It's Complicated..

Don't you sometimes get fed by the way some people use the phrase "It's complicated!" only in a messed up romantic relationship?

I do!
And I have a different interpretation...

It's complicated.. when a father knows he's going to lose one of his children because his pockets are not that filled. He can't do anything about it. Yet, he watches the walking moneybags get their treatment for free since they are VIPs. Ironic! How rich people get everything for free while poor ones have to pay for their least rights.

It's complicated.. when you know that a mother out there is crying for her son, and Vivian is crying for her fiancée, while we can still hold the people we love. We try to ignore that their blood was shed for our sakes, so that the guilt will not make our own blood freeze in our veins. We sigh, pray for them and then laugh at the joke our loved ones crack. And the laughs are followed by silence... in a time when silence becomes our own tool of oppressing ourselves.

It's complicated.. when you tell a friend a lie, fearing that you might hurt him/her, but knowing that later on life is going to show them the truth in the form of a blow in the face. Which is going to be more painful? Will they forgive you if you tell them now? Will they forgive you when they find out you were lying? And frankly, are you lying for their sake, or for your sake?

It's complicated.. when you see a 7-year-old child, selling. You wish to buy from them so that you do not disappoint those hopeful eyes. But then, if you do, you'd be encouraging child labour. You might be destroying his life with the few pounds you pay. And you have less than a minute to make a decision.

It's complicated... and it's not love that makes it complicated..
It's the combination of feelings that make us human..
Love. Hate. Happiness. Sorrow. Fear. Loneliness. Sympathy.
We're human.. so it's complicated.

I Love Noise

I swear by Almighty God that I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

At a certain point in my life I used to adore sitting alone. I loved the quiet. But now, it's different. I usually surround myself with people... and might as well ask them to make noise.

Why? What happened? 

Well, when I go into a quiet room, my conscience court begins, where I am the attorney, the defendant and the judge. They all speak in the exact same moment. Their voices are so loud. I close my ears and the noise just gets louder and louder. The verdict is pronounced. I must change. I run into a noisy room where I can pretend I did not hear the judge.

Aaand that is why I love noise; because I can't stand the noise inside my own head.

The court adjourned...

Lament

This is a really sad thought... so if you're not ready for a dose of sadness DON'T READ.

One of the phrases I truly hate: "I used to like 'someone'. May he/she rest in peace."


Used to? You mean you don't anymore?


Loved ones die... but they leave memories and lessons that live with us till the last breath. It's a blessing from God that we are able to forget... so that the pain of the loss would not be constant. But sometimes when we remember, we relive with them, as if we're replaying scenes from a previously performed play. You feel extremely happy at first, but as soon as the curtains go down... pain!

It is a fact that we all know. All that lives... shall die. Whatever has a start... comes to an end. Perhaps there is a child that lives in us forever and gives us faith that miracles DO happen. Maybe they won't die. Or maybe those who die will come back. Miracles happen.
Then reality strikes... Miracles do NOT happen. It's over!
You regret the mornings you did not tell them you love them
or the days you made them feel angry or sad
or the days you spent without them...
Death is fate. We do not have the right to object, but we have the right to mourn. We are, after all, human.

I write this in the beloved memory of my grandmother who has taught me many things, very deep, that I myself 
can't express. Most importantly, she raised the man I take pride of being his daughter. I do not remember telling her that I love her.

I won't say "I used to love my grandmother". I say "I love my Grandmother".
May Allah forgive her and send her to Paradise. Please read AlFateha upon her pure soul.

اللهم ارحم موتانا و موتى المسلمين

Broken Glasses

At school I saw a little boy sitting aside watching his friends play football. Every now and then a half-smile lightened his face followed by a dark air of sadness -
and a little envy perhaps.
"Why aren't you playing?" I asked, and his answer was "The last time I played I broke my glasses so Mom got angry and told me not to play again..."
Dear Mom,
Broken glasses can be repaired or replaced. Deformed personalities cannot. He might be obedient now but later he might not. He might love you now but later - he might not. And guess what?! The biggest loss will be yours. I am sorry for being so harsh but -My God!- you should have seen his face.