Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Tough Life

It is not a walk in the park this life.

Life is tough and you learn daily lessons.

Acceptance of the events is one thing, which is the common practice that most people who actually accept do. I'm not talking about a syringe in my arm kind of acceptance, but those who survive difficult situations in general.

So that's just one dimension of the story. Accepting the event itself is one thing, but accepting the engine that generates that event, and keeping the faith at the same time, is the most difficult part.

See, that engine produces lots of good things, and produces a mass of bad things that could come your way any time of day.

There are things that you see coming, due to karma or whatever, but that's a separate discussion altogether. And then there are things that happen due to other reasons, one of those reasons could be that people are generally corrupt on the mass production belt, so you have to choose who to trust really carefully, and that is just a fact so there you go.

So, acceptance that people are generally corrupt is a real challenge. You could still not be an asshole, but survive an encounter with a werewolf, but it is really challenging.

You could hate a couple of taxi drivers, then frown whenever you ride a taxi in general, that's what most people do.

The alternative is to hate a couple of taxi drivers, and be smart enough to do a quick test for the third one, to understand is he one of those shit ones, if he is then you turn off your face and wish him peace, if he tries to breach the peace you give him the worst day of his life.

Simple equation, takes a lot of training, but it is part of survival, and it is very important to become instinctive in the world we're living.

Be good to people, give charity, die and make people miss you, that's the key.

But you have not been designed to become a doormat, that's the keyhole.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Here we go..

Six years later, here I am.

Am I the same person? Not really.

Have some upgrades of some parts of me, and then downgrades in others, if you wanna call them downgrades anyway.

Overall I cannot complain, yet the thing I miss the most is inspiration, in the realm of creativity and the universe of artistic romantic simplicity.

An artist is as good as his source of inspiration, and practice, and I don't have both; so a huge 6-year gap has occurred between myself and my "artistic" side, that left a huge volume of vacuum somewhere inside my creation.

When vacuum starts leaking, there is a huge implosion that takes place, but the implosion is not what I should worry about; it is rather why the Goddamn leak happened in the first place, or rather a puncture, an accident that you cannot have controlled no matter what you did.

On the professional level.. well, this is not a professional blog so no, not gonna discuss the professional advancements in here.

Brain-wise, yeah, I feel like I was using 10% of my brain power back in my home country. There's not enough space to explain how far multi-cultures can do to your brain, and how naive and flat-brained living in a single culture for a long time could do to you.

Part of it is also just growing up.

But then again, no matter how experienced, smart, or in control you could be of your life, there would come moments when you would be clueless as a 10-year old left out on the streets of Kampala looking for a free Banana.

And the more experienced you are, the more powerful the blows, its like driving with a freight train in your blind spot, one wrong move and you're not just in an accident, nope, your vehicle does not exist anymore, it has moved on to a parallel universe, and you are left with the remains of a steering wheel, putting you in an unexplored zone.

Best thing my experience tells me to do is just lay low, do nothing, and you know, you'd eventually get a new vehicle, move on and just forget about it. Well yeah, if I have a freight train knocking me up every other day I would be able to do that, but when it is the first time in your life that's a different story.

I could be really naive, bloating things up beyond their actual proportions. Again it is an experience that has just landed on my plate, a piece of momentary fantasy that occurs once in a man's life probably.

What I know about myself is that I'm not a man that leads an activity without feeling it, one of my life-long problems. If I don't feel nothing I don't do nothing, be it study, work, love life, or even family life, I'm not someone who fakes emotions, even when my job forces me to, that's why I build strong relationships only with customers I really like, and they like me back accordingly, not with those I'm forcing myself into being nice with, it doesn't cross to the other side.

Another conclusion about life, as I was reading my 8 years younger self down there: you can never really judge anyone for anything they do, you could be in their shoes one day and do the same thing.

