I am sorry for the way things went...for the what I said
for what I have done.
for being the friend when I should have been the lover.
for being the lover when I should have been the friend.
for being upset when u I should not have been.
for not being upset when I clearly should have.
for crying in your arms when I should have walked away.
for loving you when I should have left.
for allowing strike one,two,three and four. for allowing you to fail in front of my eyes.
for respecting and honoring things you never honored.
for having faith.
for having hope.
for dreaming.
I apologize for words said,emotions conveyed, and intimacies created.
I am sorry for sticking up for you when I should have turned away.
I apologize for what I was and for what I became.
I apologize for every touch,smile and heartflutter.
I apologize for the secrets I kept for you
I apologize for being the safe haven,your shelter from the storms.
I apologize for braving storms for you even when I was as fragile as a tiny twig.
I apologize for me being me and you being you.
I am sorry for being sorry for someone you should never be sorry for.
I apologize and I rest my case.A lost one.My very first losing case.
I am sorry but I will stop apologizing.
sorry
Thursday, April 28, 2011
L'Autre
Always in secret,
The warm blanket that covers you every night.
The one you turn to.
The one who sees you for who you are and accepts all your shortcomings and successes.
The one you miss during the day and make love to during the night.
The one solid reality.
The hope,the reward and the punishment.
The one you can not be with nor can not live without.
The one who knows you inside out.
The one who knows your scent.....Who can blindly trace every curve,blemish and scar on your skin.
Who knows every reason behind every white hair,every scar and who can name at least 10 smiles of your face.
I am that one.
except I am also the other one.
The hidden one.
The only one who sees value in the leftovers.
I am the friend,the lover,maybe even the one.
But mind you,I am nothing but the mistress
The warm blanket that covers you every night.
The one you turn to.
The one who sees you for who you are and accepts all your shortcomings and successes.
The one you miss during the day and make love to during the night.
The one solid reality.
The hope,the reward and the punishment.
The one you can not be with nor can not live without.
The one who knows you inside out.
The one who knows your scent.....Who can blindly trace every curve,blemish and scar on your skin.
Who knows every reason behind every white hair,every scar and who can name at least 10 smiles of your face.
I am that one.
except I am also the other one.
The hidden one.
The only one who sees value in the leftovers.
I am the friend,the lover,maybe even the one.
But mind you,I am nothing but the mistress
The Finger and The Ring
“I know you will never get married when you are looking like that…You have a good career, a brilliant writer, the kindest of hearts and a kick ass sense of humor but come on…you could put some effort into yourself. You are cute, you just are not trying. That way no guy will put a ring on that finger”
I pause, for a person who has been having a bad month in terms of scratched corneas, high stress levels, insomnia and fatigue, getting up and into a Gucci pant suit isn’t my cup of tea. But again, when was it ever?
I take a deep breath, look up at the haze of smoke I am making, think about the deadlines I have and the ever present hassle of getting time to look over the family issues, getting time to go to the gym, eat, work, see my friends and sleep.
And I realize, I am not trying not because I don’t have the time and when I do have the time I would rather curl up with a good book or see what Barney Stinson has been up to with the How I met your mother gang.
But again, even if I had a 60 hour day, I still would not take more than 10 minutes to get dressed. See, clothing, originally, are meant to cover you up. Make up is not my thing and I am not a designer whore.
I think I am just not the ladiest of ladies and I never seemed to mind.
I look at my friend with the earlier comment, I simply smile and say “Try for what?”.
“To get a guy”
Again, “for what?”
“To marry you, silly”
One more time “for what?”
She asks “marry you for what?”
I nod, smiling.
She says “because You have to be married at some point”
See, suddenly I am no longer a brilliant writer, a great friend, sister, daughter, manager or employee.
I am the girl with no ring on her finger.
I go to the bathroom, take a deep look in the mirror. And I genuinely like what I see, I appreciate what I see. I am thankful for what I see and have.
I just don’t have a ring on my finger, that is all.
