Today seems to be the last day of November 2011, it is not seems, but better just be skeptical about that fact just as well as everything else. Tomorrow brings December, and on the 13th I will be 25. In less than two weeks I should be celebrating a major birthday, number of years that seems significant, I was sure that should be a major birthday because I will be 25, I’m not sure about that number of years as much as I am sure about the only fact I choose to believe in…2011 is different. I find it under-estimating to simply say the clichéd the world is going crazy, I believe there is something cosmically different, a certain kind of balance is not there anymore, and as simple as “different” sounds, I find it very expressive to how all differences are not that “different”.
So hard to put that year in words, simple reference can be mentioned…what I saw in theory had nothing to do with what I feel now.
It wasn’t my revolution until I got gassed… My revolution- not meaning a personal one I go through in life- Jan25th revolution is my Nov19th revolution, with all respect to all suffering and winning we have been through, revolution is not one for me if I didn’t go through it fully hearted, being a feminist and a troubled young woman I have no choice but that the personal is political and vice versa.
Nov19 was my cousin’s engagement and another day with the flu that left me at home, neither partying nor protesting but boiling with anger.
Nov20 I went down, with an activist who is now a friend, but with a misuse of twitter, I have put my number publicly and so unintentionally, started a tiny level of coordination between some people who wanted to send supplies to the field hospitals and some of doctor friends there.
Nov20 I got gassed for the first time entering Mohamed Mahmoud to help those out there fighting and getting gassed by spraying their eyes and faces with the medical options given by the doctors.
Nov20 and 21st were warzones…for me they were warzones I was able to handle and take in. The only troubling fact was how a few streets away from Mohamed Mahmoud and when that civil war taking place was further pushed to Falaki Square, there were traffic stops with policemen giving traffic tickets as if nothing is happening.
Absurd reality is what I saw.
Nov20 and 21st were humane for me; I wasn’t scared from the gas or the presumable rubber bullets, I was scared from being beaten, from physically confronting someone who might use excessive force on my body.
I wasn’t scared to tell my parents I went in Mohamed Mahmoud, didn’t make sense to me that “they” the 77 activists would object, I simply chose not to see the fear in their eyes and chose to take my mum’s question about what she would do if I was shot by a bullet as a comic one that I would simply reply to that I went near the gas not near the bullets. I simply chose to disregard my dad’s worry that someone would call him and tell him something happened to me. I simply found comfort that in the hour or so I spent at home before sleeping I would look at my nephew from afar so that I would keep the gas away. I chose to listen to my sister’s inquiry about certain personal livelihood details while running to the field hospital to get more spray because regardless everything it made perfect sense. I chose to disregard sexual harassment even though I work on sexuality and sexual rights because I felt that gender and feminism are much more –in my humble opinion – than; girls get harassed and guys get bombed. I chose to feel the guilt for spending that much time away from my mum, who needs me because it made perfect sense, I chose to feel bad for an acquaintance who was with us the first day when I heard she got spasms because it made perfect sense, I chose the people I was with because I had no other choice, because I would never make any other choice given I could, because I would be dead by now if it weren’t for them, because they make a perfectly sensible nuclear dynamic. But then, perfect sense only seems complete insanity.
I don’t make any sense to me most of the time, mind games seem one hell of twisted surviving mechanism.
Nov22 was different. The day was long… when there was no more sun, I went with someone to Mohamed Mahmoud, we were bombed, we suffered from temporary blindness, and we went to a near restaurant owned by one of the bravest women ever. I was feeling very tired, I couldn’t speak but made sure that my parents thought I was fine, I couldn’t feel my heart beats but I wanted to believe I was self-composed, I suffer from weak bronchial to start with and am a heavy smoker. I am over dramatic. But I was feeling very tired, something was seriously wrong. I was trying to feel composed. The person who was with me while the bombing was taking place left and I shed two tears. I called Yara, told her I felt my heart was going to stop, I felt I was going to die and she hurried to me with Ramy. She sent him to buy milk and carbon tablets, these are the things we knew would help, there were acquaintances there. I started having spasms. They made me lay down. There was a doctor there. They started calling friends. Yara was holding my legs, the doctor gave me a shot and some acquaintances were taking turns blowing air in my way, my friend’s friend was holding my head. The spasms were very severe. They had to hold my body tight and especially my head. The spams were very strong and my head might have been injured had that friend not held it hard enough not to hit the walls. My friends came. My friends came for me, they saved my life. The saved my life at least by the way they were worried, my friends (family) saved my life each by doing what they knew best, a friend, Pence -family…Only seem fair to believe they are my family, Nazra ,as home is where the heart is…, full stop- drove through the gas to take me to a hospital. I wasn’t left alone, friends answered my phone telling my parents I was fine but taking a shower from the gas. They took me to the Coptic hospital. They went through a fight and gave their own IDs and not mine because we were told hospitals hand in people who go by effects of “Tahrir”, they were there.
Pence and Mozn drove me to Salma’s to spend the night. I wanted to go to any friend who lived in downtown, I wanted to be there, but as the doctor said if I smelt gas there will be serious consequences. Much serious than the bronchial infection I had. I couldn’t go home like that. I had to spend the night at my friend in Dokki. I was already half sedated. I had a doctor friend (Shady) in the field hospital that was with us on phone all the time, to make sure I was okay. I went to Salma’s, had enough minutes to tell my parents I’ m still at Yara’s because it wasn’t safe to leave and I didn’t want to change the story we already told them. Salma’s mum, was trying to help me get settled, I felt something was wrong, I felt the room was getting smaller and my head was itching and something was on my back. I kept calling for Salma who was getting me water for the medication. For the moment I was left alone, I called Shady, telling him something is seriously wrong, he told me I had to sleep it’s a side effect from the gas. Everything that happened in the next hour and half I only remembered after, dozing off from time to time, I suffered from paranoia, hallucinations and suicidal attempt, I had no control over what I felt or said. As I now remember, I believed Salma gave me water with gas and that red coughing medication was blood for the vampires, Winnie the pooh poster wanted to eat me like the honey it was eating, I threatened Salma that if she didn’t get me an ashtray I would beat the life out of her, and I had the chance between the lapses to call Mozn and tell her she had to come and take me because they were beating me and electrifying me. I then totally lost it and didn’t even know Salma, my 8 years friend had to sit in front of me and try to make me remember our college days, Salma after everything she was going through had to stand between me and the window because I was convinced that from her flat on the 6th floor I could simply get out of the window and go home. Mozn came I didn’t know her and shouted at her, she shouted back, I started crying , she took me in her arms and I started crying hysterically. I told her they wanted to kill me. Mozn and Salma took me down to Pence’s car to go to the hospital; I wanted to get out of the car. I didn’t believe them, but they didn’t lie to me, they took me to a near hospital, by then I started gaining consciousness, a doctor prescribed tranquillizers for me. We drove Salma home, and drove to Maadi to Pence’s home…I slept.
Nov23rd, I insisted on going back to downtown, sitting outdoors but not near the gas, went back to the same restaurant as if heading back to the scene of the crime, I didn’t feel I was ready to go home yet, and my parents still thought I was at Yara’s.
Since then and I am wondering, if we consider what is happening as chaos, how come there is this level of composition that is preventing us all from carrying weapons and tearing the police and army to pieces. I believed that the only way out is violence, I wanted to literally kill any police or army officer I would see. I still believe armed attack is the only way, it just feels sad when my friends tell me that this kind of chaos doesn’t bring about armed attack because it needs the most radical organizational efforts that no one is ready for, I thought that fear and anger would bring people to arms but apparently not! I go out now with my own perception of self-defense and fear the moment I might use it. I am over dramatic, but I want my right back and the right of those I saw get shot and gassed. Being back at the restaurant there was gas nearby, the one thing I fear most in my life now, I fear it because my respiratory system is chronically damaged, I fear it because I can’t fight it or hurt it. I had another panic attack. My dad called, he was nearby, I told him what happened, he picked me up and took me home. I chose to see the fear in his eyes, but didn’t choose to accept it nor what he said that we can all do different things according to our own qualifications or limitations. I will not choose to see myself impotent.
