Of Loops, Cycles & A Sad Truth.

Oh the irony, the sad irony called the cycle of life. You'd think it'll get creative after a while, but it doesn't. Luckily for you, that is. For what’s worth, stop complaining about the monotony of life. Trust me, if it were indeed ever-changing, judging the rate of evolutionary progress you’re exhibiting, you’d all be dead by now.

It’s a sick joke, I’ll give you that, but you have to admit it’s true. If it weren’t a cycle, if it weren’t mundane and holding a certain air of plagiarism, there’d be nothing to look back on and maybe draw some survival boons from. Even then, some people don’t quite get there.

I’ve also noticed how most, if not all, good people are rendered rather heartless by time, and that’s the only way it can make sense, if you really think about it. I mean, it goes against nature to be giving, hence the only compromise they can make without losing their inherent goodness is by acquiring a shield, that little defense mechanism that parses their code into something that wouldn’t kill them. You see the logic behind the metamorphosis goes as follows: The person goes through enough crap to prove his straightforward goodness to be impractical, the person believes that change is immoral and is stuck in an impasse, hence the psyche does a little tumble and solves the puzzle: There would never be a problem if the person never cares in the first place.

And that’s usually how they’re made, that little psychological loop that sets things straight. Cycle, loop, it seems like the go-to solution for everything, no? The same way round shapes take up the least energy, and how if every centripetal and centrifugal force on earth disappeared, all elements will curl up into a ball to .. survive, for lack of a better verb.

If you give it some thought, you’ll see that the only change people see in life wouldn’t be really change if they lived past 60, or 80, and even then, they start to see the cycle and things stops seeming new. Ever wondered why your grandma’s an undercover shaman? Or maybe how your dad managed to install those wondrous dadoscopes that save years off your calendar? It’s because they’ve seen it all, and it didn’t really take them that long to see it. That could only be possible if life is a cycle. It would also explain my theory that if it wasn’t, half of us would be dead by now, that is if they existed in the first place because half of our predecessors would have died before us trying to figure out how to live day in and day out.

That’s also why the biggest mistake anyone can make is thinking that they outsmart those around them. It’s a true mark of an idiot to believe that they could get ahead of the pattern, just because they’re under the impression that they see some things that others don’t. It never occurs to them, however, that seeing things doesn’t mean they’re right, it’s highly probable that others have seen the same things and had enough common sense in them to disregard them on the spot for being oh so damn moronic. Common sense, I may add, that wasn’t bestowed upon the aforementioned eponymous evolutionary at hand.

Funny thing, life is. A child’s play, maintained by the ingenious mechanism of growing up and losing that child-like clarity. Remember how easy things were when you were a kid? How the line between right and wrong was 60 feet tall and unmistakable? You don’t think you were less of a human back then, do you? I daresay you were more of a human, and got chipped off along the way. And if you weren’t chipped off, you'd malfunction and life would need to give you a proper pounding just so you’d lose the extra weight you’ve reared round the edges, rough you up a bit so you’d be flexible enough to get through the hole that it really wouldn’t care enough to customize on  your behalf. You’re not supposed to stay whole, that’s called incompetence, in the most pragmatic of canonical logistics. Proof of which is how the most successful at this life game are malevolent to the core, because only by being incredibly flexible will you reach the ultimate yet natural destination of malevolence. It’s against nature to be kind, it’s against survival of the fittest. Goodness is being morbidly obese, in that context.

Either way, you’ll be made heartless, because as much as I, you, or anyone would like to differ, sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. But I may be wrong, and I hope to be, but I’m usually not. God knows I wouldn’t like to believe that the perfect outcome of life is turning everyone into robots. Even apes know better.

"Ecrivain raté, destin raté. Comme j'aime ce mot, 'raté'. La destinée humaine ça conduit comme ça, en ratant. Et de ratage en ratage, on s'habitue à ne jamais dépasser le stade du brouillon. La vie n'est que l'interminable répétition d'une représentation qui n'aura jamais lieu."

Of Old People, Debates With Old People & Getting Lost.

It’s grandma’s birthday today, shopping for her birthday gift turned out to be quite problematic, because what could a 74-year-old possibly want out of life, really? Few things are truly new when you’re 74. We’ve had a lot of suggestions, ranging from therapeutic pillows to massage therapy gift certificates, a book full of crossword puzzles, a pair of medical shoes or maybe new seeing glasses. However, I’m yet to think of a gift that wouldn’t inevitably incur this reaction:

It’s such a long time, 74 years. I’m almost 20 and it feels like I’ve lived forever. I like old people, they’re like babies, except with better conversational skills. You’d think conversations with old people should provide enough material for revelations that could give you a brain stroke just trying to process them, or maybe go down in textbooks as one of the steps you have to go through to reach ultimate enlightenment, but you can’t help but notice how they’ve somehow transcended the concept of boredom. They’re never bored, or amused. They’ve reached this state that scholars have yet to coin in their latest dictionary updates. I wonder what it’s like to be 74. Oh well, I guess I’m gonna have to wait it out.

