Search

Bedoor Bluemoon

Everyday writing to expose the soul

Category

Uncategorized

Do Not Accept Anything Substandard

Substandard

perfectionism

Everyone is perfect.  I mean it.  Everyone out there has perfection in him and is not required to change himself to measure up against another person’s scale.  You are your own measurement tool and you have it in you to be who you are in this imperfect world.

I am not going to talk to you about what you need to do and how you need to do it to be considered successful, only you know what is needed to reach greatness based on your own scale.  You do not need a life coach, you are capable of being your own life coach and reflect on your own hopes and dreams.

But first, you need to be honest with yourself.  The many things people called you previously and the traits some so rudely pointed out as your weak points need to be considered.  Sit with yourself and talk openly.  What kind of person are you?  What kind of person do you want to be?  What does perfection look like and why should you accept being substandard based on your own standards?  There are hidden truths that you may not see but they will eventually come into perspective.

Draw a picture of what perfection looks and strive for it.  Add your values, hopes, dreams, and start walking.  There is no turning back if you are clear with yourself.

What makes you happy?  What makes you successful.  Go for it.  Act the way you accept to act, be the superman you see yourself to be and continue in the journey that is life.  Do not strive to make people happy except those who matter and whose happiness makes you happy.

Be genuine in your giving.  Do not feel bad for giving a part of yourself to others if this is what makes you happy.  Be kind, be gentle, be loving.

Be strong, be persistent, be honest.

Be what makes you a better person today, who knows if we’ll be here tomorrow.

Live your life to the fullest, love your family, love your friends, and love yourself the most.

 

Retail Therapy: The Basics

retail-therapy

Disclaimer: It is safe to say that this post is based on no scientific research whatsoever.  You are encouraged to try out the different therapy methods listed in cases of a bad mood ranging from “mild” to “medium”.  In cases of a really bad mood, your therapy may take a bit longer.

When a woman is in a bad mood, she tends to feel like everything is falling into pieces.  Everything they love look awful, everyone they know don’t pick up the phone, and they feel like they never achieved any of the goals they decided on years ago.  We’ve all been through this.  We all know how it feels.  So what can be done?

1- Breathe.  It’s alright to feel bad, you are not a robot and have all the excuse in the world to have bad days.  Do not feel guilty and do not let anyone tell you that you’re always “in a bad mood.”  Try to come to accept that you feel bad.

2- Remove yourself from the current situation you are in.  If you are feeling bad because of a conversation you are having on the phone, then close the phone.  If you are feeling bad because of a colleague at work, then go somewhere else.

3- Find someone who will listen.  This person is usually the same person you go to every time you are having a bad day.  A friend, a parent, a spouse, a sibling, whoever is there to listen. I am not telling you that you should talk, just give yourself the option to talk so whenever you feel like talking you’re with the right person.

4- Find something fun to do.  This is usually shopping.  Yes, simply shopping.  It starts with a cup of coffee, a walk around the mall to see what’s on sale, and an indulgence of impulse buying.  Try your best not to buy over an assigned budget.  (The person you choose in #3 should help in reeling you in when you’re starting to go overboard)

5- Eat something good.  A good dish filled with many many many calories.  This dish and/or meal must contain the 3 C’s:  carbs, cheese, and caffeine.

6- Shop again.  The physical labor done by walking around actually helps with your negative feelings; you’re basically working out!  Also, you are constantly speaking to your “person” so you’re maintaining good speed in which you are not out of breath.

7- Make sure you are carrying all the shopping bags.  Do not  let anyone help you and do not put the small bags into the bigger bags.  You need to see the number of bags you are carrying.  This will make  you happy.  Have you ever seen a woman with many shopping bags look sad or frustrated?  No.

bags

8- If you are going through a really tough time, go for shoes and makeup.  They don’t require you getting into the fitting room (which may be dangerous in some cases).  Regardless of the amount of weight you may have increased, your shoe size would not differ.  Makeup is symbolic of hiding your sad feelings so the more makeup you buy the more sadness you will hide.

9- When you get home, place all your bags on the floor and leave them there.  Do not open anything.  Live the moment.  Get yourself something good to drink and eat.  This snack may contain sugar but no caffeine.  You are trying to wind down.

10- Get into the shower.  Take a shower or a bath, whatever you choose.  Give yourself time to feel the water wash away the pain.  Sing in the shower, you sound good.

11- Pamper yourself.  Brush your hair, paint your nails (you could get a professional manicure in severe cases).  Focus on yourself.

