Tuesday, January 16, 2018

We Are Who We Are. Are You?

I think that we are all amazing each in our own way. I think that there is somebody behind everybody we see. Somebody who writes down the history of things. A history that tells why people act the way they do, think the way they think and feel the way they feel. I think that we all have stories to tell: bad stories, good stories, twisted stories, pervert stories, evil stories, inspirational stories. Even in having no story to tell there is a story. [sigh] If only people were able to tell them, and other people were able to listen... But, you know what? We are not the amazing part of us. And no. It is not the stories we tell or have never told. It is the process leading to the story. Not the climax. And not the person having it. 
It is the things we go through that make us who we are and change who we were expected to be. Till one day we wake up one morning (or one afternoon) and say "I am going to do this and that because this is what I was meant to be." Of course this is what I call a bad story, because a good story would be us waking up to say "this is what I choose to be."

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Do I really have to write a title?

He's something. I don't know if I have loyal readers of my very humble blog. I have a fine number of views despite the fact that I do not write that much. Only 196 posts. I only blame myself, especially that I have been posting all kinds of posts under all types of themes with no one precise topic. This blog actually kind of reflects my personality. This is who I am in real life. I want everything; I want to do everything; I want to learn about everything; I want to do everything. But I only end-up having a little bit of everything. I am indecisive and unfocused. I wish I was some sort of a superhero: A superhero who can multi-task. But my life is not that bad. I have come to a point where I actually love my life. Yes! I love my life! I cannot believe myself saying this. I am very satisfied with the person I am today. I am happy with the life I am leading today. I have absolutely nothing to complain about. 
I am writing this post after watching Julia & Julie. Meryl Streep. What a magical creature on earth! She is simply phenomenal. If the characters she is playing are real, you fall in love with the characters because of her. And if the characters are imaginary, you wish they were real. Every time I watch a movie and I like a particular character in it, I wish if I could be that character in real life, and I feel like if at least I show some initiative, I can definitely be whoever the hell I want. I know I can be anything or anyone I want. But I want to be all of them. And that is the problem. Even gods can only be gods and no one else.  

Monday, January 8, 2018

A non-profit Project I Have Started. A Call for Writers-for-Humanity!

Write For Humanity is an independent non-profit project. By independent, we mean that this project does not (and will not accept) funds from any entity. This project starts from Tunisia with the hope of reaching people from all over the world.
Because of a news feed full of hatred, violence and discrimination, we want to create change in the current narrative. And because history and news content are being written by the power holders of discourse, we have decided that it is about time we give a voice (or a pen) to the rest of people around the world regardless of their race, religion, sexual orientation, ethnicity, gender, political affiliation, etc. We just want others to hear what you have to say.
Are you tired of being a mere news consumer or a bystander while history is being written by those in power? Do you want to have a hand in changing the current narrative? Do you have a story to share? Did you go through a life-changing experience that you believe others should learn from or hear about? Is there a topic you want to raise awareness about? Do you have a message you want to deliver to all humanity? Or to someone in particular? Do you have something in mind that you believe the generations to come will need to know?
All you have to do is write us a letter addressing the rest of humanity.
Please do not forget that we want you to deliver a message of peace, love, fraternity and solidarity. We want you to share a story that helped change your life, or talk about how something or someone made you realize something important in life. We want you to help us find that common ground that unites us and not focus on the things that divide us.
Please send us the letter in Word format, so that we will be able to copy/edit it. You may send it in English, Arabic or French. If you do not feel comfortable writing in any of these languages, then send it to us anyway, and we will manage to look for volunteer translators. The book will be published in English. However, we will translate some of the letters in other languages and publish them on our website to reach out to as many people as possible.
Along with the letter, we would like it if you send us a small biography so that readers will be more able to relate to your message. If you feel more comfortable not sharing your identity, then we will respect your choice.
Here is our email address: writing4humanity@gmail.com
Please do not hesitate to send us your feedback and comments. And, if you think you can help us in any way, please do not hesitate to reach out to us. We need you!
Thank you.

