... And Thank You For Reading

But you know what… children dying in Syria? Do something instead of bitching about it and blaming everyone but yourself for not taking action.

Injustice? Fraudulent candidates? Dead revolution?
Get off of your ass an do something.

And changing your profile picture only complements your actions and it’s by itself not beneficial to anyone especially to those whom you say you’re supporting.

-Adam

…You find out how strong you are when people push you and push you harder and you suddenly find yourself fighting with reserves of strength you never knew you had. 

…You could be the only one who’s right in a very large group of people who’re wrong and convinced you you are too. Don’t give up!

…You need that one person to agree with you to realize that it’s worth fighting for what you’re fighting for. Not everyone’s ignorant.

…You need to believe in yourself, because if you don’t then no one will believe in you. Look for that person, he’s the one that matters the most.

-Adam

I went from knowing virtually no one, to dealing with over 50 people on a daily basis.

It’s funny how with each friend I gained, the more alone I felt in a sense that I’ve never experienced before.

You live alone, you die alone; why do I keep forgetting that?

-Adam

She escapes and goes to the police, where they show up and “barter” with her not to press charges in exchange for 30,000 Egyptian Pounds ($5,000); and she accepts.

It doesn’t end here.

The three men want their money back so they kidnap her son (16 years old), take him to a cemetery and bury him alive and leave him there for one full day until she gave them the money back.

I had to take a deep breath after reading this because this inhumane story is disturbing on so many levels, but most of all because I can’t begin to imagine what that woman and her family must feel like.

This story was published in the Egyptian Al-Ahram Daily Newspaper on the 10^th of June, 2011. Not on the front page and no, not on the second page either. It was concealed deep within the pages of the issue on the 40^th page.

The 40^th page.

Granted it was a hectic time with ouster of former Egyptian President Mubarak, the front pages were occupied with the daily findings of the dug-up paper trails of the corruption of former people in power. But you know what was on the front page? An excerpt about the local football team.

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That made the front pages, but not this.

If I hadn’t needed an old newspaper to use as a protective coat to shield the area I was working in from my destructive technique of pressing fruits, I would have never even heard about this. This was so unimportant that it wasn’t even significant enough to be a prominent story that people talk about.

The article was so small… so so small.

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The other thing that really got to me is that three different individuals, with different values and beliefs got together and decided to snatch this woman for the purpose of their gratification, and they didn’t have a problem with that. Those three didn’t object or see anything wrong with doing these cruel acts to this innocent woman and her kid. How is that possible?

Is there not any humanity left in the bones of men or residual goodness in the bottom of their deep, black souls?

If so then what are we fighting for?

Why do we cling on to the notions of “neighbours”, “friends”, “communities” or “nations” when obviously everyone is only looking out for their own needs?

We think we’re so sophisticated with our gadgets and books, but when it comes down to it it’s the law of the jungle; everyone will do what they have to survive and take care of their needs. Whether it is food, money or sex, everyone is looking out for themselves.

This has been bothering me for a few days and I just had to get all my thoughts on paper (so to speak), otherwise they would eventually tear me down and eat away at my brain relentlessly.

I pray that that woman has found peace and I pray for humanity.

These are dark times.

-Adam

I used to write, I write no more.

My thoughts still flow in my head, but they never materialize on paper. Not for a lack of trying.

Oh trust me, I try.

I try till my hands are swollen and my head aches so bad that my eyes are unable to clearly see. But I try, and yet not a single thought is concluded.

Instead all I get is a bunch of random, nonsensical feelings and beliefs that violently collide with one another in my brain.

I think I’m suffering from a terrible case of writer’s block. But to be honest… I’m kind of glad.

I know when I’m unable to express myself it’s when I’m most unruffled and serene. I don’t have a lot of problems and I the ones I have, I can manage. 

Which makes me wonder why all of a sudden, I’m able to write this…

-Adam

When you abuse your kids and tell no one you’ll eventually get child services on your case, unless you have a camera on you then you’re gonna be be a reality TV star.

- Adam

How is it that in this day and age people are still very ignorant, bigoted and tyrannical?

We haven’t progressed with technology; we’re still filthy apes with gadgets.

Dinosaurs were individually large in size and they still caused less damage than each human-being, to each other and to all things in their paths. 

All we do is destroy and destruct.

Humanity will never change.

I lied and the guilt is pulverizing me.
I did have a hidden agenda, and I wanted something from you.
Not money, validation or romance; what I want is something only you could provide.
I’ll scream my desire for the world to hear, but will tread soundlessly so you won’t catch on.
While you appease me with your agreeableness, it simultaneously unnerves me.
Narcissistic and flawed, I know, but my one-tracked mind demands satisfaction and I wholeheartedly apologize for placing you in this inelegant disposition.
You’re preoccupied with your words of sentiment to another as I longingly stare at you from a close proximity.
And in this predicament I’m left standing alone.

