فلتعترف أنك تحبها

نعم، أنت تحبها. لم تتوقف يوما عن حبها. ما زلت تشعر بالإحساس نفسه عندما تراها. تعطيها يدك لتلقى التحية و بداخلك صوت يصرح بأنك لم تكن يوما تريد هذا. لم تكن يوما تريد الفراق. تقول أن أصعب ما فى الفراق هو أنك ترآها أينما ذهبت. ترآها و تنظر إليها فتتأكد من أنها لا تكرهك. تراها و تعلم أن بداخلها شخص يريد الشئ نفسه. تعلم أنها ما زالت متعلقة بما مررتم به. تعلم أنها ما زالت متمسكة بالذكرايات. ولكنك تعلم أنها بالرغم من هذا لم تعد متعلقة بك أنت كشخص. لم تعد متمسكة بحبك. هل تظن أنها لا زالت تحبك؟ إن كان هذا هو سبب تواجدك حتى الآن فمن الأفضل أن ترحل. فهى لم تعد تحبك و لكنى أعلم أنها تحب وجودك حولها. تقنعك بأنها لم تعد تفكر فى الموضوع ولكنى أعلم أنها لا تفكر إلا فيه. أراك تلقى عليها التحية ولا تعرف كيفية التعامل معها. تنظر إليها و أنت تعلم أنكما تفكران فى الشئ ذاته و لكنك تفضل السكوت. فهذا ما تندم عليه أنت. تفضل السكوت لأنك تخشى الكلام. تخشى أن ينقلب الكلام ضدك فتلتزم الصمت. يسألونك عنها فتتذكر. يسألونها عنك فتتظاهر بأنها لا تعلم شيئا. لكنى فى الواقع على علم بأنها لم تكف يوما عن التفكير فيما فقدته. نعم، تعترف بأنها ليست نادمة على ما فعلت لأن هذه النار المشتعلة التى يمكن للشخص تسميتها بالحب لم تعد موجودة و لكنها رغم هذا تفتقدك. لا تفتقد حبك و لكنها تفتقد مساندتك. لا تفتقد هذه المشاعر التى لم تفهمها يوما و لكنها تفتقد صداقتك. لا تفتقد إتفاقك معها فى معظم الأحيان و لكنها تفتقد كونها شخص يفهمك. لا تفتقد محاولتك لاختراق هذا الجدار المصفح بداخل رأسها و لكنها تفتقد الجهد الذى بذلته أنت لفهم ما يدور برأسها. لا تفتقد قصصك التى قد سمعتها مرارا و تكرارا و لكنها تفتقد وثوقك فيها هى. تفتقد ما لم تصلوا إليه يوما. تفتقد ما لم تكونوا عليه يوما. تفتقد عدم وجودك. بالطبع تسأل نفسك من أين لى بكل هذه المعلومات؟ كيف توصلت إلى كل هذا؟ فهل هى استنتاجات أم حقائق؟ هل تعتقد أنى قد مررت بنفس التجربة من قبل؟ أفضل عدم الرد على هذه الأسئلة و لكنك تعلم أنى على حق. ولهذا سأحتفظ بإجابتى. نعم، أنت تحبها و هى تحبك و هذا كل ما أعلمه.

.

فهل تستحقى العناء؟ لم تتميزى يوما بطيبة القلب. فهل تستحقى البكاء؟ لم تعوضينى يوما عنه. فهل تستحقى أن أموت من أجلك؟ لم أشعر يوما بتقديرك. فهل تستحقى الكفاح؟ لم أشعر بتاتا بأنك مهتمة بى. فهل تستحقى أن أبقى من أجلك؟ لم تعطينى يوما سببا للبقاء. فهل تستحقى شعورى بالندم؟ لم تعطينى يوما بديلا. فهل تستحقى شعورى بالعجز؟ لم تبادرى يوما بحل أو مساعدة. فهل تستحقى الدم الذى سال فى شوارعك؟ لم تشعرينى يوما براحة القلب تجاهه. فهل تستحقى حب أهلك يا مصر؟ نعم و لكنى لم أفهم يوما لماذا.