Friday, December 8, 2017

A Journal of a Blue Bird Called Molly: Page 5: Of Suicide & co (PART II)

I remember one early morning about three years ago when I was on my way to my university, a young man hung himself in a tree. The body was covered with a white sheet. The body was not taken down till the police came. I remember it vividly now. The weather was gloomy; the scene was very artistic. I saw Antonio Vivaldi by the tree playing his Winter piece. All what I could think at that moment was 'at last, he's free'. Suicide has nothing to do with how religious or how much of a believer you are. I had had suicidal thoughts ever since I used to be very religious. I had had them when I became irreligious. I stopped having them when I realized I have to earn the keys to my chains, and I had only two paths to choose from; either commit suicide, or take that one huge step towards living for me and only me.

My family has always been financially stable: I ate good food, slept in a warm bed, spent the summer holidays at the beach, ate ice-cream, and played in the neighborhood with the boys. My childhood was fine compared to my adulthood. You see, ever since my uterus started to bleed and my breast started to grow, my life started to change radically without even being asked. I needed to start learning how to be a lady, so my family prevented me from going out to play with the boys in the neighborhood. I was no longer allowed to go out except to go to school; you can imagine how hellish the holidays used to be. I could not receive a female friend at my place without having my mother eavesdropping on us. I could not pick up the phone to have a simple conversation with someone because all my family would be harassing me. The only boyfriends I could have were imaginary ones about whom I would write imaginary things in my diaries. Of course I had a few boyfriends in high school, but they were very short term ones because with my up-tight life style, I could not get out with them, call them or even text them. Hell, I could not even go out with female friends. They would even choose my friends for me. I used to be constantly terrorized. Even when I am home alone I would imagine my mom putting surveillance cameras to tap my phone calls. I know this sounds silly. It does sound silly to me now. But back then, it sounded very logical. I believed it. 
The terror escalated when my brother turned from my best friend into my biggest enemy. This transformation also happened when he hit puberty. Somehow, society explained to him that he needs to be a 'man'. And by 'man', they meant someone who is a macho, misogynistic being who constantly tries to fill in the gaps of his weak egoistic existence by unlawfully/wrongfully controlling his female counterparts to convert them into the slaves of the patriarchal dominion. 
Is this my fault? Am I the victim of the scars that these people left me for life? Or have I fallen victim to my own dark thoughts?

Thursday, December 7, 2017

The Story of a Blue Bird Called Molly- Page 4: about Depression.

My state of depression reaches its peak when I make expectations and build high hopes about something or somebody and end up feeling disappointed. All the meanings of life that I make up in my mind to convince myself to stay alive one more day crash into a billion pieces of meaninglessness. That is when I start imagining different scenarios of me taking my own life out of this miserable shit hole full of human bullshit. The human behavior/nature is what drives me the most depressed: the way humans treat each other. Lies. Deceit. Treason. Disloyalty. Ungratefulness. 

All these things become nonexistent when I feel euphoric. It feels good when I’m on the pills. It makes me feel numb and unaware of those things. And this is one of the reasons why I stopped taking my pills. They put me in a state of denial, and if there is one thing that got me here to begin with, it’s denial itself. Even when I broke free out of my previous patriarchal jail I was in a state of denial. I don’t remember how I did it. Sometimes, I forget that I did it.

I feel like killing myself 24 hours a day. The thought is there with every breath I take, every piece of food I put in my mouth, every panic attack I have and every sense of nausea I experience. I feel like throwing up all the time. I feel like I can hardly breathe. I feel like my body cannot tolerate these feelings anymore.

People envy me. I have a master’s degree, a respectable job, a loving boyfriend, good friends, and a decent family who finally accepted the fact that I am taking control of my life. I am stable financially and emotionally. I am free, brave and independent. I am all that. Sometimes more. Other times less. It depends on my mood swings. But I am indifferent to all that. I cannot savor anything. I am dead inside, and the only things that make me feel alive are the brief joys that love brings to my heart. Everything is temporary, except my state of depression.  

Thursday, August 10, 2017

The Story of a Blue Bird Called Molly- Page3: Introduction

It has been a while since I last wrote something. The thing is.. I have been depressed for a very long time. I was trapped in a hell hole, and the only thing that helped me survive it was writing. I ran away from it thinking that this depression will end. It didn't. It turned out that while I was planning my escape, along with my books and laptop, I actually packed my depression.

Knowing this paralyzed me. I thought I could write because I was good at it, because I could do it. Discovering that I used to write just to survive devastated me. It crashed me into alphabetical letters that I am now failing at creating meaning out of them.

