Creed, Man2oushe and a Schizophrenic
What's happening this moment is just stunning to me, riding the bus back to Tripoli is officially the only me time there ever was recently.
What makes it worse is the fact that my character forces me to be somewhat passive, which automatically drives me to avoid activeness as much as possible and trying to be secluded for as long as possible, all while noticing the smallest details and surfing through the thoughts of others and collecting the tiniest events that happen daily, like the amount of times I rub my eyes or the way I brush my teeth has changed over the years. I actually enjoy this, unlike the always-busy mode I find myself at.
It's pretty usual to me to be asking myself about the reason behind getting so busy, letting go of family for a moment, dropping my dearest hobbies and forgetting about my closest friends. What is it that I'm getting busy for? Is it the money? Is it the reputation, the public relations, the benefit of knowing a lot of people? It's all bullshit to me, as my roommate used to express her feelings towards the free hugs, bullshit. But eventually it's definitely a no to all of the above.
Is it for the sake of self relief? It might be. Or might it be the fact that I was never used to having my days filled days ahead and relying on my blackberry calendar to know where I have the time to eat? All in all, this is not good.
I remember all the times I traveled lately, especially the last one for it was the hardest. I had to fly four different trips, spent more than 14 hours in airports and ended up falling asleep in the taxi most of the time, all for the sake of a silly meeting that didn't last more than 25 minutes.
This blog is the only space I got left to vent off and let it out, and I've been noticing lately that it's getting driven somewhere else. The blog was the window through which I tell people about the latest events with a twist, my own. But to be honest, this is only working for everybody else but me.
It's become a ritual lately, a habit, to pickup a man'oushe (traditional Lebanese snack) from that place on the corner in Dawra, where it sells for a striking 2.5$, but the taste is really incomparable, and eventually take a bus, a comfortable one, and enjoy my little warm snack resting on top of the bags laying around me, all while watching city lights flying by me. Call me insane, but that's seriously one of the reasons I don't think of leaving the country.
I mean, what's better than munching on that piece of dough for more than 40 minutes while watching passengers in cars right across my window? In fact, I just saw a bow hopping over to his father's side to sit in his lap, too quick for me to know what happened later on. Too many syrian car plates and a drowsy woman right on the edge of cursing her heart out is leaning on her window driving her car in the middle of slow traffic. Some broken neon lights here and there and the sound of cheesy music being played in the background emerging in between the "Creed" tracks my phone's playing. Isn't it fascinating how so many people with different aspirations, different mentalities, backgrounds, history and emotions are all driving the same route, heading the same direction most probably for the same goal, to hit back home and relax one's feet and neck. Isn't it absolutely dazzling how the city I always speak of being ugly and resentful to end up being the dearest to my heart?
My man'oushe is almost finished, my trigger to say goodbye and try to close my eyes for some moments by the tunes playing in my ears, I might end up getting some sleep and recuperate some of the energy I desperately need.
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| Bus ride back home, Beirut towards Tripoli |
I once criticized a friend/manager I worked with in the past for being himself and having some personal time only on the airplane, all while traveling to another busy destination with the same hectic schedule as ever. I never thought, at this age at least, that I would turn the same, exactly the same. It's come to a point where my friend recently jokingly called me schizophrenic, for failing to remember an appointment we had in a couple days and having spoken about it the day before. Little did she know that I totally lost it: the ability to concentrate in details is having a picnic, far away from where I am.
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| Taken at Istanbul airport |
It's pretty usual to me to be asking myself about the reason behind getting so busy, letting go of family for a moment, dropping my dearest hobbies and forgetting about my closest friends. What is it that I'm getting busy for? Is it the money? Is it the reputation, the public relations, the benefit of knowing a lot of people? It's all bullshit to me, as my roommate used to express her feelings towards the free hugs, bullshit. But eventually it's definitely a no to all of the above.
Is it for the sake of self relief? It might be. Or might it be the fact that I was never used to having my days filled days ahead and relying on my blackberry calendar to know where I have the time to eat? All in all, this is not good.
I remember all the times I traveled lately, especially the last one for it was the hardest. I had to fly four different trips, spent more than 14 hours in airports and ended up falling asleep in the taxi most of the time, all for the sake of a silly meeting that didn't last more than 25 minutes.
This blog is the only space I got left to vent off and let it out, and I've been noticing lately that it's getting driven somewhere else. The blog was the window through which I tell people about the latest events with a twist, my own. But to be honest, this is only working for everybody else but me.
 |
| Iran from a plane's window |
I mean, what's better than munching on that piece of dough for more than 40 minutes while watching passengers in cars right across my window? In fact, I just saw a bow hopping over to his father's side to sit in his lap, too quick for me to know what happened later on. Too many syrian car plates and a drowsy woman right on the edge of cursing her heart out is leaning on her window driving her car in the middle of slow traffic. Some broken neon lights here and there and the sound of cheesy music being played in the background emerging in between the "Creed" tracks my phone's playing. Isn't it fascinating how so many people with different aspirations, different mentalities, backgrounds, history and emotions are all driving the same route, heading the same direction most probably for the same goal, to hit back home and relax one's feet and neck. Isn't it absolutely dazzling how the city I always speak of being ugly and resentful to end up being the dearest to my heart?
My man'oushe is almost finished, my trigger to say goodbye and try to close my eyes for some moments by the tunes playing in my ears, I might end up getting some sleep and recuperate some of the energy I desperately need.
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