Insignificant

Maybe you have no real friends. Maybe those you call your friends don't really exist. Maybe they don't count you in in their circle of friends. Maybe you think you understand them, but you actually don't. Maybe they don't even know you exist. That's just an assumption.
But what if that's true? What if your friends don't know you actually love them? What if you've misunderstood every word they've ever said? Or maybe misinterpreted whatever they said? What if your crazy thoughts were true? What if all the doubts you once had about your family, friends or even your religion were true? What if nobody knows the truth? What if none of that is true? What if the real answer hasn't been established yet? What if all those people claiming to be in charge of their life aren't? What if all these seemingly strong politicians cry themselves to sleep every night? What if books do change their contents?
The point I'm trying to make is: It's insignificant.

Edgy thoughts, one round table.

We're all sitting around this round table, everyone seems to be lost. My grandpa is talking about politics and another person is arguing with him. We're all somehow related by blood, but that's also where it ends. We don't know anything more than what we're called and where we live  about each other. I look at the guy sitting at the other end of the table. He seems to have problems, did he just go through a fight with his girlfriend? Did he confess his love to a girl that rejected him? It's always like that. I'd really like to know why he's so keen on this whole relationship issue. Why am I the only one who thinks it's a waste of time? My grandpa who was talking about politics stopped talking. His loud sigh reminded me to focus once again on the people sitting around that table. He himself looks lost. Why have I missed so many opportunities to get to know my own grandpa better? Why haven't I appreciated or cherished the time spent with him? I look around once again.
That woman over there doesn't like the food, but still compliments my grandma. She does that out of politeness. I think it's okay if she doesn't like it. I don't like it either. I realize I haven't even tried it yet, but I know I won't like it. I stay focused on these strangers. A girl my age is sitting across the table. She looks pretty and her thoughts are somewhere else. Does she know she's pretty? How many other people have noticed that but still chose to remain silent? I bet a lot of guys would love to call her theirs. Maybe she's in love? Maybe with the wrong person? Maybe not? Why is everything somehow related to love? The thought sickens me. I bet her parents aren't getting along well. She looks broken. Such couples shouldn't even consider the idea of having kids. They shouldn't give birth to children they would only eventually destroy. Too bad.
I look at that pissed off guy again. Meanwhile those adults start talking about politics again. I don't want to listen as such talks only provoke me. I look away to avoid the thought of having to explain why I still haven't eaten anything. Do they also think I look broken? I don't care enough to let them know anything about me. Yet I'd still like to know what they think when they look at me. Do they realize this smile on my face has become a habit and doesn't actually mean anything? We're supposedly one family but nobody really cares. Why aren't we sitting together like in those TV ads where everyone is so happy and cheerful? Oh, I remember, these were lies. Just like every other thing.

أستمعُ إليكِ

أستمعُ إليكِ بالرغم من أنى لم أفهم كلامك يوماً. أستمعُ إليكِ بالرغم من أنى لم أطبق ما تقولين يوماً على الواقع. أستمعُ إليكِ لأنى أخشى افتقاد كلامك إذا فقدتكِ. أستمعُ إليكِ بالرغم من أن كلامك لم يكن يوماً مهماً. أستمعُ إليكِ بالرغم من أنى أعلم ما ستقولين و ما تريدين الإشارة له. أستمعُ إليكِ بالرغم من أنى سمعت هذا الكلام مراراً و تكراراً من قبل. أستمعُ إليكِ رغم كل هذا. أستمعُ إليكِ لأنى أريدكُ أن تفخري بى فى يوم ما. أستمعُ إلي نصائحك التى لا طائل منها. أستمعُ إلي شرحك المتناهى. أستمعُ إلي كل ما تقولينه لى، لا لغرض الاستفادة بل لأنى أخاف أن أحتاجُ لكِ يوماً ولا أجدُكِ. أستمعُ إليكِ لأنى أعلم أنى حتماً سأفتقد نصائحك يوم تتركين هذا العالم. أستمعُ إليكِ و لكنى لا أنصت لكِ، أخشى فقدانك ولكنى لا أقدرُكِ، أكلمكِ ولكنى لا أحاورُكِ. أستمعُ إليكِ بالرغم من أنك لا تتكلمين، أستمع إلى ما لم ولن تقوليهِ أبداً. أستمعُ إليكِ.

