Chaos

It’s quite hilarious how a narrative could go from “ you lighten up my mood, you’re wonderful” to “you’re such an idiot, I genuinely despise you.” And no, it is not another case of emotional turmoil. It’s just how life works. Good to bad. Birth to death, so on and so forth.

What surprises me the most is the delusion we create for ourselves. Because we strive for perfection and we wholeheartedly hope that somewhere, somehow (though completely ignoring the reason) there is that someone that will be beyond perfection. That person who will steal our breaths away as they enter a room. That person whose smile will stop hearts. When they speak, the whole world listens avidly. How perfect are they? 

But then soon you realize, they’ve been wearing a disguise all along. That perfection that made you swoon was a mask. Then you realize that there were little mistakes but you were too delusional to see.

That charming and welcoming smile becomes evil and sinister. The thought of them engulfs all your power and you’re left more vulnerable than ever. You despise everything they are. Their eyes; that poisonous glare, haunting your darkest nightmares. They fulfill your deepest desires, and then set you off on the crooked railway to doom.

What demented feelings are these? 

Rah.

Contemplation is my life motto. At least for now.
It scares me how indecisive I have become these past few weeks. Everything was simpler and much clearer, I guess. Now my thoughts are all clouded and I can't think straight. I've always had an issue with over thinking, but I seem to be experiencing another level. A much higher one.
God forbid I might be going through one of these "moral-changing" phases you see in movies.
I hate change. At least drastic change.

Different.

I have noticed that the majority of my posts have been about my confusions, pessimism, and all the things that infuriate me. This somewhat upset me because it sort of conveyed me as a depressed little fucker, which I am not, hence I am making this post.
There are countless things that bug me at times but surprisingly, there are many more things that bring me great satisfaction.
It is absurd how much harder you have to think when you are asked the things you like in your life in comparison to when you're asked what do you despise the most. Quite saddening actually, but here we go.
Number one.
Like everyone else, I find pleasure in listening to music but not just any music. Usually, when I crave a certain type of song and I don't know what it is, it takes me hours to figure the song's name and fill in that hunger. It brings me peace.
It's a bit of an odd thing, I know. Very time-consuming, too! But music is my sanctuary.
Number two.
And this is the most obvious one! Writing!
I prefer expressing myself through writing and somehow, I find it easier than actually consulting another person face-to-face. Instead, you consult yourself and become your own shrink minus the awkward stares and human interaction in general.
Numero three.
I love panda's oh so dearly!
Numero four.
Being around the people I love, even though I am generally known to be a bit awkward and feisty. The thing is, I am a bit of a social retard. I say the wrong things, in the wrong places, at the wrongest times...you get the picture.
But oddly enough, I enjoy the company of others most times. Plus, I have an awesome best friend.
Number five.
My "Youmna" time.
And that is the time where I need to be alone. I believe that time alone is a good thing, as you get to know more about yourself. I am not saying you should lock yourself in a dark, humid room, sit in a corner and stare at a blank wall! For me, it is the time I shamelessly sing my heart out, write my blog or just paint.
This brings me to the next one.
Number six!
Painting.
Although I haven't painted in a really long time, I can't express how calmly happy I feel when I do paint. It just betters my mood.
Number seven.
Chilling with my mom. I understand that this should've went under the "being around the people I love" category but I felt like this point is ver special so, it deserves to be a number on its own.
I tend to get along well with both of my parents but I have always been closer to my mother.
Number eight.
And this is just recent but it's hearing a certain someone's voice every weekday morning.
You never know, it could be yours.
Nah, don't flatter yourself.
Number nine.
Baking!
I love making brownies, chocolate chip muffins, chocolate cake, chocolate-fudge-covered cupcakes..
CHOCOLATE EVERYTHING!
I enjoy the process of putting all the ingredients together, but I never tend to actually eat what I bake. Hmph. Weird.
Number ten.
Organizing.
I sometimes think that I have a serious case of OCD. I like maintaining a clean, but most importantly, an organized environment. I get teased quite a lot by my sisters over this. What can I say? I am a perfectionist at heart.

