There were entire months where I did nothing remotely productive at all, I skipped college as much as I could, spent my days in bed with my laptop and no human company whatsoever, just the idea of studying made me laugh. I'd studied before, worked real hard to chase my dreams and look where that got me. A sorry excuse of a college that I never would have even considered before. I full-on hated the place. My dreams were long destroyed and this was my new shitty reality. And even though I was bound to live in it, I avoided it as much as I possibly could.

But then, there were times when I let the veil lift a little, and ideas of less shitty realities would pop up. Like what it would be like to study oceanography at the University of Hawaii. Or go sky diving every weekend. Or permenantly move to Fiji. Or be the author of a bestselling book series. Or any of a million other pipe dreams. I'd try to stuff myself into one of these scenarios,but it was like wearing a size thirty-seven sneaker when your foot is a forty—you can get by for a few steps, and then you sit down and pull off the shoe because it just plain hurts too much. I am convinced that there is a censor sitting in my brain with a red stamp, reminding me what I am not supposed to even think about, no matter how seductive it might be.It's probably a good thing. I have a feeling that if I really try to figure out who I am, I'm not going to like who I see.

Another thing about me is that I suck at headlines

I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep,too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold-hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes. I like the smell of wet pavement in the rain. I hate nights for how gloomy they make me feel and I love bright morning light. I have an irrational hatred for the month July because every single disaster in my life happened in that month..Okay, so maybe my hatred is a bit rational after all. I hate cold weather and runny noses and being weighed down by endless layers of heavy clothes, and that's why I prefer summer to winter. 

I cannot begin to tell you how much I'm in love with non-realistic fiction books and fries, or how certain games, songs and shows can make me happy. I would pick books over human company any day, week, month and year. I can never sleep anywhere other than my own bed. If scrambling eggs counts as cooking, then yes I can cook. And if shoving things wherever they will fit counts as cleaning then yes I can also clean. I don't think I'm funny. I do, however, think that I look bad in all my facebook pictures. I have a lot of goals, but I don't have enough determination to accomplish any of them. I need to be pushed in order to be productive and most of the time there's no one there to give me that extra push that I so desperately need, so I fail. 

I'd like to think that maybe someday, I would muster up enough courage to leave everything behind and never look back. To escape this city that has planted a seed of wrath in my heart and leave it behind along with the sadness that has slowly become a part of me. I'd like to think that maybe one day I would go to art galleries with people I love, run there like total weirdos and leave the place before anyone catches us. I want to get lost on the road with them, discover places no one has ever been to. Live in an apartment that we would fill with music and art and weird paintings and shitty food that we cooked but still ate despite how horrible it tastes because we cooked it and we're awesome. And maybe we could go to amusement parks, ride the roller coaster  - and feel perfectly okay with screaming our lungs out, then laughing about it until we lose our voices. I just want us to live everyday as spontaneous as it could get, be as happy as we could ever be, and maybe for the first time I’d end the day with an “Oh my god, I think this is what I have always been dreaming of. This is it. It’s true, I’m happy, and I swear I’m not asking for more.”

Writing

Writing is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. 
What you have scribbled on paper is captured forever… 
it remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything.

You understood me. You wrote about me as If I was the most perfect creature that has ever walked this earth, even though that's the farthest thing from being true. You stuck around when all I did was push you away. You stayed in times when anyone else would have run for the door. I was cold and cruel to you yet you always treated me right. You said that one of those days you'd make me love you like you do me. I didn't get how someone could be so persistent, especially over someone as insignifigent as me. I didn't believe it, I knew there had to be a catch. It just didn't feel right. So I did everything in my power to keep you away, but you never faltered. In the end you managed to make me smile, then laugh, then blush. Hell, you may have even gotten me to love you. I don't understand what I possibly could have said or done in my life to deserve someone like you in it. After all the things i've done to you, you're still around and you are here to stay. You are too good for me, and I am just incredibly lucky.