 

 

 

 



واقعى الغائب

أنظر إليك كى أحاول استيعاب ما يحدث بداخلك. أنا أعلم أنك لم تنصت إلى أي شئ قلته. أنا أعلم أنك لا تفكر فى شئ إلا الهروب لأنك تفتقده أكثر مما ستفتقد كلامى يوما. أعلم أنك لم تنصت إلى لأنك على علم بأنك لن تفهم أي شئ على أى حال. أسألك ولا تجيب. عيناك سارحتان فى عالم آخر و عقلك غير واعى بما يحدث من حولك. هل أصبحت مملة إلى هذا الحد؟ هل هرمت حتى أنت من شكواى المتكررة و كلامى الذي لم يكن يوما مفهوما و شرحى المتناهى؟ أعلم أنك لم تعد تنتظر لقائى أو تشعر بأى شغف. أعلم أنك لم تفهم يوما سبب بكائى المتكرر أو سبب محاولتى إخفاء كل هذه المشاعر المتلطخة عنك. لكنى لم أكن أخفيها عنك، كنت فقط أخفيها عن العالم و عن نفسى. أنا أتفهم عدم فهمك لى أو لأفكارى و عدم رغبتك فى التواصل معى و مع ذلك مازلت متعلقة بك. و لكنى لا أفهم السبب. لا أستطيع فهم نفسى فكيف لك أنت أن تفهمنى؟ أنظر إليك بتعمق أكثر كى تزيد الصورة وضوحا و لكنها فى الواقع فى غاية الوضوح، لم تكن يوما أوضح. فالأمر واضح ولكنه واضح فقط فى خيالى لأكنك لم تكن يوما حقيقة. فأنت- مثل كل ما حدث و شعرت به من قبل- مجرد خيال ليس له أدنى صلة بالواقع. الواقع الذى لم أعد أفهمه. الواقع الذى لم أعد أستطيع التفرقة بينه و بين الخيال. لكنى رغم هذا متعلقة بالخيال و بصورتك التى فى ذهنى. و لهذا فأنا مازلت أنظر إليك. أنظر إليك كى أحاول إستيعاب ما بداخلك. أو ربما لأنى أريدك أنت أن تفهم ما بداخلى.

Just another possibility

What if the reason why I wear no makeup is that I'm afraid to cry and mess it all up?

What if the reason why I don't want to fall in love is that I haven't witnessed enough successful lovestories?

What if this whole life is a joke? What if you woke up one morning realizing that life really is as beautiful as elderly people say it is?
What if the world really is a pleasant place?

What if I hate watching television because of those ads claiming that life is a piece of cake? What if I hate movies because of how picture perfect they are?

What if I hate American movies because they try to monitor to the world that only money can get you happiness?

What if I read because that's the closest thing to running away?

What if you think I love you while I actually haven't even noticed your presence?

What if I only listen to you because I'm afraid you might walk away if you knew I don't get a word you say?

What if I like watching devastating news because they give me an excuse to cry without feeling petty?

What if the world really does understand me?

What if friendship is nothing more than life's way of telling you that even though you'll have to go through shit, you won't be completely alone?

What if you really could grow up to be whoever you want? What if it's just you not putting enough effort into whatever you're doing?

What if this whole thing is an illusion? What if these words are only written in your mind and not on that screen?

What if I write to run away, because I'm too cowardly to speak up? And what if the only thing I've ever wanted was to run away?

أخافك أنت

أخافك، نعم أخافك أنت. أخاف التعرف عليك. أخاف معرفة ما قد يجعلنى أهتم بمعرفة المزيد. أخاف الوصول إلى ما قد يجعلنى أتعلق بك. أخاف وجود ما قد يكون مشترك بيننا. أخاف قربك. ولكنى أيضا أخاف بعدك. أخاف التعلق بك إلى مدى قد يجعلنى لا أرغب فى الرحيل. أخاف رحيلك أنت إذا تعلقت بك. أخاف تغلب طبعى على مما سيؤدي إلى رحيلي. أخاف الشئ الوحيد الذى أتقنه؛ الركود بعيدا. أخاف فهمك و عدم فهمك لى. أخاف تتبعك لى أينما ذهبت. أخاف حقيقتك و خيالك و كذبك و صدقك. أخاف حبك الذى لم أتأكد منه بعد. أخاف صحبتك. أخاف التماسك للاعذار. أخاف إنصاتك لى و عدم إنصاتك لى. أخاف فقدانك إلى الأبد. و لكنى أخاف البقاء. وعلى الأخص أخاف أن تبادلنى تفس هذا الشعور. أخاف صورتى لك، الصورة التى أدين لمخى نشأتها، لأنى على علم بعدم وجودك. نعم، أخافك أنت.

