Sartre Says:

The 20th century existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre wrote, in Being and Nothingness, “The obscenity of the female sex is that of everything that gapes open.”

No further comment.

On Consciousness, and Nihilism

It is difficult to deny the degree of nihilism that I have absorbed like a dry sponge, once light, now heavy and weighted. I could deny it all that I may, but the moment I move, or the moment anyone applies any pressure, the water comes out in gushes.

That's how I feel. Dead, un-moveable, like a stone. I go to work, I talk to people, and I smile and nod. I really force those smiles and nods. But I mean, what else can I do? I am getting paid for my time there, and people would start to find me negative and problematic if I had a genuine look on my face. Reflecting what I am feeling on the outside would not be pretty, it would look horrid. Instead, I am conscious of my happy-perky-smile and agree with you, why don't you just shoot me now mask. This mask is exhausting to wear. It erodes at me, at the person inside.

I became so mentally and physically exhausted after I completed all of the requirements for applying to do my Master's at McGill. I was relieved, and saw the strength in myself for putting everything together for my dossier, so well, and in such a short amount of time. I don't think I've ever experienced a crunch like that before. After it was all over, I felt like an athletic runner who crosses the finishing line at such a fast speed that they must continue running to slow their momentum before they are able to stop.

Right after I completed everything, after staying awake all night on consecutive nights and then working full-time, I was to board a plane to Montreal. I was so worn down however, that I caught a very bad cold. On the morning of my flight, I woke up with such a strong sense of dread that it took me almost an hour to budge. My throat was dry and the soreness seemed to soak into the deep muscles and membrances of my throat and sinuses. My head was pounding, my nose was as stuffed up as it could be and I felt over heated. I had to will myself so very hard to get on that plane, but my sense of dread did not leave me for one moment. And maybe for the good, because that dread acted as a warning for what awaited me in Montreal.

My city that embraced me, my city that made me feel elated just to walk down its streets and exist in and amongst the ambience, never felt so cold, or so dark. My Montreal, I saw you in a different light, and infact, when I was there last, I did not experience any of your light. There are times, that I wish I were of vulgar and crude nature so things are unable to hurt me as much as they do. When you have a poet's soul, you are bruised so easily, because you are ripened to feel every nuance, every detail that most can block out.


I spent the first night in Montreal in my apartment bedroom, taking cold medications and sitting on msn. I watched a documentary on YouTube that was created by a former porn star turned anti-pornography advocate. I ate a tastey Shish Taouk sandwich and fries, I blew my nose. I fell asleep at 4am and didn't wake up until 2pm the following afternoon. I then spent the rest of my day arranging my clothes and shoes in the closet. The amount of clothes and shoes that I packed for my vacation turned out to be even more ridiculous than it seemed when my Mum first commented on the shear amount of stuff that I packed. It would turn out to be even more ridiculous after I left Montreal 5 days early, spending only a total of 3 full days there. Two big, fully packed suitcases for 3 days. Right-o.

And of the incident? And of idiots 1 and 2? More will be written about that later. I had to get out all of the surrounding details first.

Back to reading, 'A History of Misogyny.' And what a sad and brutal history indeed. And it's not even history, it is the present, it is the reality of patriarchy that has seeped in so discreetly amongst societal institutions, human relationships, politics, sexuality, and fantasy. More on this later, as the radical feminist warrior is born.


I am brought now, to remember a quote I once heard, although I do not remember who said it. "Those that die for their ideals die once. Those that don't, die a little bit everyday." - Unknown

Is it really too much?! - 2 -

And I imagine vividly, punishing the unworthy cowards, for my mental exhaustion, and for wasting my time. The sadism of my mind is not subtle - it is explicit, and my mind seems to crave unleashing this angst on those who deserve it. Who deserves it? Usually the ones that were part of my mirage, and especially the ones who claim to be of strength (and of worthiness), but, who after having their minds picked, turn out to be utterly pathetic. I imagine directing this anger and punishment towards them as my adrenaline rises, and I hear their pathetic meanderings, pleads, etc. I imagine exposing them to themselves, for the little sissies that they are. After all, their ridiculousness was obvious to me, but it takes time for them to realize this. Stripping away every facade, until I bring them back to their pure essence.

Why are they so ungrateful?

I will be the mirror of your soul, alright, but don't expect to be pleased with the image I reflect.

Is it really too much?! - 1 -

Is it really to much to find someone that does not sicken me once I delve into their psyche?
To find someone that matches my intellectual curiosity, even halfway?
For someone to be truly moved by art, regardless of the form?

To understand that I am a princess, and that I expect more from someone else than I ever intend on giving? For someone to respect that kind of honesty? To be strong enough to handle me in all of my moods, and moreso, to enjoy it?

Is this a tad to much to ask, or is it just that the individuals I have met so far cannot rise to the challenge?

At times, I am so bored that I try to create a mirage for myself, and construct them as stronger than they are, so that I can at least be momentarily amused, and be lifted from the emptiness of my own life. But that mirage soon dies, everytime, and I am faced again by those that will never be enough for me.

