Shallow Me

"Women love it when I figure them out but they never figure me out." He said

"Do you want them to figure you out?" I replied

"Why don't you want to figure me out, Marwa?" He asked

"Because if I figure you out, I will not want you anymore" I bluntly said

"I portrayed you ... did my words hurt?" He exclaimed

"The truth does not hurt me .. lies do." I said

"What is your perception of me?" He asked

"I will write it, post it, and let you read it." With those words we concluded the discussion and went our separate ways.

I cannot think of him in words; I only think of him in visuals. He is a carpet. Not because I, or anyone else, can step allover him, but because people trip on its not so visible creases when they are not looking; when they are not knowing; when they are not suspecting; when they are not expecting. Only to land on their backs, knees, and faces with more severe injuries than a fist-fight in the street. He does not leave bruises or scars behind; he leaves broken bones and fractures that hurt and might never heal.

He is cursed, but who isn't? He is cursed because he is smart. He is smart in knowing what people are thinking and how they are feeling, but his brains are his worst enemy; he only gets attracted to people who do not want to figure him out; be it laziness, stupidity, lack of interest, or fickleness.

He has another curse. In my shallow eyes, the gift of his sharp wits and wild soul are trapped in an unattractive package of fat and flab. He reminds me of what I could have been and what I worked so hard to overcome. I look at him and I see the "me" that I escaped. "My eyes deceive me", I told him yesterday. "I get facts and knowledge via my senses, this is why I would rather trust my feelings - they never deceive me."

I wish I were not as shallow. I wish looks did not score so high on my scales.

"Don't hurt me" He said
"Don't get attached to me .. I never stay" I told him
"I know" - He always knows.

Me? A Blackhole? - another interpretation of me

Here are bits and pieces of what he said about me but for the whole piece click the link

The Blackhole

"She tells me that she has a dilemma. Almost everyone she's been involved with has told her that she is cold ...

You see, it's not that she is cold. She just doesn't generate heat, and needs to draw it in her. She is just like a Blackhole, attracting all the warmth and the light to it, and doesn't give it back ...

It's like a hologram of fire: just looks like the real thing, but don't expect it to keep you warm at night... No wonder some people run away.

The way a blackhole works is simple: It used to be a sun. A center of light and heat ... And then one day it shut down. It died. It collapsed upon itself, and it started to attract every single piece of light to it, where it would be sucked in and forever dissappear...

It attracts you, and it destroys you, and the worst thing is, there is no escaping it once you are close enough to its orbit. It draws you in, opens up to you like an old friend, gives you its embrace and ends up sucking the warmth out of you, depleting you, until there is nothing left in you for it to want...

Either way, you can't help but feel betrayed! That it wasn't supposed to be this way! The thing is though, every Blackhole used to be a sun, until something turned it off ... If you can figure it out, then you could fix it, and have a sun all to yourself...

Or maybe, just maybe, this is all just a test. Maybe it works like that as a way for the Blackhole to weed out the unworthy ... Maybe, just maybe, every Blackhole is just waiting for that special something that can pass through its gravitational pull and doesn't get destroyed, and comes in contact with it and manages to keep its heat. It would take something really strong and special to be able to do that, something worthy.

Maybe that's what this is all about. And when that day comes, the gravatational pull will stop , the destruction will cease, and the Blackhole will be satisfied, having found its exclusive heat center."

Blogging vs Writing

You might already know that I write regularly for a few Egyptian magazines in English; Egypt's Insight, Enigma, and Campus. I started writing because I needed a voice; I needed to vent, breathe, and detoxify. In October 2006, I created my first blog (Jenny) and in December 2006 I came out in the open - mask off. In February I began posting for the American Chronicle and their 21 affiliate chronicles, and in March Ex in the City linked me to their experts. This is all great news and progress. Now what am I bitching about?

I will tell you. Yesterday I got a call from my editor in Campus Magazine who informed me that my article for the April issue has been removed by "rekaba" - censorship. The 65 year old veiled lady interpreted it as "a call soliciting incest" - Please do not ask me where that came from.

Then I called my editor in Enigma to see if they had any issues with censorship. She was as sweet as ever, and told me that my Bloggers feature and my relationships article we removed because of spacing issues. A multinational advertiser took a few pages and they had to take out half of their content!

I was a bit frustrated but I was thankful for blogging and eternally grateful for the world wide web. When I first started blogging, I used to post one article each month, then they became three when I began writing for three publications. Last month I noticed that I run to my blog every time anything disturbs my peace. It is no longer about articles; it is about me living and breathing.

Every time one of my articles gets censored, removed, postponed, or even edited I feel like a gagged woman watching a thief break into her house. It is a suffocating feeling for a control-freak like myself. On the other hand, blogging is an extremely liberating experience - this is where I get relief, support, understanding, acceptance, and a genuine warm welcome.

Bye Bye magazines!