I went home to mum, she took me in. She said she is thankful that it wasn’t as bad as she has been expecting.
Next morning talking with my dad on the phone, I made it clear I didn’t understand how the man who used the cheese they fed them in prison to write on prison walls would tell me I couldn’t defend my rights as I saw best. I told him being overweight didn’t prevent me from running as fast as anyone, having weak lungs I would do it all over again and will not let anyone take that away from me. I now know I can’t face the gas, but that’s just one weapon they use against us.
Nov24th I went to work. I felt bad. I didn’t want to feel weak but was still scared of the gas, I couldn’t understand how anyone wouldn’t see the gravity of the situation but didn’t want any pity, I felt ashamed at myself feeling that troubled and unstable when people were losing their eyes and get beaten and arrested and still go on. I felt bad because I couldn’t and still fully can’t concentrate, my perception was (till yesterday) very slow. I felt that part in my brain responsible for processing information wasn’t working (still not fully functioning). I felt mentally dysfunctional. I felt guilty and self-pity. I feared the moment I would collapse. I felt bad for those who were and are still there for me, putting them through hell.
Nov25th, I went to the square and to the prime ministry sit-in. same feelings, different day. Same worry when passing by a street that smelt funny, same stops I had to take to use the inhaler. I had the same lack of sleep and coughing in the middle of the night with drops of blood.
Nov26th, I went down the square and to the prime ministry, nothing different…same fears of going home, same fears of not being around my friends, same feeling of the need to be self-composed and the same incapability. Only with more tensed feelings and edgy mood.
Nov27th, I went back to work, we all did. I spent the longest hours possible at the office, not necessarily doing something productive, but incapable of leaving the office, feeling as a burden, feeling retarded. Fearing the moment someone would snap at me that they had enough of it. I tried to work, I did try.
Nov28th, I couldn’t reach my polling station, it was a maze and I wouldn’t have been able to stand there for hours, my back didn’t hurt much, but I had problems standing for long or sitting because I had string in my back. I went to work. Same dilemma, same trials to work. Same shame from the women human rights defenders, but I snapped, I cried, hysterically in Doaa’s arms … She said I had to cry, asked me if I cried since Tuesday, I did for my lost ear-ring, the cigarette, for the trees that are not there anymore around my home, but not for me, she insisted I’d cry, I did … home, I cried in my mother’s arms and slept with tears in her arms.
Nov29th, I voted, I went to State Council with our team working on Samira Ibrahim’s case against the military council virginity tests. Went back to work, while parking I spent 10 minutes trying to understand the hour the valet wrote on the piece of paper he handed me and then I fought with him because I believed he wrote the wrong hour but it was a simple and correct 1 o’clock. I tried to work, I did try, but then I snapped, I cried again. I couldn’t leave work until 10:00pm, took Fatma and wanted to take 6th of October Bridge but couldn’t go through Abdel Monam Riad square; we went to Dokki and had dinner for the second time. I couldn’t go home, had a couple of rounds around Tahrir and made Fatma take a cab and went to Tahrir. I parked in downtown, called Omnia who was in the square and decided to meet her. I went there because people were being beaten and I didn’t believe its right to leave, but I went when things were already calmer, but I had to go more than anything because I couldn’t stay scared. My friends knew and had me go home, I was intolerant to Yehia’s fear for me, I understand he was worried about me, but I couldn’t handle feeling impotent. That moment didn’t just get me over my fear if that feeling is true to start with, but mostly I cornered myself, if I made a conscious choice to go down the square again against everyone’s judgment, if I chose to act brave while I was scared like hell; then I can’t wake up next morning with the same weakness and need for excessive care. I went home, made them sure I was safe and slept… thinking, if I went back I can’t reverse the little strength I regained if that feeling is true to start with, if I went back then I can’t go back to the time before midnight with all the psychosis I carried within, still neurotic but a little back.
Nov30, today I feel much better, I am much more focused, more relaxed and still tired and troubled, still over dramatic and intolerant to feeling impotent still feel guilt and self-pity, and no one can see me through my eyes no matter how hard I try simply because it’s not sane no matter how much it makes sense.
I got gassed and had my revolution, but it won’t be a full one until we can dance.
I had my revolution and hope it doesn’t end at that!!
Wednesday 30\11\2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
SHOUT !!!
Shout!!!
It's going be a long night she thought. She lingers in tiny corridors in her mind, choosing the smallest corner in the wide space that seems endlessly getting larger from the outside only to corner her in the smallness of the space she offers herself. An office, she sits at 1:00am in an office, with a lamp shade, turning off the lights and lighting up a lamp shade, with her mug, the one she bought, her choice, the ultimate meaning of her existence to choose, her calendar the one she chose to represent the fluidness of her days that she hardly tries to make sense of and create meaning to. Her laptop on which she writes words that make life seem extremely professional, updated and sincerely not off topic, seriously absurd as compared to how her perception incepts her to think. With spectacles sitting on the desk, looking serene weirdly though being the only item lying there on the big brown desk glowing of gloat with its serenity. She turns through her boxed corner to the candle on the edge of the desk in jeopardy to be over thrown by the summoned anguish 1:00am bitchy night. She turns to the candle; pink wrapped in bath cloth dangling from it a small paper written on it with love, SHOUT!! She leaves the candle, turns to her laptop and opens what's the farthest resemblance to a music box and chooses with fear boiling up in her heart, hands trembling, sweating with heated feverish stoned eyes domed to direct her finger tips to that single song in the album, Camel's SHOUT.
Another day, I might have found the words to say, all the things I meant to say, all the years that passed between, you never understood the meaning of my way….If I could have it otherwise, I'd chase the demons from your eyes to ease your soul….
She thought, about nothing but her own pretences, her own lack of self, she wanted to be the one who would chase those demons to ease her soul. She felt the only problem was finding a soul to save, everyone looked through her and saw, found and touched something that she could never recognize as her own, a soul, so beautifully capturing and sad, the kind of sadness that seems very seductive, like those 2 minutes in a French movie when there is nothing at all happening, no dialogue, no friction but your eyes moving in solitude with the screen only to notice that you have been granted the godly power of not breathing for 2 minutes simply to produce an ah that breaks your heart and yet restore you back to sanity.
The music of the song, the words, the urge to SHOUT, the memories and remedies, only stabilize her night for a second, to each her own she felt, she wanted to dwell into eternal meaningless ideas, one after the other, making logical conversations inside her head, logical and cohesive only to her, to solidify the unique and untangled relationship she has with herself, but what good would that bring, when the world goes on, when life moves ahead, her hair doesn't get gray but her skin does, her feet gets smaller as her ass gets bigger, as happy hour means coffee break. Isn't that the reality, might that not be the truth beyond her being. That epiphany of that dawning night she just waited for, for so long; finally arriving as her fairly gendered prince charming. That she too shall pass, like all else, she needed not worry about lasting for as the world shall live, she needed not worry about the child she will never have, the floor un-cleaned, book unread, life unlived….
She stopped for a moment, paused, frizzed as she realized that time is ticking and it’s a matter of seconds before she has to make the choice. It's not like she rented a serial killer, but it's just a matter of integrity, going round and round to buy those pills and getting him involved to write her a prescription and getting him involved to know she is depressed but not that much, not to the extend to be hospitalized again, not to the extend to come see him in his new Clinique not to the extend to let the nurse point at her and say that's the crazy bitch. Anyways, just involved to know she wanted the Prozac for the night to end, just this night and all is turning well enough for everyone, strange he didn’t get the hint of everything turning well for all. But yet again, it's not about him now, is it?