The human self is a really complicated thing, especially for sensitive people, that are in tune with energies of the world around them, especially around other people, and I feel that the more you advance physically, the better your senses are in tune, because you would just possess more energy to consume on "reading" and "sensing", and this is where things get really complicated..

Unless, you start un-feeling.

Not sure I really wanna do that, a skill that could come in handy though.

Well, see you soon, not in another 6 years I hope.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Been a Long time!

and I kept on reading who I was, which reminds me of who I really am.

Definitely I've changed in great ways, but the backbone is still the same I presume. Still analytical, observant, and a smart ass who has his comments on almost every aspect of life. I can't seem to count the number of theories that I come up with on daily basis, and I seem to forget most of them, and some of them are even born on conversations.

Wow! It is good that I remembered ever having a blog in the first place.

God has been good to me, all thanks to Him! Being a happy husband and a father soon enough inshaAllah is proving to be quite a stereotype-breaker at my delight. Oh yes I LOVE breaking stereo-types, but this sure has it's negative side.

Having a torch in a village that got used to darkness is for sure gonna turn some eyes upon you, some in curiosity, some smile happily for the light that you might be utilizing for your own good, and others might look in envy, for they have tried and tried to own a torch but they never seem to get to use it the same manner you do.

There is an theory that I'd like to reflect upon, but I'm yet to see it practiced fully. Some people might struggle and keep on struggling for a purpose in life that leads them to happiness. They look around and they see people jut like them, and then they see people who have a purpose in life, who are giving it their utmost attention, and are actually contented with little frustration and minimum complexes that makes their lives take dark unfamiliar exits frequently.

So the Observers start thinking that happiness is not their cup of tea, that this version of having a purpose in life doesn't fit them, so they start doing other things in an attempt to grasp a handful of smiles, and I don't blame them, but I blame those who haven't taught them how to 'make' their own version of a life and be proud of it, yet humble when it comes to thinking about Who gave it to them.

Or maybe I'm mistaken about them, and there is some series of lousy choices they have taken that denies them that purpose they've been looking for.

Bottom-line is: You can never judge a person who feels sad or is in some sort of a deadlock, as you don't know every single detail of what is going on inside of him. Yes blame him when he is too loud and making a fool of himself, blame him when he starts judging others out loud like an imbecile, blame him when he starts jabbering about how those happy people are all imposters and that there is no true love.

Yet, be sure that they are missing something, because there is a way out of any tight situation, and the simplest way of them all is having hope. Not everyone is resourceful enough to sit, think, analyze, and come up with a first step towards a solution, but believe me, the source of the problem lies within that fact that very few people are aware of their flaws, and really do admit them.

So brothers and sisters, have hope in a better future, know your flaws, admit them, then know what makes you better, and hug it for the rest of your life.

Friday, January 08, 2010

Silence..

The end of something, marking the beginning of something else. Life's struggles never end, a face that we generally try to avoid, but it has always been this way.

Yet there are struggles, and there are other struggles. Dare I classify them? That would be from a personal point of view of course. There are struggles that are carried out in the outside world that require more of physical energy than any other, struggles that you go through with some movement of the different parts of the body, be them moving your vocal chords and aligning them with a compromised, balanced, and ethical flow of electricity flowing through the Grey being of the little organ utilizing the volume of the skull.

Then there are struggles that go through that Grey organ as well; ones that have to deal with different chemical reactions inside the body as well, together with a form of alignment between the heart, the body, and the soul, aiming to reach a balance that sets the whole complexion of a human being at ease, to reach a level of satisfaction and contentment as most vocabularies on earth would call.

Both are not east to be honest. But the first kind is sort of easier to figure out, at least there is some physical activity required from you, so you know when to make the next move, that is most of the time. Sometimes you are clueless about what to do, and then again I must say that it usually gets cleared up as the element of time gets consumed over.

