My office decoration. Reflects my inside :p

 

I’m back to life. Technically, I was never in life. I mean I was in life. The only time I time I was in life is when I was in university and I was actually enjoying life through a world of unspeakable pleasures: good theoretical literature and good company. But that ended as soon as it started. Now, I’m in the sidewalk with many other people looking at the cars (specifically at the Bentleys , the Mercedes,  the Maseratis …etc) pass by and walking slower than a snail.

Don’t get me wrong this isn’t a sad post. In order to write a sad post you’d have to be sad but I’m immune to what’s going on. I’m beginning to accept life as it is. A slow pace of misfortunes and no can do(s). I understood that your dreams can not be fulfilled unless you have a fortune cookie with your name written in it when it’s cracked or for a better luck, have your name with a hundred titles before it.

Oh, well. Meh.

So, currently I have a desk governmental job. I am an Academic Advisor…tsk tsk. Usually, I finish work at the early  and then I just sit wait if someone comes to ask me stuff or to finish paperwork and so on (bureaucratic shit basically) and I catch up on reading or (starting now) catch up with blogging. It’s an okay job. It pays and gives you a sense of liberation (somehow… like in a superficial sense) but that is. I made quite a good company here. A girl who I knew from uni but did not create a bound with her until now. She is sweet and she is amazing. Shout out to you Munira!!

I’m still trying on life. I’m not giving up but this time it’s on a slower pace and with very little to zero hope in the process of “happening”.

What else?

Oh yeah! notice something? I ditched “Esperanza Writes” I think by now I’ve grown out of it and I need something that attaches my “I” into it, hence, “Norawithletters” just like my Instagram . My name now exists in the realm of my blogging zone! Yaaay?

On an end note, be safe. Life is what life is meant to be. الحمدالله على كل حال.

Screwed and beyond

-Nora

Consumption

For the past couple of years I’ve had developed this weird habit of collecting receipts. It is not that I had planned it, it just happened like this. You know how you find a pile of receipts gathered in your wallet or purse? Well, I just happened to reposition those into a drawer of mine until it became a habit.

I always knew subconsciously that I would do some kind of art project with it I just didn’t know what.

In our “Globalization and Global culture” class we took a novel called “The Committee” by an Egyptian writer called Sun’Allah Ibrahim. We immediately fell in love with the story. It is so powerful in an agonizing way. His kafkaesque style is very grabbling and mind blowing.

With no spoilers here: the story speaks about a globalized arab world in which it is controlled by a force to consume. The story specifically strikes you by it very closing line:

Then I lifted my wounded arm to my mouth and began to consume myself

In class we have argued the translation of the world “Akalt” into consume. Where the translation we’ve read says “consume” another translation says “eat”. My doctor said that “eat” makes more sense but I have arguably made my statement that “consume” is more powerful and meaningful. When one consume it ticks every sense of disposing, and usually it ends with waste of the act consume. But that is only my opinion you can always beg to differ with your opinion.

With that amazing class we came, my friends and I, to discuss my collection of receipts and what kind of art project should I do with them. They suggested that I should connect it to “The Committee”. I loved the idea that I wanted to apply it to the closing line of the book.

Since then I left the idea on the shelf. Until one day I listened to Bastille’s “Pompeii” song and I thought it had so much relevance to the idea. Especially with the verses:

And the walls kept tumbling down
In the city that we love

With that I got enthusiastic and decided to do it right away.

With that I might as well say: Enjoy the video!

-Esperanza Writes

P.S: Excuse my pajamas :p :’D

Robbed

I had a dream.

I cannot remember the dream that well but there is a precise incident that kept me going. In the dream I was having a conversation with my friend. She was saying something that I do not remember now but when she finished her point I got up and said “Your words inspired me. I’m going to write a blog post now”. The dream ended at that. I don’t remember how and on what did she inspire me with I just know that I grew frustrated that I lost this source of inspiration once I opened my eye. I thought that I need this “inspiration”. I have been numb for a while I need something to dazzle with.

Inspiration.

Isn’t what we all need. Forget food being the source of life. Forget that we need to breathe in order to live. Forget senses. Forget everything. Inspiration is the reason for our liveliness. Without inspiration we are like zombies with heartbeats. 

Bear My Thoughts (Pun Intended)

I have disappeared the past couple of months into a vacuum. However, I have not disappeared because of nothing but because all my energy has been focused on writing essays for my subjects on a weekly basis and whenever I got free time I would prefer spending it with putting my brains on a snooze mode.

