I need to get it off my chest ... I will die if I hold it in any longer ... My dad ... a scientist ... currently living in the US ... has lived there since 1994 ... is well-travelled ... my very own dad thinks that FRIENDS (TV Show) should not be aired in Egypt because it exposes youth to "bad" ideas ... dating, gay relations, and sex.
Should I just give up? I am tired of fighting the same fights over and over and over ..... OK ... one more time: No one has the right to limit another human being's choices .... show me the menu and let me choose ... give me the options and I will bear the consequences ....
This is so wrong ..... No wonder I always need to fly, flee, and feel free .... I guess I blocked a lot of childhood memories ... I remember that the door was always locked.
مبادرة مروة رخا للنشر الالكترونى
Delivered to your Doorstep
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Just a blog post
This screen looks so familiar.
I miss blogging.
I miss my best friend.
I miss Egyptian Fe-mail.
Dear blog, I am back
Let me dive into your arms again
Hold me ... I want to cry
I do not even know how to start this post for just the thought of someone reading it inhibits me. I need to feel nude, exposed, and vulnerable. I need to let go and let writing heal me. I will pretend that no one is here ... I will pretend that no one will read me ... I will pretend that it's just me and you again my dear blog.
I am socially inept!
I have come to realize that I was not meant to get up-close and personal with other human beings. I dodge social gatherings, weddings, birthdays, and any other event that demands that I be nice and talkative. I had friends but I always felt awkward around them; I do not talk the way they talk ... I do not think the way they think ... I do not want the same things they want ... I have always been a misfit. I am tired of telling the same stories to entertain them and I am sick of listening to theirs ... I would put them on mute and watch them move their heads as their lips open and close ... puppets ... deformed puppets.
It hurt.
I escaped real life and I created my virtual world. Blogging saved me. I met people who were like me. I felt normal. I finally fit. I leaned on blogging and bloggers for support. I just noticed that my best friends are bloggers. Bloggers are not people; they are souls exposed through their words. When I need to feel a human connection I don't call someone up, I visit a blog ... how isolated is that? I finally met people who shared my beliefs. It is funny how bloggers do not ask stupid questions. They do not pry. They are just human beings in need of space. They were not afraid of me.
Bit by bit my old friends began crawling back into my life. I still felt different but I felt special. I knew what they did not know. I have been to places they would never dare explore. I sponged on so many human experiences that their shallowness would never consume me. I did not mind letting them back into my life. I thought I was immune. I thought they could never hurt me.
I thought wrong.
Their poisonous effect spread into my life. I feel drained. What's the antidote to the lies, the fakeness, the games, the silly stories, the stupid jokes, the awkward silence, the holier than though attitude, and the lack of air? I cannot breathe. I began questioning myself again ... I began doubting my strength ... What is wrong with me? Why can't I fit? Why can't I talk to them? Yes ... I know ... they do not speak my language. Damn it!
Crawling back into my blog.
I miss blogging.
I miss my best friend.
I miss Egyptian Fe-mail.
Dear blog, I am back
Let me dive into your arms again
Hold me ... I want to cry
I do not even know how to start this post for just the thought of someone reading it inhibits me. I need to feel nude, exposed, and vulnerable. I need to let go and let writing heal me. I will pretend that no one is here ... I will pretend that no one will read me ... I will pretend that it's just me and you again my dear blog.
I am socially inept!
I have come to realize that I was not meant to get up-close and personal with other human beings. I dodge social gatherings, weddings, birthdays, and any other event that demands that I be nice and talkative. I had friends but I always felt awkward around them; I do not talk the way they talk ... I do not think the way they think ... I do not want the same things they want ... I have always been a misfit. I am tired of telling the same stories to entertain them and I am sick of listening to theirs ... I would put them on mute and watch them move their heads as their lips open and close ... puppets ... deformed puppets.
It hurt.
I escaped real life and I created my virtual world. Blogging saved me. I met people who were like me. I felt normal. I finally fit. I leaned on blogging and bloggers for support. I just noticed that my best friends are bloggers. Bloggers are not people; they are souls exposed through their words. When I need to feel a human connection I don't call someone up, I visit a blog ... how isolated is that? I finally met people who shared my beliefs. It is funny how bloggers do not ask stupid questions. They do not pry. They are just human beings in need of space. They were not afraid of me.
Bit by bit my old friends began crawling back into my life. I still felt different but I felt special. I knew what they did not know. I have been to places they would never dare explore. I sponged on so many human experiences that their shallowness would never consume me. I did not mind letting them back into my life. I thought I was immune. I thought they could never hurt me.
I thought wrong.
Their poisonous effect spread into my life. I feel drained. What's the antidote to the lies, the fakeness, the games, the silly stories, the stupid jokes, the awkward silence, the holier than though attitude, and the lack of air? I cannot breathe. I began questioning myself again ... I began doubting my strength ... What is wrong with me? Why can't I fit? Why can't I talk to them? Yes ... I know ... they do not speak my language. Damn it!
Crawling back into my blog.
Labels:
blogging,
Egyptian Blogger,
Marwa Rakha
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