Yet the other type, the invisible one, the one that only the individual and his Creator know of, is the hardest of them all. Sometimes you don't know what to do or what to think, and you come to wonder how long it is going to take in order to reach that level of alignment between the different forms of who you really are, to finalize your version of a person, and agree with yourself that this is enough to have, this is good to be, and this has finally been great to have lived so far to become your current age, owning your surroundings, earning them, and thanking your Creator for every passing moment.

The armory is where you should head right now, an Iron-clad vest, and a shiny bullet-proof helmet is something you would need, warrior. The maker of them is the maker of you, and the price is not that high, all you got to do is humble yourself and admit your weaknesses, for one day you will come to realize how weak and small you are.

I was mistaken, it is not a struggle. It is only war, a war where your enemies are numerous, looking strong, and your allies look so feeble. Impressive enemies are an inspiration, but I bet your allies can inspire you more, so concentrate with them, consult them, have a word with them, and let them aid in polishing your armor so that it may reflect the strong rays of a shining sun into the eyes of your enemies.

The battle, is always on. The more you are silent, the more your enemies become surprised.

*Draws sword*

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Perpetual

It is with great discomfort that I do confess that I am not eligible to get close to other humans for a very long period of time. It is neither good for me not good for them.

I do not understand what is wrong with me, and till I do, I would not even attempt to bring my very unhealthy self to barge into anyone else's life and become an essential part of it. Things I do and am unable to comprehend, that have the habit of changing course in sharp angles at very short timings, and drive people around me crazy.

Unstable and inconsistent as I am now, I do declare myself as being hazardous to myself, as well as those who are unlucky enough to care about me.

I don't know what possesses me, or what on earth is going on with me, I really don't know, I swear I don't know.

I do things in great belief, then the belief fades away as strong as it has started, in a glimpse of an eye. Escaping is not going to achieve anything, but what to be done is totally not within my knowledge the moment of writing these very words.

One might just put a hand on the waist and wave around with the other and give me a four-worded expression that he learned from some psychiatrist on TV, because I'm not as wise as he is, or not as stable as his very self is, but no! I don't think anyone would be able to tell unless he's listened for what is not less than a story of a life.

I frown, I have been frowning for quite a long time now, can't hold a decent smile for more than a few seconds. I am not for human consumption.

And all I know now, is that I don't feel a thing.

Help me God!

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Mask Face

Whoah, finally some privacy.

What can I say? What should I say? What is not what it used to be? and What is new with whatever I see? Just what?

This place acts as a sanctuary indeed. I look back at whenever I started posting my words in here, and think about how much one has changed dramatically, and I keep repeating myself a lot about this, but it is true, every time I drop by and read, I say that it HAS been a long trip, and thank God for whoever I am right now, hoping for the better as I stroll down the lanes of a short life.

To be straightforwardly honest, I absolutely feel like an alien, with every meaning the word could hold, a green-faced monster amongst a herd of white four-legged creatures; what intrigues them does not form the simplest forms of interest for me, what saddens them is like rain drops over my head, what they see I cannot comprehend, and what I see is absolutely invisible to them.

At the same time I can't seem to manage myself quite right, I'm getting as boring as a 3-year-old hamster, same ideas keep circulating in my head and are being frowned upon if mentioned, let alone carried out in actions. I see a lot, observe too much - maybe that's my curse - understand too well - or maybe just I'm imagining that I do - and in the end of the day I do not clearly know what should or should not be, unless subject it to my own ignorant judgment, which as we speak is biased totally against what I see and hear everyday.

Extremely against to be honest, to the extent of total and absolute rejection. Yeah that's hard. Makes one feel like solitary reaper (courtesy of William Wordsworth, as I visited his house a week ago) in his own virtual field somewhere in the hills that do not exist except some thousands of Kilometers away, singing as song that no one understands, except the very few that are as helpless as you are.

I am still immature then, I still have a lot to learn. Almost there, but in need for some time and patience, and I'm sure I am to get there inshaAllah. Mostly one needs his sense of achievement to roar atop the hill of his spirit, declaring its control over it.