This is the furtherest I can go. I've been drilling my brain out trying to figure out an eleventh one, but I gave up.
I genuinely despise giving up.

Aggravation

I am so annoyed at this very moment but if you were to ask me what is bothering me precisely, I wouldn't know. The thing is, as humans, we go about in our lives thinking everything is perfect and that happiness has finally been thrusted upon you. You start to say that maybe, maybe your luck has turned around and that maybe, as cliche as this might sound, it is your time to shine. You see everything in bright colors and your optimism is heightened. Everyone is smiling at you, rainbows arch in the blue sky and butterflies flutter freely...
But then reality smacks you right in the face.
You start to understand that your climb up was initiated for a longer fall. That your optimism was a temporary thing and that the happiness you felt was all a delusion. Everyone not only frowns at you, but spits in your face, too. Dark clouds conquer the sky and moths jerkily maneuver among the pitiful glares.

We are born, then we die; life is intended to go from good to bad.
Call me highly dramatic but as obvious as it is, my pessimism is heightened today.
Another thing that bothers my sincerely is when you think a certain person is good, kind and respectful but then they turn out to be complete assholes, just like everyone else.
I don't want to believe that the world has run out of morally good people, but I am afraid that that's what I have been exposed to, the past few days.
For some idiotic reason, many people believe that it is preferred to be a bad person. But what makes a good one, though?
I am the last person to speak of being horrible to others but in the end of the day, my intentions are clean.
So here goes my finalized decision, I declare a very personal war on idiotic assholes who believe that the demented art of asshole-ry is preferred by anyone. Newsflash! It's not!
Shocking, isn't it?

I just wanted to share this here.

Tired To Triumphant.

So I just got home from a long a day on campus and I am smugly enjoying the sweetness and satisfaction of coming home to a cool, made bed. I am also feeling relatively inspired tonight. It's been a hectic and an eventful few weeks and I would like to express certain bumps on the road that I have encountered, and of course, the bright side of being a university student.
Scratch that.
It has been on my mind for the past few days that you'll only realize how much you were missing until you are put out to deal with the so-called "real world." Putting aside that I sincerely hate this term and I think it is completely redundant to address the world as being real because there's no such thing as a "fake world," unless the Chinese decide to set their hands on something of that sort or something similar...
So much blabbering, sorry.
Going back to the point.
Recently, I have been introduced to many new people, ideas and thoughts and to be quite honest, It was too overwhelming at first that I couldn't grasp what was going on. I was weary and emotionally lost. I even started doubting what I chose as my major and considered dropping out, in case it doesn't work. I fueled my pessimism and the fire ate me up. Any inch of hope was engulfed with "buts" and "I can'ts."
Until I started to revive my optimistic nature and realized the opportunity I was given. I found it ironic how I started to become something I genuinely hated: A pessimistic, whiny teenager. Then I was introduced to this whole new surface of acceptance, knowledge and learning. Truly, you can only benefit from something if you  go the extra mile.
I am confidently not a believer of luck, but whatever this is, it is similar to what they describe the term to be.

Uncertainty.

It's two weeks in. It's two weeks in and I am already doubting every decision I made to get here. It doesn't worry me that I made the wrong decision. It doesn't worry me that I might be doing this for 4 years and I might not enjoy it. What worries me is the uncertainty.

I guess it is too early to judge, but I happen to be very impatient.

Common conversation. Hidden persona.

