Prisoner of Freedom

The butterfly he sings
Songs of freedom as he runs
He builds on air and breaks down bones
And crumbles in the all alone
The butterfly, without wings
Plasters out the sun
He sucks the air from all the flowers
Sleepless lest he waste the hours
Lonely every waking dawn
Battling loneliness alone
Oh butterfly, how don’t you see?
You fly in circles around me
Every time dazzled by the first glance
Of brilliant colors that momentarily
Put you in a trance
Till you hear that freedom song
Pouring restlessness back
Into your soul where it belongs
Oh butterfly, how don’t you learn?
Oh butterfly, why won’t I learn?

Temporary Peace for the Obsessive Mind

In the vicinity of a lifetime and the serenity that surrounds, I contemplate and fail to find a time when I was mine. In the pebbles and the stones stuck between my finger toes, I walk this walk and talk the talk of complete apathy. Deranged from the estrangement of a day so complete, and a logic – so obsolete.
In a day as hot and dry with the mountains covered by bits of gray, that just may plummet and scare any man and I would not remotely care; the water between here and there dazes me today.
Crawls up to my feet and teases my dress, I smile at the breeze and this sneeze is the first sign of life today, has that much of my day been thrown away?
In the mirror of the water, stirred and blurred and placid in judgment, I see;
I am swept; I have kept my sanity even though.
In the watery blueness of the sky and thus the sea, as I walk down this sanctuary beach do I look like I breach my vows to me repeatedly? Do I look like I; have no will over thoughts, no skill over knots?
With the mess that is my hair, and the aura of no care, as I slowly walk and peacefully talk to myself, can anyone see the shrewd apathy?

I sit down for a while, and I know that my smile is at the bitter cynicism lifted from my chest if only for now. I know that if you sat by the tip of this sea, you would not have these same thoughts of me. I know that when you stroke my face to take away my breath, you will soon break me a little more. I know that when you quiver every time I shiver to the words of surrender uttered, you move farther away from the girl that makes you shudder.
How selfish must I be, to want all of you for me? How greedy, how needy, to not enjoy the bliss of you, knowing I inevitably look forward - to missing you.
In the stillness of this illness, of a love so blinding enhanced in an evening so unwinding that I ache for the peace of rationale asked and pleaded for in both anger and despair.
You see as you wrecked your mind, and I went blind, all the words were said, and all the meanings of the words had left.
As I drained you for the meaning of my being, and the facing of my fears, you got used – to wiping tears.
In the mind’s trap of lifelessness and distancing from this world, where you are the comfort and the reason for discomfort every other place, I yearn for what used to be personal space and is now just a gap where I’m alone.
When you are all that rights me and every breath within you fights me, when you caress while you undress my many shields, you break my heels.

What is it about this captivating day, that makes me push you just a little bit away, far enough to see, what I in comparison to you – mean to me?
What is it about all this blue that makes me recognize my demons in you? Yet makes me know that I would walk down those footsteps and would block, all that would harm you, or contemplate separating me – from you.
What is it about this sea that eases the pain of this weakness in me? That stills the soreness and relieves the mind, no one is blind and no one can be rendered unkind.
Of the many choices, and the countless voices, you are who you are - to me.

I can have some peace; as timeless as this sanctuary beach and this day, I as always, choose to live – for today.

My Barbie House

I miss my Barbie house. I am sitting at work (obviously not working) and i suddenly remembered that i miss my Barbie house that is back in Cairo carefully packed away in its original (yes, original) box.
I remember the day i got that house, It was either my 5th or 6th birthday, I was in Gedda with my mom and sister for the summer visiting my dad who worked there. And on my birthday my dad took me to the toy store and told me to pick whatever i liked!
"Anything i like?" i asked
"Anything you like" he reassured me.
"Anything at all??"
"Yes, anything at all as long as it is one gift, pick wisely"

And like the smart kid i was, i headed straight to the big boxes section, and picked out this beautiful two story house for Barbie, which is a cottage in the winter and opens into a cool summer house in the summer. I kept that house in Gedda, to play with whenever i went there. I remember spending hours in that living room, with the comforting sound of family watching TV behind me.

My dad died one or two years later, I don't know for sure coz i can't remember if it was my 5th or 6th birthday, and my mom went to bring him home.
Somehow that woman, through that, sat down on the living room floor and packed her 6 year old's Barbie house and shipped it home to me, completely intact. Just another reminder of why she is and always will be my hero.

If i read back this post is bloody depressing, but somehow that Barbie house is a very happy memory for me, it represents both my parents unconditional love, and the memory of it makes me smile.

I miss my Barbie house.... maybe i'll bring it back with me next time i go home!
Then i'm sure the check-in people at the airport will have seen it all from me...

"Thank you...."

He thanks me for everything, for my patience, for my softness
For being me
I feel some anger creep up on me, is this his way of telling me he will not do the same?
For a minute I feel like I have been cheated, but it passes as he continues talking…
And for that again I feel cheated out of my common sense
Every time we speak he thanks me
I think I am too busy listening to the different tones in his voice to be hearing what he is actually saying
I am too engrossed in surmising the curving of the lines of his face through this phone
I am too mesmerized to know exactly what I think of all these thank yous…
After all, how often is he there at all?
This soul of shadows appearing every now and then to overshadow all that I am…
This man of shadows thanking me for being me as I laugh lightly through every appearance
Pretending that his next episode of disappearance will not be noticed
Will not only be tolerable because I have pictures of him to flip through on the harder days
He thanks me for everything, for the person that I am
And I wonder in amazement, doesn’t he know?

Detachment

I don't miss home. It was once painful to hear about my friends outings, or a trip they were going on together to Sharm or Marsa Alam, and every Sunday night I'd be aching from the longing to listen to west el balad, my weekly fix. I would look around the streets of France wondering how I managed to find myself in a place so far away from where I fitted and belonged. Don't even get me started about my mother, lets not go there, I never thought I could be away from her for more than a week at a time.

I have not been home since February, and for the past nine months I have not missed home.

Have I detached? Have I changed? Is it fixable? Is this normal?
With all the people crying about homesickness, I feel very left out....

Everything French

I've been living in this country for over a year and a half now, I didn't want to come, and after accepting the French for who they are, comprehending that there is no shorter/more logical way to open a bank account, rent an apartment, fix your car, get groceries or pay for fuel, after adjusting to the fact that they whine endlessly, talk obsessively about trivia, and comfort you when they are wrong "c'est pas grave", I must admit, I have grown to love this country.
However, please note, that my French sucks. So if you feel the urge to comment in French because my location states "France", please resist, as I will not, cannot, respond beyond the bracket of the three most basic tenses and the very limited vocabulary I have acquired for managing my job, ordering food and buying stuff.

I tell you early on in the blog, so please note the seriousness.
Spare yourselves, and more importantly, spare me.

To blog...or not to blog

So he told me i should give blogging a try... he also said that I was unbalanced, amongst other things... and with the amount of analyzing and suppressing i do I kind of see the point..... maybe this will light the path of my ever evolving mission to be free......

so why blog? hmmmm.... why not?
That's usually my reason for doing anything anyway....