An Obstacle of Communication

I have yet again made sure of the fact that I, without a doubt, rest my mind in a different kind of world. As time passes, I have known to develop and grow, especially mentally, but that only backfired. Certainly, I was a naive child at one time, but then I specifically created a method of understanding, and that helped me cope with the most annoying of characters -- my own. However, it seems that my method of communication fails me, constantly, for it keeps making speech a difficult thing to do, and that makes life harder than it already is. So, what is this method?
     Well, the method I developed for a better understanding of myself, my surroundings, and the world, is that of Language. It might sound silly, but none can deny its effectiveness, and I'm willing to bet that most people use it unconsciously. The case I'm willing to explore is that language allows us to create an understanding personality -- one that we actually depend on. That, I did, and I'm inclined to believe that I've grown so very dependent on it that now I cannot get away from the confusion it causes. To explain this, one can easily refer to Bilinguals; people who speak in two languages rather than one. Surely, it's an amazing thing to be capable of, but that doesn't change the suggestion of it being a harmful thing to one's mental stability.
     Personally, I think what we express freely in one language cannot be expressed equally in another. For example, if I speak Arabic as my first language, and I speak it gaily, then I will be unable to properly convey this light-heartedness through the English language, no matter how capable I am in said language. Therefore, I have created this wondering personality that keeps on raising important questions of life. In doing so, I believe I linked my ability to truly express my thoughts to the English language, while keeping my first language as one of happy moments and trivial, day-to-day, talk. Frankly, it disappoints me to see my thoughts scattered between two personalities, but I don't think it can be helped anymore. That keeps me mentally stable and in touch with my ultimate Reason. Nevertheless, it still poses a threat of instability, for there is no found harmony between a fading personality and a real person -- a conversation ceases to be of any importance when its participants are oblivious to each others' meanings.

     It truly pains me to realize that I no longer make sense in the bigger picture, for I created my own definitions, and lived by strange ideologies, which made thoughts and words entwine into becoming one ironic obstacle to my method of communication. I must say, that, in itself, makes it harder to speak to people for fear of misunderstanding.

The Casualty of Desire

Despite my wishes to overcome this mess of a painful phase, I cannot help but fall deeper into depression. Now, I only wish to reach the pit faster than the claws of longing. I must start to write once again, and my Muse shall be reborn, just like then.

Curse of Doom

Breathless, I leave you tied in your room,

Unable to withstand, or even to bloom.

And unto you, I set a curse of gloom,

That which condemns you to eternal doom.

Now and then, I grant you freedom to go,

Yet you remain puzzled and refuse to flow.

I thought your intellect was just slow,

But you proved me wrong with your glow --

It broke through all, and gave you will,

However, a story, you still cannot tell.

My Last Chance

Ah, the holiday just ended with its dull days, and my university routine will begin once again -- one last time. In all honesty, I am frustrated! I'm angry and my pride is choking me with its endless accusations concerning my mental health. I keep suffocating it, almost as a way of balancing my misery with what pleases me. However, it still hurts. Ever since I became acquainted with my amazing professors, I've been resolved to reach my destination and get that bachelor degree right in front of their eyes -- I wanted them all in sight. It might have been a selfish thing to dream of, but I just wanted them to know and witness what they've done; how they helped me grow and become a better person, even if it's not really noticeable. In their presence, sometimes, I cannot contain my awe at their behaviors when confronting certain situations, nor can I really help but admire their knowledge and their splendid passion for teaching, that which shines through their eyes making them glitter like diamonds.

I understand that it is my fault for getting too attached, but they really became an important part of my unimpressive life. If anything, their company made life much more exciting -- more thoughts to play with, theories to explore, stories to form, and poetry to recite. That said, how can one not attach their roots into such a beautifully enchanting soil?

This is my last semester, and I desired to walk it alongside them...

