If to correct you must humiliate; you don’t know how to teach.

I have said it already thousands times before:

Only those who have serious issues with self-confidence and self-worth and not happy with themselves have an urge to belittle others and stand on someone else’s back to look tall.

It is like being a king of fools.

If you feel smart among ignorant people, what are you then?

Adjust your way of interaction according to whom you are dealing with. No need to brandish your knowledge to those who are not in the same spectrum as you are and not in anyway capable of understanding whatever you wish per se to share so you can feel better about yourself. Talk to them as equals. Respect people’s limits. You have yours too.

Someone once said:

Do not humiliate people, shame is a lifetime lasting effect that can be nursed but can never be cured.

Remember the Golden Rule and you’ll be okay.

Something Has To Happen Before Something Happened

When I don’t feel good (for whatever reasons) I like to lie in bed under the sheets doused in white flower concoction; a Chinese wonder medicine in a small fortified bottle. You can smear it on almost anything. You can even drink it although it is clearly indicated on the prescription that that thing is for external use only. But if your parents say swallow, you better do it or else… Confused what I’m talking about? If you know tiger balm then white flower is a liquid equivalent of it. Capisce?

While lying under the sheets, I am thinking of a lot of things mixed up together. No category. Sometimes I think how lucky I am to be able to lie there without somebody bothering me. No grand/children, no nosy neighbors and needy cousins, no noisy crew or a controlling paranoid ex. Not even a husband, for my current knows and accept my weird ways of doing things as I accept his. Live ad let live. We understood that cliché too well.

There was a time that I had a pseudo-best friend who understands that if the phone is off the hook when she called it means I didn’t want to be bothered. So, she would drive straight to my house and would do everything in her power to coax me out. My ex called us Thelma and Louise.

I had and still have a real best friend who deals with the problem with a more direct approach. She would come to my place, barged in my room and pulled me literally out of bed.

I had also an Iranian neighbor who used to take whatever she needs from my pantry without asking for permission. She always replaced them though. A beautiful woman she is. Used to watch me while showering and criticizing every move I make in a caring way. Like she didn’t understand why I want to walk in the rain even though I told her rain is a natural moisturizer.

They are gone now. I changed life and I moved on. And I prize my solitude.

But other times I question my choice. Like today. I was lying under the sheets again ( oh, I forgot to mention that my ex had an aunt who saw my “lying under the sheets” as a sign of “it’s time I go back to my native land.” She is dead now.) and I thought: I could be lying here dead and no one would know let alone care. Is that good or bad? Do I still like my loneliness too much? Am I still happy being on my own? Probably not when I start questioning it, no?

What is the point of all of these, me telling you nonsensical things… Nothing really. I am sharing you my thoughts, that’s all.

I’ve Dreamed Of Jason Momoa

You know… the Aqua man. No, I am not a fan. I saw him briefly in GOT and tried to watch the Aquaman movie a while ago but I find it chaotic and childish. So, after about a quarter of an hour I called it quits. Shorter than the time I tried to watch Harry Potter films. That was a record.

In my dream we were travelling somewhere together with D. and a girl-woman who was a bit of an alternative chick. Wears black; short bob hair and no face. She didn’t fancy Jason Momoa either. So it seemed. As expected; women fell around him wherever we went but he seemed oblivious to the fact. Instead he concentrated on us; me in particular. No, I am not narcissistic, no delusions of grandeur or anything or otherwise I would replace Aquaman with Nadal.

I think the place was Nepal or somewhere in the vicinity because the mountains are gorgeous (no, it wasn’t the Alps) and there were lots of indigenous people and culture a volonté. Plenty of nature and far away picture perfect scenery.

The longer we travel the more intimate Jason became with his sweet words and gestures. He begun touching me too. A hand there, an arm over my shoulder or on the small of my back. Longer eye contact too. To me, personally it is nothing. Been there done that in my younger years. Too much for my liking. The more he did those personalized attentions, the more the alternative chick disliked me. No, she didn’t say a thing but I am an expert on body language and reading between the lines. D. kept quiet.

One time D. went to the nearest ATM while Jason was showing me the range or mountains outside the window his arm around me while the girl-woman after a tantrum was decided to go on her own and was waiting for a ride sitting at the bus stop that looked like a piece of some amphitheater. All of us situated in one place in a triangular position within hearing distance of each other. How could that be? Perhaps the hotel or whatever it was me and Jason were in was in fact not a room but a veranda that’s why I could see both D. and the alternative chick and they could see me.

After a time, D. came back with a series of figures on a piece of paper. To make the story short, he was accusing me in a subtle way ( he is always subtle) of withdrawing some amount from our joint account and giving them to Aquaman. I started bawling out of misery. How could he thought of me that way. I never give money to a guy. My attention for a while is more than enough I always believe. Anyway, in the middle of my bawling I suddenly stopped and thought: Hmmm… Perhaps he was reversing the situation. Maybe it was him who gave some dough to that alternative chick. Come to think of it, she is more his type than I am and she clearly showed some hidden soft spot for him and why should Jason be interested in our money? So, I told D. to produce some evidence in a form of bank statement/balance that showing I withdraw some money from our account and he had to prove that he didn’t do it either.

