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Bedoor Bluemoon

Everyday writing to expose the soul

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feelings

Confess

Confess

sunset-beach-wedding

Confess yourself:

let my eyes see what they long to see

and my ears hear your innermost desires.

Open your soul to me

watch closely as I tread into the folds of your being

and pick memory after memory to read.

 

Confess yourself:

let my being merge with yours

and my hands touch your unfulfilled dreams.

Allow my entrance

into the make-believe life you created

and water the flowers on your bed.

 

Confess yourself:

let me understand your deepest thoughts

and my soul drink from the lips of your eternity.

Allow my intrusion

for I have lost everything I am

when I found you.

 

Traitor- Torn in Two

Torn

Torn in two I ask myself

what did I do?

Not knowing how or when or why

but just cry

enjoyed the conversation at first

but now it hurts

and hurts and hurts…

Feel like I turned into a traitor

I’m now a stranger

not knowing the reason behind it all

did my soul call?

I ask myself what did I gain?

A heart that pains

and pains and pains…

Slowly see myself fade away

self, please stay

answer these questions for me, then go

I want to know.

Wishing to know, and hope I try

but slowly I die

and die and die…

– Dreams of a Blue Moon

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.

You Will Pay

Source: Writing Prompt #348

 

knife.jpg

She somehow finds the last of her energy and launches herself up and at him with the knife.  She could taste the familiar metallic tang in her mouth and knew that her lip was bleeding.  It barely healed before this episode.  It was a daily ritual for him as he enters the house and immediately loses his mind.  It wasn’t anything important or drastic this time.  It was that his dinner was a bit cold.

The reason was never really important or drastic.  The children are still awake.  The lights in the kitchen were on.  Her friend called during dinnertime.  All ridiculous reasons.

But this time, when she felt her head bang on the table again, it was as if something or someone possessed her.  She could feel her eyes swelling and her lip burst open but she didn’t cry again.  This time was different.  She wasn’t afraid.  She didn’t cocoon into a fetal position rocking and crying and begging him to stop.  This time she was angry.

It all boiled within her in seconds.  She saw a flash of everyday of the last ten years: every slap, every punch, every beating.  She saw how she would bow in shame and follow his orders.  She even recalled how she lost her baby a few years.  It all came back to her.  He told her she wouldn’t be spared just because she was pregnant.  She begged for him to have mercy on their child but he just laughed.  A hysterical laugh and said, “do you think that you can get away with your mistakes?” The anger of it all, the horror of her life, the burden she kept all arose in her and exploded.  She exploded.

She pulled herself to the counter and rested her head on its cool surface.  She saw the knife eyeing her and her hand crept towards it, with a life of its own.  She wasn’t her hurt obedient self; she was the woman she always wanted to be.  She turned with the knife clutched between her fingers and madness in her eyes.

You will pay.

When on Vacation- Buy Lollipops

Lollipop

 

lollipop
I love traveling.  Who doesn’t, right?  There are many ways in which you can turn your travel experience to better or worse.  Obviously, you must research where you are going, what you’re going to do, and what your budget is.  Who you’re traveling with is very important too because you don’t want to end up stuck with that person you can’t handle for ten days straight, right?

Well, this is the first time I travel with both of my children.  One is three and a half years old and the other is almost a year old.  Things were great, I didn’t expect to have some alone time, nor did I expect to have any free time to shower but, all in all, we created good memories.

Things I learned in this trip could be written in a book but this is a post about lollipops.  Let’s go back to 2009 when I visited Scotland (swoon, sigh, and nostalgic music). I loved every second in Edinburgh and my husband and I would go to St. Giles cathedral and order from their great selection of tarts. I would walk by everyday and see these big pieces of fudge staring at me. I mean, they would look at me walk by, like the Mona Lisa, I tell you!  There was a specific light brown piece which would practically beg to be bought but I never did thinking I’d come back for it.

