political inactivity

I've never been politically active and I have my reasons why. and i won't bore you with them like all the political activists that rant on and on with the same three sentences.

First of all, i am not politically informed enough, or up to the level of information, to allow my to call myself "activist." And in my opinion, neither are two thirds of the so-called activists. I just don't buy that updating your Facebook status means that you are taking a stand and being "active." It's a poor excuse for trying to pull of something that you are not. I'm no angel here, I'm not saying I'm right and everyone else is wrong (even though i am) but seriously, when it comes to political activism, a status update doesn't cut it. If that makes you feel better, to call yourself an activist or to think you have any kind of influence by updating your status, then that's just pathetic. Bombarding people with forward messages and requests to be "active" only belittles the thought behind the act.

Also, most political activism is subjective. And no one takes subjectivity seriously. Plain and simple as that. As soon as emotions and misinformation driven by emotions are involved, that's the end of anything real. Look at this this way, you can always listen someone better if they're decently articulating, but if they're yelling and screaming you can only hear and don't necessarily listen. When subjectivity and emotion are brought to the table, it inevitably turns into yelling with no articulation of neither thought nor speech.

ink

For quite a few years now, i've been seriously considering getting a tattoo. Actually i've been considering getting three. But it's scary

For one thing, tattoos are permanent. That's a kind of commitment i don't think im ready to make. that's worse than marriage. i know you can get tattoos removed now, but what if i get it then decide i don't like it a week later. Is is worth the hassle and pain of getting one (or three) only to have it later removed?

Then there's the big question of taboo. Are tattoos okay or are they taboo? How religiously unacceptable are they? We do lots of things every single day that are religiously unacceptable. Is a tattoo (or three) worse than any of those?

But the guilt trip lasts only a few minutes and then i go right back worrying over the permanency of tattoos. It can be such a scary thought to think that ink you put on your skin is there to stay. It just stays there. It never goes away it's there every single day (back to the commitment metaphor). You can't wash it off and in many places you can't cover it up either.

These thoughts consume me so much that on a random night like this i find myself researching (googling) tattoo removal methods and comparing between them. Yes, i am finding out how to remove the tattoos i don't even have yet.

beaching

i miss the beach, i miss being at the beach

i miss that first time you go to the beach, it's like the inauguration of summer. your skin is still winter-y pale and the sand under your bare feet feels so welcoming you want to get buried in it

i love watching kids play in the sand. it still makes me, at this age, want to dig up a big hole till i reach the water and make little sand hills.

i miss the first sunburn and the disregard for sunscreen.

i miss the first tread into the water, which is always freezing but gets warmer each day. i miss almost falling asleep in the sun after a day of getting in and out of the water. i even miss getting sand in my hair.

i miss hitting against the waves and getting teary eyed with salt water.

i miss having to hunt for a good spot on a crowded beach during the weekend. i miss how empty the beach is after all the weekenders are gone.

i miss staying at the beach until it's almost dark and there's no one else around. i miss the glow of skin after an after-beach, after-tan shower.

i miss the smell of the beach, cliche, but i do miss it

i miss losing flip flops in the sand and dropping my phone in the sand and covering up my ipod so it doesn't burn in the heat. i miss chilled water bottles stuck in the sand. i miss freska.

i miss waking up, going straight to the beach and doing nothing all day but swim and tan and maybe even play with the sand and a ball or something.

i really miss the beach and i can't wait to get that first splash, first sunburn and first saltwater sting.

all she is

My best friend has been called useless, worthless, spoiled, and so many derivatives of those.

Taking a first look at her, you might, just might, get that impression. But the minute you get inside that beautiful head of hers, your opinion drastically changes.

My best friend is dependable. She is always wide awake and fully aware of happenings. She knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. She is determined. She does not only want freedom from any constraints, she actively seeks such freedom. She does her own homework. She doesn't share her miseries with the world, instead, she shares her happiness. Being around her is just like being at a thoroughly entertaining, enlightening and hilarious show. She is the life of any party and puts life into any party. Hell, she turns a car ride into a party. She is a loving mother, a wonderful wife, and an angelic daughter. Her home feels like home. She loves deeply and truly, and straight from her pure heart with no fakeness or the least bit of acting. She juggles a million things at a time. She is never too busy or too free. She is never sitting around doing nothing. And everything she does serves some kind of purpose, even if she is only shopping. Her comedy is genius.

To our little, tight band, she plays so many roles. She is the advisor, the caregiver, the one we trust and believe blindly. When something happens to me or to any of us she is the first we want to call, the first advice we seek. If only everyone else did the same, so much would be better.

Calling her worthless is a crime. An ignorant one too

It shows that those who call her worthless are so deep in the ignorance and one-dimensional, single track of thought that they are unable to embrace all what she really is and all what she is capable of.

optional retardation

I refuse to treat completely normal, sane, healthy human beings like they are retarded.

