Gotta LOVE this...

"Laughter is the face orgasm. When you laugh, the private organs must go, "What the heck was that? I thought we were in charge of fun!" It must freak the ol' nads out. I imagine there's a running competition between the sex drive and the sense of humor. A battle between the funny bone and the boner.
Which can cause more pleasure?
The ha ha or the oo la la?
Comedy or hot dripping sweaty naughty good times?
Which begs the question: After you share a big hearty laugh with someone--the kind that makes you convulse with nasal snort noises--do you still respect each other in the morning? Do you avoid each other, then bump into them at the water cooler and sheepishly go, "So. Things got weird, huh? I laughed. You laughed. One thing led to another..."
Ever look at someone and go, Man, I'd sure love to get together with that piece of funniness and laugh and laugh till milk shoots outta me. That person will make milk come out my nose over and over and over again. Ooh. Yeah. Tell me the one about the rabbi and the penguins, baby... Right there... Yeah... Ah! Ah! AH HA HA HA HA HA!" -T.

And as I always say, laughter gets you through life.

Life is too short, don't you think?

"Throw away your words and act on what's in your heart."

The above quote is probably the best advice i've recieved in a while. For the past seven months, I've become less articulate with my feelings and more afraid to talk about them. Although I generally don't miss who I used to be, a small part of me yearns for how brave I was with confronting people when it comes to emotions. I wasn't a drama queen. I was just a girl who made it a point to articulate how she really felt; I was a girl who loved nothing but to paint pictures with words of what goes on in her heart.

I said anything to anyone within moderation and respect, be it family or friends. I never raised my voice or expected people to understand. All I wanted was to be heard. I wasn't afraid of myself or the words that came out of my mouth. Most importantly, I was never terrified that the person infront of me may decide to get up and leave. I loved that freedom. Yes, freedom... You get to say whatever you wanted, and even though there was no outcome, that's O.K. You still walked away feeling like a weight has been lefted off of your chest.

Now... I don't like what i've become. I'm less confident with myself. When I want to truly sit down and discuss my thoughts, the silliest and most incoherent words come out of me. When I get angry at someone, I cry tears instead of letting my tongue do the talking. When I like someone, I can't tell them. I can't even bring myself to imagine that I could in a million years tell them. Why? I know it's a fear, but I don't want it to turn into a phobia. I know it may be a vaild fear, but it's still no excuse. Sometimes I want to scream from the top of my lungs. I want to be foolish, silly, and cheesy with my words because it ain't going to hurt, is it? I want to exscorce myself from this fear of rejection and focus on making those around me happy. I want that old part of me back because if I can't open my mouth and tell someone I love them, then what's the point of living?

I can't go on like this. It's been too long. I want to be able to say what I want to say without that fear paralyzing my tongue. I want to be able to speak my mind AND my heart without having anyone laugh at me or run away because they're too freaked out by my words. I want to yell, scream, rave, and complain about how my head is always connected to my heart and that it's a source of frustration and heartache for me. If I can't bring that old self back, then I'll be lost... confused... and just not me.

The way I see it is this: Life is too short to try to constantly censor your thoughts and feelings. At the end of the day, we are inevitably going to say good-bye to the world and it could be anytime... I could publish this post, leave my house to the mosque (which is where I'm going now), and get run over by a double decker bus. I'm trying so hard not to sound depressing, but it's a reality and as much as it sounds like a stupid cliche, there's no point of regretting a thing when that day comes...

Call it me being dramatic, melodramatic, or it's the effect of being depreived from food... but i'm tired of always trying to cover my mouth and I'm even more tired of always trying to not freak anyone out. That's it. Whatever I feel will come running out of my mouth... It's not a promise yet, but I think it's achievable.

But remember, life is too short for this... way too short...

Ps. Excuse all the spelling mistakes... I realize how pathetic they are, but the spell checker isn't working.

Can anyone feel this?

[Music: Questions by Mos def]

Listening to the above track, I feel finally O.K. The past two days have been like an emotional rollercoaster ride and only God knows how much I hate those rides. Somehow, you always end up puking all over yourself. Excuse the former sentence. I need to get it out of my system.

I think part of it is the effect Ramadan has on me. Every year I'm reminded of how tough it is to fast in a country that's not yours. Having said that, I can't believe this is my fourth Ramadan away from home. God, I miss the atmosphere. The family reunions. Forget about the food, I miss the whole spiritual point of the holy month.

