22 Feb 2008


The feeling of distress and the urge to talk and share have been drilling into me. How can one bear a life without deep sharing? It is almost impossible. Maybe it is just that not everyone has something to share or even care about finding if he has anything. What is better than just living and eating and that's about it. Sink oneself in day-to-day activities and just survive. And most people just do that. No worries. Just depriving oneself from speaking up; manage to block out anything they feel; transform themseleves to robots and machines.

Well, it is easier that way.

And it is easier for me the other way. To feel and allow myself to be triggered, to talk and share, and express and wonder between me and myself what is happening. I am not dead and I want to enjoy as much as I want to suffer. But this is me.

I woke up early. Weather was nice. Sunny. Blue sky. I took my book and went to drink hot choclate. Picked my usual spot near the window and sat there. It was still so quiet and traffic was slow. I read beautiful pieces in the book that has been causing me a lot of depression but I enjoy the very word of it. It is almost me writing this book. Even my friend N. and A. said that I wrote like her and there are similarities. Well, I am not virginia wolf but I might be this one. Closer to me. I can feel that.

I finished my drink, and decided to go for a walk. For some weird reason, I just found myself remembering vividly my time when I was 12-16 years old. What a complicated and hard time!! My friends? What I was like? Who I was at that time really? My thoughts and confusion? What I was feeling? Tons of memories kept crawling vigrously to my mind. I even wrote all these in my head. I kept walking for almost an hour with stories and analysis popping in my head. My lips talking and narrating sometimes aloud, other inside. It was amazing. I was surprised. What triggered all that was a sentence I wrote today in my diary with my blue ink pen: 'I guess I have been secretive all my life.' And yes I am. Luckily or sadly. I have always been.

In the midst of that, a friend called. I found myself agreeing to meet and go for a walk and brunch in zamalek. I was for a moment juggling with the feeling to go home write, or go along with him. I chose the later. I guess I needed to talk or listen to something.

We went for a walk in the right side of zamalek. Passed by a furniture store which I like. I was browsing for furniture for my apartment although I know we are not sure how we would want it, and maybe still not a priority now. But i like to see ideas and maybe when he comes back we can talk about it.

Anyways, we went to the italian restaurant, ordered and ate. I was like a machine I suppose. He was super nice and very accomodating but I just listened to the talks and tried to be nice. Nodding and talking. Listening. Trying to make the company light and enjoyable. After we were done, we passed by the supermarket close by. I got bread and cheese then walked back and I went home.

But there was something missing. In me not in anyone else. I was disconnected. Spaced out. I guess the terrible missing was haunting me. In the streets, the food, the supermarket, there was this routine that I was used to and was missing. I could almost hear a voice saying, 'this is not the way it was done before. This is not the feeling you used to get.' It was sad. I was sad. Not on the outside, but in the deep inside. I could see this look, as if I am watching myself looking to some old scenes playing; searching for these feelings and almost begging the food, the streets, even the company to be similar to the known, the familiar. But nothing would obey me.

I say to myself,'maybe only now they will not obey you, but later they will. Or maybe I will just forget. Or deny!'


Anonymous Anonymous said...

where is this italian restaurant? I am new to zamalek and been doing a lot of walking myself and discovering. Maybe we will pop to one another.

2/23/2008 07:47:00 am  

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