Here, I am finally free (technically I was free a week ago) and I am in a holiday. It has been hectic trying to pull in everything I missed on out since the semester has started and doing the things that I love. Like watching movies where during the course I have alternated it with YouTube videos just to spare the time- because I could not just simply sit down and watch a movie for a period of time (even though I did it on rare basis). Reading, I miss reading outside materials that does not involve anything related to college, every time I attempt to pick a book a find myself not having time to read it and read college material- or feeling guilty that I am not reading the “suppose to read” stuff on the price of “self enjoyment” material. Add to that, writing outside stuff like writing this post- or simply just pouring my thoughts without thinking twice about what I should be or should not be writing and how “formal” the essay should be. Or that it should be flawless of grammatical errors (which will you be seeing a lot in this blog because I do not revise twice upon the post I have written- it is informal and I’m free to speak hence, no grading) just to be to the point and valid with the points I’m stating. It is kind of frustrating at times especially when each doctor had his/her own way of approving which is a good essay and which is not.

Lastly, hibernating- yes like a bear.

Push the Buttons

It has been a while I know, but what can I say? College? Loads of papers and essays? stress over stress? Never mind that. However, do mind that I came to write here today for a reason. Yet the reason will remain until the latter. I’m not sure if the theory that I’m going to mention in a bit have came around in your life but the concept sure will sound familiar (although I’m pretty sure the way I’m going to explain it is somehow different).

You know when you are waiting for an elevator, you standing on the ground floor and the elevator is on the thirty second perhaps and you are pushing the buttons. Pushing, and anticipating it coming, and waiting and waiting for it to come but it so taking a damn long time. It is stopping on every floor and you are waiting. You wish you could go up the stairs but by the time you will get to the floor you are aiming for you will be out of breathe. So, you wait– impatiently-  you keep pushing and pushing the buttons, both those going up and down, as if by doing that you are making it come faster. And then when it finally arrives, it opens in a fast speed and people crammed inside just get out and semi-step on your feet and semi-trips you and by the time the people are all gone you manage to stand right outside the elevator and you see it’s empty from the inside. While, you lift your foot to step inside, the elevator closes and it goes up without waiting for you. Just like that it shunned you.

That elevator is that bottled up person, filled with all those emotions and you are the one who just keep pushing the buttons. The person is filled and filled, it exploded and now it is empty. The feelings turned out from everything to nothingness.

It hurts to be this person. So lost. So filled. So bottled. and So empty. Yet, no matter how you shun that person out of the elevator, that person will keep pushing the buttons until it is allowed. Because that person finds life more beautiful, easier, better with the elevator. And no matter what you do that person will be waiting until you give in and allow that person to be in. Me into your heart. No matter what you will do and how much you are through I will not leave you. No life is good without you.

I will keep nagging and nagging and pushing your buttons no matter how you try to shun me out of your emptiness.

Because a lot of things. Because you made me write this post for you which means you are dear. Because life is bitter without the sweet, which is you. Because I love you.

I do not know what is wrong, but allow me to listen.

Many loves,

Esperanza Writes

 

Little People (Short Story)

There is a small city, so far way and hidden. In it lives little people working and being hyper active. However, because they are little tiny itsy people in a tiny little itsy city nobody knows of this place. The only creatures who know of its existence are flying birds that pass above it and rest in it while immigrating.  In this city a natural cycle runs. Newborn babies come into life everyday and old folks die as their journey in life ends.

And yet they were different. Different not only in the sense that they were so tiny (much like a journey in Gulliver’s travels to the tiny people) but in their way of fueling. They, not like regular people fuel on food on water, but have their own way of fueling with a weird kind of way. They fuel on letters, inspiration, and moving forward of the normal people. Whenever normal people thinks of words that are combined with multiple letters, or endorses a new kind of knowledge those tiny citizens would be all energized up. Talking a lot and being the fireworks to normal people. Without the normal people knowing.

Unfortunately, if they are not fueled over time those little people loses their power and slack off. And little by little they lose their souls, and this city become without citizens to count.

All those little people’s pleas are that they keep being fueled. To keep the city going. They are afraid to vanish.

-Esperanza Writes

Beg Me My Forgiveness (short story) [Past Post]

(Some people are better off Solo. -Esperanzish Proverb)

It all started with a look, then a touch, then a ring. I was deceived with his words. Promises upon promises was presented to me and I believed. I lived a fairy tale that every girl dreamed of. I was a princess in other words.

We settled in together, got married and I lived the time of my life. I loved him so dearly, I grew so attached to him. I would stand up against a bullet for him, after all he is the husband I have chosen. The husband that I fell in love with him in the first sight.

Things seemed beautiful at first I am a middle-school teacher and he is, well he is searching for a job, he wanted to be a huge investor, he had those wild dreams and I respected his dreams. In fact I encourage him to go after his dreams. I was his motivator.

He worked hard the first couple of months on trying to find his dreams, but then he just quitted didn’t try anymore. He started to just stop and do nothing. He would be going out in the night amusing himself, then he would sleep all morning. Being a useless drag. The only equation that I was in was being the source of money.