زى فاقد للمصداقية

زى آخر ظهر على التلفاز. منافق آخر بدأ الكلام. آرى وجهه و لكنى لا أسمع صوته. وجهه لا يشير إلى أنه حزين، وجهه يشير إلى عدم الإكتراث و عدم الإهتمام. أرفع صوت التلفاز لأفهم كلامه و لكن كلامه يبقى غير مفهوم. ماذا يقول؟ لماذا صوته مرتفع و يشير إلى الانفعال بينما تعابير وجهه هادئة؟ هل يمنعه نفاقه من قول ما يمكن أن نصدقه نحن؟ أم أصبح لا يتحلى حتى بمصداقية نفسه كى يجعلنا نحن نصدق ما يقول؟ هل أنتصر الكذب عليه؟ وارد. تظهر صور الكارثة على التلفاز فتبدأ أمى فى البكاء. لا أحاول تهدئتها، فهو موقف يستحق البكاء. هذا المسئول الذى لا أعرف اسمه حتى الآن يبكى هو الآخر، مما يجعل كلامه غير مفهوم على الإطلاق. فلماذا يبكى؟ هل يبكى بسبب منصبه الذى خسره؟ أم بسبب الضحايا؟ هل يبكى على نفسه التى خسرها ليحصل على السلطة؟ أم على نفاقه الذى لم يعد له أى مصداقية؟ على سياسته الفاشلة؟ هل من الممكن أن يكون بكائه هذا جزء لا يتجزأ من هذه التمثيلية الكاذبة؟ فهذا حال كل من يرتدي هذا الزي الأنيق متصوراً أنه قد يخفى ما بداخله من شر و نفاق فلماذا ننصت إليهم؟ ألتفت لأمى لأجدها تنظر إلى التلفاز بغضب. اسأل عن هوية هذا المنافق ولكنها لا تجيب إلا بسؤال آخر "هل من المهم أن تعرفى؟ فهو أحد المنافقين. لا يختلفون عن بعض فى شئ."

يوتوبيا،-أحمد خالد توفيق

"من أنا؟..دعنا من الأسماء..ما قيمة الأسماء عندما لا تختلف عن أى واحد آخر؟"
"...إن القراءة بالنسبة لى نوع رخيص من المخدرات. لا أفعل بها شيئا سوى الغياب عن الوعى. فى الماضى-تصور هذا-كانوا يقرءون من أجل اكتساب الوعي."

Alive yet dead

Why would someone want to die? I mean, why this desire? We're all going to die anyway. Why wish for something you know is going to happen eventually, sooner or later, one way or another? Why not instead wish to live? Why would one wish for something he knows nothing about? Death is one of those very few things mankind will never truly understand. You want your life to come to an end but you have no clue what is coming afterwards. One who is continuously wishing death on himself isn't particularly living. You've never tried living yet you want your life to come to an end. And you've never experienced death yet eagerly want to. How very messed up is that?
Since you've never experienced any of them, why not try to experience a decent life first? Living won't harm you as others have tried it, however death might as you don't even know what to expect.

Superficial thoughts, maybe?

Why can't we fully plan a day in advance? I mean, why can't we plan everything including how we react, who we meet, how we look like, what we say, how we feel in advance? I would like to be polite, act classy, look good, feel happy and most importantly meet everyone's expectations. Maybe we can't do that, because totally predictable days are boring? Is that it? I'd give up on everything I've mentioned above if I could just be capable of meeting people's expectations. Who wouldn't love to spend a whole day knowing everyone's pleased?

The problem is..

