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.