Give in, you’ll never win you fool!!

A good hear…living proof that i’m not only into sad posts 😉

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الموت واحد…ام اثنان؟

حوار على صوت بكاء الست الوالدة

حوار عن الموت إثر ضرب و تعذيب…كيف انه أكثر بؤساً وحزناً من الموت العادى..وكيف أن تشريح الجثث مُهين…فتسائلت ، مهين لمن؟

للمتوفى أم أهله…للمعنى أم للجسد؟

وتنبهت…أن اموت لم يعد يحزننى كثيراً…ليس كما كان بوقت سابق…ليس كما كان بوقت لم يطل فيه أحد من دمى أو أحد بدمى

ليس بعد أن أعاد أبى الى بارئه…فقد رأيت حينها كيف يصبح الوجود عدماً…يتبخر الكيان ويعود ذكرى كائنٍ كان…كيف يسلب التواجد المادى بكل ما فيه وكل ما حوله وكل ما ارتبط به…بعد أبى لم أعد أحزن كثيراً..أحزن بلا ذهول ولا صدمة ولا غصة تكاد تفقدنى النطق ولا حيرة …الآن أحزن تعاطفاً…وأحزن خوفاً من ذات المصير

سمعت كلمات أمى الحزينة ورأيت دموعها وقلت: الموت موت…الله يرحم الجميع ويصبر أهل كل متوفى…بابا مات واتلف فى قماشة بيضا واتدفن فى الارض…وباباكى مات زيه…ومامتك كمان…وناس كتير طول الزمان

ولم أقل لها عن خوفى وهلعى الليلة والليلة الماضية والليلة التى قبلها…لم أحكى لها عن دقات قلبى غيرالمنتظمة وصعوبة تنفسى حتى أشعر أننى إن إستسلمت فقط لصعوبة التنفس ولم أحاول التقاط النفس تلو الآخر فساموت…لم أقل لها عن مرضى…فقط شعرت بأن الموت حقاً واحد…لا تصنيف في الموت

هو مخيف…هو مؤلم (فى أغلب الأحوال) وهو مُحزن…مثل المعارك الحربية…يُخلف وراءه رخاءً أو دمار… لكن بالتأكيد يغير حياة كل من حول المتوفى

يعطى للناس سبباً للحمد أو سبباً للثورة…رغم أن موت متجبر ليس الدليل الوحيد على وجوب حمد الله على الخلاص من ظالم ورغم أن موت مسكين ليس الدليل المفاجىء على وجود طغاه مما يستدعى الثورة…إنما…الموت حجةٌ محترمة جداً فى كلتا الحالتين للبعض…موت الآخرين…فالميت انعدم وجوده وانعدم اهتمامه بدنيانا…الميت فى معنىً آخر وسيجزى جزاءً آخر…بعلمٍ آخر…لا غموض فيه ولا إفتراء

الموت…بالنسبة لى…حقيقة مرعبة أتمنى -واهمة- أن تنسانى وتتغاضى عنى وليس مدعاة لحمد أو ثورة…فالحمد لله…أتذكر ربى وأحمده دائماً وعلى كل حال…وأثور بلا حُجج متى أردت وإن إستطعت

 

 

 

 

Changing names…

If people started to pick on you because you have a weired middle name what would you do…especially that it means nothing but hurt?

A grown up would deal…handle and most likely won’t suffer much from his weired name…but a child wouldn’t know what to do…after all, children don’t really get why one can’t change his name…why the weired name was chosen…or what is the significance behind ones own name no matter what it meant.

All kids care about is not being the mockery of their friends…they would rather have ordinary names than a special rare one…they would rather be plain than plenty…well, children are emotional and derived naturally towards happiness…they would choose joy over anything…fact is, they are entitled to be pure, naive and joyous.

A child is ideal in Utopia or a classic happy decent family with no complications, fights, hard feelings or divorces…as then, the child will feel among the normal grounds of a natural simple merry life.