I never did. (Heartbreaking, tears flowing down my face)

Do you understand, I never did.  I never got that piece of fudge and since 2009 and I regret it everyday!  I never knew what it tasted like, never knew how it would or wouldn’t crumble on my tongue, and I would never know its flavor.

And why’s that? Because I postponed buying it until the day I would travel and to my surprise St. Giles was closed.

Fast forward to 2017. My husband and I were pushing our children in their strollers in the airport and my three year old passes by a big lollipop and says he wants it.

We were running late and my husband refused so we went on.  The light brown fudge popped into my mind and gave me a knowing look, I knew what I had to do.

I held my ground and told my husband that we must buy it or else (OK, not really, I just offered to pay for the overpriced candy) and he lovingly obliged.

We were very late, my husband was very angry, but I got my little boy his candy so it doesn’t haunt him (and me) for the next ten years.

When on vacation, buy your lollipop.

School Life is Imaginary

Imaginary

We all know that dreams occur when we’re fast asleep.  So when we are expected to wake up at 5:00 a.m. to get ready for school, some of our dreams are still lingering in our heads.  We manage to pull the energy to get dressed and, in good days, style our hair in a bun other than a high ponytail and we’re off to go.
Life, as we know it, exists within the school premises.  Life, all of life, is what we see, what we learn, who we hang out with, and on weekends, who we go out with.  We spend at least eight hours a day with our fellow classmates (and thus our BFFs forever!) and never reconsider another way of life.
Why is that?
Because it is very rare that social circles are beyond our school life.  We get to meet children from other schools when we play against them in our Junior Varsity and Varsity teams but it usually never advances to friendships.  We are mostly lazy, sticking with our childhood friends because we forgot how to make new friends and thus end up with that girl who just so happened to be sitting next to us in grade one.
How convenient.
Or if our parents are social butterflies, we befriend their children who, surprise surprise, probably go to our school as well because it’s “the best school there is.”
Then we get into groups.  People who like sports hang around with each other, people who play music, people who are technologically advanced, people who are technologically illiterate, cool kids, bad kids, popular kids, it’s all the same across schools and countries.  So you hate certain people, and like certain people.  And that’s the way it goes until the big day.
Graduation day.
You’ve been preparing all your life for this moment (this is probably the most used sentence in graduation speeches, alongside “we’ve done it”), and you’ve looked forward towards wearing that graduation gown and walking down the aisle.  You’ve discussed it a million times with your friends and were so anxious that you didn’t realize the car crash afterwards.  (sadly, a group of girls who graduated with me had a car crash but fortunately we didn’t lose anyone.)
The car crash called life.
Your close friends met your parents and so it’s no surprise when they meet them again in the ceremony.  It’s the other kids who turn all weird.  All of a sudden, that mean boy has parents.  Huh.  He has parents who kinda look like him and who, surprisingly, are very proud of his achievements even though they’re not so impressive.  BAM… Life…
A close friend decides to ignore you and concentrate on her family.  BAM… Life…
A girl who totally ignored you for the past five years comes up and takes a picture with you.  BAM… Life…
A guy who had a crush on you decides to introduce you to his mother who looks at you knowingly. BAM… Life…
People who didn’t really deserve the high achievement reward gets it and you wonder if there’s any foul play related.  BAM… Life…
And you walk in a haze… everything you once knew is completely gone.  Everything you thought was life is imaginary… everyone who walked on the school grounds suddenly is connected to people… It’s like a mind map of who knows who and who knows what and what money is being transferred to pull strings…
Then you realize, your college application could have gone through if only you had the money to “donate” and get into the amazing college of your dreams.  BAM… Life…
Life as you know it does not end within the school premises, life is what your parents have been trying to shelter you from because it’s a cruel cruel world for kids like you…
So be prepared to swim with the sharks, little fish.