     Dr. Keith, that man who taught me so much and even allowed me the privilege to witness a father proud of his daughter, for I have always seen him as my second dad. They both gave out a warm aura that put me at ease. He's also the one that I will forever be unable to repay, for it was he that gave me an insight on the beauty of writing. If it was in my hands alone, I would have never had the courage to aim for a writing career. Yet now, my ultimate desire is to become a writer. Dr. Keith, I believe, is the man who awakened my Muse. His stories of great writers like Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dorris Lessing, Stephen Crane, and many more enticed in me a passion I could not control -- a desire to write and voice my opinions. Nevertheless, he is no longer here... No, he's living the adventurous life that he looked forward to, and I wish him all the happiness and health in this world, and I only hope for us to meet one day.
     Dr. Piers, that extra friendly man who, despite his friendliness, has the charisma of a Lion. He was the first professor to have paid attention to my poetry. Even though they were gloomy, incoherent, and lacking in every poetic sense, he taught me to feel the events of my poems, to live and see them. He now is cursed to look into every poetic piece I write to comment upon and edit them with his magnificent knowledge on poetry. Dr. Piers is, in short, that mentor who allows you freedom to experience new things, but always reminds you of the important basics. He taught me Classical Literature, which started my admiration for Homer, and made me realize that Greek Mythology was not just my interest, but the interest of many others of great intellect. With him, I also fell in love with Emily Dickinson's poetry and life -- she fascinates me still. For that, I'll always look up to him as a man of poetry.
     Dr. Martin, a man I admired since I first witnessed, and it was all in his voice -- a calming and friendly voice with which he greeted, very kindly, everyone he knew and taught. He taught me German Language(I) as well as German History, and both classes were so very interesting and entertaining. With him, I learned the similarities between Arabic and German, and it made me enjoy learning it. In truth, I never thought I'd be able to learn a new language, but he proved me wrong. Yes, he is a German professor, but it was he who taught me so much about writing; techniques, plot-flow, reality VS. fiction, and even the English grammar. He helped me grow mentally through discussions, and enhanced my vocabulary through editing the stories I wrote. He is my perfect reader, whom I base my stories' intensity upon. Dr. Martin is an amusing person -- his curiosity enchants me. His openness and childlike manners amaze me. In him, I have never failed to find a story.

All I want at this point is to be always in touch with these great men.

Haunts Me Still

July had gone, yet pain lingers still. August, I thought, would be a new beginning, for I have witnessed the grass brighten up. I suppose I was wrong. He still haunts my memories, my dreams, and even gets into my own words. I think it's all about age, for I was fully aware when I lost his presence. Now, I only wish to grow out of him...

Like No Other

August came running like no other,

With its lands getting greener than ever.

Yet the skies above remained as mundane as they were,

And it all fell under the heat of a fiery Summer.

We stood under that same roof and muttered;

"Will we be better after a month, or bitter?"

Whichever the answer was, we knew not to remember,

However, to cope, continued as our painful mission.

And so we smiled at the question and settled;

"This place will hold itself by memories of a past presence."

Obligation and Trust

To be accused of confusion, just for being discreet, seems quite irrational, but it happens. That said, it makes me wonder; "Am I obligated to do and feel certain things?"
     This, I ask with real confusion, for people have made me feel more like a villain; an abnormal person, for not doing or saying expected things. Yet, isn't such obligation only needed when there's trust in between? Certainly, many disagree, but personally, I think I'm only obliged to do and say certain things, when I trust this other person -- It's not simple, for trust is not easily acquired.
     However, people drag me down and make me feel bad for such things. I know I can be difficult, but I also know that as understanding as I can be, people can be kind enough to humor me and be as understanding -- Ask me, and I will answer, but do not assume if I decide not to give an answer, for I will have my own sensible reasons...

     The main point is that no one is obliged to do anything unless it's their responsibility, and I'm sure that adults are only responsible for one another in very rare cases, and those cases require, again, a great deal of trust.

Compassion

Philosophy was always intriguing to me, but I never considered it a necessity. Now, being a student of one great philosopher, I must say; philosophy never seemed better, for this one professor, despite calling himself Dr. Evil, is such a great, passionate person. He almost reminds me of that one man who left, leaving me and others in constant longing. Dr. Evil's classes are amazing, enlightening, yet remain realistic in the pain they induce, for the stories we hear sometimes lack human compassion. These stories also remind me of his stories, for he was always trying to teach us of humanity and beauty, even though he would sometimes act mean or indifferent -- he really cared.
     That said, philosophy had opened my eyes unto a more logical world -- one that is studied and explained through cause and effect, yet not neglecting the spiritual side of things. I owe Dr. Evil too much. He helped me, without even knowing it, to better understand myself and be rational as well as maintaining that compassionate side of every normal human being. I say "normal", because he explained to me lately that abnormalities occur, and with that in mind, I had realized that every belief or theory will get its own fault-line when it comes to handling such abnormalities. I suppose that gives much more freedom to a questioning mind, no?

LINE Store

Away from life's seriousness and all the thoughts and questions in need of answers, I have finally gained the approval of LINE to start selling my stickers. Even though drawing is now officially a hobby and not a purpose, I still want to cultivate it; to push further into bettering it. For that, I'm feeling a bit of satisfaction now, for I not only made a short comic, but I also managed to sell my stickers.
     I only hope that my passion for writing never collides with my enjoyment in drawing, because surely, both have helped me tremendously. That said, I'll always remember my beginnings!