But kids with weired names, abnormal situations and complicated surroundings get their innocence battled by the delicate emotions involved…such kids, fight authority, fight their fortunes and misfortunes as identifying each becomes a hard chore…such kids need all the support they can get to balance their abnormal twists just a tad…a tad enough to ease sore hearts and confused minds.

I speak from experience here…I have been such a child and I have caused (regardless of the reasons) my kids to be of the same sort.

I have not found any peak of promising light to ease my heart and soul and answer my continuous confusing questions as a child…so, I try my very best to help my kids cope in a way i wish i had encountered.

My kid wants to change his foreign special middle name…my kid wants a simple change -in his eyes- to make things less complicated -in his eyes- and i explain and explain and explain how genuine, important and special the name is…I explained it’s meaning…what it resembles…what is the significance…I tried to simplify the complications in his mind…and i pointed that it is way richer to add loved ones to his life than to substitute…and i realize yet question,

Do all parents deserve their children?

Do selfish parents who chose their own happiness and comfort over their kids needs deserve their children?

Do indifferent parents who wouldn’t weigh their parenting techniques properly and approach a firmer/ more tender way to raise their kids with politeness, kindness and morals deserve their children?

I have my set of answers that are more of a judgment…but really, now that i am old and no longer a child can make a clear notion about my experience with abnormal situations as a child (especially that I’ve lost one parent already):

parents, names, nationality…may be cruel or silly…hard or ignorant

but they are my own…my special own…who created me as i am…gave me all i had and participated in all i will have…they sheltered me, nurtured me and kept me as safe as they know how…all i had was them…and every little thing i loose from them makes me incomplete…

I believe that the strength laying in LOVE can wrap everything with such unique warmth…I choose to love… I choose not to rant or curse what i have…I love my country as unfair as it can be…I love my name as silly as it sounds to me…I love my parents as abnormal as they were…and without them accepted and appreciated I would be ga7da.

I believe no one could have done anything better…and i believe that accepting and confessing the faults is the major first step towards changing for the better…pretending i am a righteous saint would drive me straight to hell…

I have my share of guilt…personal and parental guilt…but i wanna focus on using that to be better for them…I can’t change what I’ve done but i have a renewed chance to fix every single moment and as long as i live…

I want my kids to be kind, understanding, loving and forgiving…I want them to realize human weaknesses and appreciate the trials we all make to be better people…forgive mistakes and recognize virtues…I want them to know how to differentiate between pure and sick intentions…

I want them to change in themselves to be better people and never get consumed into the myth of changing others…

after all, no one can change his middle name!!

Comfort among insects

Sitting on the grass in a small unattended garden, i realize…

Sitting on the grass in a small unattended garden…among tiny insects hopping or crawling around…light blond roaches and shell tailed worms and small active ants…living along…undisturbed by our presence, the seated… on their ground…their earth…their environment…

Sitting on the grass in a small unattended garden, among tiny insects and with big people…old people…mature people…educated people…who are a spectrum full of colors…from arrogant red and annoying yellow to kind blue and fresh green, even shy flirty proud pink…all wrapped up to form a pure white shade.

Sitting there feeling alone but not lonely…warm but disoriented…far from my world yet so close to myself…

hearing the story of a blue beard…the monster that looks familiar…the beast in us or others…and almost seeing how we doubt the blue fake and voluntarily see it as ordinary and kind…how the flashes of uniqueness can hide the queerness, only in a delusional eye…

Sitting on damp grass and connecting with nature’s insects and people and mud and greenery…synchronizing the

 being and recognizing the self…

I relate…

I debate…

I smile…

I feel annoyed and restless…

I comprehend some…and embrace some…and feel enormous tides of compassion, love and understanding just from the presence of a warm heart…I ignore a surprisingly mean silent rant…I ignore momentary abnormalities…

And i go home…leaving the grass…the creatures that coped with my peaceful invasion and the human presence that would enrich only if i allow it…and i go home…

wondering if i could feel the same comfort i felt toward the insects, with my thoughts, emotions and decisions…