To make a choice tags along promises and fair deals. To go down the stairs since the elevator doesn't work on the way down, to meet him, to take the Prozac, to swallow the pills, to stop the breathing process, to end the beating heart, to end the lingering in tiny corridors in her mind. To stop, to finish what she didn’t start, to draw a line and write the end. She felt the horror, of the un-beating heart, but why can't she just find another way to spend her sleepless nights, cant she just drive around the city rather than stare at a darkening screen. There must be something doable. There must be a damned soul somewhere, a soul that she can harass just to stop the un-beating heart from un-beating. To make a choice thus tags along promises and fair deals. Why not just end the night and figure out the tangling others along the hallucinations of the sleepless dawning nights, for being a coward seriously can save your life she thought. She knew, it is definitely going be a long night.
It's going be a long night she thought. She lingers in tiny corridors in her mind, choosing the smallest corner in the wide space that seems endlessly getting larger from the outside only to corner her in the smallness of the space she offers herself. An office, she sits at 1:00am in an office, with a lamp shade, turning off the lights and lighting up a lamp shade, with her mug, the one she bought, her choice, the ultimate meaning of her existence to choose, her calendar the one she chose to represent the fluidness of her days that she hardly tries to make sense of and create meaning to. Her laptop on which she writes words that make life seem extremely professional, updated and sincerely not off topic, seriously absurd as compared to how her perception incepts her to think. With spectacles sitting on the desk, looking serene weirdly though being the only item lying there on the big brown desk glowing of gloat with its serenity. She turns through her boxed corner to the candle on the edge of the desk in jeopardy to be over thrown by the summoned anguish 1:00am bitchy night. She turns to the candle; pink wrapped in bath cloth dangling from it a small paper written on it with love, SHOUT!! She leaves the candle, turns to her laptop and opens what's the farthest resemblance to a music box and chooses with fear boiling up in her heart, hands trembling, sweating with heated feverish stoned eyes domed to direct her finger tips to that single song in the album, Camel's SHOUT.
Another day, I might have found the words to say, all the things I meant to say, all the years that passed between, you never understood the meaning of my way….If I could have it otherwise, I'd chase the demons from your eyes to ease your soul….
She thought, about nothing but her own pretences, her own lack of self, she wanted to be the one who would chase those demons to ease her soul. She felt the only problem was finding a soul to save, everyone looked through her and saw, found and touched something that she could never recognize as her own, a soul, so beautifully capturing and sad, the kind of sadness that seems very seductive, like those 2 minutes in a French movie when there is nothing at all happening, no dialogue, no friction but your eyes moving in solitude with the screen only to notice that you have been granted the godly power of not breathing for 2 minutes simply to produce an ah that breaks your heart and yet restore you back to sanity.
The music of the song, the words, the urge to SHOUT, the memories and remedies, only stabilize her night for a second, to each her own she felt, she wanted to dwell into eternal meaningless ideas, one after the other, making logical conversations inside her head, logical and cohesive only to her, to solidify the unique and untangled relationship she has with herself, but what good would that bring, when the world goes on, when life moves ahead, her hair doesn't get gray but her skin does, her feet gets smaller as her ass gets bigger, as happy hour means coffee break. Isn't that the reality, might that not be the truth beyond her being. That epiphany of that dawning night she just waited for, for so long; finally arriving as her fairly gendered prince charming. That she too shall pass, like all else, she needed not worry about lasting for as the world shall live, she needed not worry about the child she will never have, the floor un-cleaned, book unread, life unlived….
She stopped for a moment, paused, frizzed as she realized that time is ticking and it’s a matter of seconds before she has to make the choice. It's not like she rented a serial killer, but it's just a matter of integrity, going round and round to buy those pills and getting him involved to write her a prescription and getting him involved to know she is depressed but not that much, not to the extend to be hospitalized again, not to the extend to come see him in his new Clinique not to the extend to let the nurse point at her and say that's the crazy bitch. Anyways, just involved to know she wanted the Prozac for the night to end, just this night and all is turning well enough for everyone, strange he didn’t get the hint of everything turning well for all. But yet again, it's not about him now, is it?
To make a choice tags along promises and fair deals. To go down the stairs since the elevator doesn't work on the way down, to meet him, to take the Prozac, to swallow the pills, to stop the breathing process, to end the beating heart, to end the lingering in tiny corridors in her mind. To stop, to finish what she didn’t start, to draw a line and write the end. She felt the horror, of the un-beating heart, but why can't she just find another way to spend her sleepless nights, cant she just drive around the city rather than stare at a darkening screen. There must be something doable. There must be a damned soul somewhere, a soul that she can harass just to stop the un-beating heart from un-beating. To make a choice thus tags along promises and fair deals. Why not just end the night and figure out the tangling others along the hallucinations of the sleepless dawning nights, for being a coward seriously can save your life she thought. She knew, it is definitely going be a long night.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
From Sexuality With Love
Being out of the country always gives you a more holistic vision about things that you wouldn't usually have the same perception about. Ever since it was decided that there will be a tweeting and blogging day about sexual harassment and gender violence next Monday and I have been thinking how I would contribute with something genuine. I m currently attending a Sexuality, Gender and Rights course in Istanbul, Turkey and without mentioning anything about what goes around as promised by every participant, it got me thinking.
It got me thinking about so many things. Mostly gender roles and consequently gender violence. The words that are on my mind now 11:10pm after the first day of the course and dinner with colleagues and organizers, and actually without any direct link to what we were discussing today is, the subordination of women. I kept thinking Why, and of course it would definitely sound as childish to wonder about all the reasons behind so many things, but truthfully, I am not just wondering I m angry. I am angry at us women, I am angry because of a glimpse of a second I just recalled the female sexual superiority back in the "before civilization" ages.
So without wondering anymore about what seems to everyone to be of the course of nature; I need to voice my anger. My anger is my right and I'm entitled to target it the way I want. The point is, I am anger at the silence that we carry with so much respect to it and so much appreciation. The silence over history and over our subordination and over our edginess towards feminism and over radicalism and mostly over decision making as a granted right as much as the right to choose.
As far as I understand it takes two to tango. If we were beaten then we let someone beat us, if we were sexually, verbally, physically or psychologically abused or oppressed then we let someone do that to us I definitely don’t blame us as females, I blame our history, we have to write Her-story and now is the time. We need to change our attitudes and that of our parents who told us never to answer back; along with our social heritage and our own expectations from ourselves and our societies. I m not saying that we are bringing this upon ourselves but I am just saying that we need to stop victimizing, we need to stand up for our rights of being. The images we so keenly and subtly help draw about ourselves.
Gender roles are not to be taken for granted. These gender roles are mostly created and not "instinct inheritance"; someone woke up one day and decided to claim women as less empowered then men, damn it we're not. We need to BELIEVE that if we think we will be granted the liberty of being then we are forgetting that this liberty can be taken away from us. Nobody will acknowledge us unless we start to acknowledge ourselves.
It got me thinking about so many things. Mostly gender roles and consequently gender violence. The words that are on my mind now 11:10pm after the first day of the course and dinner with colleagues and organizers, and actually without any direct link to what we were discussing today is, the subordination of women. I kept thinking Why, and of course it would definitely sound as childish to wonder about all the reasons behind so many things, but truthfully, I am not just wondering I m angry. I am angry at us women, I am angry because of a glimpse of a second I just recalled the female sexual superiority back in the "before civilization" ages.
So without wondering anymore about what seems to everyone to be of the course of nature; I need to voice my anger. My anger is my right and I'm entitled to target it the way I want. The point is, I am anger at the silence that we carry with so much respect to it and so much appreciation. The silence over history and over our subordination and over our edginess towards feminism and over radicalism and mostly over decision making as a granted right as much as the right to choose.
As far as I understand it takes two to tango. If we were beaten then we let someone beat us, if we were sexually, verbally, physically or psychologically abused or oppressed then we let someone do that to us I definitely don’t blame us as females, I blame our history, we have to write Her-story and now is the time. We need to change our attitudes and that of our parents who told us never to answer back; along with our social heritage and our own expectations from ourselves and our societies. I m not saying that we are bringing this upon ourselves but I am just saying that we need to stop victimizing, we need to stand up for our rights of being. The images we so keenly and subtly help draw about ourselves.
