Making the Same Mistakes: TWICE

AND THEN LEARNING TO DO AND BE BETTER

I am somewhat furious. To say the least. I don’t know how to frame this and how to even talk about this without some fury. I had a friend, a childhood friend, who I used to get along great with. But it seems, whenever things get a bit messy in her life, she has this tendency to blow up on me. And abandon me. In the worst possible times in my life. I do not know how even to understand what is going on with her. First moment, she asks advice from me: I tell her a dude she is interested in isn’t always treating her fairly but since she has a connection with him, and since he is polyamorous, why not just talk it out with him? Tell him, you want a deeper thing.

And recently, she is going the self-saboteur path of contacting her former best friend. Why? — The fuck I know. She decided to not talk this woman for three years, block her as they had a row and then finally thinks things will change between them because she is more successful in life. Hard Truth: she didn’t. We both agreed that you two are always on different life paths and that she does not even understand or care for your achievements. But does that stop my friend from wanting validation from this chick, who also a mutual childhood friend of ours (though I know her longer), who never has given a shit about her? NO. The chick goes back to shit she cares about — dating, marriage and possible partners. Not about any other kinds of success. Which, she seems to me, pisses my friend off more. Because she hadn’t full on dated in a while aside this new polyamorous dude she is kinda dating.

Of course, she will be pissed that polyamorous guy wants to keep his options open. Wants to keep his French girlfriend and like not full-on date my friend. Well, what did you expect? He is polyamorous. And, he has been polyamorous for ten years of his life. Now, he MAY change his mind and make you solid, but that is gonna take time. For 2 weeks she has been pissed that this guy stated: “I already have my primary; maybe, you will be my secondary.”

Translation: He is being and asshole. Like, seriously, you don’t talk like this with someone who is not used to p[olyamorous dating. And also, I personally think, if she was his secondary, the primary girlfriend needs to know he has a 2nd steady girlfriend somewhere else. Those are the rules. But it is NOT seemingly happening like that. She and the guy are smitten but she wants them to be exclusive. But she is not telling him this. She rather run away than face her fears. She was wanting to become invisible, without saying anything. This dude keeps on following her FB as in, if she makes minor changes, a slight PFP change, he ‘likes’ it immediately. Imagine what he would do in her Insta?

I wanted to be fair. I said, hey, don’t do that. Clearly, you like one another. Clearly, you want something with this dude, so why not just say it? Hey, say I like you and that can we be exclusive? Anyways, she gets pissed at me just because I say I am not like her former best friend and would ‘steal’ her guy. Dude, until that day I did not even know what he looked like. AND I just said it with a context. She was showing me her current’s beau’s ex-girlfriends and current girlfriend AND we both agreed one of his hook ups were super hot looking. Now, I said I liked that girl’s style. But seeing she was feeling insecure, which was plainly obvious, I just said that to assure her.

And, what does she do? Yell at me because she cannot yell at the guy she is somewhat dating. Calls me ‘dumb’ — says she is better than me in many ways. Now, seeing that she is doing better financially than me at the moment, this stung. I told her it is not fair to compare. And she was calling me ‘mean’ saying so what if her ex-bestie stole a guy she liked, she had so many other achievements. The fucked up thing is I always celebrate her achievements. I was telling her don’t listen to her ex-bestie, don’t make her feel you down, just know you are awesome and matter in the here and now.

She was feeling bad and we had to hang up. But then after five I called her again. Said sorry more times, even acknowledged maybe I was being dumb (you can imagine this is a BIG thing to do) and then I joked with her and made her laugh so that she didn’t go to bed unhappy. Then the next day, I sent her messages and tried to make her happy by asking how she was and gave her two Emily Dickinson poems about strength , love and friendship.

She proceeds to keep on calling me ‘dumb’ — when I ask why is she doing this? She has the audacity to reply that she is doing this because she has been so nice and good to others so people take advantage of her. So, now, she will be mean and she is practicing on me. Like WTF dude? You are not nice or considerate. You are selfish and really arrogant and reckless and I am so pissed that you are like this that you think you can call me ‘dumb’ so many times and get away with it. Like, seriously, if you weren’t my childhood friend, I would have grilled your head in. Then she is like, we shouldn’t be good friends anymore, I ‘inject’ her with ‘negativity’, even unintentionally, and she wants to be happy.