I will not spoon-feed you lies just to satisfy your ego.
I'll be honest as long as you are.
I will tell you news, good or bad. It doesn't matter if it pleases you.
I tell you what's wrong and what's right, but I won't enforce you to choose.
That's your decision to make.
I need my space and so do you.
Leave me alone at times, please.
I sound like an arrogant bitch, don't I?
Well, you can follow the yellow brick road, if it pleases you.
"I need to understand you. Please tell me more."
Silence.
"You're too complicated."
Nodding, I take it as a compliment.
I'd rather be complex than easy.
Everyone is as transparent as water.
Others are as hard as ice. But you know...
Ice melts.
And so will you.
No, I won't. I'll last long enough.
I am the tip of an iceberg.

Miserable and eighteen.

So I thought since I am turning eighteen soon; and considering that it is conventional for me to be thrilled for that to happen, I decided to do a "Things to do before I turn eighteen" list.
Considering that I have less than 4 months left for that to happen, I expect this list to be extremely short. More so, I lack excitement when it comes to aging.
Here's why.
I honestly do not believe that when I turn 18, maturity will out-of-the-blue sink in.The most accurate example being my own sisters; I feel like a 60-year-old between them. Either way, I suppose we do have to live with these demented rules. I suppose I also have to fake some excitement while we're at it. Sadly, it is the social convention.
I'll tell you why I hate being older.
 As a generally petite person, I always have to get on with people thinking I am twelve or thirteen. It aggravates me so dearly, but at some point, I got tired of getting mad at others for this. I mean, they have these kind of minds which judge upon what they see. I have to pity them. Feel sorry for them, not loathe them. Sadly, not everyone is as developed.
Enough blabbering and onto the list.
Things that I should do before I turn 18:
1. I thought this would flow by the time I got to number one. Ergh, I guess not.
Usually these kind of lists include egging someones house, sleeping with someones boyfriend yada yada yay...
Quite frankly, all I want to do is sit down, listen to John Mayer, sing out-loud and off-tune. I was hoping to do the same thing on my birthday but I know for sure that my sisters will use it as an excuse to throw a fucking party.
All I want is a peaceful night at the beach and oreo cake.

How hard is it for that to happen?
I'll be miserable AND eighteen.

So I decided to post it.

This following post is inspired by some personal thoughts. I was overwhelmed and I needed a place to implicitly pour my heart out. I don't know, I might not even publish it.
Now I'll be putting the fact that I completely despise the idea of "perfection" aside, but do you know how everyone says that they are looking for that little remaining puzzle piece to make their lives "perfect?" For some, it is what they appear to describe as their "soul mate", for others it is family, and in frequent cases, the materialistic aspect of life is superior.
Now as a psychotic over-thinker, I can't help but obsess about my bloody puzzle piece. So let me examine the possibilities.
Possibility number One: The so-called soul mate.
Let me briefly explain why I personally hate this possibility; there's no such thing as soul mates. If I were to supposedly believe that I, a completely healthy and functioning individual, am missing half of my soul, I would expect some physical defect. I am not saying that this form of love is redundant (even though I personally believe so) but I think that logic prevails over emotion.
 Moving on.
Possibility number Two: Family
I have one. A large one, more so. Even considering that this might be my missing puzzle piece is insane. I have six siblings; enough to share with everyone!
We're running out of options here, Youmna.
Possibility number Three: Money. (Power and status.)
Quite frankly, I don't give a monkeys' ass about any of these.
I lied.
I do.
But only to some extend. I have sufficient amount of money to go by, a good education and enough books to read for days. So this definitely can't be my damn puzzle piece.

So evidently, there's nothing wrong with me.
I'd have to consider that everyone's perception of perfection differs and that term perfect itself, is slightly corrupted.
Apparently, what I need to find out is what my perception of perfect is, not that damned puzzle piece.

An essence of what swirls inside the mind of a blabbermouth.

So "20ThingsIDontLike" has been a worldwide trending topic on Twitter for a few days and I managed to express around fourteen things that infuriate me. Among these personal pet peeves was pessimistic individuals. I can't express how much I despise the lack of confidence in others. I am not saying that I don't have my moments, because I definitely do, but these usually pop up when I am alone in my room listening to Michael Bublé. On a more serious note, I genuinely believe that pessimism is fueled by ill-confidence and insecurities. 
I won't be focusing this post on this only since I'd like my thoughts to trail on other topics.
I'm such a blabbermouth.