Gender roles are not to be taken for granted. These gender roles are mostly created and not "instinct inheritance"; someone woke up one day and decided to claim women as less empowered then men, damn it we're not. We need to BELIEVE that if we think we will be granted the liberty of being then we are forgetting that this liberty can be taken away from us. Nobody will acknowledge us unless we start to acknowledge ourselves.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
sunglasses in the mirror
Sunglasses in the mirror
Thinking of that rest at home she should get just by throwing her bag on the floor. Just getting that shower, should it be cold or hot, she never decides until she's actually in there. Thinking of what movie she should see tonight. Thinking of that cold AC she would turn on even though it's still February. Thinking of that new place she is at. Of her parents who won't speak to her. Of her office that she just started decorating. Of her new painted white life. But why did she think whit, ohh gee why white. Know she is just thinking why she chose whit. Because it's not tainted, it's dullingly babingly newingly white.
Setting her sunglasses in the mirror, are they right one for me, are they too squared, maybe too rounded, maybe too black. Black, if it's all white then why the hell she is wearing all black and don’t tell me because of that freaking meeting I was at, she thought. Adorable is that taste of winning them over with her charm; adorable is that feeling of being on top, especially of men.
Fine fine, she thought, the sunglasses are just good enough. Just one last look in the mirror and I will be on the right track of that bridge. IPod tuned, cigarette lit, and finally one last look in the mirror for that black sunglasses, just to make sure they are not see through.
Fuck!!! Is that really him she thought, noooo it can't be, he doesn’t drive the same brand as she does. Is that him, smiling at her? Keep it still girl she thought. Don't you dare smile back, it’s a no see through glasses he does not know you are looking at him, that's just a random guy; he is not him, that's not your boo, ex-boo I mean. Just keep it still.
Should I be lighting that cigy she wondered. Well he doesn’t know I'm back to smoking does he? I mean who would have told him, I don’t speak to know one anymore, yeah and her thoughts turned gray. I don’t actually speak to know one anymore. Well to hell with him I am lighting that cigy.
Fine by me, I will just drive and enjoy my ride. Who is she kidding, she is not doing that!!! If so she would be looking at the most elegant car to drive next too, preferably if a guy was driving. She wouldn’t have let cloud no. 9 be playing, definitely should have changed the song. She wouldn’t be putting the cigarette inside the car and not as usual flipping it in the air. She must have believed that it's him, that boo of hers. That mind of her is definitely playing games on her. Tricky tricky games.
He must be watching my every move now. He sees right through me. He just took another turn, why did he do that? Oh, where did he go that sun of….
He knows the way and he is going to surprise me by at the entrance of the house. He is going to get me flowers. He is going to propose. He must have seen right through my eyes, into the depth of my souls and knows how I'm dying to get married and over with. Opps did I say marriage. Did I betray the sisterhood of freedom? Did I just realize that I want to get married and have damn kids and a home?
She unlocked the door of her one room flat and through her bag and lay down on that gray sofa and sighed.
He didn’t see through me. I said to her. He didn’t see through you baby. He never did, he is not coming to propose he doesn’t know where you live now. He doesn’t know you left your house and got a home. This is your home. This is you seeing through those black sunglasses, he doesn’t ride that car, and in fact he doesn’t have a car girl. You just have to realize that all those moves you were trying to make are not yours anymore; it's been ages now dear. It is over. You see through you, I do, he doesn’t and never did; remember, never did and that's why you walked away. You said walk away, walk away and never look back. Now you see through you. I do. And this home isn't all white, and you aren't all black. You're just as pinky gray as the next time you're going to see a show.
Thinking of that rest at home she should get just by throwing her bag on the floor. Just getting that shower, should it be cold or hot, she never decides until she's actually in there. Thinking of what movie she should see tonight. Thinking of that cold AC she would turn on even though it's still February. Thinking of that new place she is at. Of her parents who won't speak to her. Of her office that she just started decorating. Of her new painted white life. But why did she think whit, ohh gee why white. Know she is just thinking why she chose whit. Because it's not tainted, it's dullingly babingly newingly white.
Setting her sunglasses in the mirror, are they right one for me, are they too squared, maybe too rounded, maybe too black. Black, if it's all white then why the hell she is wearing all black and don’t tell me because of that freaking meeting I was at, she thought. Adorable is that taste of winning them over with her charm; adorable is that feeling of being on top, especially of men.
Fine fine, she thought, the sunglasses are just good enough. Just one last look in the mirror and I will be on the right track of that bridge. IPod tuned, cigarette lit, and finally one last look in the mirror for that black sunglasses, just to make sure they are not see through.
Fuck!!! Is that really him she thought, noooo it can't be, he doesn’t drive the same brand as she does. Is that him, smiling at her? Keep it still girl she thought. Don't you dare smile back, it’s a no see through glasses he does not know you are looking at him, that's just a random guy; he is not him, that's not your boo, ex-boo I mean. Just keep it still.
Should I be lighting that cigy she wondered. Well he doesn’t know I'm back to smoking does he? I mean who would have told him, I don’t speak to know one anymore, yeah and her thoughts turned gray. I don’t actually speak to know one anymore. Well to hell with him I am lighting that cigy.
Fine by me, I will just drive and enjoy my ride. Who is she kidding, she is not doing that!!! If so she would be looking at the most elegant car to drive next too, preferably if a guy was driving. She wouldn’t have let cloud no. 9 be playing, definitely should have changed the song. She wouldn’t be putting the cigarette inside the car and not as usual flipping it in the air. She must have believed that it's him, that boo of hers. That mind of her is definitely playing games on her. Tricky tricky games.
He must be watching my every move now. He sees right through me. He just took another turn, why did he do that? Oh, where did he go that sun of….
He knows the way and he is going to surprise me by at the entrance of the house. He is going to get me flowers. He is going to propose. He must have seen right through my eyes, into the depth of my souls and knows how I'm dying to get married and over with. Opps did I say marriage. Did I betray the sisterhood of freedom? Did I just realize that I want to get married and have damn kids and a home?
She unlocked the door of her one room flat and through her bag and lay down on that gray sofa and sighed.
He didn’t see through me. I said to her. He didn’t see through you baby. He never did, he is not coming to propose he doesn’t know where you live now. He doesn’t know you left your house and got a home. This is your home. This is you seeing through those black sunglasses, he doesn’t ride that car, and in fact he doesn’t have a car girl. You just have to realize that all those moves you were trying to make are not yours anymore; it's been ages now dear. It is over. You see through you, I do, he doesn’t and never did; remember, never did and that's why you walked away. You said walk away, walk away and never look back. Now you see through you. I do. And this home isn't all white, and you aren't all black. You're just as pinky gray as the next time you're going to see a show.
when the wheels come down
When the wheels come down
There was clarity of an urge, for something, of apparent suicidal attempt, like a hanging laundry that flaunts its underwear in particular other than everything else and even her prayer gown…on her face. More likely in your face that attempt has been telling her over and over again, in your face I will be; not in the bottom of your bag, or the lingering flickering shadow of yours or even the prints of your footsteps, but in your face. She has a fear, a clear one of that urge, for split seconds she stands tall and refuses to cut herself, all the other long seconds of her days of the 60 seconds in 60 moments in 24 hours launching 86400 blunt raisers in her wrist minus few seconds of life. Those 86400 minus seconds she takes the blunt raisers and goes slowly towards her wrist and smashes a thin pink flesh and aahs and just moves on and comes back, over and over and over again. She licks the blood and chooses a long sleeve shirt and aahs and out she goes, in a mesmerizing state of ache. That's what she thinks this is all about, to be mesmerized with ache, to love the pain and love the painer. She relates her own inflicted pain with the pain of what he has done, how many moments have she suffered for him for what he has done to her, rapping her of her life and out of his he pushed her. Curtain he said and that was the end of it all, curtain he said and she was left in a casket in hospital room, curtain he said and he vanished like the dust in the wind. She is trying to curtain him but just cant. That moment was the life time to her. Just before the curtain, just before the ending scene; she thought that stupid girl that this was the opening scene, how dumb she must be and those gods must have played her stupidity for their own amusement, for the winner takes it all and the loser stands small. But then, when she really thinks about those gods they must be really amazed now that there is no winner, yes she is standing small but he is not standing at all. She went out of this ending scene with a limp but he is not getting out. He said curtain and left, where can she look for him is not an option, he is everywhere and nowhere, he is in the air, the sky, the fire and earth. He has casted a spell on her without even leaving her a mourning stage. He maybe the beast but definitely the beauty of the farewell. he existed her life in grandeur just like the entrance with a bombing and red war of lashes crashing on the ground, to each his own but not his, so grant and scattered…and she has limp with seconds out of the 86400 of her day.
