do excessively yet find absolutely ridiculous and lame. I don't talk about my feminine side, especially that I don't always like it. I don't talk about emotions, and not always insecurities.

I don't talk about my negativities nor posotivities, I talk about anything that would hide neither, yet reveal both.

And..Don't ask me to make sense here please :D

Animosity - Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC)

Animosity - Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC)

This is my weekly post with the Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC) including Rummuser, Anu, Ashkok, Gaelikka, Grannymar, Conrad, Padmum, Anki, Will Knott, Maria The Silver Fox, Noor, Paul, Plain Joe, Rohit and myself, where we have a Weekly topic to discuss. This Friday's topic is Animosity. Please take the time to view the other bloggers' points of views about it as well :-)

Your heart is sick, it needs to be healed somehow, perhaps by curing your soul. Just don't let go.
I remember Moez Massoud's episode about envy and animosity (A Muslims activist and preacher who holds a program called Revolution on the self), the way he described animosity and how we generally degrade the greatness of the trait made me feel bitter; like we're actually degrading everything bad we're doing, maybe even on a daily basis.
I don't know how bad is that within me, but to be brutally honest, I do know it exists, and it can creep up inside any one of us and consumes their soul. Some things are hard to control, and that's why fighting the self is one of the hardest things in life.
You know that the simplest thing to do to make others despise you is to be a failure fighter against your own self, you will procrastinate fixing anything within you and enjoy watching life goes by, and only earn more enemies than friends.
Without further ado, because I didn't think I can actually blog about this, I wish we'd understand the self more in order to understand each other better.

My Childhood - Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC)

My Childhood - Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC)

This is my very first post with the Loose Bloggers Consortium (LBC) including Rummuser, Anu, Ashkok, Gaelikka, Grannymar, Conrad, Padmum, Anki, Will Knott, Maria The Silver Fox, Noor, Paul, Plain Joe, Rohit and myself, where we have a Weekly topic to discuss.

I remember writing a blogpost here some time ago that partially talked about my childhood in a way.
Like everyone else, I wanted to grow up, no matter what that meant to anyone. At some point in my life, I really wanted people to stop telling me "You only get to understand this when you grow up". Sad how I can now repeat the same thing, only to myself though.
I thought the worst words you can tell to a broken heart were those words, no consolation or, like the quote in The Book Thief, any wordly tricks to make us feel better. Sometimes all you do need is an honest consolation for the pain, and then when reality strikes you numb, you'll surely get to learn what that consolation actually meant.

To be quite frank, I was one stubborn child, I knew that what I had in mind must happen. I knew that I wanted to be different, insanely different. I remember back then when I used to live outside Egypt (UAE), I had a friend who was way older than myself, and by that I mean that she was 19 or something. And I was 6.
She was my neighbor. She was Algerian, which means I was lucky enough to understand her language. She talked Arabic too well with me. (In case you don't know, Algerians talk French more than Arabic, because of the French colonization). Mum used to tell me off for the age difference between us.
Which makes me jump to the conclusion question: What difference did it make, if we had the same definition of a true friendship?
I probably will never forget how beautiful she was, how nice she was to me, as a child. We will never meet again, however, I will never forget how she taught me what friendship meant no matter how old.

I dreamt of being a Gynecologist. Reason? Because I knew too many women are shy enough to go to male doctors. Yes, dreams of a child are so innocent!
And then somehow, and I really don't know why or how did that start, my story with poetry took off.
It was every Friday. Coincidence? I don't think so!
There was a weekly newspaper dad used to buy, it had many writings of young poets. I used to collect them and guard them in my desk. Then I started writing them down on my agenda so that I may memorize them or read them whenever I wanted to remember war and martyrs, because most of them were about Palestine, the martyrs of Palestine, and war on Arabs.
I still remember a few lines of one of them:

أبُثُّ إليك وفاة العرب فهل يا نِزار توارى الغضب
أبُثُّ إليك وفاة أبي و أمي و أختي بِلامَ سبب
فهل يا نزارُتوارى النهار و هل يا نزار تموت الشُعب

I probably will never forget them!
I remember them more than I remember the very first piece I ever wrote. And I remember that back then, mourning the Arab world has become my ultimate thought.
Maybe that's the only reason for my poetry having this dismal touch?
Maybe..