Like seriously? Where have I been ‘triggering’, ‘negative’ and ‘mean’ — she did this one before and called me ‘toxic’ and then came back saying sorry back at the end of 2019. Like, what the fuck is her deal? It is not my fault babe if polymamorous dude doesn’t wanna make you exclusive. It’s not like I sucked his dick and told him not to date you. He just doesn’t wanna date you fully. Maybe, he is just not that into you. And, that has NOTHING to do with you. But if you think you can blow up on me again just ’cause you are going through a shitty time in your life again. FUCK OFF

Seriously, fuck off. It takes a lot of energy and focus and love, to listen to someone rant but also get sad and mad. But we do it because we love people. We wish to support them and value them. Show them they are not alone in any struggle they are facing. And, like we wish to be valued as well. We want to be acknowledged and loved in return. Love has to be mutual and respect is mandatory. Why should we not care and respect each other? This is the bare minimum in any kind of relationship.

It was then and there, I decided to block her. I have had enough of this sort of abysmal level of friendship — where like some weird pet, you are only asked to make someone happy. As if happiness is always guaranteed, always an aspiration in life, without any struggle or any hurdle or any challenge. Like, we are two different people, we can definitely NOT get each other at times. And, one time, I make a mistake, fail to get you, and you just blow up at me. For all the times I did not get you, there were so MANY MORE where I did get you. Comforted you, consoled you, loved and supported you as my friend. And, if that is not a convincing argument then NOTHING EVER will be. You cannot be a perfect friend automaton to someone. You need to be a person. And, a person can sometimes fail. But in that failure, you can rise up stronger and better, know your mistakes, aim to do better and be better. I given her the chance to do that and again she threw our friendship at my face.

I don’t wanna settle for less really. I am a person who has some value. Yes, I am feeling more isolated and alone now. COVID19 didn’t make anything else easy. But when someone decides to be an ass to you during a pandemic, you can actually measure what sort of person they are. When people are at such stakes and decide not to show compassion, mercy or even basic level understanding it actually tells more about them than you. I am tired of loving so unconditionally than I become unconditionally erased.

I do not wish to do that anymore. If she comes back again, apologises again. I may forgive but I will NEVER forget and this intimacy won’t be hers anymore. There is this boundary, my Mom said, which she crossed and you know what? That water sunk that bridge. I don’t wanna be around for the next breakdown and the next episode of being a bitch, because it is now clearer to me more than ever that she was being this wholesome cunt and I am not gonna enable that behaviour anymore.

If friendship always meant happiness then we would never need the intimate, the messy, the feelings of rage, hate and love and the salve that bound people thicker than blood and more soothing than water.

Writing Till Now

Sometimes, I don’t know how am I still doing it. All the writing. I wonder what it will lead to. I am actually uncertain. I don’t know if my writing possesses any value, as in, any integral value. All I know is to write. There is nothing else I know or truly possess. Is it an auto-generative inheritance? Or, something I have inherited without the clause to the roots to the DNA of the heritage? Or, maybe it has been both both. A multifarious of items. All I know is how to write. Nothing more. Nothing less. Maybe, more. Maybe less. Yet, in which capacity? I am not sure of. 

When I started writing here so many years ago, I was quite the optimist. I guess we all begin with some sense of optimism if not necessarily obligation. I don’t think I have been a success here as I have wanted? Or, has it been that how I was thinking was not necessarily curated to my own needs? No. That is not entirely true. I had written so much back then. My whole heart was an outpouring of writing and I felt very happy knowing that I could do it. This writing. Even if not masterful (sometimes so subjective) was definitely my own little place in the woods. A clearing. A forest. An ocean. Things I could do with my writing that seemed impossible with everything else.  

Everything else was a whole category that still remains unsorted. I don’t really know what I want from life even now. It seems archaically silly, clichéd, stereotyped — those forms of crises you read about all the time and wonder why people feel that way. Then begin to feel yourself. In one way, you are not a freak. You are still human. Even if it seems some days your humanity is as tethered as a cloud by your window. That ancient balloon that you think of with thoughts and imagine shapes and still can’t understand why you can’t fill it up with the helium with your own desires. Hear that squeakiness of the whole thing and even if it seems super funny to others — you wish to keep it for yourself. 

I understand writing for yourself is important. You cannot really feed yourself entirely on the validation of others. In a way, that is surrogate cannibalism — surrogate cannibalistic modes of engagement; fleshed up with someone else, them eating you and you eating them. Wanting validation. Craving it. I understand. It’s important. Yet, it’s not a subsistent crop. Not the meat you want on top. It doesn’t always work out the way you want. I keep on reminding myself because when you are starved it feels any dish would do; though, there is a reason you have a palate and a tongue, the muscles, the cheeks, the kinds of teeth you are meant to have. Not every dish can do. It just won’t suffice. 