There was clarity of an urge, for something, of apparent suicidal attempt, like a hanging laundry that flaunts its underwear in particular other than everything else and even her prayer gown…on her face. More likely in your face that attempt has been telling her over and over again, in your face I will be; not in the bottom of your bag, or the lingering flickering shadow of yours or even the prints of your footsteps, but in your face. She has a fear, a clear one of that urge, for split seconds she stands tall and refuses to cut herself, all the other long seconds of her days of the 60 seconds in 60 moments in 24 hours launching 86400 blunt raisers in her wrist minus few seconds of life. Those 86400 minus seconds she takes the blunt raisers and goes slowly towards her wrist and smashes a thin pink flesh and aahs and just moves on and comes back, over and over and over again. She licks the blood and chooses a long sleeve shirt and aahs and out she goes, in a mesmerizing state of ache. That's what she thinks this is all about, to be mesmerized with ache, to love the pain and love the painer. She relates her own inflicted pain with the pain of what he has done, how many moments have she suffered for him for what he has done to her, rapping her of her life and out of his he pushed her. Curtain he said and that was the end of it all, curtain he said and she was left in a casket in hospital room, curtain he said and he vanished like the dust in the wind. She is trying to curtain him but just cant. That moment was the life time to her. Just before the curtain, just before the ending scene; she thought that stupid girl that this was the opening scene, how dumb she must be and those gods must have played her stupidity for their own amusement, for the winner takes it all and the loser stands small. But then, when she really thinks about those gods they must be really amazed now that there is no winner, yes she is standing small but he is not standing at all. She went out of this ending scene with a limp but he is not getting out. He said curtain and left, where can she look for him is not an option, he is everywhere and nowhere, he is in the air, the sky, the fire and earth. He has casted a spell on her without even leaving her a mourning stage. He maybe the beast but definitely the beauty of the farewell. he existed her life in grandeur just like the entrance with a bombing and red war of lashes crashing on the ground, to each his own but not his, so grant and scattered…and she has limp with seconds out of the 86400 of her day.
withdrawl tears
Withdrawal tears
I saw your picture and I had this ache in my heart. I wanted to write to you and say it s over, but then whose choice was it, it’s not about who acted the last ending scene. It was over before it started. It was not over when I stopped calling you, it was not over when I stopped telling you my heart’s every beat, and it was not over when you answered and life seemed so sarcastic and I so lame. It was over before I did all that before stopping all that. It was over when we first met, in that wedding, how clichéd that is? I smile when I remember, I was not even yours that time and never was and never will be, but you were mine for split seconds when your walls went down, and you gaze. Your smiles don’t make sense, fake, they say I believe that now, not innocent they say I believe that now, dangerous they say and I believe that now. I have lost my faith in everything but how ugly I want to think you are. Silly man, why haven’t you fought for me? I know you naked and dressed, beautiful and defaulted and lying and truthful, except I don’t think you ever were any of these. I read a poem and answered with nil worlds. I had tears in my eyes just for remembering you, but these are not farewell tears they are just from the smoke of my cigarette burning my fingers as I type this. I smash the cigarette softly in the ash tray thinking it’s you, burning your heart; though I have no desire to burn that heart that I carry within mine. I burn the cigarette and pause, what s next? What should I write, this is not written for you!!! This is written because I have nothing else to do as a closure, I had so many of those I can’t do it anymore. Maybe, just maybe because I don’t want to have a closure or “this” kind of closure. I want my hopes to remain the same, I surrender, I want to have you and I know I never will. Keeping you within seems the best I can do; knowing that now all this fakeness is over is not relief as much as surreal reality I don’t want. I will have my withdrawal ash tears and keep you within.
I saw your picture and I had this ache in my heart. I wanted to write to you and say it s over, but then whose choice was it, it’s not about who acted the last ending scene. It was over before it started. It was not over when I stopped calling you, it was not over when I stopped telling you my heart’s every beat, and it was not over when you answered and life seemed so sarcastic and I so lame. It was over before I did all that before stopping all that. It was over when we first met, in that wedding, how clichéd that is? I smile when I remember, I was not even yours that time and never was and never will be, but you were mine for split seconds when your walls went down, and you gaze. Your smiles don’t make sense, fake, they say I believe that now, not innocent they say I believe that now, dangerous they say and I believe that now. I have lost my faith in everything but how ugly I want to think you are. Silly man, why haven’t you fought for me? I know you naked and dressed, beautiful and defaulted and lying and truthful, except I don’t think you ever were any of these. I read a poem and answered with nil worlds. I had tears in my eyes just for remembering you, but these are not farewell tears they are just from the smoke of my cigarette burning my fingers as I type this. I smash the cigarette softly in the ash tray thinking it’s you, burning your heart; though I have no desire to burn that heart that I carry within mine. I burn the cigarette and pause, what s next? What should I write, this is not written for you!!! This is written because I have nothing else to do as a closure, I had so many of those I can’t do it anymore. Maybe, just maybe because I don’t want to have a closure or “this” kind of closure. I want my hopes to remain the same, I surrender, I want to have you and I know I never will. Keeping you within seems the best I can do; knowing that now all this fakeness is over is not relief as much as surreal reality I don’t want. I will have my withdrawal ash tears and keep you within.
The wine of your birthday
Shimy el yasmine my love…it was last year, the last day of the last month of spring, at the southern of my life. I am back now to my northern ordinary life, and it's just a letter to tell you about the wine of your birthday. I remembered it just today, with a glance of wine over listen the song "shime el yasmine"…have you listened to it? I am going to send you a music file with the email; I like to call it letter because it sounds more romantic. I couldn’t make much sense why I should listen to it, you should be listening to it.
I know this might sound like a patronizing way to put, but it's just a letter to you, and who are you except my love, or so it seemed to feel; anyhow I listened to it, I really listened to it and you made me feel this way. I was too much of a girl – subordinate this makes me, damn it I don’t care- in love with you and for you would hurt and tremble. If it took me to clean your house and make your babies I would have done that. But remember the wine of your birthday. Sweet wine, she got it with her from France, so what if she came from France, I live there, and I got you the strongest perfume I could find.
I got drunk, I saw myself getting drunk, I saw me getting myself drunk, I saw me sipping that wine, I saw the drops running down on my chest and into my curving bosom. I saw him looking at me, you looking at her. Some parts of us were happy, I can tell you that, but did you ask yourself who she was looking at, who made her happy as you were filling my glass while shattering its' smudged tip with your heavy finger prints. You got me drunk, listened to me and kissed her. That was the first day of the summer of her life. That wine of your birthday, I didn’t drink from it in your health, I drank to drawn my non existing presence; it was tainted wine.
Are you happy now?! Confessions pouring down my lips running like salty water into your deaf ears and down my hollowed pours… were you smiling then, I wasn’t; but your eyes twinkled with pride for the victory over the old hag giving in and drawling dog barks over the new lamp shade to your stunned artificial organic pumping blood machinery… you smiled, but I didn’t. I didn’t smile as I said it all to you and you said it all to her; my wordings and pains and masochistic willings of love offerings and dumb lastings… everything love, everything.