Speaking of new things, I’ve recently been watching hip-hop dancing tutorials, trying out this new amalgam of having fun and staying fit, and it’s proving to be way harder than it looks. The most logical conclusion would be that I’d lose half my current weight before I effectively learn how to shuffle, but that’s definitely a win-win I suppose. For someone who has the physical coordination of a zombie and looks like she’s kicking invisible gnomes to death trying to shake it, looking on the bright side does help sometimes.

I have a fortnight off from uni for Adha, and I find it depressing how every time I talk to a friend, they’re always resenting the fact that they’re gonna have to spend it with family. I mean, being visited by the ghost of Christmas honesty is one thing, and intentionally catching a cold to stay home and get out of family dinners is another. I’m not gonna pretend that they’re always fun and I’ve somehow stood apart from my angst-writhing generation, but then again family gatherings aren’t that bad. They’re enjoyable, with a little effort. And in most cases, it’s one of the few occasions when family remembers they’re family, if that makes sense.

I still haven’t quite found my feet with the whole university life, I've only adjusted in the sense that now, I know how to avoid whatever it is that I wish to avoid without necessarily sticking out of place. It also helps to think of people as moveable objects who have stories. If you’re lucky, the stories are mostly funny. However, I haven’t met anyone that I’d let into my life if I could help fight them off with a baseball bat and a Taser gun. The exchange students would vouch for that, the German ones hold the record of getting out of a conversation in less than 2 minutes. It’s admirable.

I got lost again, this time it was in el Nozha el Gdeeda with five strangers for two hours shortly after the bus got caught in a traffic jam in an uncharted territory that had a building site on the right side and a desert clearing on the left. There was nothing too special about it other than the fact that I had to run every two minutes to catch up because power walking with tall people doesn’t work, and fighting for midget rights in the middle of nowhere with absolute strangers  is counter-productive. I know what you’re thinking, how hard can it be to get on the right bus for once? If it helps, I’m a freshman with zero knowledge of maps.

I got into another debate with the teacher, this time it was about how I thought none of the newspapers stick to the general format that’s being taught in our textbooks. She got a little defensive when I suggested that the only surviving conformists to the true essence of journalism are independent newspapers, but then she turned the argument around by saying that the only thing that’s differs independent from government newspapers is that they’re biased to different sponsors. That led us to argue how she claims that newspapers are still the best form of news today if they’re all just brainwashing the public through different filters, and the only thing I got out of that debate is that now, I understand why I’m not fitting in; it’s not because of my ideologies, it’s that I have any.

Priceless :D

The Boogeyman.

It’s a quiet night, one of those slow nights that one would feel bad about wasting by sleep. However, I admit I should have known better than to pick up ‘Clash of Kings’ for light reading before bed. Although I wouldn’t be too hard on myself, because regardless of my better judgment, I’ve already lost the ability to fall asleep on cue, but apparently that comes with the package. According to a friend, growing up is when kid you gets used to feeling ripped off.

I used to be scared of the dark, but then I had my first job interview and well, kids, the boogeyman's real. I must admit though, it felt good..in retrospect. Don’t be mistaken, a couple of more minutes of probing and I would’ve shat my pants right then and there, but walking out, after I’ve gone through the excruciating process of thinking of all the questions I could have answered better if I had a better reign of my wits under life-draining fluorescent lights, and after my memory of the incident had conveniently warped itself into a good-cop-bad-cop scenario, it felt rather pleasant. I felt..big, kind of like how Tyrion Lannister feels on his borrowed destrier. The term ‘happier than a poodle on stilts’ comes to mind. Walking out of there, I probably looked like this:

It’s odd how the past month has been packed with so many firsts, almost as if I’m a toddler again. First time visiting campus, first lecture,  first fight with college professor, first college-boy crush, first time using public transportation, first paycheck, first time getting lost in Cairo alone, first time reading a map correctly, first time stopping a cab, first job interview, first migraine, oh so many firsts. Do people ever run out of firsts? I wonder how it feels, to run out I mean. Does it feel satisfying or depressing? Does it feel as gratifying as crossing out all the items on a checklist or completing all the objectives and milestones in a videogame? Or does it feel like your time is up and you start to wonder how it went by so fast and feel ripped off? I guess I’ll have to wait it out.

It might be a little too early for this, but I already miss a stupider time when I had less memories and experiences and more tummy for ice cream.

Of A Bleep Called You.

The worst thing you could possibly do to yourself is to expect better, even if the odds allow it, no matter how many signs may point to it. It never ends well, even when it does, if that makes sense. You’re supposed to have a windshield, you don’t keep taking it out and storing it because you won’t get past 60 mph and you like the wind in your hair. It doesn’t work that way.  How it works, however, is you taking it all however the hell it comes and then somehow managing to remain standing. That’s how it goes, or else you’ll go soft.

