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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

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. 

Continue reading Robbed

Loop-fide

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My graduate self

I remember when I was excited about everything and anything. I remember when I would be enthusiastic about a sparkle in my head. I use to be a lot of things. This did not go entirely away, but must I say that in some parts it did evolve, became a better version, more knowledgeable and enlightened. But in other parts it just died.

A quick recap. I graduated. I am officially a KU graduate majoring in English Literature and minoring in Comparative Literature. At this point my occupation in this world is the girl behind the screen. Stays up all night and watches 

Continue reading Loop-fide

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 world
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

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