12- Do something you like.  Watch a movie, a funny TV show, read a book, chat online, catch up on gossip.

13- Sleep earlier than usual.  You need to heal.

In conclusion, happiness is a choice.  Choose to be happy, choose to smile, and choose shopping therapy 101.

كربلاء الدهر

For more info about the battle of Karbala: 

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Karbala

تمر الايام وتأتي كربلاء

عاشوراء الحسين التي لا تموت

قلوبنا تغلي وتنكسر

وأصواتنا تعلو وتلبي 

وأفراحنا تندثر

والحسين يبقى مخلدا 

وكربلاء مستمرة

 فما بال قلب الحسين عليه السلام عندما رأى فلذة كبده يقطعه الأعداء إربا إربا؟ 

ما بال قلب الحسين وهو يرى ابن أخيه مهشّم الرأس؟ 

ما بال قلب الحسين يرى أخيه بلا كفين وعلى استحياء من العودة الى المخيم حيث لم يستطع احضار الماء للنساء والأطفال؟ 

ما بال قلب الحسين وهو يرى اخته زينب قبل رحيله الأخير وهو على علم بما سيجري لها بعد استشهاده؟

آه على تفطّر قلبك يا سيدي

آه على تفطّر فؤادك يا حبيبي

آه على كربلاء التي لا تنتهي أبدا

آه على قلبك يا سيدي يا صاحب الزمان وانت تذكر جدك في كل عام وتصرخ مع المعزين يا حسين، يا مظلوم… قتل جدي الحسين عطشانا

آه على تفطّر قلبك يا مهدي الأمه وانت تسمع نداء الحسين (الا من ناصر ينصرني؟) نفديك بارواحنا سيدي

آه على قلبك وانت ترى السبايا في انكسار

آه على قلبك وانت تعود برضيعك المستشهد على صدرك 

آه على قلبك وانت تتوسط جسد علي الأكبر وجسد القاسم وينفطر قلبك في كل ثانية مائة مرة

يا ليتني كنت معكم لأعي كلمة التفطّر

لأعي حجم التضحية 

لأعي حجم حبك لله عز وجل

لأعي قوة السيدة زينب وهي ترفع جثتك مستسلمة لامر الله وهي تقول “تقبل منا هذا القربان”

آه على القربان الطاهر والنجم الزاهر

آه على شيبك الخضيب

وردائك السليب

آه على الشفاه الذابلات

آه على المرمّل بالدماء

آه على غريب الغرباء وشهيد الشهداء

آه عليك يا كربلاء

سلامي إليك يا سيدي مدى الدهر

كل عام تعود كربلاء ويتجدد الالم

ويتجدد العهد

ويتفطّر قلبك
وتبقى مخلدا

السلام عليك يا سيدي يا حسين

Don’t Tell

domestic-violence1

It was an ordinary day when Eve woke up to face yet another message from her husband.  She hoped that he hadn’t come home last night for she wasn’t up to cleaning up his mess this early.  It was the first day of school for her children and the last thing she wanted to do was clean up. She just couldn’t fathom mopping another spill nor is she up to picking up another pair of socks.  She just couldn’t.

Everyone knows Eve.

Eve is a typical girl next door.  She loves music, is part of the school’s drama team, paints her nails red on Valentine’s Day, and gets along with everyone.  Eve had dreams of becoming a great lawyer and working in one of the nation’s biggest law firm but her plans got side tracked when she got pregnant with her first child.  It wasn’t the way she wanted to walk down the aisle but her best friend continuously assured her that her little baby bump was hardly noticeable.  On that day, she believed life had so much more to give and her life with Adam was just starting.

Adam and Eve couldn’t go away on their honeymoon because they had to save up for the baby.  Giving birth was an overwhelming experience and Eve was ecstatic.  Her life seemed perfect; her life with Adam seemed perfect.

Seemed.

It started one night over a silly dispute. Adam started arguing and accidentally told Eve he was tricked into marrying her.  Scheming bitch, he called her.  Manipulating whore. My life’s biggest regret. It was different and yet the same every time.  He came up with harsher abuses every time… Then he apologized every time.

Scheming, manipulative, mistake, regret, ugly, fat, stupid… The list goes on.

She fought back once when he started painting their life pitch black because she felt like he needed to understand that she was not who he says she was.  She tried to fight back, to answer, to explain her point of view and to clear her name just to get a hard slap across her face.  She looked at him stunned.  Is this really happening to me, she wondered in bewilderment.  She looked into his eyes to see whether or not her high school sweetheart felt any shame and she saw none.  He started shouting.