I would not have done that to you, I would have hushed you up. Remember how I sipped the wine of your birthday, I wish you were that wine, I wish you making me warm and strong not to humiliate myself fearing acid burns to my twined guts. I would have picked you after you fall only to tuck you in a tub full with hot stings of fetish feelings, would have given you my humiliation in humble captured looks waiting for master's appraisal.
Remember that wine of your birthday, it crippled me and castrated you. That wine of your birthday, will always make me sing "itzakar tensany….remember to forget me"….but it will always make you sing "itzakar…itzakar…itzakar… tezkourny….remember, remember, remember to remember me". See now how skeletonized we both will turn up to be in moments to come.
Give my love to the family
And farewells to you.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
I m untold....(10 mins monologue)
"I am untold"
10 minutes in -performancefor stage A monologue
By Nawara Belal
February 2011
The stage is set in a psychiatric clinic, at the middle of the stage there is a sign in bold "Shrink's Office". The set is all white with two leather big black armchairs, and a chaise lounge with a white long lamp shade. .
A male nurse who is young and a little blond with not so heavy sexy beard sits at left side of the stage , seeming all full of himself and acting all macho, flirting with someone outside the room. There is a no smoking sign above the desk of the nurse. At the other end of the stage (the right) there is the sign of "Doctor's Office" .
The hereon Nadine is in the middle of the stage and keeps moving from one armed chair to the other, fearing actually to sit on the chaise lounge, but finally stares at it and sits on it and with a move of her leg turn it into a corner and sheds on the light of the lamp shade and that is all the lighting that is there.
At first she keeps looking back and forth at the nurse who gives her a wink every time she looks at him and finally does the Italian fuck you sign to him then stares at the audience form the corner she is sitting in.
She settles in the chair trying to cross her legs and act all posh and elegant trying to settle the sleeves of her dress that seems that it's not hers. Her legs keep falling off and finally she gets the chaise lounge at the middle of the stage and we hear the nurse mumbling something to her and again she does the Italian fuck you sign to him so he just mumbles his way out off stage.
She gets the chaise lounge and lamp shade to the middle, sits each leg apart at one side of the chair and shakes her head.
Nadine:
Ayah
She stairs with tears in her eyes at the audience for half a second.
SILENCE
Damn you me
Well…okay, what day is today…ohm SATURDAY, because yesterday was FRIDAY…?
Pauses and starts counting on her fingers and mumbles
Talks to the audience.
yeah SATURDAY the first… you must all now that yesterday was New Year's eve, what the hell are you all doing here, aren't you as fucked up like me with a horrible hangover
I wonder who else knows, I wonder if I totally know, I mean I haven't seen any blood, but I was sober, wasn't I, I mean nothing happened…
Looks at the audience with a sarcastic look
You know what I mean with nothing happened…yes don't act all fool at me, we all know that ALL EXCEPT means nothing. All except, very simple phrase to say…as if all that matters is the 2 centimeters down there that makes all the difference. That is all that identifies who I am, but wait, didn't the Chinese feel for us and designed one that costs round 75 pounds. Damn, I wasted my chance last night and saved 75 pounds.
Points at one end of the stage and say with her head down
…that man that ugly stupid man says all except means something, he said this before, what can I say, that I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty, but I don’t feel guilty, I don't feel I did anything wrong…is that weird, is it weird that I loved the sensation of it all?. The way he took off my blouse, they way he smiled at me and said everything is alright. The way he knows I did it before- the all except-, the way he kissed me while whispering in my ears that nothing between us will ever change, that he will keep walking after me when I get out of my session, makes me my coffee and gets me hash. That I can trust him, that I can keep turning back to him even after I get married. That he will devote himself to me. That this is not abuse, that this is love; that it is not true that we shouldn't be together. That he loved me like no man has ever loved before. I love the pain he inflicts upon me, the harshness of his palms on my body, the way he twists and flips me as if I don’t even exist, I lose my self to him, I lose me and become a doll he plays with and I m happy with that, I m happy because I m left with more and more scares that I m so much of a coward that I can't cause it myself, oh how much he loves me, how much I hate love, adore, fear him. How great he is that he knows I will get married and still want him, how much I despise everything about him…he is so damn good at making me reach the orgasm of the filth. We all know I wish I had him
Points at the place where the nurse was sitting
I wish I had him fully into me last night. We all know I still don’t love him but love the way he caresses me, how I feel warm like no pill, no dope, no drink, no thing had ever made me feel before
Turns to one side of the chair and puts her head between her legs and sings
I feel pretty, all so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and gay, I feel charming, all so charming, blah blah
Well
Gets her head up and straightens herself with a leg crossed and gets a cigarette to smoke and looks at the no smoking sign and throws away and continues to the audience
You were all there, you are all always watching me, I can feel your breaths and hear you murmuring and laughing, you and you and God and the angels
Points to the doctor's office
so, you must know the shit hole I have been in and I' m supposed to go in there and say I hated it and I hated him and I want a drug to make me forget it all and act like a good girl, and cry for forgiveness…but no non no I felt happy, it was beautifully ugly and dirty and disgusting and charmingly filthy, I felt like I belonged there, that I was born to stay there forever, that the flies were like buzzing butterflies, and the ants were like those rats in Cinderella that turned into a fairy whatever heavenly creature; that the getting up the stairs for the 6th floor was a walk to heaven, that if he didn't call last night to confirm on today's session he would have never known what I was dying for, that this local brandy was greater than any whiskey and that his broken bed was the most comfortable I have ever laid on and YES it was charming.
What do you want from me? HA!! Don't treat me like a defendant it's not me who stinks of shit, I love the shit; and I m not a victim either.
Moves out of the chair and walks a silly walk, almost faints and puts her hand on the nurse's desk and he comes rushing in and gets her to the chaise lounge she looks at him with tears and pushes him away and he gets out off stage and she talks to the audience
You see he is not all so bad himself
She stands up about to fall and the nurse comes in for rescue when she waves at him to get out she acts all macho herself
Pointing at the doctor's office
Well here is the plan, I'm gonna go in there and say I did it, I did it and I'm happy, I'm gonna turn lesbian if I want, I'm free, I'm a NEUROTIC FREE NADINE. I gonna tell him that I don't need his medication, that I haven't taken them for 3 months now and I'm doing great. That his son is not even a man, YOUR SON IS GAY, he is a fag. You don't know how humiliated I feel around him; the hot shot to be famous shrink. He is kind I know, but he knows everything about me that I feel totally naked in front of him -except the all except- Why does he accept me, why does he want me, why doesn't he hurt me like every other man I have ever known. How come he says I deserve the best, doesn't he know how pathetic I am? Will he bear the nights when I cry myself to sleep from the pain coming from every pore of my
body? Will he bear the days I spend all long in bed staring at the ceiling wishing the clock would stop ticking? He is a fag …he sees me drawing and says he sees through my badness into a purity of a freakin soul….that beautiful guy saw me drawing a butterfly on a napkin ..He didn't see I was bored, he saw I was talented, he said I can be a painter…that "self realization" can get me through. What a nerd? He thinks that all the books he reads mean anything to me!!! I don't want what he offers, I want Me, everybody wants to change me and they don't know how addictive this pain is, how what he offers of a better life, painless life just doesn't work for me. I'll always have these scars on my wrist, and if the pain goes away and they stay where will that leave me? I just wonder if he wants me to taint him, but he is too good for me to do so, he is a man beyond fault. I know I will taint him, I m just too bad…he is too good.
Falls on the ground and holds her wrist and says
DON’T TRY TO FIX ME I'M NOT BROKEEN.
She is about to say something pointing her finger at the audience when a bell from the doctor's office rings, she behaves herself and moves towards the side of the stage and we see her at the side making a military hand shake and says as she walks out and we just hear her voice
Yes sir, all is fine,
No I didn’t drink last night sir,
Yes I came home early,
Yes I'm ready to get married,
Yes sir I love your son sir,
Yes I'm happy to marry him, yes he is the best man ever
No sir I'm not gonna be naughty
Yes sir I take my medication
Yes… yes… yes…
The End.
