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Bedoor Bluemoon

Everyday writing to expose the soul

Self Perception

Elegance

model-clipart-womens-7

With the bombardment of young, skinny, and tall girl pictures on every conceivable media, we normal people start questioning ourselves.  The idea that these images are photoshopped just helps us sleep at night as we try to ignore the gorgeous girls we meet face to face in reality.  Well, guess what?  It doesn’t matter how these women look, it matters how you perceive yourself.

Right?  Isn’t this what we are told to teach our daughters?  Aren’t we supposed to show them that inner beauty is all that matters even though snapchat filters are great for your pride?  Images of 14 year old girls then vs. 14 year old now are hilarious and yet, so not hilarious because of what they represent. Maybe she’s born with it?  Maybe it’s makeup or maybe it’s plastic surgery.

In my brainwashed mind, I’ve come to perceive tall and skinny as beautiful and elegant.  When a tall and skinny lady wears a dress, it looks good.  It basically falls on her with so much grace that the short and stubby will never have because when she wants to wear a long dress she needs to have it first altered to be her length and then she needs to buy grandiose heels to compensate for the lack of height.  She also needs a corset or a ridiculous diet for a few years in advance.

Also, tall girls have longer legs.  Do you understand that?  They have more “leg”.  They also have more “arm” and more “torso”.  So their weight gets divided around and the 150 pound tall girl looks great but when it comes to the 150 pound short girl she “needs to lay off the carbs.”

Well, in my mind, I am tall and skinny.  I will always love to eat my carbs and I will always have less “leg, arms, and torso” to distribute my weight.  Because of my predisposition towards elegance being for the tall and skinny, I think I have altered my self perception to that of a model because I don’t hate myself.  I actually like myself very much and don’t mind the extra pounds around.

Yes, in my mind I’m tall, skinny and elegant.  #grateful

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Relocate

Relocate

 

tree

The world is vast and the opportunities endless.  It is our perception of values that keep us planted into areas we no longer wish to be.  Roots that no longer exist in this age where every person watches out for himself.  Gone are the days where neighbors cared to watch over your children as you get yourself a haircut and gone are the days where you can expect people to care about you.

Family ties are weakening.  It is the naive who think otherwise and who hold onto the hope that Sunday family dinners make a difference.  What difference when we are distracted by the outside on the tips of our fingers?  Children stopped visiting their mothers and don’t ask about their fathers anymore.  Days go by, weeks pass, and months turn into years if we let them because we think that we can easily relocate into somewhere with less responsibilities.  Yes, the world is vast and the opportunities endless, but where would you relocate?  And if you choose to relocate, would it really make a difference where you go?

Humans are social creatures and the lone wolf cannot survive without a pack, one way or the other.  We are not sole survivors nor can we delete all roots that connect us to our past.  We can relocate our bodies but can we relocate who we are in the midst of the hazy lines between cultures, races, and countries?  Are we turning into global citizens or are the homogeneous clusters we see around a representation of the roots we ignore?  Can we really merge or will we always have our differences?

Are we ready to relocate our minds before our bodies or is breaking new ground the hip thing to do?  Yes, we are not trees and we can move but we must move our perceptions to understand that sometimes relocating does not necessarily mean forgetting who we are.

Rain

From Dreams of a Blue Moon

rain

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

nothing seems sane

all are insane.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people with hearts

people with brains.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people in hugs

people in chains.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people who lose

people who gain.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people in pain

people in pain.

 

انتظرني

man-on-train-station-mateja-hrvacic

انتظرني

عندما تصل إلى نهاية الطريق

وتلقى نفسك وحيدا

اعلم بأنني سآتي

سأكون معك دوما

انتظرني

لأن وصولي قد يتأخر قليلا… أو كثيرا

فلا تلمني على ذلك

ولم الدنيا التي باعدتني عنك

وباعدتك عني

 