The world online is much crowded and murkier than it was at least 20 years ago. Online interactions do not verbatim copy the verbal, the non-verbal, the etiquette you were once used to even in the last 5-10 years. And, etiquette is not universal. Netiquette, as it has been called, can vary in spaces. And, in online social media spaces, it varies tenfold than in actual geographical spaces. One of the main reasons? We don’t really to have deal with people do we? Not in the same way we have to deal with people even in the workplace. You can’t just block an annoying colleague on the go nor can you suddenly give an expletive and run off. There are more immediate consequences to what you are doing. So, you are more apt and careful. Even if being impulsive is your default, you know, you can’t do that always on the face-on-face level. Street-on-street level. Desk-by-desk level. Bullying exists but you will notice in the world of bodies it is more aptly felt, recognised and alerted. 

It is hard to write online too. Your audience may be larger, more global than local, but how do we know how much global it is? How much local it is? The cheerier days of the global village have been put on hiatus: or in oldspeak net — revamping/reconstruction for a few days. Before Web 2.0, it was harder to even imagine doing short term word changes without unplugging something. When I first came upon WordPress, it was still relatively less advertised and unknown (LiveJournal still holding some cards), with a minimum set of themes. It’s .org program may have been used countlessly on many independent websites but it was not the hosting giant we know of today. Now, I am introduced to a new Block Editor (hoping it allows me to write in the fonts I chose for my website and not some default it chose for me. Ironically, 3 months ago this was possible). 

Signalling back, I am stating that because of the many choices we have, because of how many different changes to mediums of expression, life, lifestyles, growth in certain sectors and the rise of many social media fandoms, writing online has become both easier and harder. You can feel pressurised to conform, be bullied, be critiqued without apology, have a person spam you with less consequences and you may still persist, with a chip on your shoulder. Albeit, the optimism have somewhat dimmed though it may brighten again soon. I should be writing more now. I have more free time now. Yet, there are things that do not come to me as easily as they did before? Is it a writer’s block? Partly. Partly, perhaps I am curating and censoring myself. There may a need in me now to choose more quality over quantity though for me I would like to think I always managed a good enough if not the best balance of it. 

I want to still keep on writing many things. I know I can. I know I will. This is not arrogance or mere wilfully, nonchalant confidence. It is a blessing. And, experience. I have been doing this for so long. I been doing doing for most of my childhood, teenage and adult life. Yes, there may be milestones I am missing. I am not going to say that there has been no struggle; that the reason of doing it and the weight of giving up haven’t loomed over me. It has. More than once. That I haven’t achieved what I wanted so what was the point? The use? Is it because I did for so long that giving up would mean I wasted so much? So, I am stubborn because I don’t want it to be a waste? 

Well, that kind of stubbornness is useful in writing even if there is so much waste. I mean, I don’t think it is polluting the environment much. Nor, has it polluted my own life. However, it has most certainly NOT been a waste. Whatever I have written. Whatever I have continued to write. It has shaped a lot of me. Shaped a lot of who I am and who I will be. Things have changed. Things have not changed. My writing has stayed the same but also grown. It has made new branches and nodes of engagement and involvement. I like what I write even if it is not the best subjects out there. It is not merely only I can write this, from my point of view, but because I know this need and want in me to write is unique to me and won’t come again and it is me and no one else. 

I still don’t know if it is important. If it has any integral value. I am sure this uncertainness is part of a process. Gradually, I might be reaching a destination I am not fully aware of and if it’s great then I cannot be happier. It is easier to have a meteoric rise and then fall and decimate the dinosaurs of your expectations. The evolution and extinction, the unchanged and the stellar qualities of my writing may still be going on. I can feel that strength in me. 

Perhaps, right now, here and now, I am where I need and wish to be. Even if the stars seem unfamiliar and the course a bit rougher, it is where I am destined and worked to be. You can’t tether clouds to your window because you are not meant to see only through one window. 

Happy 10 years to me =D

10 years in WordPress =D Thank Allah Almighty! Not everyone can write this long =)

I am happy whatever I have written here. Writing has been there for me during VERY troubled times. And, I am happy to have had it. It makes me so happy to know I can still write and that it has the same meaning to me as it did then as it does now =)

I wanna continue on writing for hopefully another 10 years! =D

everyday sighs

Why am I sad? Because I wish to exist
in the microcosms of ordinary pleasures
where the everyday is not passaged by
the parties of food and wine. Where I know
a quite labour of reading your fine mouth
over a cup of coffee and the satin taste of tea

I do not belong but I am no imposter
I am no fugitive but I refuge behind clouds
no venegeful storm but I carry water

I do not profess to know anything other
than the incomplete dictionary of me
will you meet me behind the sphyx layered
of time and travel?—

I wonder

I am actually wondering if people still like my poetry. I realised today I am not as prolific as I once was like 5-7 years ago. I also wondered if my poetry stills means anything to anyone. I know through my entire time writing in this blog for almost 11 years that it has been a bittersweet, but meaningful journey. I had my lows and highs. I was able to share some of them here. I was experimental, logical, emotive, attempting to positive and empathetic but also at times mislead. I am happy that I have grown up so much. Matured more than I could have ever realised when I have started. This has been a very personal and intimate journey for me. I have been very fortunate to have had it. I Thank Allah Almighty that I did. It means so much to me.