10 minutes in -performancefor stage A monologue
By Nawara Belal
February 2011
The stage is set in a psychiatric clinic, at the middle of the stage there is a sign in bold "Shrink's Office". The set is all white with two leather big black armchairs, and a chaise lounge with a white long lamp shade. .
A male nurse who is young and a little blond with not so heavy sexy beard sits at left side of the stage , seeming all full of himself and acting all macho, flirting with someone outside the room. There is a no smoking sign above the desk of the nurse. At the other end of the stage (the right) there is the sign of "Doctor's Office" .
The hereon Nadine is in the middle of the stage and keeps moving from one armed chair to the other, fearing actually to sit on the chaise lounge, but finally stares at it and sits on it and with a move of her leg turn it into a corner and sheds on the light of the lamp shade and that is all the lighting that is there.
At first she keeps looking back and forth at the nurse who gives her a wink every time she looks at him and finally does the Italian fuck you sign to him then stares at the audience form the corner she is sitting in.
She settles in the chair trying to cross her legs and act all posh and elegant trying to settle the sleeves of her dress that seems that it's not hers. Her legs keep falling off and finally she gets the chaise lounge at the middle of the stage and we hear the nurse mumbling something to her and again she does the Italian fuck you sign to him so he just mumbles his way out off stage.
She gets the chaise lounge and lamp shade to the middle, sits each leg apart at one side of the chair and shakes her head.
Nadine:
Ayah
She stairs with tears in her eyes at the audience for half a second.
SILENCE
Damn you me
Well…okay, what day is today…ohm SATURDAY, because yesterday was FRIDAY…?
Pauses and starts counting on her fingers and mumbles
Talks to the audience.
yeah SATURDAY the first… you must all now that yesterday was New Year's eve, what the hell are you all doing here, aren't you as fucked up like me with a horrible hangover
I wonder who else knows, I wonder if I totally know, I mean I haven't seen any blood, but I was sober, wasn't I, I mean nothing happened…
Looks at the audience with a sarcastic look
You know what I mean with nothing happened…yes don't act all fool at me, we all know that ALL EXCEPT means nothing. All except, very simple phrase to say…as if all that matters is the 2 centimeters down there that makes all the difference. That is all that identifies who I am, but wait, didn't the Chinese feel for us and designed one that costs round 75 pounds. Damn, I wasted my chance last night and saved 75 pounds.
Points at one end of the stage and say with her head down
…that man that ugly stupid man says all except means something, he said this before, what can I say, that I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty, but I don’t feel guilty, I don't feel I did anything wrong…is that weird, is it weird that I loved the sensation of it all?. The way he took off my blouse, they way he smiled at me and said everything is alright. The way he knows I did it before- the all except-, the way he kissed me while whispering in my ears that nothing between us will ever change, that he will keep walking after me when I get out of my session, makes me my coffee and gets me hash. That I can trust him, that I can keep turning back to him even after I get married. That he will devote himself to me. That this is not abuse, that this is love; that it is not true that we shouldn't be together. That he loved me like no man has ever loved before. I love the pain he inflicts upon me, the harshness of his palms on my body, the way he twists and flips me as if I don’t even exist, I lose my self to him, I lose me and become a doll he plays with and I m happy with that, I m happy because I m left with more and more scares that I m so much of a coward that I can't cause it myself, oh how much he loves me, how much I hate love, adore, fear him. How great he is that he knows I will get married and still want him, how much I despise everything about him…he is so damn good at making me reach the orgasm of the filth. We all know I wish I had him
Points at the place where the nurse was sitting
I wish I had him fully into me last night. We all know I still don’t love him but love the way he caresses me, how I feel warm like no pill, no dope, no drink, no thing had ever made me feel before
Turns to one side of the chair and puts her head between her legs and sings
I feel pretty, all so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and gay, I feel charming, all so charming, blah blah
Well
Gets her head up and straightens herself with a leg crossed and gets a cigarette to smoke and looks at the no smoking sign and throws away and continues to the audience
You were all there, you are all always watching me, I can feel your breaths and hear you murmuring and laughing, you and you and God and the angels
Points to the doctor's office
so, you must know the shit hole I have been in and I' m supposed to go in there and say I hated it and I hated him and I want a drug to make me forget it all and act like a good girl, and cry for forgiveness…but no non no I felt happy, it was beautifully ugly and dirty and disgusting and charmingly filthy, I felt like I belonged there, that I was born to stay there forever, that the flies were like buzzing butterflies, and the ants were like those rats in Cinderella that turned into a fairy whatever heavenly creature; that the getting up the stairs for the 6th floor was a walk to heaven, that if he didn't call last night to confirm on today's session he would have never known what I was dying for, that this local brandy was greater than any whiskey and that his broken bed was the most comfortable I have ever laid on and YES it was charming.
What do you want from me? HA!! Don't treat me like a defendant it's not me who stinks of shit, I love the shit; and I m not a victim either.
Moves out of the chair and walks a silly walk, almost faints and puts her hand on the nurse's desk and he comes rushing in and gets her to the chaise lounge she looks at him with tears and pushes him away and he gets out off stage and she talks to the audience
You see he is not all so bad himself
She stands up about to fall and the nurse comes in for rescue when she waves at him to get out she acts all macho herself
Pointing at the doctor's office
Well here is the plan, I'm gonna go in there and say I did it, I did it and I'm happy, I'm gonna turn lesbian if I want, I'm free, I'm a NEUROTIC FREE NADINE. I gonna tell him that I don't need his medication, that I haven't taken them for 3 months now and I'm doing great. That his son is not even a man, YOUR SON IS GAY, he is a fag. You don't know how humiliated I feel around him; the hot shot to be famous shrink. He is kind I know, but he knows everything about me that I feel totally naked in front of him -except the all except- Why does he accept me, why does he want me, why doesn't he hurt me like every other man I have ever known. How come he says I deserve the best, doesn't he know how pathetic I am? Will he bear the nights when I cry myself to sleep from the pain coming from every pore of my
body? Will he bear the days I spend all long in bed staring at the ceiling wishing the clock would stop ticking? He is a fag …he sees me drawing and says he sees through my badness into a purity of a freakin soul….that beautiful guy saw me drawing a butterfly on a napkin ..He didn't see I was bored, he saw I was talented, he said I can be a painter…that "self realization" can get me through. What a nerd? He thinks that all the books he reads mean anything to me!!! I don't want what he offers, I want Me, everybody wants to change me and they don't know how addictive this pain is, how what he offers of a better life, painless life just doesn't work for me. I'll always have these scars on my wrist, and if the pain goes away and they stay where will that leave me? I just wonder if he wants me to taint him, but he is too good for me to do so, he is a man beyond fault. I know I will taint him, I m just too bad…he is too good.
Falls on the ground and holds her wrist and says
DON’T TRY TO FIX ME I'M NOT BROKEEN.
She is about to say something pointing her finger at the audience when a bell from the doctor's office rings, she behaves herself and moves towards the side of the stage and we see her at the side making a military hand shake and says as she walks out and we just hear her voice
Yes sir, all is fine,
No I didn’t drink last night sir,
Yes I came home early,
Yes I'm ready to get married,
Yes sir I love your son sir,
Yes I'm happy to marry him, yes he is the best man ever
No sir I'm not gonna be naughty
Yes sir I take my medication
Yes… yes… yes…
The End.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Its Okay
It's Okay
She woke up thinking of how alone she felt; among her family, the man sleeping next to her. Every night they kiss goodnight and turn their backs to each other and sleep fearing the coming night.