انتظرني عندما تحن النهاية

وتضطر ارواحنا إلى الفراق

فهذه دنيا الفناء

وأوقاتنا محدودة

فنعيش

ونعشق

ونبكي

ونندم

ونعود للعشق مرة اخرى

فانتظرني

لأنني اشتاق إلى الرحيل

انتظرني

عند مفترق الطرق

عند بداية الخلود ونهاية الدنيا

انتظرني ومعك باقة من الورد

فأتوق لتلك الوردة البيضاء من يدك

انتظرني

وابتسامتك تعلو وجهك الجميل

فحياتي بدونك صعبة

وعيني لا ترى أي شيئ جميل

سواك

انتظرني عندما يكتمل العمر

ونلقى بأنفسنا في تلك الحفرة الظلماء

انتظرني

عندما تتعب أرواحنا من الاستمرار

والبحث

وتستسلم قلوبنا

من كل شيئ

ونتحول إلى اللا شيئ

عندها

سأكون معك

فانتظرني

Eyes

via Writing Prompt #381

eyes

Crumpled paper covers every flat surface of his room, he can’t get the eyes right.  He is usually very good at sketching portraits but the eyes were haunting him.  It all started one day in his dream.  He dreamed he was sitting next to the lake hand in hand with a lady dressed in a light blue dress.  She had her head covered by an over-sized hat and her delicate fingers wrapped in pink lace gloves.  Her brown hair did not move.  It was propped and primped into soft waves that cascaded around her face and framed her small features.  She was looking down at her hands and her long thick lashes set themselves ever so gently on her cheekbones.

He wondered who the lady may be but didn’t know how ask.  He was afraid to speak lest the calmness be disturbed by his voice.  He wanted to whisper her name, but what was her name?  He studied her face and the bridge of her nose while her eyelashes fluttered with the breeze.  She was exquisitely beautiful, perfect in every way imaginable to man and he wondered what she was doing with him.

He coughed gently, trying to get her attention and to feast his eyes upon her face.  He saw her cheeks rise in a smile and the glisten of her teeth between her rosy lips as she raised her face to look at his.  That’s when he saw her eyes.

He tried to sketch them again and again but nothing comes close to the captivating spell of her lashes.  Nothing comes close to the arch of her eyebrow, nothing comes close to the glimmer reflecting in her iris, and no shade of blue comes close to the depth of her inner sea.  He was mesmerized at that moment, captured in her jail and transferred to eternal salvation.  Or is it damnation?  He knew that it was then that he lost all sanity and no longer became a free man.  He knew that it was she who held the key to his heart forever.

Crumpled papers turned to canvases and walls filled with pencil sketches, oil paints, water colors, chalks, and markers.  Nothing of the ordinary seemed valuable to him anymore as he continued his search for the perfect eye.  He looked forward to sleep every night just to see her again but sleep became scarce and hope disintegrated into madness.  Madness that consumed his soul and he was left with nothing but crumpled papers and a dream.

Choices

via Writing Prompt #377

burka

He looked from one covered face to the next, trying to understand how this is all happening to him, why he is expected to choose his future wife in such a bizarre way.  His mother stood still eyeing the girls and clicking her tongue in disapproval whenever one of them looks up.  It was so sudden for Hamza, he expected to at least unpack his bags before setting off to his uncle’s house.  But no, his parents were waiting for him in the car and were determined to marry him by the end of the week.

Hamza just finished his engineering degree in Frankfurt and was having a great time when his parents called and asked him to come back home.  So soon? he asked.  You got your degree, there’s no excuse to stay.  He knew that being the perfect Muslim son meant following your parent’s wishes and so reluctantly packed his bags to go home.

But home wasn’t the same.  He didn’t know of his parent’s plan nor did he wish to indulge them into imagining that he would marry based on nothing.  He stared into the faces and thought that they were all the same.  Some of the girls were shorter, others were chubbier, yet their eyes remained set down.  He tried to think what would make a difference in a marriage and his mind took him to his cycling days on the main river where he saw old couples holding hands and walking.  He would like that, he thought to himself.  He would very much like to grow old with someone he understands and who understands him.  The problem is how can he make sure that behind burka number #1 is the right person or maybe behind burka #4 is a better fit.

His father was standing outside with his uncle chatting and laughing, not realizing that Hamza was being sent to a slaughterhouse.  His mother was tired of waiting and came over to whisper,

“my boy, choose any of the girls, they are all good Muslims.”

“but mom, how would I know if I will be happy with her?”

“you won’t know, my son.  Just choose and let us get this over with.  Your uncle thinks you should marry one of his daughters and keep the money within the family which is true.  Why marry someone poor when you can get richer as a bargain.”

Richer as a bargain, he scoffed and looked at the girls one more time.  They didn’t seem to release any hints, none looked him in the eye, and none twitched.  He sighed, here goes nothing.

He chooses quickly without understanding what his choice means, without caring that this gamble of a marriage is as successful as any.  He doesn’t care what goes on in his life after this, his society may have enforced the face covers on his cousins but his heart is forced to be covered too.  It doesn’t matter who he marries, as long as the money stays within the family.

 

The Gift

iwp37

Image Writing Prompt #37

Jacqueline stood next to the shop waiting for her best friend, Danielle, to show up.  It was a sunny Saturday morning in the small village of Piana where trade was plenty and spirits were high.  Danielle skipped down the road and smiled at Jacqueline who held up the bag of coins they managed to save from the beginning of the year.  It was finally time to buy the gift.