أنا اكتشفت ان الناس ايام ثانوية عامة كانت بتدعيلي من قلبها و بجد بضمير كدة يعني مفتكرش مرة حد شافني إلا و قالي يا رب تبقي دكتورة ! مش يارب تدخلي كلية الطب لا , يا رب تبقي دكتورة و تلبسي البالطو الابيض.. و أديني جالي علوم اللي بيتلبس فيها البالطو الابيض اهو! لما تدعوا خليكوا محددين و ادعوا صح يا اما متدعوش يا جمااااااعة!!نصيحة لبتوع ثانوية عامة متقولش انك ثانوية عامة عشان طول ما أنتوا ماشيين الناس هتشفق عليكوا و هتدعيلكوا و الدعوة غالباً بترشق !

#لا_للشفقة #ادعوا_صح

الكابوس اللي دايماً بيجيلي عن مسار حياتي بعد الثانوية العامة

 تحذير: الكلام ده يخوف يا ريت متقراهوش و انت جنبك عيال ضغيرة أو لو قلبك ضعيف و مش هتستحمل..أنا ماليش دعوة انا حذرتكوا و قد اعذر من انذر

يطلع عيني في ثانوية عامة و في الآخر اجيب 94% و كل قرايبي يقولولي انتي خايبة و بعدين ادخل علوم و انا كان نفسي ادخل اعلام و أهلي كان نفسهم ادخل طب و بعدين اتجوز واحد بيشتغل في السعودية يجيبلي شبكة 15 كيلو دهب اللي هتتباع كمان 15 سنة عشان جوزي هيتزنق في فلوس عشان يبني بيتً و يسيبني عايشة في الدور اللي تحت امه و يسافر السعودية و احمل و انزل صور ستات حوامل و أطفال أجانب علي الفيسبوك علي أمل اني اخلف عيل زيهم و اجيب في الاخر عيل تخين نفس سحنة ابوه الرخم و اسميه عبد الرحمن نقوله يا بودچي و بعدين اروح لجوزي السعودية اجازة يقولي اتنقبي، و اتنقب و لما اخرج معاه نتغدا برة و اجي اشرب بيبسي ادخل الشليمون من تحت النقاب و عيني بتلف عالناس و ابني بودچي يعيط عايز يرضع و بعدين ارجع مصر احمل في بنت أسميها ملك و اقولها يا ملوكة و لما اخرج اجيب لبس بودچي يتوه مني و ملوكة تعيط و احمل تاني يلا ما هي هيصة و تبقى بنت نسميها جنى و بودچي هيبقي ساعتها واد شبه العيل اللي في إعلان *خلصت الجبنة؟ هي خلصت لوحدها* و ملوكة هتبقي دخلت مرحلة الرزالة و تبقي كائن لزج بيضحباضي يدعي الأروَبة و تغير من اختها جني و تعمل نفسها عايزة تشيلها و تروح موقعاها قصد اقوم ضرباها علقة و جني تقعد تعيط و معرفش اسكت فيها و بودچي كل ده ولا هو هنا و قاعد علي البلايستيشن مش راضي يقوم و اصور ولادي في جنينة الحيوانات قدام الأسد و هما بيأكلوا القرد و اكتب عالفيسبوك زوجي قرة عيني و اعمل شير لطريقة عمل الكبسة السعودي و ديكورات البيت و اشترك في منتدي فتكات و اشارك قصصي و وصفات طبيخي مع الأعضاء كل يوم.

Black.

When you dip her in the middle of the dance floor, it is the color of her dress. When you take a walk together, It is the color of her long hair shining beautifully under the sun, making you want to stare at it forever. When you're feeling down and miserable, it is the color of the shirt you like to wear. When she hides that shirt away from you and buys you another red one, It is the color her playful eyes twinkled promising you that the dark days are over. When you see her in the bedroom with another, It is the color of the screaming voices in your head telling you you shouldn't have believed her.When you punch the wall with all your might, it is the color that forms your bruises. As she chases after you, it is the color of her Mascara stained tears. And It is the color that is slowly eating away your soul, as you head out to buy a new black shirt.