Then, I woke up.

Recalling the dream I realized that there could be another side to the story. Maybe Jason Momoa and the girl-woman were on it together. Perhaps they made an agreement to con us. Work the lady I work the man and see who is going to melt first. If that was true. I’m sure D. would be the one who will succumb to the temptation. Why I think that? Because Like I said before, I’ve been there done that hundred times and back and I could proudly say it never happened to me. D. on the other hand is more gullible when it comes to this sort of things. I will not elaborate but I have a proof to my claim. Besides, he is somewhat innocent and totally lack of any experience dealing with people. He simply could not read them and their intentions.

Why it is that whenever D. appeared in my dreams it was always either he is leaving me or exchanging me for another woman. Don’t say it’s my hidden fear because it is not. My hidden fear is being buried alive.

Anyway, having an almost romantic encounter with Jason Momoa in a dream is preferable than having an affair with a bald politician or my nipple being sucked by a singer who actually cannot sing.

Till next time.

Playing A Role

“I am a conformist within reason. I was born with strong beliefs of family tradition as well as honoring the law. I also have a strong sense of respect for the people and places around me. I was taught that our social system was put into place for the better of the people. Well as you get older you realize that is not always the case. I guess you can say I am a hypocrite when it comes to being a Conformist. Although a lot of my traditions and beliefs are part of my foundation of who I am. My frame work some would say. My life experiences are the bricks of the walls as I build my life. It is those life experiences that make me second guess the Social order that is put in to place as for the greater good of the people. That is what makes me a conformist within reason.
I guess you can say I am a righteous nonviolent rebel. I dance to the beat of my own drum. I do not break any laws. But I live in a country that it is against the law to commit a violent crime. Although I live in a world that is rapidly changing I am trying very hard to stay true to my Values and traditions that make me who I am today. And for that I am not a conformist I am a rebel.”

― Bonnie Zackson Koury

A Good Lesson In Life

I will never be someone’s last choice, second option, narcissistic supply, doormat, ego booster, sidekick, secret, last time or after thought. I stand for truth. I know my beauty, my talents, my accomplishments, what I have to offer. But, most of all I know my value and I will never let any man define my worth. ― Shannon L. Alder

Seal The Pain Within

Itch deep in the soul.

Etched in the brain.

Each failure.

Its out-turn.

Is nightmare.

Powder Rain

Hug the pain.

Touch the soul.

Close your eyes.

Feel the heartbeat.

Look at the sky.

Search for meaning.

Nothing there.

Wait for tomorrow.

Another day.

In The Veil Of Between

I see the wind playing with the leaves

I hear the trees crying

I feel the colors of the rainbows on my eyelids

I smell the clouds pregnant___

with rain I taste coming.

Wild Ducks Flying Backward

Perfume is a disguise. Since the middle ages, we have worn masks of fruit and flowers in order to conceal from ourselves the meaty essence of our humanity. We appreciate the sexual attractant of the rose, the ripeness of the orange, more than we honor our own ripe carnality.

Now today we want to perfume our cities, as well; to replace their stinging fumes of disturbed fossils’ sleep with the scent of gardens and orchards. Yet, humans are not bees any more than they are blossoms. If we must pull an olfactory hood over our urban environment, let it be of a different nature.

I want to travel on a train that smells like snowflakes.

I want to sip in cafes that smell like comets.

Under the pressure of my step, I want the streets to emit the precise odor of a diamond necklace.

I want the newspapers I read to smell like the violins left in pawnshops by weeping hobos on Christmas Eve.

I want to carry luggage that reeks of the neurons in Einstein’s brain.

I want a city’s gases to smell like the golden belly hairs of the gods.

And when I gaze at a televised picture of the moon, I want to detect, from a distance of 239,000 miles, the aroma of fresh mozzarella.

― Tom Robbins

Memories

The clarity is deceptive, lending treacherous verisimilitude to what is largely a fabular whole, for in other places the story is worn, nearly transparent, radiant but oddly featureless, as the lives of saints sometimes are.

This Is Me Today

Sometimes I wonder if the reality is the dream and the dream the reality. What if I thought I was waking up but the truth is I was falling asleep instead. And all the time I thought I was dreaming it was in fact my life, my real life. I once had that feelings with my ex-husband. I’d felt that I was living in a dream (in my case the worst nightmare) and in any moment I will wake up and will find myself in another situation, in another place, living different life. Back then I had a feeling of being in transition, not unlike being in a train station, or aboard a plane to somewhere. I felt like I was just passing through. Ever had that feelings? Perhaps it was just a hope, a fantasy, to escape the harshness of reality, to protect my sanity, creating a buffer to soften the blows. I don’t know. I have outrageous thoughts sometimes. I can’t help it. My mind tend to run wild, creating havoc to my inner peace. But what can I do? I am who I am.

I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?

When I Am Within, I Am Never Without.

I am not what I ought to be, I am not what I want to be, I am not what I hope to be in another world; I am not what I once used to be, I am what I am.

Sometime I think; and sometime I am.

She was sorceress on paper, a goddess in her mind but a mere peasant to everyone living in her present times.
― Curtis Tyrone Jones