Mind Control for sure is not missing, and maybe that's the problem.

Cheers

Sunday, July 05, 2009

Just an inspiration

Yeah she can walk. There she is carrying her leather soft bag and a huge file stuffed with papers, each group of papers with its own section, she is also good at classifying her papers, and the people that she meets.

A hurried crossing of the road in the middle of the day, under the heat of a burning sun, she closes her eyes momentarily as she passes in front of one of the tall entrances of the old downtown buildings, the fresh breeze that crosses her face from the air conditioning encourages her to increase the speed of her pace, promising herself a cold cup of water and the cool silence of the booth, once she reaches it.

She doesn't like to walk in haste, but in this heat it is a necessity. She recalls those winter days when she used to talk long walks within downtown with her father God rest his Soul, she used to walk with his hand holding hers in her favorite red dress, she was really young and he really made her feel safe, so whenever she traverses the same places alone in the winter, a familiar cold hand gives a brief squeeze to her heart, yet she smiles because she believes that every passing moment of happiness is a good memory, that should not be ruined by sadness, even if sadness stands in the way between them good times and this passing second.

She could be late for her appointment, she glances at her wrist-watch after removing the sleeve of her Grey suit, and it is almost 15 minutes to showtime, her heart races a little, and some drops of cold sweat start running down her fairly taken-care-of face. Then she realizes two things at the same time: She is so thirsty, and the coming alley represents one of her childhood's most sacred moments, the red carbonated sweet drink that only "Amm Ismail" sold out of an ancient Grey metallic fridge in that alley, always in the shade, never saw his face without a smile, and never saw her father giving him something less than a 10 pound bill with a huge smile and a pat on the back.

It didn't take her much to decide, and to her surprise, the fridge stood as the pyramids do, but the alley got stuffed with much more other decorations of satellite receivers' shops and cheap Chinese electronics stores. Yet under the same street light, the same fridge, the same tin bucket with huge chunks of Ice inside. The alley was surprisingly cool - or was it her living inside a childhood winter moment - yet her eyes were swiftly searching for the good old man.

No, he wasn't there! As she approached the bucket with the puddle of drying water around it on the asphalt of the sidewalk, there emerged a small girl with a red Jalabeya, clean face and curled angry black hair, dark-brown wide eyes and an emotionless expression on her face. The girl fixed her with a sheepish glance, although she was a very good speaker - her job mainly - she didn't quite know why she stuttered while deciding to ask her for a drink of that red sweet liquid.

Maybe she didn't know what the drink was called, maybe she wanted for some reason to ask about "Amm Ismail", it was easy for her as a kid to ask her father for a bottle of "el pepsi el a7mar", but now she could feel so awkward uttering something like that in the middle of the street, which made her in a split second consider the idea of missing the spontaniety of childhood, but it faded away before it started.

The transaction was really simple, the drink was absolutely something totally different, an experience that she didn't have in years and years. Living a memory out of taste is something that we don't get to live every day. When you taste something that you've only tasted when you were 6 years old is another world on its own, so let's not elaborate much on that.

What happened next was surprising in a way, yet very normal in a way. If you understand how much she loved - and still loves - her father, this would seem like common sense to you, but if not then it would be a very weird action from a formal pretty lady in a downtown alley. As soon as she finished her drink she gave her wrist-watch another quick look, opened her purse to retrieve her wallet, took a 100-pound bill, knelt down so that her face was at the same level of the small girl and tipped her the bill, and before the kid could say anything, she reached out and put both her hands on the girls' shoulders, looked her directly in the eye for a few seconds, patted her on the shoulders calmly, then so swiftly got up and carried on with her walk, she could be seriously late now, and the booth is waiting.

As she finally reached the huge Ministry's building, as she was climbing the stairway off the pavement she paused, looked back at the street, then faced the doorway again and prepared her ID.

Yet she never understood why those tears left her eyes into the open that moment.