I meet those people everyday, those who are optionally retarded. There is nothing wrong with their mental capabilities, nerve structure, brain composition composition or even their social setting to excuse them as retarded, or mentally incapable. in fact, they are very mentally capable, to be able to act so retarded.

What's more, they know that people treat them in a special way. They think they are free to do what they please because we will all say, "ma3lesh" or "don't hold it against them." But this time i refuse the excuse. I will hold it against them.

They act irresponsibly thinking that others can't see their actions. They are insensitive thinking that they don;t need to be sensitive. They are fake, above all they are fake. They act compassionate, they act intellectual, they act like they care but their are not any of these. They're full of talk, deeply believing that their practiced words actually mean anything.

They are like healthy people who park their cars in handicapped spaces (not in this country of course, but in others). They're like rich people who don't leave a good tip. They're like people who can see a queue and opt to cut into yet. In other words, they're people who act in a certain way just because they know society will excuse their behavior.

Half of the blame is not on them, though. Half of the blame is on the society that tolerates them. Sometimes i think people let them off the hook because that is easier than dealing with them. I think they're just feeding a flame of fakeness. It turns into a vicious cycle, where they act retarded and are not held accountable so they act more retarded and are still let off the hook.

Everyday i urge others not to tolerate them, but they still do despite my nagging. I only come off as hostile and un-understanding. And i become the wrong one in the end. I am labeled "wrong" because i refuse to treat the healthy as unhealthy.

intrigued stalker

it's so strange how people pop in and out of our lives. I'm not talking about friends or acquaintances here. i mean people that we do not know, whom we can only recognize by face and might not even be able to put a name to it. yet they keep showing up here and there.

every time they do that, we are more intrigued by their existence and want ever so desperately to learn more. we see them from time to time over the years that we feel like we know them, and going up for a quick chat seems completely normal. we (and of course, by "we" i mean "me" or "i" and by "them" i probably mean "him") notice how they change and change back. we find ourselves learning bits and pieces of information completely by coincidence, like where they live or where they have breakfast on a weekend.

we mark their existence by places. when we see them out of place we are taken back to those first few times we saw them at a specific place.

and then there come long, very long, periods when they are nowhere to be seen. it's as if they'd disappeared from sight. and when they disappear from sight they disappear from mind and memory.

then they show up again and we wanna run up and hug them as we recall all the memories of unfulfilled encounters and ask where the hell they've been. but just as the grin forms on our faces we remember that we can't do that. because we don't know them. and we're only an intrigued stalker

mr right VS mr right now

in the never-ending battle between the [non-existent] mr right and [the endless supply of] mr's right now, here are the defenses. mr right wins every time. and mr right now is just another mister, that i will always be able to do without

mr right loves to travel

mr right now has been to ten different cities

mr right listens to good music

mr right now has an ipod

mr right has a sense of humor

mr right now laughs at jokes

mr right splashes around a beach

mr right now swims in place

mr right goes for a walk at midnight

mr right now drives everywhere

mr right loves animals

mr right now has a dog tied up in an elaborate garden

mr right ruffles my hair

mr right now pats my head

mr right fights with me in a louder voice than mine

mr right uses the silent treatment (to which frankly, i don't give a fuck)

mr right recommends good reads

mr right now buys a lot of books to put on the shelf

mr right is my best friend

mr right now is just another mister

tomorrow unfinished

As i sit here, staring at a blank text box, wondering what the hell to write, the TV is on to some show and the presenter just asked, "what is going to happen tomorrow?" and that struck me as today's point of inspiration

So I'm going to write about tomorrow, literally and metaphorically

I really don't know what is going to happen tomorrow, and i don't wish i did either

but i do know that i am going to sit here and do nothing about tomorrow. bear with my freudian free association sort-of mood here.

literally, tomorrow i will have no alibi, i know that much is true. metaphorically, tomorrow, any tomorrow, brings unfinished business to its fair end. and i think that is what tomorrow is all about : unfinished business. I'm a firm believer in that nothing we do in this life goes unaccounted for; whatever we have done yesterday, or will do today, is accounted for tomorrow, if not sooner. a little while ago my mom was just talking to me about how your right comes to you, sooner or later. "comes to you" is key here. tomorrow brings us our right, whether or not we have pursued it. It's one of the benefits of the settlement each tomorrow brings. we let things go today, knowing they will be fixed or made right "tomorrow." It's like the whole world is big roll of canvas that just keeps unfolding. the more it unfolds the more you see and the better you understand the parts that have already been unfolded.

A word from the wise, clean up your business (or your canvas) today so you won't have to spend tomorrow cleaning up a mess.