I thought at first it was a phase, depression maybe so I let him alone to deal with it. This didn’t seem to workout so I tried to talk to him, it didn’t go well. Our voices grew louder until we were practically shouting. Any neighbor with in ten feet away could’ve heard us. And then the most unexpected thing happened, he slapped me so hard I could feel my cheek going numb. I was in shock how could this happen? How could he dare do so?

Our shouts grew louder and louder until I could feel myself blackout from the repetitive beating.

They told me I lost too much blood and that the child made it.. what child?

They told me that I am with child, I’m pregnant in my fourth month.

He came with tears apologizing, that he lost his temper and he would never do such a thing again. He begged my forgiveness. And I accepted it.

It only lasted two days then things went back to normal. Until it became a routine he wouldn’t do anything, we fight, I get beaten, and he would apologize and swear upon his grave that this won’t happen again.

Until I was due. I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl and she become ecstasy of my life. But that did not make a difference to him. He still was him. The guy that I become to loathe. It’s a wonder of wonders how deep love and affection would turn into hate and detest. The only reasons that kept me with him is because of two things: I didn’t want my daughter to be lost in a world without a father, and what will the society think if I got divorced. This society didn’t mercy the woman not at all. I would be a taboo if I was divorced even if I was the person who didn’t do this relationship wrong.

Things got worse and my daughter is two years old now. My life became without any taste. It became a living hell. Until that day when I was to tired to function, I had just came from work. He just woke up he asked for something to eat, “Go get yourself something. I’m going to rest.”

“What did you say?” he replied with an angry temper in his voice.

“I’m too tired to say anything. Do yourself some good and fitch your own food.”

And that what triggered everything. It started a fight he was shouting and I was so tired to even argue I ignored him and started to head to my room, then I heard something break over my head. The bastard threw a plate towards me. “FOR GOD SAKE ACT MATURE FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!!” I screamed.

“Mommy!” I heard a faint scary voice behind me.

“Oh darling come here.” He screamed some more. “You are scaring the girl!! Shut up!!”

And then another plate came flying landing on my beloved daughter. Blood was streaming down her face. I panicked, I screamed! My daughter! My daughter!! She is going to die!!!! I shook her to get a respond but she was unconscious!

I quickly held her up and drove her to the ER as fast as I can. And all that time I kept thinking that I am going to lose her. I’m going to lose my only reason for living in this life.

The next thing that happened was almost a blur they took her from me and told me to wait, and all the time I was crying blaming it on myself for not providing a safe environment for my child. It is all my fault right?

Until thirty minutes later the doctor came assuring me that they removed glass particles from her body and she is fine now with a couple of stitches. She is now asleep. She has gone lucky that is.

I slept by her side that night, until I felt her hand touching my head “Mommy.”

Finally she woke up! My tears just couldn’t stop itself.

“Why you crying mommy?” she asked with her broken childish english. I didn’t answer. “Mommy everything hurts. Make it go away.”

“I’m sorry honey, I’m sorry I wont let this happen to you again. No one will lay a finger on you ever again.”

And I made an oath to give her a better life. I filed for a restraining order for my child from her useless, cruel father. He begged me my forgiveness. He wants me to drop the lawsuit. To me this sounded like a broken record. And I proceeded with what I was doing.

Today I hold the papers of the court agreeing to my request. I have gained my child’s full custody. I’m starting a new life for both of us we are breaking free. We are better off alone and much happier.

Let him beg me my forgiveness and I won’t forgive.

Life is better without him.

P.S: The characters and events of the story are all fictional.

-Esperanza Writes

The Weapon of Me

I’m not a coward person but I do find a preferred method in not speaking especially when it something so intense that I rather not see the reaction of the person in front of me. It is not a thing that I think is worth fighting for if I’m not heard. I also have a problem with delivering my message upright to the person in front of me. Hence, with all that I find my belonging and thoughts come into written words. I do believe I am best with expressing myself within them. Within writing, whether it was story telling where I deliver I certain message through them (yes, even outraged messages), or through being straight forward and saying it (or in my case writing it) in bold letters. Bottom line this is my weapon and this is my courage form. You want to know me read me. Trust me people who read the words I’m writing are the most people that know me, I’m raw here more like uncooked meat (but of course I’m not to be eaten ;p). But I guess you get what I am saying here. Writing is more like my words shouted out loud, my la-la land, my creme brule if you may say. And most of all it is my weapon that I am not afraid to use. So congrats people you know me too well I’m afraid you’ll black mail me (round of applause!).