Scheming manipulative bitch!

And she cried.

He hunted her insecurities.  Made her question her life and every decision she ever makes.  Removed all things that made her human, started controlling who her friends were and made sure she cuts all ties with everyone who ever mattered to her.  Made sure to turn her into his own toy, his own property.

She said nothing. He slapped her and she said nothing.  I can’t get a divorce, I don’t have a job, how can I support my kids?  He will surely win custody over them and I’ll never see them again.

He kicked her, and she said nothing.  He punched her, and she said nothing.  Say what, and to who?  There was no one around and the small chores he assigned her were mostly in the house; she had to take permission to go out and had to give a full report when she came back…so she usually stayed at home. It was never worth the hassle to conceal her bruises.

Scheming manipulative bitch.

She stopped caring.  She stopped caring how she looked.  She stopped caring to cover her bruises even from her children since they already disrespect her and see the arrangement at home as ‘normal’.
She stopped wondering if there is a different life for her out there. Her reality was obstructed by what she heard and saw everyday.  Abuse. Verbal and physical abuse.

She stopped thinking for herself and took everything told to her as given truths.

She stopped questioning if she was worthy of living let alone loving.

Loving?  Oh he told her he loved her constantly. Before a beating, after a beating, and sometimes during a beating.  Why did you make me do this to you? He would say holding her tight after smacking her.  Why are you doing this to us? Why do you cause us such misery?

Scheming manipulative bitch.

Eve, the girl next door who wanted to work in one of the country’s biggest law firms took up acting instead.  On stage, she paints her nails red for Valentine’s Day, but every day red blood is a part of her attire.  On stage, her name was darling wife but backstage she remains the cause of all of the world’s problems.

Scheming manipulative bitch.

#Break the silence, stop the violence. 

Don’t Wait


Don’t wait for my obituary to tell me how you feel. Talk to me today. Love is always accepted.  #CarpeDiem #love

You never know when I will be gone. You never know when you will be gone. Speak up, what’s the worse that can happen?

Don’t write on my Facebook page what an amazing person I have been. Don’t bother speaking if I can’t hear you nor answer.

Do you understand. I will not answer.  Don’t comment when I cannot answer.

Speak up.

Tell me you love me.

As I love you.

Where Did We All Part Ways?


When parents choose schools for their children, they have in mind a specific social circle, a specific life style, and a specific group of people to be associated with. This is also kept in mind when purchasing a house or joining a country club. Being a part of a group matters, and being a part of a chosen group matters more.

Today, I came across a very very old VHS tape of an old school concert. Yes, you read it right, it was a tape and not a CD or DVD. Gladly, it was converted to a CD so we, in the 21st century, can have access to its hidden gems. A few minutes after laughing my head off, I started feeling nostalgic. All those people on the recording were a part of my life one day. You see, our school was a fairly young school back then so we knew all the students. A smile spread across my face as I saw myself dancing and trying to make sure I don’t miss a step. I saw people who I still have contact with on Facebook and people who I really wanted to know what became of them. Many different faces with many different stories: the boy who wrote me my first love letter and my cousin dancing along her once-best-friend.

Where did we all part ways?

When did this bunch of primary school students grow into teachers and engineers and racist lunatics and fanatics? How were we able to deviate so much from the group of sweet looking children dancing and smiling at our families in the crowd? How can one person grow up to be a politician whereas another be a yoga instructor? Did our parents really think this through when they enrolled us in the nursery?

When did our peaceful competition turn to hateful differences and racial discrimination? We never cared where any of us came from, when did we part ways? Where was the crossroad in our lives? I thought that graduation is the time where we would definitely part ways but I realized that we parted ways earlier. We parted ways when we started seeing the differences. We parted ways when we realized the difference in our backgrounds and starting comparing (and contrasting) ourselves. When we were all on that stage, everything was perfect, our individual differences made sense. Our makeup was done by our music teacher who loved us all individually, our hair was styled as we saw best (by we I mean our mothers), and our dresses were, honestly, gorgeous.

We were so pure and innocent, where did we give ourselves the right to judge? When did we think we were better and when did we lose sense of the dance of life? When did we all part ways?

Where did we all part ways?