The combination of fasting, being away from home, and your schedule almost changing messed my body up. As soon as I break my fast, I'm greeted with a massive headache that won't leave until bedtime. As a result, I've been feeling down, low, depressed almost, and lost. I find that all the negative thoughts come to me and I can't seem to fight it. I don't know if they are really there or it's just the effect of not having enough food in your system to fight these thoughts and helps you keep moving. I can't help feeling that somewhere underneath, someone is just pulling me deeper and deeper.

Anyway, I ended up taking a walk with my mother around the area. We talked about various things and I got a lot of things off of my chest. It's funny that in times likes these, no one feels you.. No one understands what you're going through or pick up on how low you feel. I tell a few close people that I'm on the verge of tears, but they brush me off and talk about other issues. I'm not upset about that, but it made me realize that your family members are the only ones who are capable of understanding you and support you with whatever it is you're going through. For that, I'm thankful. I have a mother, who even though I don't get along with most of the time, understands me and supports me no matter what.

I watched the movie 'Trust the man' today. You know, just to kill time before iftaar and even though it was a little depressing for me to watch, I liked something Julianne Moore said in there about how a relationship is like a stick that two people hold on to. Sometimes they're close enough to look into each other's eyes, and other times, they're far. But they're not meant to let go because at least it keeps them together while they hold on to that same stick...

I realized that I've written way more than I should, and that I've probably said more than I allowed myself to, but I'm feeling miserable at the moment and I'm trying my best to make myself feel better simply because no one can do it for me. It's just me, myself, and I.

The best of both worlds

The title says it all.

That place with the red door...

I think today has been the saddest day I've had in months. It almost feels like I've lost a person, a dear friend that I've grown used to it embracing me and protecting me whenever this world decides to show me it's ugly side.

Seven months ago, I walked a friend to her college. As I was walking back to mine, I stopped informs of the flat's red door and without thinking, and with the moment totally taking over my mind, I sat on the steps of this beautiful flat and let the tears flow. I didn't know why and I didn't know how. I let my guard down and allowed this planet and it's inhabitants to see my tears as they walked by, concerned with this girl whose hands were trembling as she tried to light a cigarette and wipe her tears, all at the same time. As I winced with pain and the feeling of inadequacy, I could feel arms around me. They weren't real, but they were enough to help me find that warmth I've been searching for. Not long after, I heard my friend's voice calling my name from across the street... I must've lost consciousness because her voice was distant for someone standing so close. I stood up almost in shame and wiped whatever was left of my tears. I let my lips move and do all the talking and realized how numb my brain was while I heard myself speak.

I walked into her flat and I was greeted with that familiar smell of bukhoor and memories. I remember resting my head on her pillow and saying good-bye to the world - at least temporarily. When I woke up a few hours later, everything felt different... And a smile finally stretched on my face as I glanced over the table and saw a note with her handwriting on it... I got up and made myself some tea. I allowed myself to linger in that space of time and thought about all those obstacles life insists on throwing at me. I don't know what it was, or if it was a miracle of some sort (yeah, yeah it is possible you know), but for some reason, everything made sense after that day.

I tried avoiding that place for a few days, but something kept pulling me towards it. I gave up and figured maybe I needed to feel this, for it to wake me up a little just in case my inner emotions decides to hibernate for good (is that even a possibility?). As soon as I walked in, it struck me how empty the flat was and I could instantly feel myself being attacked by that horrible monster called "sadness." I tried to shake it, tried to fight it, felt like screaming for it to go away and leave me alone, but nothing worked... I lit a cigarette and sat by the window. I looked out and remembered the sea of people that walked past it and how I used to smile down at them or yell out nonsense... I remembered how my friends used to prank me and I'd come running to the window thinking I'd see someone I know... I remembered how I'd sit there and complain about all sorts of things, and there was always someone there to listen... Or to put an arm around me and tell me it's okay to mess up, and that won't make me a loser and that no one is going to like me any less...

the breakfasts (puck cheese!), lunches, dinners, gatherings, the newspaper we'd arrange on the floor to have our meals on, the window that over-looked the pub, the tea and coffees, smiles, laughter, even the words spoken, and people that came in and out, the angel slices (mmm... Tastes like unicorns! Tastes just like angels(?!)), the warmth, comfort, stopping over just to get the assurance you needed before meeting that special someone, the fact that I could literally run to that place when it got a little difficult to deal with the world, the love (and oh there was plenty of it), the Moroccan cafe, all the fun we had experimenting with food (in a non-sexual way of course), the smell, the jokes, the way it felt to sit on those white sofas and fuck all, the times we'd study for exams, the reassurance, the beauty of it all... The memories... memories... memories...

