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    Яαgιи Яαvєи
    Cairo, Egypt
    God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
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Tapping at my chamber door

In 2008, I'll Get Me A Shotgun

I will also:
2. Get closer to
Job hunt some more.
4. Get closer to my
5. Learn a new language.
Finish at least one screenplay.
Lose the extra weight.
8. Get a
driver's license. I will not buy a car.
9. I will
rule my world.
10. I will have my

Wednesday, June 11, 2008


There’s a hair on my computer screen; my brand new laptop. A playstation 3 to my right, a big TV, a desktop computer, two empty cups of coffee past, a cell phone with a new number waiting, a Seinfeld DVD box set, a blood red Zippo lighter, one pack of Kent #6, one pack of Kent #9, a novel by good ol’ Chuck describing a plane crash, the Concise History of the World book in which they could only describe Muslims as people who followed some dude who said that we can marry more than once; wires, many, many wires… this is my space. And in all the material entertainment I could provide myself, all the toys, all the money, new clothes… I fail to recognize my dimensional presence. I cannot hear my body breathe or feel the air welcomed by my lungs. The ability to touch, that sensual experience can only be felt now by my digits tapping on these black keys, playing the only beat that I want to hear amidst this newly adopted silence that I have come to hate. This quietness is different from the one I had before.

And they keep tapping nonstop. They have been for the past few weeks. I have a zillion unpublished words. My Documents is filled like a spam folder. Today I finally realized why I have been writing too much. Blogging no longer does it for me. I lost it. I can’t vent anymore.

Even they; they no longer speak to me. It’s been awfully quiet around here. It’s awfully dark I cannot see my own hands and I fail to recognize my own voice amidst all the screeching in my head. It’s too dark inside I do not feel my soul anymore. I’ve become a stranger with a familiar face to myself. I would have figured it’d be more peaceful, but the war rampaging in my head serves its unknown purpose far too well. But the fact remains, when it’s in your head, you can’t really hide from it. You can’t sleep. You can’t work. It’s not a limb that you can just amputate. All that’s left is for you to get down on your knees and pray, pray, and pray; for God to show mercy, for your sleep to be peaceful, for your heart to mend, for your brain to forget, for your soul to freeze, for the world to be fucking different…

I no longer feel like sharing because, the truth is, I never shared. It was always about me. It was always about me trying so hard to suck it all out on a fucking page. I never wrote to socialize, never sought public applause. All I have is a counter that lets me know that there are others like me.

Are there? Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me who’s “special”.

I no longer wish to express.

I no longer feel relieved when I write. I always felt that my blog is a living thing, with its own breathing lungs, its own stiff muscles, its own personality, its own borne cross; my very own pet, my dominant master; my ever amazing needle. But this… entity has lost its purpose. Maybe I’ll come back one day, read my posts like it’s the first time and wonder like I always do. I hope I never do.

All I know is that it is time for me to focus now, to get back on my feet, to get back on my throne, to reach out and touch my glory, to jumpstart my ego, to burn my secrets and rise from amidst the smoke; lie to myself to be happy. Breathe.

Look away.

Look away as I disappear.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Excerpt from My Page

I never did surgery before. I never lost someone close to me. The worst thing I ever got was a jellyfish sting and a bad tooth that required some cleaning, drilling, crowning, the whole nine yards; but then again, being the bright side looker that I am, I always said to myself, at least my teeth can wear a crown for real. Even though I’ve experienced brain pain on many occasions, I’ve always managed to pass over to the next level. Sometimes when it’s in your head, you can manipulate it to your own benefit. Heart pain is the worst as far as I’ve learned for time is the only cure…

or so they say.

I have waited for many things to happen in my life. I have become patient. I hardly ever lose my temper. I always try not to fuck up. I try too much, sometimes it sickens me. Today I learned that I won’t be transferred to another department, yet… I’m getting promoted. I’m going to head a Personal Financial Services division at some branch very soon. I’ve waited for that moment for the past three years, for my name to be called. Call me stupid, but I wasn’t moved. I didn’t smile. It would have meant much, much more if all things would have worked out just the way I wanted, but then again I’m not God. All I can do is plan, plan, plan… then pray for any of my plans to come true, to be realized; because at the end, no matter how much you plan, how much you spend, how long you wait; no matter how much air you breathe… at the end, it’s already been decided for ya… long before you were born. We just don’t get to read that page with our name written in bold calligraphy at the top. All we can do is hope for a happy ending because any other alternative would deem the whole aging process pointless.

And amidst all of this, I couldn’t miss the fact that I was scared shitless. I’m going to have to lead people. I’ve already been proven responsible on many occasions and received so many verbal, spiritual rewards and acknowledgments, but at the end, all eyes are going to be on me. Who’s that 26 year old they chose to head, to manage, to lead?, they’ll ask.

Here’s my bright side as I proclaim it… at least I’ll keep my mind busy for a while. I need to fill that space in my life even if the filling is adrenaline released from my fearsome body.

I am fearing tomorrow more than ever now as I read my secret page word by word.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Stagnant extension of the preserved waiting room

I have an interview next week, but my mind is pretty occupied. Words, blasphemous words, questions, reasons, justifications, made up stories, excuses… a nonstop roller coaster cart with the wheels about to bleed. All I have is faith to hold me, I think…

I believe.

I had a marvelous chat with a friend tonight. I had missed the old me. The old I don’t give a fuck me who just roamed free, prioritized, set goals when he had to, and laughed at everything no matter what.

I still remember the day it ended permanently. I remember the smile I gave; more of a sneer. I smiled because it reminded me of that feeling when I wake myself up from a good ol’ dream where everything seems possible. Every dream I’ve ever had, I always mentally pinch myself out of it when it feels too good to be true… and the moment I wake up, I smile. I told you I wasn’t easy, yelled the impenetrable adversary. I just forgot that I have to realize that it’s always going to be like that…

I have so underestimated dreams. They may not be pointless after all.

If you start looking for an exit door you’ll always find it. The fact of the matter is that there’s a huge difference between looking for the door and bumping into it. If you want to find reasons for things not to work, for flaws in a person, all you gotta do is have the intention to… You wouldn’t even need to look closely… and then it’ll be all over.

I need my peace, with myself, with God… with the world as it is.

All I need is time… time in a virtual room that I’ve built for me to wait. Four empty grey corporate walls with nothing but a round white clock hanging and chair for me to sit on and stare at the time passing by ever so slowly. Deep down… I know that time does not heal wounds though. There’s always going to be that scar; it just won’t bleed anymore.

It feels like I’ve been sitting on that chair forever, waiting… for a knock on my door, but as I got up and opened that door there was no one there. I’ll just never know whether it’s because I was too late or if that knock was my mind playing tricks on me, part of my hallucination, a made up fairy tale. Was it the too good to be true syndrome?, I asked myself, but alas, there was no one there to answer but the clock… ticking, taking mental notes of my drying tears, and marking my wrinkling nerves; counting the pulses I have left in me.

But then again… I’ve gotten used to the room. I’ve made friends with the walls and made love to the steady beat evolving out of the clock.

It’s all I need right now… there’s nothing else I can count on. Faith might be over rated after all.

Only that clock will tell.

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