So, I wanna continue forward. I wanna keep on writing poems here. I wanna keep on experimenting and writing my feelings. If the years back was more an experimentation I think the years would be a mix of confessions and memoirs as well.

I wanna thank everyone who stuck by me as I kept on writing here. I hope to keep on writing more and more.

I feel Blessed that I can write. I Thank Allah Almighty. I just feel blessed to get to know these poems and also have them in me.

Continuing on the journey of writing poems

Much love and good luck and prayers to me and the readers ❤

potential of a memory

in the light of the sun through a window; sized medium, shutters green-slight
it slits on the top; reminds me of old cameras — yet what it records?
life inside or outside? Both? I am soaked by the frame. It’s reference —
a sketch. I am tidying my short hair, happily cut for the occassion
of living alone. Less stress. More eloquence. Like a few short words.
Written on some wall. Engraved on some tree. I feel the sun on my face,
on my naked neck as I blow dry hair. I am getting better at this.

There is a still stubbornness of my locks. They wave and curl; they
are not straight. Cannot be straightened. My androgyne reifies in my retina
in the crown of keratin. I should be pleased. I am. Now. Then, the act of hair
wavy yet immaculate makes me feel bliss. Kiss of warmth of sun and an apparel
for my hair. I feel my blood rise with Moca. Another warmth. Walking on
Stone pavements with my tousled hair and packed bag with coffee.

Loving the feeling of boots clicking on the pebble. Loving the motion
of walking — just walking. Feeling the independence of legs, of locomotion
— I am a being of hyperactivity — my hair flows out even with a hairband
and my clothes are loose and casual. Too casual. Like no metrosexual touch
upon me. No sense of the feminine fashionista. I still need potential for that.

yet my hair, the window and the walking are all potentials
these radicals of being that I didn’t think of always
when breathing winter’s air back in my native land in my youth
crisp tongued with a promise only realising 16 years later
like some sixteenth birthday come after

I study the leaves. I think of the hours I may browse the net
Study the contents of my books. Wait for the shipment of texts
to arrive in packages. Another potential.

my movement gains a stride; slight equations that make me feel complete.▬

song in rain

the rain drank the sun; the day fingers a grey-dark ceremonial
like some ritualistic garb, aiming for some funereal demonstration
or a pilgrimage set in marble and the edification of a time forged
in multidimensional pathways — subtle yet interesting

the rain drank the sun yet her thirst not quenched
the satisfaction was not only in the light serein
gales and winds blew; night was hallowed with light
from the flames of thunders and the pools of lightnings

— there came an ocean; inverted but also sensuously foamed
Venus was birthed in foams, pearls and the oyster carapace
like that of the turtles that support the world — mythos mixes
like a fine precipitate in the analogies of extraction

from the foam of lust and love came the armour of the one sheathed
and daggered; your love was not merely a hypothesis
it was a dissertation written in rain
and what writ in water is eaten by the earth and evolves; never dies.▬

night tremors

there is a discord in my veins
when I can’t sleep at night
when I feel that the darkness is
equivalence to my solemnity
but also the rhapsody of my prayers

there is nothing to shy away from the day
only insubordinate time with its longings
and unkept wishes; I can’t garden time
though I wish I could kill its weeds
gently and feel it snap at the touch of my fingers
these fingers hungry for some communion
with the diary of dreams and the origami
of sensuality nipped lightly by the logic
of the moon in parallels with the stars.—

crashing on boredom

What is this feeling we call boredom?
— was it always a paradox?
should be; life is in the roots
in the air — zigzagging between the nodes
in some membranous digits
and some pockets
the chemistry of boredom can only be measured
when you have really lived; or vicariously searched
through the folders of lives in some others’ kitchens
— the image, the simulacrum — those bread crumbs
that led you to some candied house — were you some
anorexic dandy fidgeting on some other street
tiptoeing through the woods
and the urban sprawls
you seem like a nightingale; singing some memory
of a future. Your posterity begins, when you fold boredom
and piecemeal it with the wings — you know you are borne
and bound to take off — outside yourself and inside yourself
ennui is a happenstance; struggle the happiness.▬