You give me a reassuring look and turn around to go on with the coversation you're having with your friend. You're talking with him, but you keep looking at me to make sure I'm not bored. Me getting to know your friends was your idea. I believe you thought that would make me get to know you better. The problem is, I don't want to.
I'm having small talk with your friends. You join us. You nod to every word I say. You probably think that would relieve me. The problem is, it doesn't. You act like you understand me, like I make sense. You discuss my thoughts with me without any disagreements. You agree to every word I say. You listen to me. Do you really think I make sense? Do you think what I say is understandable? The problem is, I don't make any sense. Why do you then pretend to know what I mean?
Do you think that would impress me? That we think alike? The problem is, I don't get myself. How can someone get me and fully understand what I am saying when I myself can't understand what I am saying? Besides, I wouldn't be too happy to know that we think alike. That would mean you're also totally messed up.
I got lost in my thoughts, you keep repeating my name until I finally come back to the real world. You introduce me to a friend of yours. The problem is, I'm not interested in any of this. I didn't even want to come, but you made it sound like I had no other choice. Why do I listen to you? Is it because I want to figure you out? Because that would give me one more chance to get to know you better? To understand the reason for your behaviour? I look at you during that introduction. Your eyes sparkle. Why are you so happy? Are you proud of yourself because you're accompanied by someone? Is it because you think you've impressed me? Or because you think I'm drawn to you? The problem is, I'm not. At all. Why do you guys care about being seen with a girl in public more than you care about the girl herself? The problem is, that's superficial.
Your friend gives you a victorious look that is followed by a wink. I can't understand what that means. Does that mean you both think I'm drawn to you? Do you really think I could possibly be attracted to you? Why? Do I even know you well enough? The problem is, I don't. All I know is that you are good at making others think you understand them. Why are you acting like that? Do you think I like you? Do you think I'd take your jacket and let you walk me home? The problem is, I don't and I never will. Never. You seem to enjoy this. I convince myself once again that one can't possibly relate to any of my messed up thoughts. But then I reconsider it for a second. What if he really gets me? What if he really likes the way I look at things? The problem is,- even if that's true,-you only exist in my head. Nowhere else. That's the real problem.

I look in the mirror. Someone who is totally identical to me stares at me. I try to look away, but I want to make sure that person won't do the same. I look away, then look back in the mirror. And there it is, an identical picture of me. I wonder who that is. They say mirrors show you a reflection of your picture. Is that really me? The picture I have of myself is totally different. That person who is looking me straight in the eyes looks happy, cheerful and carfree. That's not me. I'm totally messed up. I look very messy; I'm wearing wrinkled clothes, my hair looks like a bush and my eyes are tomato red. That reflection is wearing very tidy pajamas and isn't looking messy. I look again but this time I'm closer to the mirror. This has to be me. Why then am I happy? That must be an illusion. Or I'm pretending to be happy. Maybe that's it. I look away again. I wonder what happens to mirrors when we look away. Do our reflections also look away or do they stare at us? That's stupid. Mirrors are just mirrors. They only reflect what's in front of them. That means that this girl who is looking at me is me. I'm just looking at myself. The only difference is that I'm looking at myself with different eyes. Those eyes in the mirror can only see the obvious; short girl, brown hair, brushed teeth, green pajamas. Those eyes that are somehow in contact with my brain can see better from the inside than from the outside and therefore see a lost girl, worn out pajamas, an exhausted facial expression and messy hair.

That's what happens in parallel universes.

Irrelevant thoughts.

I start reading. My friend said I'd like that book. What is it about? I have no idea. I look at its cover to remember its name. The name is catchy. I go on reading. Why am I reading this? I still have no idea but go on reading anyway. It's not written in a good way; very poor style. I'm not enjoying it. I go on reading anyway. Books have that charm on people. You just can't stop reading once you start, but I want to stop. I promise myself this page would be the last one I read before I head to bed. I'll stop after that. I find myself 10 pages ahead of that page. This book holds a message. A very strong one. Something I thought only I had thought of. I relate to every word. I'm glad I'm not the only one who has these thoughts. I read those last two sentences again to make sure what I've just read is really written in the book and not just in my head. It is written. I fall in love with the book. I feel like telling the whole world how great it is. I'm disappointed my other friends didn't like it. I wish my friends understood my messed up mind. No, I wish people in general understood me. I'm done with the book. What should I do now? I don't want to move on to the next book but I feel like I have to. Moving on to the next book feels like cheating on that book I really like. My brother asks why I read so much. I say I love books, but don't tell him any reasons. The reason is that books open doors to a parallel universe and by choosing the book you get to choose the universe you live in for a while. Why on earth would someone dislike something like that? I look away. My vision gets blurry. My mind and I are two totally different people. I try to shut my mind up so that I could fall asleep, but I can't stop thinking of how great the book was. It described me perfectly. I hug it. I force my mind to die out for the night. Now that my mind is dead, my body has to shut down as well.