كل عام وانتم بخير

  
ها نحن قد طوينا سنة من أعمارنا ونحن نحتفل… نلبس الاقنعة التي تخفي ما بنا من أسى ونريهم ابتسامتنا المصطنعة… ٣…٢…١… كل عام وانتم بخير
نتناسى الحروب والدم والموت ونأمل بأن تأتي السنة الجديدة بأفراح، وكأن الامس مختلف عن اليوم… فماذا فعلنا لنغير واقعنا؟ ما الذي تغير غير الرزنامة المعلقة على الجدران؟
هل نسينا من كانوا معنا وتركناهم تحت الثرى لا نتذكرهم الا ليالي الجمعة ليصلهم، ان أمكن، منا دعوة صادقة؟ هل نسينا ما كانوا يعنونه لنا يوما ام أسرنا ذاك المسمى أمل؟

نضع الخطط ونكتب أسمائنا في دفاترنا الجديدة مصممين ان تكون هذه هي السنة التي ستغير مجرى حياتنا. فنخطط ونفكر بكل جد متناسين ما تحمله الحياة من مفاجآت.
خرجنا من الاحتفال ونحن ندعوا من الله ان (يعودكم) غير مكترثين لاهمية هذه الدعوة ولا لأبعادها، فهي مسألة حياة او موت… فيا من تمنيتم ان يعودنا الله السنة المقبلة في احسن حال، تعالوا واجلسوا معي لكي نعيش معا سنة جميلة، فحتى وان كانت الحروب لا تزال قائمة، تظل الحياة مع الاحبة اجمل.

كل عام وانتم بخير.

2015 in review- My Blog

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 920 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 15 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Little Wonder Boy

mom and son

You know the less fortunate people you see working as cleaners or housemaids or who are sometimes still looking for a job?  Those people who you act like you don’t see and feel a bit awkward when you have eye contact with them? People who are always in front of you but you choose not to see them and you walk past them like they don’t exist? Well, I hate to break it to you but if you close your eyes they will still be there.  They will continue to be part of the reality you choose to ignore.  They are not part of a TV show so you can change the channel, neither are they aliens you can send back to their planet.  They are real.

By now, some readers may have closed the window and others will be skimming through really quickly and remembering something important they suddenly have to do.  Some will just feel bad and look for a charity that basically has nothing to do with poor people and contribute by buying tickets to their expensive dinner where they will “feed the homeless” by serving canapes and a few drinks.

Well, from someone who can speak for the less unfortunate, I would like to say please keep your charity money and your feelings of being superior to yourself.  These people who you consider substandard are a part of a reality you don’t understand.  You are forgetting that they come with hopes, dreams, and families.  Their dreams are similar to yours; I’m pretty sure their dreams are very far from where they stand now.

I am one of those less fortunate people.

My name is George and I grew up in one of the little poor suburbs in India.  My parents got married and when my father found out that my mom was pregnant, he was ecstatic.  Fathers around the world have a funny way of being relentless and anxious when waiting for a baby to be born.  So my mom, who was so tired with the pregnancy for nine months, was relieved when she felt her water break.

I wasn’t born easily. Like some children in the world, I took two days to finally be born.  I was immediately loved and cherished by my mother who quickly said a prayer to ensure that no harm will ever come in my way.  She held me close to her and kissed my forehead, and felt like she was complete.

By the time I was six years old, I had three sisters.  Being the eldest and a boy was the best thing that ever happened to me back home.  I was constantly fretted over, spoiled, and looked up to.  My mother would give me a glass of milk every morning before my sisters and she would pat my back saying I’m a “good boy who can do wonders.”

And that’s what I believed.

I went to school that year and would sit with my friend, Alex, and dream of our future.  I wanted to be a pilot and see the world.  I wanted to wear the uniform and fly the plane.  Alex wanted to be a surgeon.  At that age, we only knew what we were taught so our dreams were very vague.

No-one questions dreams.  They are a private part of your soul.  They consist of what you perceive yourself to currently be and what you want to be.  Sometimes dreams don’t make sense but, who are you to question them? Why were two little boys from the little suburb in India dreaming of becoming pilots and surgeons?

No-one questions.

We grew and our dreams grew.  Our family had some problems when little Gina got infected with a virus.  My father had to sell one goat to be able to afford her medication.  My mother was heartbroken so I would try to comfort her.  She would pat my back and say that I’m a “good boy who can do wonders.”

Gina didn’t survive the infection and I was mad.  If only we had enough money we could have gotten her to the city earlier.  She could have been saved by a great surgeon.  I went to Alex and made him promise that he will be a great surgeon someday and help poor people.  I cried and he promised that he will try his best.