I started to notice that this blog is beginning to become somewhat my shrink. A sufficient psychological getaway. I might not write everything that is on my mind here, but it brings me to overwhelming thoughts. Sort of like being high on ideas. It has become the medium of my self-discovering. 

I like to believe that this is the most crucial thing in a person's intellectual life; knowing yourself. If you understand yourself fully, only then will you be able to understand others. Personal affection is the treasure no one can take away from you. It is yours, and forever to keep. 

But then this brings this whole "ignorance is bliss" issue. I hate that saying oh so passionately. The main reason for the world's social, economical and my favorite out of all, political problems is that it is running with these kind of quotes getting around. It's like asking a sex addict to avoid getting a common STD.  A person with a lower IQ might think they have it going well, but anyone else can see that they're the ugly duckling. I am guessing anyone can notice my aggravation, whereas I'm not making sense right now. I am just saying, we shouldn't let ignorant morons control anything. 

#20ThingsIDontLike "Ignorance is bliss."

 I should be executed. 

a world of deteriorating souls.

My first take on poetry. It is about the oppression of the human mind. Human emotion is represented by colors and the controller of their zombie-like minds is the painter.

Trapped inside
A big black box; consuming.
Engulfing the painter's lies as he
Swiftly strokes
the promise of a better unknown.
White, red and purple promises.

Pale, soundless bodies.
Flaming eyes
Pegged
on the painter's brush
Quietly anticipating a shade of yellow.

Fury and rage
of blue and grey
But still.
Restless minds
Frozen within
dependent on a palette
of three colors.

Slowly forming, a world of deteriorating souls.

Now, throw your hats.

Missing high-school is one of the few things I am certain will never happen to me. Along with falling deeply in love and making a successful dish of lasagna. The latter is yet to happen but was definitely proven wrong; I genuinely miss high-school.
Although I painfully dragged myself around thoughout the whole year, there are memories craved in my heart and mind and will always stay there. I sound like an emotional wreck, don't I?
I can't decide what I miss most but nothing compares to walking into the common room every dreadful morning and finding everyone literally sleeping, then, on the same day that afternoon, walking into the same room into blasting Khaleeji (Arabic) music, flamboyant laughter and some guitar playing in the corner. With all that happening, everyone surprisingly still manages to hold not-so-private conversations about their frustrations with Math, Mr Naeim's insufferable sarcasm and who took the last piece of cake from the cafeteira. Not to mention my personal favorite;  constant upheveal over  Football (Soccer); and whether it is suppose to be called Football or Soccer.
It is safe to say that we all developed our multitasking skills in that time period.
People always say that finishing high-school is incomparable to what you'll face after, but what they don't tell you is that when everything is done, you feel as if a burden has been lifted off your shoulders. However, replacing that burden is an overwhelming emptiness that used to be filled to little quarrels between you and your teachers, your constant frustration over your grades and cafeteria food that tastes like paper drowned in vegetable oil.
You suddenly start to miss everything; even your worst days. The day where you misinterpreted William Wordsworth. The day where you accidentally printed out the wrong assignment. The day where you had prefect duty during your only break.
AJA's Class of 2012 definitely had moments where we lost our sense of sanity and maturity, which mostly lead to a catastrophic aftermath. Sneaking in a TV and a gaming system to the common room, to name one.
Skipping school, stealing test sheets, skipping class, getting detained for misbehavior, water fights with teachers, texting in class, eating in class, sneaking in fast-food and of course, planking in front of a Land Cruiser are all part of the high-school experience. Definitely.
 To sum it all up, the past few years have been a roller-coaster ride to enjoy. I am genuinely grateful to everyone I met during these years. Now I am prepared to storm my way through Journalism school. I think.

I get that a lot.