Today, I have decided to get out of my shell and talk about my state of depression. I am going to talk about the feelings and thoughts I have been having and have been afraid of sharing because of it makes people feel... "uncomfortable" and because it makes me look "unattractive".

I have been planning on starting a series of blog posts for a long time now. I will be sharing intimate stories about the childhood, adolescence and adulthood of an almost young Tunisian woman.. about me.

I'm Nada. I'm almost 27 years-old. And this is my story..

(to be continued)

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

الأنا العاهرة.

عندما يذبحني أخي بدافع الشرف، أخبروهم انني عذراء الجسد والقلب والعقل.
أخبروهم انني لا أعرف من الإنتعاظ شيئاً غير ما تقدمه أصابع يدي للبظر حين أشعر بالوحدة وأن لا أحد يحبني. 
أخبروهم انني أتصدق للفقراء أحياناً وإن كنت لا أؤمن أن ذلك سيضمن لي الجنة.. انني أشفق عليهم واكرههم في نفس الوقت لأنني أشعر بالسوء عند رؤيتهم وبالعجز حين أقدم لهم بعض المليمات. 
أخبروهم انني حاولت وحاولت مراراً عدة أن أتقمص شخصية العبد لإرضائهم وإرضاء نفسي الخاضعة التي دائماً ما تحاول تجنب المشاكل وإن كلفها الأمر أغلى ما تملك وهي حريتها.
أخبروهم أن أمي قد بصقت على وجهي يوماً واتهمتني 'بالثقافة الزائدة'.
أخبروهم أن أمي دائماً ما تضربني كلما ابديت رأياً مخالفاً في شأنٍ يخصني.
أخبروهم أن بعد كل الكتب التي قرأتها والشهائد التي صففتها في الدرج السفلي من مكتبتي تريد أن تزوجني من رجل يريدونه لي ولا أريده لنفسي.
رجل لم يهجر ربه كي لا يهجرني. له عمل 'مسمار في حيط' وشهرية لا بأس بها. لا يملك لا الكثير من المال حتى لا يستبدلني بأخرى ولا القليل من المال حتى لا يعجز عند دفع ثمن غشاء بكارتي.
أخبروهم أنها تريدني أن أخبئ شهائدي حتى لا يجرح ذلك كبرياء أخي.
أخبروهم انني حين هددت بحرق نفسي لم يأبهوا لي وأنهم أخبروني انني إن فعلت ذلك لن اجلب سوى العار لأسرتي.
أخبروهم أنهم يتمنون موتي على أن استقل بذاتي.
أخبروهم انني عاجزة عن أن أحب أحداً حتى نفسي. انني أشعر بالحزن واللاحب والظلم والغربة في وطني، في منزلي، في جسدي.
أخبروهم انني أشعر بالخجل من نفسي لأنني خذلتني.
أخبروهم انني لا أخاف الموت ولكنني لا أريد أن أموت.
أخبروهم انني ميتةٌ بالفعل في إنتظار أن ابعث. أريد أن أحيا. أريد أن أجرب الحياة على سبيل التغيير وإن كانت مجرد وهم.
أخبروهم انني لست بعاهرة ولا بقديسة. أخبروهم أن لا عاهر في نفسي سوى تلك الأنا التي رضيت بواقعي خوفاً مما قد يقدمه لي التمرد من تغيير. انها لأنا عاهرة بالفعل.
أخبروهم انني أشرف من أخي وأشرف منهم. أخبروهم انني لا أهتم بهم.
ملاحظة: كس أبوكم على أبو مجتمعكم.

الحرية أو الموت

أشعر بالسوء حين يخذلني قلمي فأنا لا اكتب إلى حين أشعر بالحزن أو حين توهمني الحياة بالسعادة. 
لن اكتب أسطراً سريالية شبه شعرية لأصف مدى السوء الذي أشعر به. الكلمة في حد ذاتها واضحة. سوء. وهذا العالم في حد ذاته واضح. سيئ. 
ولن أخجل من البوح بمشاعري فأنا وهم وأنتم وهم وكل هذا الوجود وهم. 
إلى متى سنعيش نصف حياة ونصف حب ونصف موت ونصف حرية. علينا أن نعيش الأشياء بأكملها إلى آخرها وإن قتلتنا. 
الحرية أو الموت.
الحب أو اللاحب.