So the next year in school, Alex and I worked harder and got better grades.  We wanted to get scholarships and continue to get our diplomas then maybe we can achieve what we dreamed of.  Alex’s father passed away and he had to leave school to work in the farm.  He was also the eldest child and all responsibilities lay on him.  I didn’t care for my grades anymore, he was the surgeon and I was the pilot who will take him around the world to help patients.  The night Alex’s father died, Alex’s dreams also died.

I graduated from high school.  The “good boy who can do wonders” was finally ready to face the world.  My grades weren’t high enough to continue studying just yet but I was ready to work.  I booked a ticket to go to Mumbai where my uncle will help me look for a job and I was so proud!  My sisters looked at me like their savior; Lana asked me to get her some Gulab Jamun as soon as I get paid and Tatinka asked for some money to get her new shoes.  You see, she always got Lana’s hand-me-down shoes and they were worn out by the time she got them.

I promised them both then went to my mom for her blessings.  She hugged me and gave me a pat on the back, saying how proud she was of her “good boy who can do wonders” and prayed for my safety.  She gave me my packed lunch and waved good bye as my father and I started walking to the bus station.

On the way, my father told me that I should listen to my uncle, that I should trust him fully and he will show me the best way to get to my dreams.  His eyes were teary as he told me how hard life is and how we sometimes need to sacrifice things to live.  He told me how hard it was all these years to afford all the expenses of keeping a family and how hard he worked.  We reached the bus stop and the bus was driving up to us.  I thanked him for his advise, asked for his blessings, and went on my way.

On the bus, I dreamed.  I dreamed of being the best pilot.  Of wearing the uniform, of flying from country to country and meeting different people.  It was the closest I have ever been to my dreams and I could almost taste the happiness of achieving it.

I reached Mumbai and saw my uncle.  It wasn’t what I expected.  Everything was so fast paced and everyone seemed to be in a hurry.  We stayed in a flat with seven other men and would barely have enough space to cook and eat.  I lived in that flat for six months, missing my mother and father, missing Tatinka and  Lana.  But mostly, I missed Alex.  I knew that Alex would find a way to get to our dreams.

But where was Alex?

So by the seventh month, my uncle took me to a recruitment agency.  He told me that there was hope for my employment.  It was a small office with a man sitting behind his table, smoking.  He looked down at me and tapped his fingers on the table while my uncle answered all his questions humbly.

“Is this him?” he asked.

“Yes,” My uncle replied,

“200 rupees”

“Oh, Thank you very much, sir, thank you”

The next thing I knew, I was signing employment papers.  I didn’t quite understand why my uncle had to pay him for my employment.  I can be employed based on my skills and knowledge.  I am, after all, the “good boy who can do wonders.”  I knew I will be employed in a foreign country and my heart skipped a beat: I will finally be in a plane!  I will finally see how a plane flies, and I will meet the pilot.  I was truly getting closer to my dream.

A week later, my uncle took me to my family for a quick visit because I won’t be able to see them for the upcoming two years.  I cried, my mother said she can’t wait to see me again and wanted to get me married as soon as I got back.  Tatinka and Lana made me promise to call them everyday and were envious.  My father looked content.  He told me that I finally understood my duties and he is proud of the man I’ve become.

And before I left, my mom gave me a pat on the back and called me her “good boy who can do wonders.”

I left home with my dreams packed away with my lunch.  I looked forward to this trip all my life.  I thought of Alex who was covered in soil as he wished me farewell.  He said he will try to come along but his mother found him a good wife and he will be wed next month.  I knew he gave up on his dreams when I looked into his sad eyes.

When I reached my destination, I was shocked.  I didn’t meet the pilot.  I was shoved around like a piece of nothingness when I stood in the middle of the airport in awe.  I was screamed at, scolded, and looked down at when I sat down to eat my lunch.  I didn’t know why people were so mean.

And when I got to the country I was employed in, my dreams shattered.

I was apparently employed as a construction worker.  That night I couldn’t sleep in the shared accommodation.  I missed my old life.  I missed when Alex and I dreamed.  Then it hit me.  Everything my father said was true.  He never said I was going to be a pilot.  He never said life was easy.  He never lied.  I just never listened.

It’s ironic how the “good boy who can do wonders” ends up being a construction worker in a faraway country.  It’s ironic how climbing on top of buildings is the closest I will ever get to flying.  I was tired, homesick, and heartbroken.

I cried…

Then I heard a little voice next to me “pssst… are you okay?  What’s your name?”

“George,” I answered

“I’m Jon.  What’s wrong?”

“I never thought I’d work in construction.  I had big dreams for myself.  Didn’t you?”

Jon snickered,” I wanted to be an engineer.  You?”

“Pilot”

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