My first set of stickers!

The set's contents.

Was it Faith?

With every passing day, I become more convinced of this world's inconsistency, and I start to wonder; "Is God really that bored and unorganized?" Truth be told, I even think God has quite the complexities. In so many ways, I see the lack of the so-called perfection that people usually attach to his almighty essence. That, of course, pushed me further into the Unknown.

Before I begin, I have to explain that I, in no way, am insulting people's religions, or Gods. I am merely expressing my opinions on the concept of such a thing like God.

     This concept of a higher being as our perfect creator, whom guidance we all seek, is a bit weak for me, and I shall explain and express all of my troubles through the upcoming blogs...
     First things first, how did we come into existence? We can go back to Adam and Eve, but eventually, we'll arrive at God's feet, and so, he's our creator. However, how do we know that God didn't come out of something as well? Surely, neither us nor him are mere coincidences in this world... certainly, we're not just a miscalculation of the chosen population.

     That being said, why then are we here? We can't be the result of a coincidence, because logically, everything has a cause. Moreover, who is to answer such big questions like these? Who or what is that which holds the unmistakable truth? Are we meant to follow priests and reverends? Are we to read the Quran, the Bible, or is it the Torah? Who is to tell where the Real resides? Isn't that meant to be subjective after all?
     Therefore, isn't the concept of God meant to be different from one to the other, which in itself would create a plentiful of Gods; the Greek Gods for example were, at some point, believed in. In fact, I, too, believe in multiple Gods, for certainly, a merciful one wouldn't bear take away a child from his parents, nor a loving parent away from his children.

     In the end of the day, we are all different, and I'd like to believe that even in the Godly realm there exists a fine line between good and bad.

Individuality

Everyone cares, ultimately, about themselves. It must be, after all, the way of life. It's not selfish, it's just a matter of priorities. In the end, it is your life that will change and be altered, and it is you that will suffer the consequences of your decisions. Beware of your own self, because even love can be just a method for some to feel better about themselves.

To further elaborate, here's a poem I wrote about Esteban Trueba from Allende's novel; "The House of the Spirits".

Beyond Betrayal

My one and only Rosa died,

This world she left in a blink of an eye,

As something so low; as a political bride…

By a poisonous brandy, she was beguiled—

Therefore, here I am, numbed by pain,

Wishing her death to be nothing but a game.

A mermaid she now resembles with her green hair,

And her body remains as delicate as her name.

Oh, I can never forget her beautiful demeanor,

As I watched her for the first time — charmed!

I knew ever since; without her touch, I will not live,

Without her body next to mine, Esteban Trueba will not rest!

For that, I have decided to leave for work.

Oh, I have bled for her sake —her position—

Like a little boy, I hoped to stumble upon gold,

To be one of them, to be with her, for I’m proud.

No, pride is not a sin, but a path to win,

To win respect, power, and to quench my thirst.

I will not be that boy wrapped in paper and filth!

Such shameful memories of poverty will cease to exist.

And now that there is no Rosa in my world,

I desire nothing as much as an escape route.

And so in Tres Marias, I thought my fate awaits.

I set foot and took charge in that barren land;

Transforming it into a place of servants and wealth,

To outlive the past of my father and those who came within…

Then came a night, when my body ached with lust,

And I realized the Del Valle ghost haunts me still.

So I went to those in puberty, and took their chastity away,

In their darkened eyes, I saw accusations of infinite rape.

Despite all, I was and will always remain their good patrón,

For everything I’ve done helped them cope.

Now I stand before my beginning and wonder…

My love betrayed me, so to her sister I turn — will she suffice?

Home

It's incredible how everything becomes natural at home -- feelings, people, and even the surroundings... all flows as natural as water. I have visited home a couple of days ago, and I realized how it brings me closure, for it is the essence of all my childhood memories -- memories of innocent and mundane days that now seem like a blessing.
     Being there took me back to those years when we were all alive, even though oblivious, and it made me realize that I have appreciated my surroundings because it was close to home, and I'm missing it daily...

The view from the rooftop.

      The picture of the marshmallow-looking clouds proved to me that a single look at the sky, in a familiar place, would ease all my burdens. However, it all made me wonder; "Wouldn't he have loved to tend his birds with the company of such a lovely sky?"

External VS. Internal

I have realized something yesterday, and that was the concept of the self and the other; my internal world versus what surrounds me.
     In the middle of the day, I caught myself humming... I was so happy, yet I couldn't understand why, for I've always known myself to be gloomy and grumpy. Then it hit me; my mentality was different -- I have removed all of the day's obstacles and did my best to win over them. It wasn't that the day was light, nor was it because I had no disturbances, but it was about my own mindset -- I was able to see the beauty in every simplicity. Even though I've somehow altered it unconsciously, I still had that effect which made me stop and think whether I fell in love with someone or not. After all, wasn't that how love-stricken people were portrayed in the movies we so often watched?