Life, I’d be lying if I said it’s had ups and downs; recently it’s been morbidly invariable, a never-ending beep. The same patterns, unraveling over and over again no matter how differently you try to tackle them. And one day, you just stop trying, and it doesn’t feel any different. That’s the irony of it all, how it makes you realize, in full momentum, how insignificant you are. How pathetically insignificant, with or without your efforts against a monstrous avalanche. It makes  you wonder whether people who chose a bohemian lifestyle at an earlier point in their life went through some sort of enlightenment that you were deprived of. It’s always the same, and it will never change. People go through their own phases of anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance, hamburgers and ice cream to try and find a way around, under or through it, but they all come to the same point, and they give up. It will always be the same, and that’s why you go through hell and back to understand it.

And just as it slowly kills you, you’ll notice a lot of other insignificant things, like how you’ll lose the will to speak even though you may have a lot to say, just because you don’t see the point in talking when you’ll never be met half way, it’s just wasted air. You’ll stop living and you’ll exist instead, and it won’t feel like a waste because you know for a fact that nothing will ever change. You forget to eat and that’s alright, because you didn’t even notice you were hungry in the first place. You fail to remember the last time you slept but that doesn’t matter, because what’s there to wake up to? You stop reading and that’s alright, because what’s the use of all the knowledge if you have no place to share it or put it to use for anything other than numbing your cranial engines? You stop trying and that’s alright, because of all the things you’ve tried, not trying is the one thing that feels right, because what’s the point in running when you can’t see the finish line? It’s funny. It’s funny how the body and soul don’t shut down at the same time, but each of their own accord, without even taking  your permission. Yet another reminder of how insignificant you are.

Nothing matters. Absolutely nothing. Such a scary thought that people would sacrifice an arm and a leg for hope of a more digestible alternative, then accept it two limbs short of a full package. And what’s the point? Why should you fight it when you’ve got no reason to prove it wrong? Why should you look for an alternative when all the flashing billboards are pointing right at it? Just an egotistical misconception that your life has to be worth something, it just has to. But it isn’t, because why should it? Have you ever had any proof other than your own groundless frustration? Accept that, and you’ll stop being so tired all the time. The living dead are never tired, not that I’ve heard of anyway, ever heard of a zombie stopping for a drink?

What’s the fucking point?

Of Turtles & Demons.

Much like every other regular blogger out there, you come to the point where a blank post is only a portal through which terrible monstrous creatures can jump in at you from unforeseeable dimensions. I know that because I’m staring right at it, and I can see a couple of imps climbing in.

Another speed bump is that fact that as you grow up, you get a firmer grasp of the fact that nobody gives a shit what you have to say about the world, and that kind of milks you dry. Newsflash, buddy, no one will ever patent your suggestion of adding burgers and ice cream to the kubler-ross model. I know, life’s a bitch.

It usually hits when you’re thinking about what you wouldn’t like to include in, or even how to begin, a blogpost. And just as you’d think about penguins the minute you’re asked not to think about penguins, because human brains are assholes, all you’re thinking about is a way to go around it without betraying the efforts of  playing whack-a-mole with your demons.

That kind of reasoning would rule out so many noteworthy life incidents and somehow an otherwise potential-choked unlimited blank post is fighting with your better judgment for custody of the many temporarily awesome stories that will eventually be filed as junk by your goldfish memory in a couple of years. It’s fair to say that writer’s block is kind of like divorce, in the same way your inventory will always be missing a couple of irreplaceable possessions.

So life, well what about it? I realized that things don’t seem so big once you’ve jumped in. To further elaborate, I saved a turtle the other day from a bunch of senior mofos only to have the campus laugh at me for standing up for a strange turtle’s rights and voicing its severe dislike of heights and being waved around when it’s spent its 3 digit life span a mere 5 cm from the ground. On the bright side, they didn’t look so big while I was looking up at them as I kept in mind how the turtle might be feeling in comparison. The poor thing couldn’t even down my Caesar salad afterwards.

I realized a lot of other little things, like for instance how stroopwafels are the Anglo-Saxon version of good old Freska, the negotiable assumption that dragons could have just been friendly over-sized canines, how the world doesn’t offer the courtesy of walking on eggshells to cater for your withdrawal-induced irritability and will relentlessly produce more people that you’ll see with a target circle tattooed on their forehead, how you’ll never be met halfway because as far as anybody’s concerned you’re just another fart waiting to happen. Other facts include how cookies and corndogs were not made for the purpose of socializing, and no I’m not talking about Twix’s ‘not made for two’ slogan. And last but not least, how coffee-specialized cafes are the worst coffee makers in the world is not the only living oxymoron that will piss you off as a blue-collar in the making.

I’ll come back when I can make sentences. And by ‘when I can make sentences’ I mean when I stop getting the irrepressible urge to cave every person’s face in with a baseball bat.

How Does It Feel Like To Go To College, You Ask?