I go back to the table, smiling, she says” what are you smiling about?”.
“Simple, I am the girl who has no ring on her finger but has the world at her fingertips, if some guy can’t get past the jeans and T shirt and the everlasting lipstick-less smile, he should live with it, not me!!”
I sat down, and the world still stayed at my ring-less fingers. And men continued to live with their failure to put a ring on my finger.
I pause, for a person who has been having a bad month in terms of scratched corneas, high stress levels, insomnia and fatigue, getting up and into a Gucci pant suit isn’t my cup of tea. But again, when was it ever?
I take a deep breath, look up at the haze of smoke I am making, think about the deadlines I have and the ever present hassle of getting time to look over the family issues, getting time to go to the gym, eat, work, see my friends and sleep.
And I realize, I am not trying not because I don’t have the time and when I do have the time I would rather curl up with a good book or see what Barney Stinson has been up to with the How I met your mother gang.
But again, even if I had a 60 hour day, I still would not take more than 10 minutes to get dressed. See, clothing, originally, are meant to cover you up. Make up is not my thing and I am not a designer whore.
I think I am just not the ladiest of ladies and I never seemed to mind.
I look at my friend with the earlier comment, I simply smile and say “Try for what?”.
“To get a guy”
Again, “for what?”
“To marry you, silly”
One more time “for what?”
She asks “marry you for what?”
I nod, smiling.
She says “because You have to be married at some point”
See, suddenly I am no longer a brilliant writer, a great friend, sister, daughter, manager or employee.
I am the girl with no ring on her finger.
I go to the bathroom, take a deep look in the mirror. And I genuinely like what I see, I appreciate what I see. I am thankful for what I see and have.
I just don’t have a ring on my finger, that is all.
I go back to the table, smiling, she says” what are you smiling about?”.
“Simple, I am the girl who has no ring on her finger but has the world at her fingertips, if some guy can’t get past the jeans and T shirt and the everlasting lipstick-less smile, he should live with it, not me!!”
I sat down, and the world still stayed at my ring-less fingers. And men continued to live with their failure to put a ring on my finger.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Road Less Taken
Night wraps all the trees.
The sound of my car engine fades away as I park.
Doors are shut…silence all around.
My ability to move is no longer there.
I am tired.
So very tired….3 years of pretending are finally taking their toll on me.
Robert Frost’s “The road not taken” keeps echoing in my head.
My eyes turn blurry, my knees are weak, tears begin to warm my face.
Red and yellow lines begin dancing in front of me.
I lock the car and reach for the phone hoping my parents are upstairs to rescue me.
My *I am a grown up* alter ego kicks in and the phone drops .
Silence.
More silence.
Dancing lines fade away…
I keep repeating “I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference”
Failed careers, uninspired nights, words lost and emotions forbidden may still come in the future for me.
I will know things and learn things…moments like these will come around again… I will grow tired again.
Choices will lay ahead … I will not always know what to do.
Parents will breathe down my back, society will press me even more, friends will read into my actions
and take it the wrong way and I will not always know what to do.
Jobs will continue to be uninspiring, relationships unfulfilling and laughter non hearted.
Pretense will continue to rule my life and small details will continue to be taken over by me.
But I have already known my destiny.
I have chosen to take the road less traveled and that already has made all the difference.
The sound of my car engine fades away as I park.
Doors are shut…silence all around.
My ability to move is no longer there.
I am tired.
So very tired….3 years of pretending are finally taking their toll on me.
Robert Frost’s “The road not taken” keeps echoing in my head.
My eyes turn blurry, my knees are weak, tears begin to warm my face.
Red and yellow lines begin dancing in front of me.
I lock the car and reach for the phone hoping my parents are upstairs to rescue me.
My *I am a grown up* alter ego kicks in and the phone drops .
Silence.
More silence.
Dancing lines fade away…
I keep repeating “I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference”
Failed careers, uninspired nights, words lost and emotions forbidden may still come in the future for me.