     However, I concluded, by the end, that it was never a matter of mindset, at least to me, because I've always been triggered by the external forces -- our 'oh so beloved' society. In the end, I've seen my humming transform into annoyed syllables, for society had always drained me. The self can only go as far as your capabilities, whereas the other unite all together to stomp on your most exciting days. Finally, leaving you with the memories of your friends, families, and loved ones.

That One Man

July finally came, and June no longer remains. It's funny how painful the days of June were, as painful as those of May, but oh I have been trying to cope with the fact that you are no longer here. I'm well aware that you're living the adventures you sought after, and I'm quite sure of your well-being, but I just came to realize how it pains me now to read all the poems I have written for you, and I wonder... Will you still remember us?

     I often fear to forget your voice as I have forgotten his.

Father Figure

You got me feeling so proud,

For greatness, I have vowed.

O, west wind, how delightful,

Warming smile, so wonderful.

Your vibe shook with darkness,

Truly, you're beyond madness.

A wind so great and forceful,

In disguise, a man so playful.

I saw you among the crowd,

Without doubt, you're proud.

A Victorian Judgement

Appearances always mattered, but for the Victorians, they were almost sacred. The focus, back in that era, was all on physical perfection, status, and wealth. In other words, class was what people took advantage of to be known and respected, and in “The Fifth Child”, the aspects of the Victorian era couldn’t remain hidden, but surfaced to doom the lives of David, Harriet, and many others, and it all starts with their fascination over the Victorian house, which they eventually buy and occupy. That was the beginning of their end, for they have marked themselves dependent upon an illusion of a happy, perfect life ever since, and that’s what the Victorian house, I think, stands for — the perfect exterior of a life hiding all of its interior’s flaws and problems. After all, Harriet’s requirements for a normal life of happiness seems to be everything but normal, especially for herself and David, whom are irresponsible.

It's quite strange to see that today's world is becoming a very sad replica of the Victorian era's beliefs, at least from where I come from. Most people will refer to this as Capitalism and all that follows, but honestly, let's drop the political/economical labels and take a moment to get back to the origins...

     Personally, I'd go with Nature, but I'm not going to lie and say Nature only, for it's obvious that a lot of things in this time and day require man-made concepts. After all, people still use their influence, status, money, and technology for many things, and that is fine. I speak of no morality; that's a subjective thing. However, man-made things push many of us to think that perfection could be achieved, and that in itself is unnatural — have you ever seen a perfect, unscathed path?

In the end, perfection is man-made and subjective, so who is it that will decide its measures?

The Artist

You, who light the way in Greece,

Son of a graceful thunder; Leto and Zeus.

You, protector of Delos, builder of Delphi,

Oh, Apollo, God of art and prophecy.

Healer of man, and father of medicine,

God of sun and all sources of brilliance.

Heir of Helios and brother of Artemis,

All kneel and pray before your greatness.

You, who seemed so mature in four days,

Avenged your mother, and took praise.

You, who claimed the throne with a play,

Killed the corrupt, each in a different way.

Burned Icarus’s wings for his vanity,

Butchered Marsyas for his blasphemy.

Embarrassed Midas for his idiocy,

And cursed Cassandra’s prophecy.

Yet, your warmth never faded,

Even when you cursed and plagued.

Both men and women fell for you,

Oh, Apollo, all praise be to you.

Nature of God

Ignorance is a bliss, they insist,

Yet beauty is what we couldn’t resist.

For in Nature, we indulge infinitely,

And in science, we succumb entirely.

It’s not that we need both to compete,

But rather build us up to be complete.

Gaia, hopelessly screams for saving,

Yet for the Muses, we keep raving.

                                            

Art and knowledge kept us all in awe,

Still our Earthly lives, we left so raw.

Balance we need, to see beauty of all.

Rivers, lakes, and ponds make waterfalls.

Trees, bushes, and fields make life so broad,

And here we stand, in full amazement we nod.

Inspiration is what we crave from such Ode,

For Nature is not ours, but rather belongs to God.

The Beginning

Well, this shall give every reader an insight to what might fit or oppose their beliefs concerning life's reality and its different interpretations.

     That said, this blog will contain writings ranging from simple assumptions and thoughts to thoroughly written stories and poems that share their events with our lives.

For everyone that actually still reads and writes in this unfortunate world, I ask of you to please share your thoughts.