My Blood!

Imagine opening your blog and you no longer have access to your own blog. I feel like my baby has been stolen from me. I see my posts yet I cannot add any new documentation. I panic and I am incapable of breathing. Suddenly, I am a little child lost in a huge toy store with no mommy and not enough toys in it to compensate such lost. Add to this, listening to Alice in Wonderland's playlist was not helping; “but how will you find your way, Alice?” Really now?

I need to document. In the morning I am neutral, well as neutral as I can be. I have decided to be passive. Yet, I realized that I have this crazy and scary ability to hold it all in and not burst to a thousand mad women screaming at the top of their lungs at the same time. To be honest, I have no idea what am I waiting for; for the final blow, but it did not happen, yet. My world is hectic and crazy and I need to feel I have control over it to relax and not to loose my sanity.

Yes, I am a control freak. I must be one. I love rules and working according the book; it makes life so much easier. I also love to just throw all the paper work behind my back and shout "to hell with everything!" I used to be easy going. I was F***everything; I am here to have fun not to moan and complain. I used to be sophistical; wanting to know all about the hows and the whys; then I started working and it was like being on the receiving end of a Dementor's kiss, sucking life till the very last drop. Not how I imagined my first kiss, mind you.

I miss literature and analyzing and counter analyzing everything. I miss my eight in the morning discussions; with my professors and the smell of coffee as we sipped it to keep us alert of the throwing accusations of one character or another as we jumped in with our analysis to save him from his doom. I miss how I used to wake up eager to start the day. Of course, there were days when I hated getting up and when I pulled an all nighter to finish an assignment, but now I miss it all. I wont replace them for anything. My Pre. M.A. friends are more blessed than they could ever possibly phantom.

I believe that my artistic side has been brutally butchered right in front of my very own eyes, and I did not even take the time to grieve over her; I moved on. I embraced this impossibly pragmatic persona that gets her job and her whole life done, always on the go, no time to stop, contemplate, and take it all in. I still have dreams, but as far as I know, they shall forever be dreams. I do not think in ten years I can make my twenty year old self proud of what I have accomplished; there will always be a missing piece, yet I wont be trying to search for her because I know where she is, under the bed in a dusty shoe box.

I have been Egyptianized, ladies and gentlemen. I became normal. I am not creative. I am not unique. I am suffocated and voiceless. A typical Egyptian woman, someone who would be on the look for the eligible bachelor to wrap around him the invisible threads of allure and romance and then fatten herself up and cry when he moves on and finds him a sexy mistress, but she wont do anything for she would fear the alternative; she would fear divorce.

I feel myself slipping away into the vortex of normalhood. I don't go out because I have to save money for the upcoming soon to be future of a possible husband. I have to sleep early, because I cannot function on five hours of sleep and coffee, like I used to. I am not the hero I drew and promised myself to be. I am normal. I am so depressed I cannot verbally communicate it. One day my writing shall slip away. I want to cry, but I know no one will understand. The Egyptian word I detest the most when I cry: "Aww, poor you, it will be fine." No it will never be fine! You are not in my shoes and you will never be!" What pains me is nothing but trash for you. You cannot truly understand my misery. You ridicule it and you gossip about it and you have enough audacity to pretend to sympathize with me. Screw you, kind sir; screw you, fair lady. You only heard the story. You have not truly lived it. Screw your sympathy! I am mad and furious and I refuse to be narrowed down to a voiceless mindless housewife who does nothing but bare her burden in peace and silence. No! I will complain and I will bitch about it. I will bitch about inequality and I will complain about how the sink is always full of dirty dishes. I will force him to put the toilet seat down and I will force him to do the dishes. He is to listen to me in silence when I reach my breaking point.

He will shut up and gaze in awe as he sees me rise up gracefully from my nervous breakdown and he would be speechless when he sees me carrying on as if nothing had happened. He will always wonder but never truly understand. I am a woman. I used to be powerful and I shall forever be. I am everything and its opposite. I am your sweetest dream and your worst nightmare. I am more than meets the eye. I will live and die and you will never know my complete story. Gazing from Hell or Heaven I shall forever scorn you all. I am to rebel; for I am a phoenix you have not seen the last of me yet; and you never shall. I never regret my points of weakness or my tumbling moments. I take pride in them for they always push me forward. I move on, out of spite and self improvement; to prove to all those who thought they could shut me up in a box, wrong. I shall grow, read, cook, love, get hurt, burn recipes, cry, laugh and evolve. I will travel even if it's the last thing to do. I will publish my memoirs and you would be standing at the end of my book signing queue waiting for my pen to grace your copy of Me, and I would only give you a tiny smile and a little wave and turn my back.

I am not the bigger person. I am a woman who believes in revenge. I am successful to prove you wrong and I am a bitch in your eyes because you cannot and never will top me. I am Hla and this is just the beginning of my open ended story.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFatODUR1CE

Peace out! H!