Do you get told repetitively by different people that you're "something"? I do.
It's quite insufferable, really.
"You're so mean" and "you're too stubborn" are the gold medal winners.
"No, I am just realistic," "I just have a strong sense of opinion" are usually my gold medal answers.

Sometimes, I reply smugly "You've clearly got the obvious under your thumb, haven't you?"

I am simply making this blog post to clarify that yes, I understand that I have a bit of a feisty character but at the same time, I'm working on it. My lack of trust is inversely proportionate to my shyness, so hold your horses.
I sometimes think that this inconsiderate beast in me is linked with my inability to understand social conventions and interact with people, while maintaining my sanity. Quite surprisingly though, I am extremely empathetic at times but my red light starts blinking when I see danger. Kind of like a lioness but a lioness, unlike me, can maintain steadiness on solid ground without fidgeting, falling then hurting herself. Physically, of course. No metaphorical implication. None at all.
This brings me to my next point. My unbearable frustration with my clumsiness. It is dangerous just to exist when you're as clumsy as I am. I find myself knocking, spilling and breaking things with a simple touch. I advise you, if you ever encounter me on my worst days, keep five miles (radius) away from me and avoid eye contact. That's if you want to stay alive.
My exaggeration is mildly for your own safety and well-being.
I thank God everyday that my physical clumsiness is contradicted with my intelligence. Which I like to believe is genetically inherited because I can't be that lucky.
This brings about this whole "luck" thing. I genuinely don't believe in luck but if such thing exists, I was probably sleeping when it was distributed. I have the luck of a lump of wood.

Men are from Earth, women are just insane.

What makes a real man?
A question asked by every woman out there, making every man desperate for the answer. The essential key to understand the complex nature of women. As far as I am concerned, I need to understand the concept of "real men" to begin with and the slick use of the word "real" here to subjectify men.
Real.
Real.
Something that is true, actual, not imaginary and sincere. An adjective used to describe an object or incident. But not men. So what do we understand from this? These so-called "real men" are true, actual, not imaginary and sincere. Often a description of physical existence. Then all men are real. Aren't they?
The emphasis is brought onto sincerity. 
"A combination of intellectualism, understanding, honesty, chivalry, self-control , capability, passion, confidence, physical strength and empathy. Is that too much to ask?" any woman would say.
Well, sorta, kinda, in a way, yes.
I am not the most considerate person, not at all, but there's nothing that angers me more than unrealistic women who crave the "perfect man" whom they have illustrated in their immature minds. Also, if you can think about it, all these characteristics are somewhat conflicting.
"Men are pathological liars, they function like animals. They're no good," some say.
Not sexist, just the effects of a broken heart.
"Women are uptight and control freaks they are no good," others say.
These "others" are accused of being sexist, terrorists that posses nuclear weapons and other weaponry of mass destruction.
I hope my sarcasm was blatantly noticeable.

I am really beginning to think that I have watched to many click-flicks this summer and it has done me harm. 

The Itsy Bitsy Ending.

I did this as an assignment a few months earlier for school. It's not that good but I wanted to prove a point.
After I wrote it, it seemed like I wrote a story-line for a horror movie, not a nursery rhyme. It was an interesting turn out. I thought, why do we tell these melodic stories to children, when they contain violence, cheating, lying, theft etc. (such as Little Red Riding Hood) They weren't initially written for children but they were substituted for their innocence.
People grow into depressions when they finally understand that in the so-called "real world" not everyone gets their"happily ever after," and that they have been fooled.
That not every hero finds his princess.
Not every princess finds her prince charming.
Not everyone gets a father/mother figure to help them through their parents death.
That's probably why we have so many psychological disorders!
Enough analyzing everything.

......