Both girls entered the shop reluctantly:  Jacqueline with her high blond ponytail and Danielle’s short black hair were out of place in the high class French accessories shop but they didn’t seem to realize.

  • There are too many to choose from, aren’t there?
  • I know

They walked past a red velvet hat that caught Jacqueline’s eye.

  • how about this one?
  • I don’t think my mom likes the color red.  What about your mom?
  • She prefers dark colors.

Danielle’s hand touched a brown leather glove with a fur trim.  She picked it up and took in the musky scent, smiling.  It dawned to her that her mother’s gloves were worn out and immediately thought this would be the best gift.  Jacqueline was eyeing a black velvet hat with a yellow bow imagining how it would look on her mother’s head.  She loved how her hair glistened in the sun and her blue eyes twinkled when she saw her coming home from school.

They stood next to the cash register clutching tight onto their new possessions.  Their heads barely reaching the table as they raised themselves onto their toes to see the saleslady.

  • Good day, how much for these?
  • Hello little girls.  Do you have enough money for both?
  • Yes, we were saving for a long time and want to give our mothers a present.
  • That’s nice.  15 francs for both

The girls giggled and handed the money over, keeping the extra few coins for themselves.  The items were packed neatly in separate pink bags and both girls skipped outside the store.  They hugged each other, smiling and giggling, not believing that they were finally able to buy something so beautiful for their mothers.

They walked down the long and grey path, two girls with identical bags and smiles upon their faces, hoping that their gifts will be accepted with a smile.

Don’t Look Back

One-Way

 

looking-back

Life takes us forward for a reason.  Things that happened in the past should stay in the past; you should only carry the lessons you learned forward.  People you once knew and no longer know shouldn’t be thought of, you are just wasting your time paying attention to a minor detail that no longer matters in the course of your life.

Seize your day.   Be happy where you are and live in the moment.  There are many things we take for granted and cannot see because our eyes are focused on the rear view mirror.  Life is a one way street that needs to be treasured.  It is the journey that matters, the only journey you will have, so make it count.

Laugh with your loved one.  Don’t let your pride stand in the way.  Apologize when you’ve made a mistake because nothing matters.  Hold values in the center of your being and make sure nothing alters what you’re truly made of.

A one way street, focus forward.

 

The Freezing Lake

Source: Writing Prompt #350

images
She floated above the freezing lake waiting for the monster to reveal itself.  The cold air fluttered around her like pigeons.  She sighed, breathing warmth into her cold hands.  A little ripple barely noticed was all that she needed to smile.  He’s come, she thought to herself.

She turned to her right just as the monster’s head gently surfaced.  His blue skin was sleek with water dripping down, his green eyes glittering with the reflection of the mountains around.  Sarah, is it time?  It said in husky voice.

  • yes, my dear.  It is finally time
  • And are you certain that you’ve made the right decision?  Is this the right way forward?
  • Yes, I am certain.  I have thought of this long and hard.  I cannot bear to think what could happen lest I stay.

No answer, the sound of silence was calming.  She looked at the monster whose head was rested on its back and thought of the many days she spent conversing with her friend.  Their friendship was anything but conventional and she will miss it dearly.

  • The road you are taking is dangerous.  There is no way back.
  • I don’t want to come back
  • What if you do?  What if you miss me?
  • You will always be in my heart, Barlac
  • Will you remember me?
  • Always
  • You will be too busy with test after test.  It is not sheltered out there as it is with me
  • I am ready to undergo all the tests that are sent my way

More silence.  A cold wind brushed across Sarah’s face.

  • Are you already packed?
  • Yes
  • Did you pack everything you need?  Did you pack something to eat and something to drink?
  • I only packed my food and water
  • What about your clothes?
  • I don’t need anything more than what I’m wearing
  • It will get too cold

The sun was setting and Sarah felt like it was now or never

  • Barlac?
  • Yes, my dear
  • What will you do without me?
  • I will wait
  • Wait?
  • Yes, I will wait for another girl to stumble upon my lake so as to teach her the secrets of life
  • But life is out there, not in here
  • Is it?
  • Yes.  Everything you taught me cannot be applied in the outside world!
  • Can’t it?
  • Is this good bye?
  • Yes.  Thank you for everything
  • Never forget who you are
  • I won’t.

And with that, Barlac tipped forward onto Sarah’s head in what can only be considered a kiss and quietly descended back into the quietness of the lake.  She stood taking the scenery in for the last time, recalling the days she sat discussing Barlac’s teachings, debating morals and historical events, and uncovering answers for questions she never asked.  It was time to learn and unlearn, time to move on, and time for another chapter in her life.

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