Infused With Love- Ramadan

Infuse

momِ

As we enter the Muslim’s holy month of Ramadan, we look forward to the great blessings that are bestowed upon us every year and which we thank the Lord for as we are reminded of them daily.  We are reminded of the poor’s feelings of starvation through our fasting and thus we thank the Lord for our financial status which enables us to purchase the basic foods, at least, that will allow us to sleep with full bellies.

We are thankful for our families who are happily gathering around the table at the time of breaking our fast and we are reminded of the many people who have lost their loved ones (may God bless and have mercy on their souls.)

We are thankful for not being at war.  For having shelter above our heads and peace in our minds before our bodies.

And also, we are thankful for our mothers.  Our mothers who look forward to this month to have us all sitting together as a family before we all got busy with our lives.  And I don’t know about you, but my mother shows her love through food.

 She infuses her dishes with love.  Every single dish coming out of her kitchen smells of her.  Every single dish has the sense of her soul.  She use all her senses combined to produce a vast array of dishes that are loved by us all.  She slaves away in the kitchen, replacing last year’s dish set with a brand new one as Ramadan’s blessings, just to make us smile.  And instead of resting while she fasts, she chooses to go the extra mile and make my brother his kebabs because he just loves them.

And as if that’s not enough giving, she hand picks mint from her herb garden to infuse it in our tea, alongside love.

A big thank you to my mother who had a tiring day, you make Ramadan what it is. xoxo

 

هائمة في حبك

fec509a8877ea57edd4b63f4b0faf53e

 

قد لا توحي لك، يا سيدي ، كتاباتي بشيء ولكنها تحتوي على ما يتدفق في قلبي من ألم، وأمل، وشوق.  فمذ رأيتك آخر مرة تقرأ فيها الجريدة وأنا انتظر على أحر من جمر.  فأين أنت؟  لا زلت امر بجانب المقهى وأقف طويلا في انتظارك ولكنك لا تأتي.  أقف والشمس الحارقة تحرق وجهي ولكني لا أبالي، فكل شيئ يهون من أجل الحب

رأيتك مرة وأنت تلاعب طفلك فلم يؤلمني الأمر، بل وتخيلتك معي، لاحقا، وطفلنا يلعب معك.  أخذتني أحلامي إلى أبعد ما يكون، إلى ما وراء ما يراه الناس عيب، فكيف أفكر بك وأنت متزوج؟  كيف تختلجني الآمال وأنا اتمنى، في داخلي، أن تفكر بي

كيف تفكر بي؟  وكيف أتمنى ذلك؟  تجتاحني التساؤلات وارتطم بين الصح والخطأ.  بين أن اتمنى أن تكون لي وبين أن تستقر مع عائلتك.  بين أن اكون أنانية وبين أن اعود إلى الصواب

لذا قررت أن انتظرك يوميا لأراك قبل ذهابك إلى العمل وأنت تشتري كوبك اليومي، علني أرى عينيك بقرب أو أرى ابتسامتك، ولو لوهلة، عن بعد.  فهذه النظرات هي التي تمدني بالقوة لاستمر في يومي… وأسألك، يا سيدي، ما سبب اعجابي بك؟  هل لأني لا اعرفك وأقوم بوضع حوارات اختلقتها لنفسي وشخصية تخيلت بأنها لك؟  هل سيموت اعجابي إن كلمتك أم هل سأقع في حبك أكثر وأكثر

فلست إلا عابر سبيل اختار قلبي أن ينبض بقربك، وما الحب إلا تجاذب كيميائي.  فكيف دخلت لي؟  هل من خلال عيني، فيا لوسامتك.  أم من خلال أذناي، فصوتك الجذاب يذيبني، أم من خلال عروقي؟  أم هل كنا معا في حياة أخرى ولم التق بك إلا بعد فوات الأوان؟ فيا لحبي للتأخير!

ارجوك، لا تنسى قهوتك اليومية فلا أقوى على بعدك.

هائمة في هبك،

غريبة.

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