Whatever.

I'm at the airport. Surrounded by hundreds of people. People are walking back and forth. I'm trying to walk amid the haste without getting affected by it, to avoid it. I'm trying to relax, but  simply can't take my eyes off of the people. I stare at them. They're all so different. There's a good looking man walking all alone through that huge place. Why didn't he take someone with him? Was it a business trip? Is he too busy to have a personal life? Whatever. Poor him, he'll have to spend his whole trip back home alone.
A woman is looking at him, but the way she looks at him is different. There's some kind of admiration in her look. She likes his appearance. You can see attraction in her eyes. She looks 40 and isn't wearing a ring. She looks tired, frustrated. She looks desperate. She stares at the man with lust. Does she need a man? She probably thinks love would cure her pain, her loneliness and exhaustion. Who said love would? What's so magical about love? Whatever.

I turn around to look at another man at the end of the hall. He's angry. He's yelling at someone on the phone in a language I don't understand. Is it his wife? His daughter? His girlfriend? His brother? His voice is getting louder. I bet he's talking to a woman. I can see frustration in his eyes. It's either his girlfriend or his fiancee. He's too young to be married. Did he expect her to call him right after he arrived and she didn't? Did she tell him she wouldn't wait for him at the airport? Falling in love isn't heavenly. He yells one more sentence then hangs up and walks away. Whatever.
A gay couple passes by. They look at me and smile then turn around to face each other. They're whispering. I wonder why they decided to be gay? One party is always playing a feminine role while the other one pretends to be manly so what's the difference? Why don't they feel attracted to women as well then? Were they badly hurt by women before? Is it something physical? They disappear, but the thoughts inside my head don't. I'm not against gay rights, it's everyone's right to be able to choose at least that. Yet I want to ask them about their arguments. I want to know why. I close my eyes for a second and try to empathize with them, but fail at it. Whatever. They're free to do whatever they want to do.
It strikes me; people are all so different. Why can't we be the same? No, that would be boring. Why then can't we accept our differences? Messed up world. Whatever.

I look at my own shoes. I wonder what people think when they look at me? A teenager sitting there with her brother at an airport. They're alone and seem lost and tired. Do they think our parents are divorced and we're visiting our father who's living abroad? It's hard to imagine what they're thinking. Maybe they think we're friends. No, it's obvious my brother's younger. I look at him to make sure he looks younger and for a second I doubt it. Does he? Whatever. No matter what they're thinking it's definitely not true. They'll never get it right. Does that mean I didn't get any of the above mentioned things right? Does that mean I misjudged them? Whatever.

In every corner of my round body.

What am I? To you I'm just another room, an empty room. Four lifeless corners, dusty furniture and rusty windows. A neglected room. That's what I am.
To others I was once home, a place where they found shelter, where they felt at peace, where they had lunch at one table, where they laughed, cried and mainly felt comfortable. It might be the place where he first made love to his true love, where he first saw his son make his first step, where his daughter said her first word or where he wrote his first book. In every corner there's a memory scattered in the walls; a laughter, a tear or an unspoken word. All that might seem inconvinient to you, however it still proves there's life in that room.

Who said you can judge me based on my appearance? What, in your opinion, proves there is life somewhere? Is it the mess its inhabitants make? The noise? The smell caused by their presence? Is it their constant movement? None of that. It's the memory they leave behind. A room that means nothing to you might mean a lot to another person.

Life doesn't necessarily mean movement, noise, a mess or daily-life-smells. Yet, I mean nothing to you, I am just another neglected room you want to reset. A room with nonexistent memories. Four walls that-if taken care of-would provide you with a fortune. A fortune you make by executing my identity, my existence. You get rid of my dusty furniture, my rusty thoughts, my windblown belongings, my neglected curtains, the pictures hanging on my walls, the last evidence of life and most importantly, you get rid of the memories. You execute me to build up your own world, your own life. You can erase my identity, get rid of everything I am including my memories, yet you can't get rid of the life there is in me. There's life in every corner of my helpless and defenseless being, no matter what you say.

That might apply to a destroyed room, but it might as well apply to a person. A mentally, morally and physically destroyed human being.