I will know things and learn things…moments like these will come around again… I will grow tired again.
Choices will lay ahead … I will not always know what to do.
Parents will breathe down my back, society will press me even more, friends will read into my actions
and take it the wrong way and I will not always know what to do.
Jobs will continue to be uninspiring, relationships unfulfilling and laughter non hearted.
Pretense will continue to rule my life and small details will continue to be taken over by me.
But I have already known my destiny.
I have chosen to take the road less traveled and that already has made all the difference.
Oblivious
There is this little humming sound coming from the space heater, it is dark yet glowing.
I nestle in your arms, not feeling protected or strong, but rather feeling serene, feeling for the very first time that I don’t need to go anywhere or do anything. Nothing is overwhelming, nothing is pressing, nothing is urgent.
It may be dark but I can trace your smile on your face, I am smiling…from within.
Despite the fact that it is only you and me…we insist on whispering, sweet whispers that make me giggle.
No pretense, no acts, no facades…Nothing.
You , me and darkness. Sweet blissful darkness.
It is peaceful, endearing and everlasting.
You say something, kissing me and I am half listening as I fade into this other realm of warmth.
I am about to answer when something blares in my ear, I jump up in bed, it is my alarm.
It’s time for work, time to check on my mother, it is time for boredom and repetition and heartache.
You are not there, I will not call you, hear your voice or touch you ever again.
I get dressed in a hurry and go to kiss mum goodbye.
As I reach for the door, she stops me and says in that surrendering tone “Radwa… go wash your face…You have been crying in your sleep again”
I don’t….
I don’t really think it makes a difference…I have to get over you not over my tears. Nothing can wash that away.
I nestle in your arms, not feeling protected or strong, but rather feeling serene, feeling for the very first time that I don’t need to go anywhere or do anything. Nothing is overwhelming, nothing is pressing, nothing is urgent.
It may be dark but I can trace your smile on your face, I am smiling…from within.
Despite the fact that it is only you and me…we insist on whispering, sweet whispers that make me giggle.
No pretense, no acts, no facades…Nothing.
You , me and darkness. Sweet blissful darkness.
It is peaceful, endearing and everlasting.
You say something, kissing me and I am half listening as I fade into this other realm of warmth.
I am about to answer when something blares in my ear, I jump up in bed, it is my alarm.
It’s time for work, time to check on my mother, it is time for boredom and repetition and heartache.
You are not there, I will not call you, hear your voice or touch you ever again.
I get dressed in a hurry and go to kiss mum goodbye.
As I reach for the door, she stops me and says in that surrendering tone “Radwa… go wash your face…You have been crying in your sleep again”
I don’t….
I don’t really think it makes a difference…I have to get over you not over my tears. Nothing can wash that away.
Daddy
Lights always flicker in hospitals. Did you ever notice that?
People also get sick in hospitals.
And people realize things in hospitals.
My first hospital experience was waking up mid surgery when I was 4. I had been chasing a butterfly and I had lost my balance trying to catch it. And I broke my arm.
That day I learnt that mommy and daddy can’t take all the pain away regardless of how much they want to.
When I was 14 I had my appendix removed, I was at school , mom was at work and dad was on his way to his. He came to pick me up, took me to a hospital and decided for the surgery in less than an hour.
At the same time my mother had the same pain in the same area while she was at work and could not make sense of it until she realized it was me who was in pain and not her.
That day I learnt that the moment the umblical cord is cut between mother and child is not at birth but years later when one of them passes away.
I found out that day that saying I love you to mom is not enough and never will be.
On January 28th,2009 I learned that My Daddy is not immortal.
When daddy was taken into hospital suffering from a heart attack at the age of 55, I discovered what a lump in the throat means.
You see,when your roots are suffocated, you automatically are too.
I remember walking into the ICU, Where he was awake and smiling and joking with the nurses. I remember the heart monitor peeping. I remember his hand holding mine,reassuring me that he is alright.