-Adam

This piece originally titled ‘Suicide note’, has been renamed because I haven’t written it to draw attention or toy with people’s emotions; now it’s simply called ‘Death note’.

Today I was chatting with a very dear friend of mine, whose been my on my buddy list for the last 8 years. She asked me: “why do you avoid being happy?”

It really got to me but I already knew the answer; because happiness never lasts but the grief of its depart does.

Why don’t I enjoy these brief seconds of joy life has to offer? Because I don’t want to get sucked in the mirage and forget that that’s exactly what they are, brief seconds.

It might be illogical, but not to me.

I submit to you a normal child, he is given candy but it’s then taken away from him. He will cry, so wouldn’t he have been better off not having taken the candy? He was alright to begin with.

Life to me is just an incomprehensible period of torment, not unlike a prostate exam, we grin a bear it. But I see it for what it is, and I will always be ready for my termination. ALWAYS!

It sounds macabre, yes, but depends on how you look at it. While I might not understand a lot of things about this world, I do understand some things that other people might not. I’m grateful for that, despite the roads I have taken to arrive to their realization.

Death note is my version of a suicide note, which I always carry around with me mentally. The most interesting thing about this is I don’t blame the people who’ve hurt me, let me down or betrayed me. I blame myself for not being able to love myself more and never seeing myself as someone whose dignity is a priority.

Like the repairman who tells you your vehicle has come to the end of its time, I consider me the repairman of myself and this vehicle is running on its last leg.

-Adam

I miss him and his mischievous ways, his blasé attitude and his merry spirit. It’s wrong to attribute my misfortune to him, but the truth is he reminds me of it so much I can’t bear to have him around; yet he is always with me.

The noise cloaks that endless annoying chatter I hear. Music, TV, construction workers labouring down the street; I need every bit of noise I could score. My life is filled to the brim with noise, noise, noise to silence his voice. To silence the cowardly voice of that spineless weakling of a child, who has taken control of my body and steered it towards his own aimless path.

So I tune him out with noise, noise and even more noise, hoping one day he would just diffuse into the void and be a matter of the past.

He’s my missing son, he’s my dead brother. 

He’s me when the world hadn’t intervened and I was free to be my own juvenile self. Free of the restraints of morality and of the shackles of tradition. 
I carry him around all the time as a lonesome, jailed companion whose word I tunes out with endless noise, noise, noise. 

No one can blame me too, he bruised me endlessly. Although my wounds have disappeared, these poisonous memories will seize me forever.

-Adam

I recall nothing of the past few years but a few obscure memories of what has happened to me. How and why have I ended up where I am right now, I honestly have no clue.

I live my days and nights, but I’m not conscious of it. I’m living a dream-like existence where nothing is real and everything is ominous but nobody notices; everyone go about their business like there’s nothing peculiar in the world because it’s my dream.

It’s my dream.

It’s my nightmare.

Similar to peeping through the lens of a camera and trying to find the perfect focus for the view, only I can’t achieve it. Everything is a blur and everything is surreal. A lethargic experience, everything moves in a nonsensically unhurried fashion. I’m searching for something but I don’t know what. I’m living for something, I don’t know what.

As I type this, my fingers are doing their little dance on the keyboard and striking all the appropriate buttons. I pause and look at my hand as it rests there for my inspection. I don’t recognize it and it’s almost as foreign to me as that bottle of vitamins next to it, so exterior and detached.

Like a child who’s been transported somewhere by his parents and abandoned there, I feel like I’ve lost myself. Am I still out there somewhere? Should I have never stopped looking or should I succumb to this as my fate?

-Adam

A short story I’ve written just to see if I can:

The clock on the wall seemed to be motionless as I waited for my ride home, but I could hear it ticking. While waiting for the time to run out, I sat in a jungle of denim and cigarettes’ smoke, amongst the dining students occupied with their mission of satiety; the sound of their mobile messages’ alerts tintinnabulate every few minutes.

Like a scene out of Nosferatu, in walks an old man, dressed in what can only be described as decaying scraps. He slithered along the emerald-green floor, his sand-frosted sandals creating a chilling melody that turns heads all around the muted underground cafeteria. No chameleon, the man easily stands out.

He stops about three steps away from the sandwiches’ display window of the cafeteria. Not many are still as fixated on him as they were upon his entry. The man looks around, his faces exposes a look of confusion yet his body exhibiting confident motions in the knowledge of his surroundings. He brings both of his arms behind his back, and cups one palm into the other. The preceding move reveals what is conclusively loose change.

The man in rags takes a few steps to the left, then a few to the right, settling up exactly where he was seconds before. He turns around displaying his pale face, which is only exceeded by his paler hair, a very bright shade of white. The man, takes a few hesitant steps towards the exit door, while eye the display window. He makes up his mind, and ascends the stairs of the basement-level establishment, leaving no trace of his brief occupation of the small space where he stood moments ago.

A girl’s boorish laugh echoes in the hall; a bell rings as another customer is served.   

-Adam