Is it too much to ask, that someone brings me to my own limits, and lifts me out of the framework of my own mind? That I can find someone to trust enough to do this, but firstly, someone who is worthy of even my consideration?

I cannot even live my true nature until I find this person. I cannot explore. All I can do is look out of myself, as through a window, at what is out there. It is a kind of torture, the torture of the mundance, the banal. And it just makes me dislike the shallow cowards that I have come across even more. Because instead of my exploration or growth, they benefit from the ideas and the exploration I give them (exactly the opposite of what I need - and very exhausting, indeed). But in the end, what have I gained? Even worse, most cowards cannot even comprehend the goodness of their experiences, they are just so narrow and limited that even opening them up becomes boring to me.

What I wouldn't give to find someone that releases me. No mirage, no illusion, pure and undeniable connections that are what I need. The ability to find someone so worthy that I will never need to doubt or question, so trust can grow, so I can really live out my essence. My dominant, and ever beautiful and intelligent alpha male...

Is that really too much to ask for?

Human Nature

Lyrics, Madonna


Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat 5 times)

Chorus:

And I'm not sorry [I'm not sorry]
It's human nature [it's human nature]
And I'm not sorry [I'm not sorry]
Im not your bitch don't hang your shit on me[ Its human nature]


You wouldn't let me say the words I longed to say
You didn't want to see life through my eyes
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
You tried to shove me back inside your narrow room
And silence me with bitterness and lies
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]

Did I say something wrong?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about sex
[I musta been crazy]
Did I stay too long?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't speak my mind
[What was I thinking]

(chorus)

You punished me for telling you my fantasies
I'm breakin' all the rules I didn't make
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]
You took my words and made a trap for silly fools
You held me down and tried to make me break
[Express yourself, don't repress yourself]

Bridge:

Did I say something true?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about sex
[I musta been crazy]
Did I have a point of view?
Oops, I didn't know I couldn't talk about you
[What was I thinking]

(chorus)

Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat twice)
Express yourself, don't repress yourself (repeat twice)

(bridge)
(chorus)

(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[I'm not apologizing]
[Would it sound better if I were a man?]
[You're the one with the problem]
[Why don't you just deal with it]

(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[Would you like me better if I was?]
[We all feel the same way]
[I have no regrets]
[Just look in the mirror]

(chorus, with the following spoken substitutions)
[I don't have to justify anything]
[I'm just like you]
[Why should I be?]
[Deal with it]

You

You are vulnerable, and I wonder who has taken care of you these past few years.

The family failed you, the system didn't do its best.

And here you are; weilded into a person who struggles to be. Your very being is a defense against the outside world pushing itself in. All of these years, with a voice that many chose not to hear.

The look in your eyes when you recognized my father, your brother was a standstill of hope; it was a glistening of light as we stoood in the dingy hallway of your apartment. Both of us had never witnessed eyes transform like that. Such hope can only stem from great despair.


I am seeing the world through a lens of surreal expressionism that holds me in a fiery of emotions..
And I am always meeting situations that froth out my core from underneath -
The only difference now, is that I don't fear the exposure, and I will not censor, edit or change to appear more pragmatic or rational.

For Cecelia, My Aunt

I found Celinka.

After 17 years, I have found an aunt, with a mental/developmental disability, who has been living alone, forgotten by my family. I was a small child the last time I had seen her at a family gathering. It is a wonder she knows who I am, a wonder she remembers us. And a miracle, a miracle, alhamdulilah that I found her.

"There is a story in here somewhere", my father tells me. "A story worthy of a book, a book written by yours hands." And maybe, maybe someday I will be brave enough, and apt enough with my words to do justice to our story. Words are a beautiful construction, my most cherished thing in this life.

I wish I could live 1000 times over in this feeling. In my father's joy and sorrow at our discovery, in Cecile's pleasure about our re-surfacing. In the lifting of so much pain. In forgetting the fear to look pain at its face, and at its core, and to say, I will fight you, I will overcome you and our lives will brim with so much good, and so much light.


Time has a different meaning in contexts like these. 17 years are conquered by a moment not held within the limits of any standard measure of time.

At a time when I needed perspective more than anything, God hath handed me a platter of rich learning, and a lesson like no other. What do money worries, and saving accounts mean when you are filling up the grocery basket of one who has an empty fridge? Money then turns into a soft hand, a gentle touch, a nurturing voice, and an embracing hug.

My family has known pain and abuse for generations, and our roots are not yet un-tangled.


M: Did you eat all of your candy, or just a little bit?

C: All of it, I couldn't help it!

C: I am sleeping with Elmo and Sylvestor.

M (thinks): There couldn't have been a better use for my tickle-me-elmo, and stuffed sylvestor than to go to one who will enjoy them more than I did as a child. Giving this gift, and giving and receiving this love is unconditional good.

Thank you God, and thank you Cecelia, for trusting us and for letting us back after all of this time. I want nothing more than what is best for you, khair.