Those hands that held me,soothed me and slapped me playfully sometimes, I took them in mine, canula and all and began subconsciously examining them, memorizing them.
I let him reassure me and joke with me.
I laughed out loud so that my tears won’t escape.
And my first ever moment of regret came,one of many more to come.
I regretted rolling my eyes at him.
I regretted disrespecting him deep inside me when he would not let me have my way.
I regretted going out with my friends on his days off when I knew that it won’t be a day off for him unless I was with him.
I regretted hating his protectiveness.
I regretted upsetting him and breaking his heart when I was unhappy or heartbroken.
I now remember dad’s hands ,every detail of them. I also remember his face and the light in his eyes.
I remember his scent, his movements, his touch on my hands and him taking me into his arms when I am nearly as tall as he is.
One thing I don’t regret.
Is my prayer to God that night in January.
I crept into my bed and cried myself to sleep praying to God one prayer.
“I know it is against your rules but please, just please, keep my daddy for me, I know you don’t do that”
“but please, Make Daddy immortal, would you?”
I know God won’t and I dread the day, for that day will witness my loss of faith.
Not in God, Not in Islam but in the fact that all kinds of pain will fade away with time.
Some pain does stay, the pain of letting go of your roots.
And standing on your own.
Here is the thing, I can’t stand on my own, I am still daddy’s little girl and I can’t live without my daddy.
Shoot me, soothe me or disagree with me.
But I can’t grow up this much,
No one does and no one should
People also get sick in hospitals.
And people realize things in hospitals.
My first hospital experience was waking up mid surgery when I was 4. I had been chasing a butterfly and I had lost my balance trying to catch it. And I broke my arm.
That day I learnt that mommy and daddy can’t take all the pain away regardless of how much they want to.
When I was 14 I had my appendix removed, I was at school , mom was at work and dad was on his way to his. He came to pick me up, took me to a hospital and decided for the surgery in less than an hour.
At the same time my mother had the same pain in the same area while she was at work and could not make sense of it until she realized it was me who was in pain and not her.
That day I learnt that the moment the umblical cord is cut between mother and child is not at birth but years later when one of them passes away.
I found out that day that saying I love you to mom is not enough and never will be.
On January 28th,2009 I learned that My Daddy is not immortal.
When daddy was taken into hospital suffering from a heart attack at the age of 55, I discovered what a lump in the throat means.
You see,when your roots are suffocated, you automatically are too.
I remember walking into the ICU, Where he was awake and smiling and joking with the nurses. I remember the heart monitor peeping. I remember his hand holding mine,reassuring me that he is alright.
Those hands that held me,soothed me and slapped me playfully sometimes, I took them in mine, canula and all and began subconsciously examining them, memorizing them.
I let him reassure me and joke with me.
I laughed out loud so that my tears won’t escape.
And my first ever moment of regret came,one of many more to come.
I regretted rolling my eyes at him.
I regretted disrespecting him deep inside me when he would not let me have my way.
I regretted going out with my friends on his days off when I knew that it won’t be a day off for him unless I was with him.
I regretted hating his protectiveness.
I regretted upsetting him and breaking his heart when I was unhappy or heartbroken.
I now remember dad’s hands ,every detail of them. I also remember his face and the light in his eyes.
I remember his scent, his movements, his touch on my hands and him taking me into his arms when I am nearly as tall as he is.
One thing I don’t regret.
Is my prayer to God that night in January.
I crept into my bed and cried myself to sleep praying to God one prayer.
“I know it is against your rules but please, just please, keep my daddy for me, I know you don’t do that”
“but please, Make Daddy immortal, would you?”
I know God won’t and I dread the day, for that day will witness my loss of faith.
Not in God, Not in Islam but in the fact that all kinds of pain will fade away with time.
Some pain does stay, the pain of letting go of your roots.
And standing on your own.
Here is the thing, I can’t stand on my own, I am still daddy’s little girl and I can’t live without my daddy.
Shoot me, soothe me or disagree with me.
But I can’t grow up this much,
No one does and no one should
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