Having said the above, my weapon does get rusted at times. My brain just freezes and is most probably afraid to be on the open verge even to admit it to myself. I’m like “no I’m not thinking that, not going to write that”, but who am I kidding, I am thinking it why am I hiding it? Yes, my brain needs renewal, not writer’s block (because no such exists) but what can I say it is more like I’m too engrossed to see the obvious. Oblivious to the obvious.

I’m not sure of any of that.. I’m not even sure if I should post this.. but you know what?

I’m not going to grip on those anymore, I’m going to loosen my grip on my thoughts. This is my home. This is my place.

Tea, coffee anyone?

-Esperanza Writes

[Past Post] Blue Rose

I’ve been having trouble figuring out what to write. So this is a past post called “Blue Rose”, from my ex-blog, expressing the reason why blue rose is my favorite flower and why do I feel that why about it. Until I regain my words I’ll leave you to this. Enjoy:

A delicate sign to hope trembling and crumbling, trying her best to make something out of herself. She looked up and reached out to this world thinking would she rather be like everybody else? or Would she show herself no matter how different she is, no matter what made her this way?
She was identified as not being real genetically changed and made to this… but she had to prove herself.. Prove herself right that she existed!!
She was thrown in a snowy windy day on the ground waiting, anticipating for a life saver.. and there a blue rose as lonely, as lost as her… she picked her up, inhaled a deep soothing breath, dropped to her knees and looked up…. and the soft lyrics of a song came along:

Blue as the crying sky
With no thorn, AND no THISTLE
Only AN open face
Staring at the waking worldMaybe she´s just a morning glory
Lost in a tangle of vine
Maybe she´s just a morning glory
Lost in a tangle of vine

Her arms stretch wide
To receive a life
And her ROOTS go deep into the BLACK EARTH for strength
And she blooms and

Maybe she´s just a morning glory
Lost in a tangle of vine
Maybe she´s just a morning glory
Lost in a tangle of vine

She blooms while the people sleep
Only the TRAVELERS SEE HER
To those who RISE with the noon day Sun
She is a closed mystery

AND Maybe she´s just a morning glory
Lost in a tangle of vine
OH, Maybe she´s just a morning glory
Lost in a tangle of vine
Lost in a tangle of vine
Lost in a tangle of vine*

The girl walked with the blue rose clutched between her hands…she whispered ” I’ll not hide anymore” She decided not to hide anymore, no more for being lost and show her beauty no matter what is being told or said about her… She will stand whether was it out or in as long as she becomes herself….

She is a Blue Rose … She is a rose that is been made… and yet she’ll bloom to this life.. and not give up.. strong and independent… A Blue Rose she is.

I’d like to thank MJ-Al-Feeli  for shooting this photo exclusively for this post.

* “Blue Rose”, Lizz Wright.

-Esperanza Writes

Why Write?

Do you know yourself? Do I know myself? I mean other than the usual description or knowing oneself height, weight, what we like and don’t like, how do we act, who do we like to be with.. etc. Other than that do you we know ourselves? When we go deep, deep, deep, like way deep like going deep into the ocean and I choose the word ocean not sea, even though I do not know what is the difference and I am too lazy to look up the difference, but I choose ocean because it has more letters than sea and more letters are deeper in it sense and also because it starts with an O. Oblivious also starts with an O and that is who we are when we speak about the deep, deep, deep ocean.

When you go deep, like way deep in the ocean in the darkest depth we do not know how it is. We lack knowing how it is. Because when we are down there we are too busy swimming back up to inhale the air, we can’t live without Oxygen (another O). And even if we try to back up ourselves with oxygen tanks so we could breathe underwater, we are not trained to do it so it is difficult. Even if we are trained to do it we cannot handle the pressure because down there the pressure is massive. You cannot tolerate this enough to stay a long time down there. Even though if you are trained well enough you eventually want to get out. It is so much pressure and it is not safe because the sharks and whales could hurt you.

You take the safest form there is to go down there. In a submarine. A really small one that can barely fit two. But you cannot take another person with you even though you don’t know how to work it, because it is too private to let anyone else in this deep place of yours. So you learn how to work this stupid machine and go down there. Even though it’s a dangerous state is still there, but you are willing to risk it.

You risk it so you can know what is down there. The submarine could explode any minute, and could not handle the pressure. But you risk it, you’ve got your oxygen tank to back you up so you could escape this.

I risk it because I do not know myself. Like deep, deep down there in the ocean I am oblivious to this matter. That is why I write. Writing is like going down in this submarine. I am risking it true  So I could see the beauty and ugliness that is down there. So I could see the sharks and the whales even though they are dangerous. So I could see creatures that you have never thought of seeing before and awe at it. So I could no longer be oblivious and know what is there.

Even though it is risky but it is worth it.

-Esperanza Writes

p.s.: A huge advice. Read “The Fault in Our Stars” by John Green.