Life is strange. I thought I could do this, but I already miss that place and I didn't even live there! It was my second home... The place that offered me so much, and gave me the best memories anyone could ever ask for. Now she's moved away, to a better place for sure, and I know that there'll be more memories to be made because if we ever decide to stop making them, she won't let us... She just won't...

Here's to Candover street...

Here comes the sun...

I've got my own ideas when it comes to depression and mental health in general. When I wrote the former sentence, I realized how inappropriate it would be for me to sit here and write a post about such topic. However, I'm trying to get back into the "groove" of writing and I promised myself any thoughts that decide to shape themselves into light bulbs in my head, I should head straight to my laptop or a notepad nearby and spill all out. I need to. I have to.

Not long ago, I read an article about counseling. For someone who's been under the supervision of a counselor, I often found myself asking not whether it would work for me, but whether I need it. I know a lot of people wrestle with many different questions and ideas, but according to the article I read, a lot of people focus on that particular question. In addition to that, how do you know whether what you're feeling is 'clinical' or just the blues? Let me tell you what I think....

There's been a lot of discussion about joy. There are books that have been written about "happiness", music made on how it's a possibility, and movies directed for that very special cause. There are happiness classes planned for school kids, and even government officials: In a recent TV interviews, Mr Cameron commented on how we should pay attention to our GWB (General Wellbeing) as well as our GDP. Hmm...

Being in therapy, I never found the idea of "happiness" very useful and practical. I think there are two words, although subtle and different, that we may use to define how we're doing emotionally and whether or not we need help: Contentment and joy. Happiness is too precise and impossible. In reality, humans experience a mix of emotions. We all go through bad patches when life decides to make itself unbearable. As you all know, it may be all sorts of things. Even the transition from being a teenager (yes, even teenagers go through a bad patch, much to my mom's surprise!) to an adult.

But the real challenge here is, no matter how difficult life is and how unhappy we feel, if we are primarily 'emotionally' healthy, we will still have times when we feel content. A simple sunny day or lying on the grass while you're in the company of a special someone, or even a simple cup of coffee/hot chocolate with a friend could bring it out in us. We, for a small amount of time, forget our worries and cares, and instead feel calm, serene, and content.

Also, no matter how miserable we are, if we know that things are essentially ok, we will feel that odd moment of joy. It could be triggered by lots of factors: Music, something we see or hear about, a joke, or a friend touching us with their love and concern.

It is the absolute absence of these two states - contentment and joy - that indicate I believe that there's something deeper and more profound than unhappiness that you're suffering from. My mother told me not long ago that if the memory of contentment or joy seem far away or if it's hard to remember what either even feels like, then you're in for something deeper than mere unhappiness.

Unhappiness can be pictured as an overcast sky. But, sometimes, the clouds part and a burst of sunshine appears. Depression, on the other hand, is like a blanket of cloudy grey sky. The sun, for all we see it, may as well have died.

Two friends have told me in the past that without treatment for depression, they wouldn't have been alive. They didn't just mean that they could've killed themselves. They just meant that living constantly under grey skies didn't deserve being called a life.

As simple as this sounds, and easier said than done, depression can be cured using a mixture of methods. And as much as I drifted off topic (as usual), which is what I seem to do best in life these days, all I want to say is this: If you are weighed down by these clouds, do not despair. It may be hard to believe, but behind them the sun is always there.

Next Topic: My review on the book "Intellectual Foreplay" - I can't wait. I think.

Not creative enough.

It's been a while. Lots has happened. Lots will happen. And I don't know if anyone reads this or if it's a good idea to keep this going.

I used to have tons of ideas in my head. I used to be heavily influenced by politics and daily thoughts that used to light up my brain cells and gets the words flowing out of my mouth. But now, they're gone and I'm sitting here wondering where I can retrieve it all from...

Anyone?