The dark threatening clouds were forming high above. Either way, I maneuvered my tiny body among the towering green grass. As I reached the edge of the circular spout I could see that the weather was worsening. My instincts were telling me not to, but I moved my eight furry legs. Behind me, I heard a roaring sound however, I continued to climb the dark and humid walls. The walls were slippery and the passage was daunting. At that moment I thought to myself: Why am I going this?
The sound of thunder,deafening, continued to build up. I prayed for a couple of moments. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the thunder. The loud silence was worrying. I could only hear desperate gasping and the faint sound of eight, fiddling, long legs. I knew something was wrong and I expected the worst. 

One blaring strike was followed by a million pounding bullets.
It was the sky, crying again.
The following events happened way too quickly.
A cool breeze was followed by a giant, forceful wave which dragged me backwards with massive force. Helpless, I started losing view of where I was heading...

A frustration.

There comes a time in our lives when we lose a loved one or have a beloved lose someone who meant so much to them. At that time, we are reminded about how fragile the human life is. That life is just a blur. A desperate midst collecting among towering, rocky mountains. Something completely meaningless. Breakable. It just seems to me that I am frequently being reminded of this. At least recently. Thank God, either way. 

A slightly dysfunctional summer and a slightly dysfunctional mind.

Recently, I have been helplessly inactive. Well in the intellectual sense, to be exact. This brings me to this following thought: It is quite astonishing how easy it is for humans to break promises, even when made to themselves. At the beginning of this summer, the date which marked July 1st, I promised myself one thing; to have a productive summer. One where I nourished my soul with literature, fed my hunger for knowledge with biographies, and matured my writing skills. I set up a few books to read. Well, to be quite honest, they were around twenty-two books. Among them beautifully written novels written by authors who were celebrated generations and generations after they were deceased.  Each book discovered a new dimension, a space in which you would hang high above, loosely, dwelling over the beauty of the detailed descriptions. I was overwhelmed at first, then I constructed a list and saved it on my Desktop naming it with sheer excitement, "Books to read this Summer."


Over a month and a half has passed since the beginning of my summer holiday. Clearly I haven't kept that promise to myself. I left my list abandoned. I can't help but feel like a worthless rag. Either way, I have decided to start writing some sort of journal. It will contain my daily slash weekly slash monthly frustrations. That sounds quite pessimistic. Alright, it will also contain my rare triumphs and all my euphoric moments.


I am beginning to read a psychology book which investigates human personalities. I figured that being the judgmental freak that I am, a characteristic which always gets me in some sort of trouble, I will learn through this book to understand why other people behave a certain way. It always baffles me how everyone is the same, but they're not. That sounds a bit corny, but it's a way to sum it all up, I guess? The theories state that "...everybody goes through the same phases of growth to maturity." When I first read this, I smiled smugly. Then to think about it, we do. All humans experience pain, joy, love etc. in some form or manner. Some forms are more dysfunctional than others. Some are intensified while others aren't. Either way, everyone goes about the same experiences and that's probably why the modern world fell in love with Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth or or or... (Stories which originated hundreds of years ago.) Each of these portray human emotions that every individual must have came through during their lifetime, no matter what era or language. It is something they can relate to and humans always seek to make connections. Even if it's passion, love or the thirst for power and status.


As youngsters, we are spoon-fed fairy tale after fairy tale, oblivious to the fact that we are learning the very nature of humans. The obedience of Snow White, the ignorance of Little Red Riding Hood, the rebellious Robin Hood and so on. These stories grow to influence our expectations and the way we set out our life. Back to the book, now. The book talks about 32 different types of characters who have different combinations of "Introversion, Sensation, Intuition, Thinking, Feeling, Perceiving, Judging."  After a not-so-short questionnaire and a few calculations, you are given a four-lettered "Type."  Apparently I am a "INTJ" which therefore states that I am a "strategist" and that I "analyze the alternatives." INTJ's are also proven to be "life's independent thinkers."  "They have original minds and drive for implementing their ideas and achieving their goals."


I'll continue reading this book and hopefully, soon I'll be able to make accurate judgments. Cue theatrical music.