Nine months they pretend and touch each other only in public. They do everything the same, acting has become not only a habit for them but also a truth they are living…it got them closer together in a very sick way, it's the only thing that they have agreed on for 3 years now. They do it perfectly, in a way that they started to like it. They started to think it's what is meant to be. It is the dream every couple was looking for and couldn’t reach; they thought they have found the realm behind the reality. They had nothing to talk about anymore but the felt they couldn’t stop having dinner together, they had wine and candles every now and again just as proof that there was something romantic behind the nightmare, behind their abstaining from unity turning to lonesome. She stopped thinking about it, she stopped slapping him on the face when she senses he was with another woman, he stopped pushing her to the wall when he smells some other man's essence on her body. They stopped having make up sex because there was nothing anymore to make up for. There was nothing to make up for …they stopped making love, they stopped having rough sex, they stopped having sympathy sex and they stopped making out. They stopped cheating on each other because they stopped having any desire, they both became asexual creatures. They tried, believe you me, they tried …she never made him see her naked and he always wanted sex in the dark. Now they have showers together, they bath each other and feel nothing. They touch each other yet can't see a body just a shadow, an echo of something past. They watch T.V together and sometimes she falls asleep on his legs; he tries to move his fingers through her hair and fails; yet he holds her and puts her in bed.
They go out a lot now, they feel ecstasy when they pretend, maybe that s the only time they get turned on, they look like an amazing couple, she glows and he seems all so macho and they r like they can't take their hands of off each other. People feel jealous; their ex-affairs try the harder and harder to win them back. But they don't want anyone else anymore, they can't…they don’t want to be exposed.
She woke up thinking of how alone she felt; among her family, the man sleeping next to her. Every night they kiss goodnight and turn their backs to each other and sleep fearing the coming night. They started fearing what's next. They are not married, they have no kids, and they have nothing but the nothing they live in. they can't leave and fear to go on…again they have become identical, they are both so damn connected to each other and get the hell scared to sleep alone; they try to hug each other while sleeping and feel suffocating.
Shall we get married, she asked and he agreed, he said lets have babies and she said yes. But they did nothing, evolving is not a game they can play.
She woke up thinking of how alone she felt; among her family, the man sleeping next to her. Every night they kiss goodnight and turn their backs to each other and sleep fearing the coming night.
She woke up thinking of how alone she felt; among her family, the man sleeping next to her. Every night they kiss goodnight and turn their backs to each other and sleep fearing the coming night.
Nine months they pretend and touch each other only in public. They do everything the same, acting has become not only a habit for them but also a truth they are living…it got them closer together in a very sick way, it's the only thing that they have agreed on for 3 years now. They do it perfectly, in a way that they started to like it. They started to think it's what is meant to be. It is the dream every couple was looking for and couldn’t reach; they thought they have found the realm behind the reality. They had nothing to talk about anymore but the felt they couldn’t stop having dinner together, they had wine and candles every now and again just as proof that there was something romantic behind the nightmare, behind their abstaining from unity turning to lonesome. She stopped thinking about it, she stopped slapping him on the face when she senses he was with another woman, he stopped pushing her to the wall when he smells some other man's essence on her body. They stopped having make up sex because there was nothing anymore to make up for. There was nothing to make up for …they stopped making love, they stopped having rough sex, they stopped having sympathy sex and they stopped making out. They stopped cheating on each other because they stopped having any desire, they both became asexual creatures. They tried, believe you me, they tried …she never made him see her naked and he always wanted sex in the dark. Now they have showers together, they bath each other and feel nothing. They touch each other yet can't see a body just a shadow, an echo of something past. They watch T.V together and sometimes she falls asleep on his legs; he tries to move his fingers through her hair and fails; yet he holds her and puts her in bed.
They go out a lot now, they feel ecstasy when they pretend, maybe that s the only time they get turned on, they look like an amazing couple, she glows and he seems all so macho and they r like they can't take their hands of off each other. People feel jealous; their ex-affairs try the harder and harder to win them back. But they don't want anyone else anymore, they can't…they don’t want to be exposed.
She woke up thinking of how alone she felt; among her family, the man sleeping next to her. Every night they kiss goodnight and turn their backs to each other and sleep fearing the coming night. They started fearing what's next. They are not married, they have no kids, and they have nothing but the nothing they live in. they can't leave and fear to go on…again they have become identical, they are both so damn connected to each other and get the hell scared to sleep alone; they try to hug each other while sleeping and feel suffocating.
Shall we get married, she asked and he agreed, he said lets have babies and she said yes. But they did nothing, evolving is not a game they can play.
She woke up thinking of how alone she felt; among her family, the man sleeping next to her. Every night they kiss goodnight and turn their backs to each other and sleep fearing the coming night.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
you disgust me...I love you
You disgust me…I love you
You disgust me, your so-called strength disgusts me, and your love for life disgusts me. I have a feeling u r lost though; I have no clue who you are and you don't me neither. I pretend I m there in every move, but have no clue how you see me, do you comprehend me? Do you even know I am there, or just a shadow to your existence that you try to hide and cast a spell on so that I would never reclaim myself in you. I see myself, very far at the bottom of you, swapped and dragged back with your footsteps. Step by step and I fall apart. I see you love yourself more than you love me (ain't we one and the same), I don't wanna show you who and how I am. I don't wanna burn you inside me like you did me. I don't wanna screw you, like you screwed me; I don't wanna make you sorry. What!!! Ha…I can't, well, let us wait and see…maybe I can't because of that last embrace…yeah…wait, remember, remember when we used to dress up and play tea parties. Just you and me, and that old wooden setting, mama got us; remember when you used to build me that tent of pillows and the bed sheet under the kitchen table that you used to drag only you because I was small and tiny; you used to make fun of me and then hold me tight and lull me to sleep. Remember when we used to snuggle in each other one body one soul one entity. But you sold us out, you grew up, you say your strong and I am weak, you say I hold you back; but I m part of you, even if you are strong I can make you the strongest with my gentle weakness, if you are great I can make you greatest with my serene humbleness, if you are beautiful I can make you the most beautiful with my amazing defaults. Tell me, when you leave me here, what will become of me, and where shall I go; deserted and lonely, in that darkest hole so deep in the ground that you will only listen to sassing of a voice and not even an echo, I have an ego of my own but I would swallow my pride just to go on a ride with you, a ride in that green road of a childhood so far away yet so close. I want to tell you so much, I want you back. But I don’t want to retrieve you, but I want YOU to retrieve me. I want you to take me back, a part of you and not a zombie that you forecast. I love you.
You disgust me, your so-called strength disgusts me, and your love for life disgusts me. I have a feeling u r lost though; I have no clue who you are and you don't me neither. I pretend I m there in every move, but have no clue how you see me, do you comprehend me? Do you even know I am there, or just a shadow to your existence that you try to hide and cast a spell on so that I would never reclaim myself in you. I see myself, very far at the bottom of you, swapped and dragged back with your footsteps. Step by step and I fall apart. I see you love yourself more than you love me (ain't we one and the same), I don't wanna show you who and how I am. I don't wanna burn you inside me like you did me. I don't wanna screw you, like you screwed me; I don't wanna make you sorry. What!!! Ha…I can't, well, let us wait and see…maybe I can't because of that last embrace…yeah…wait, remember, remember when we used to dress up and play tea parties. Just you and me, and that old wooden setting, mama got us; remember when you used to build me that tent of pillows and the bed sheet under the kitchen table that you used to drag only you because I was small and tiny; you used to make fun of me and then hold me tight and lull me to sleep. Remember when we used to snuggle in each other one body one soul one entity. But you sold us out, you grew up, you say your strong and I am weak, you say I hold you back; but I m part of you, even if you are strong I can make you the strongest with my gentle weakness, if you are great I can make you greatest with my serene humbleness, if you are beautiful I can make you the most beautiful with my amazing defaults. Tell me, when you leave me here, what will become of me, and where shall I go; deserted and lonely, in that darkest hole so deep in the ground that you will only listen to sassing of a voice and not even an echo, I have an ego of my own but I would swallow my pride just to go on a ride with you, a ride in that green road of a childhood so far away yet so close. I want to tell you so much, I want you back. But I don’t want to retrieve you, but I want YOU to retrieve me. I want you to take me back, a part of you and not a zombie that you forecast. I love you.
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