Family Photos and Changing Memories

A black and white photograph caught my eye. I could see myself in my mother, her confident – almost arrogant – expression, large white petals of flowers crowned over her head and the long veil dropping over the side of her wedding dress. “I want to see you in the same veil when you get married,” my mother smiled.

I have spent the last year trying to get to know my parents. For most of my adult life, my relationship with them has been tumultuous at best, frustration and anger often hovered like a dark cloud over us and all due to one significant barrier; our inability to communicate. It was not only language – since they do not speak English – but their identification to a paternalistic culture that I could never relate to. Memories of the way my father mistreated my mother were stored in my mind and there it remained as it prevented me from finding forgiveness and moving on. Read More

Film Review: Catch-22

Denial. Deep down most men are embarrassed at themselves and their condition, they know that they are unhappy, ashamed of the bad decisions that they have made that instead of admitting and changing, they continue, prolong, persevere until finally their efforts to convince others that they are happy makes them believe that they must be doing the right thing. He finally succumbs to madness.

Those of us who cling onto life, who value the goodness of justice and of righteousness, we see this madness everywhere, in everyone, the lies and falseness, the pretending, and despite the attempt to escape from the jaws of its hopelessness, the existential abyss is always ready to consume our every effort to channel moral goodness and what is right.

“Me: happy happy happy. Dead. You: worry worry worry. Dead. Don’t drag me into your shit.”

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Khalil Gibran: Broken Wings

Solitude has soft, silky hands, but with strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow. Solitude is the ally of sorrow as well as a companion of spiritual exaltation.” ~ Broken Wings

Sometimes, very briefly, I wish I could empty my identity, to dissolve any sophistication of thought and be mentally frozen like most of society around me who seem content living within these false facades and who dumb themselves down until they actually forget how to use their own minds, just so this heartache could end.

The impossibility to find a friend seems almost obvious now, someone at the same level  as me, reading the same page. I can’t read backwards. The most dangerous in our society tend to be the most ignorant and I can’t risk being hurt again, but the arid desert in front of me is frightening, the mirage of my own corpse standing in the hot distance singing captivating tunes of death. Read More

South of the Nile Delta

I think I have made a serious mistake, I thought to myself as I was crammed into a mini-van on my way through the Sinai Peninsula with two other women, both from South America. It was deep into the evening and there he stood at the van entrance, his eyes gleaming at me suspiciously as he held my passport in one hand and an AK47 in the other. My heart was racing, my mind thinking about the reality that it was just three girls surrounded by all these men. We could get dragged into the desert, raped and murdered and no one would ever know. Kidnapped, maybe sold into sexual slavery! Read More

Cracked In Two

His cold hand sinks down on my chest

Burdened by a heavy wheeze, a –                               breathtaking passion dances to the

fervent pressure, pushing down at –                     besotted sounds, springing forth from Read More