I spent the past couple of hours driving around the city. This was my attempt at home-grown therapy which also takes advantage of descending fuel prices. I am practical even in my therapy.

I woke up this morning and wondered if today will be any slower than yesterday. I read the final eight pages of an Arabic novel which was resting on the red sofa next to my bed; the eight pages I couldn’t finish hours before, at 3 AM, because I was suddenly lulled by the tolerable heat and the miraculous absence of mosquitoes. I even covered myself, contrary to tradition.

I resisted the temptation to continue my last night’s blues, an otherwise chronic depression, and I sailed through the last eight pages. When I was done, I felt an overwhelming desire to shout. The novel ended well but I wanted more, I wanted something tangible.

I picked another book to read. Edward Said’s memoirs, which had been resting on my bookcase since May, and which I grabbed many times only to put down for another choice, were almost starting to gather dust. I think I was scared of Said’s elaborate English. I returned to my bed, not opening the shutters and leaving the room soaking in the dark orange light and the sleepy hotness of this morning, and I started to read the preface.

My mother knocked on the door and entered. She asked me to drive her to my uncle’s place, so I left Said on my bed and got dressed. I did as I was told, stopping on the way at the curtain shop, where my mother slipped inside for a moment and came back without the big bag of textile that she previously had with her.

When I was done with my errand, and my mother was safely inside my uncle’s house, I realized I had nothing to do today. I took the left turn towards downtown Amman, instead of going straight ahead and returning home. Nobody’s going to miss me anyway, I thought.

I do not know how I did not cause an accident. I was incredibly absorbed in thought, completely absentminded, as I stared at the shop signs that I have seen before and tried to guess where to go next. Where was that Rolex store which my father always told stories about? I looked for familiar places where I had been with my mother when I was a little girl, where she would get buttons or textiles or bridal accessories for my sister, and I found only some. Even Al Sa7a Al Hashmiyyeh no longer existed as it used to. Now it is a changed place, it is somewhat clean, and there aren’t as many Iraqi men lurking around as there used to be in the past. How we avoided them on our way to the old bus station! — that, too, was moved nearer to Mahatta.

The brain erases things you no longer use, or it pushes them so far back in the caves of your head that you no longer realize they exist. I felt these memories crawling out of their caves, yawning, poking fun at me for thinking they died. I felt like a little girl again.

Souq Mango, Souq el Sokkar, Share3 el Salt, Ahmad Awad, Share3 el Ousat, Maktabt el 3olama, Souq el Balabseh, Souq el Bokhariyyeh, Bayazeed, Souq el Dahab… My mother holding my hand and hurrying from one shop to the other, knowing exactly where her goal is, and reminiscing about the old days when her mom used to take her to these places, bragging that she used to walk all these streets and even more from home to school, so I shouldn’t complain that I am tired.

I noticed a number of new bookshops and other stores during my cruise. Some trendy-ish places opening right around Tal3et Jabal Amman. I thought it was a crime against the place. Why do we always want to ruin what’s authentic with what’s contemporary solely because it is new?

I wanted to park the car somewhere and take a walk. I was already past the Shapsough parking, which for the record does not belong to my mother’s modest part of the family, and I couldn’t find anywhere to just leave Havana and take to the streets. I wanted to buy books from the new stores or from kiosks, and I was desperate for some hot, juicy, Sfee7a, and a Pepsi. I wanted to hold beauty still for a moment.

While I looked on from the window, I realized that nobody can discern what I think unless I articulate it. The people downtown all seemed busy being idle; walking, waiting to cross the street, pausing, moving around, but not doing anything in specific. They all seemed unreal because they didn’t talk to me, images I can shrug off because they are not personal.

I saw a couple of old apartments for rent, too, and wondered how much it costs to live downtown. It either costs a lot, or little. Is it difficult to live downtown? The many small hotels with brief names and narrow dark stairs mustn’t cost much. I have always fantasized about staying in one of these hotels, but this morning I imagined it would mean having to lock the door and taking a series of necessary safety precautions, because I am female, and then my fantasy seemed devoid of romance.

I cannot say if I feel better after my trip down memory lane, or rather after using this cliché. The freshness of my thoughts and feelings seems to wither very quickly and I can never rely on it. I think I need another therapeutic session, maybe a fight or two, to return to normal, whatever that is.

I was at a familial ladies’ get-together last night, hosted at my sister’s place.

Episode I

Tololy walks around in her high-heeled black patent leather shoes, when a married cousin gasps and stops her dead in her tracks.

Cousin: WHAT are these things in your ears?
Tololy: Earrings.
Cousin: WHY DO YOU HAVE SO MANY?
Tololy: Because I like them.
Cousin: Are they real?
Tololy: Yes.
Cousin: Why, why, why did you mutilate your ears so?
Tololy: Because I like piercings.
Cousin: But, but, your ears have so many holes in them now!
Tololy: So?
Cousin: So…they’re mutilated. I bet getting them pierced was painful too.
Tololy: Yes it was, but that was OK.
Cousin: Why would you do that to yourself?
Tololy (wanting to end the conversation): These are not new by the way. You’ve seen them before.

Episode II

Tololy sits on a chair and listens to a conversation between two women, now nodding, now smiling. One of her cousins starts a conversation with her.

Cousin: Short hair suits you very well!
Tololy: Thanks!
Cousin: When did you cut your hair? I remember you had really long hair…
Tololy: Oh, it’s been this short for over two years.
Cousin: I haven’t seen you for that long?

Episode III

Tololy’s cousin’s wife is very religious. She stands up at the end of the gathering and distributes religious brochures. Tololy is handed one about Ramadan and fear of god, which she quickly turns into a fan, then a cigarette.

Episode IV

Lady: What is that in your nose?
Tololy: A nose ring.
Lady: Oh. I see.

Episode V

It is food time. All the ladies gather around the table and start to fill their plates.
Lady: Ooh…who made the cheesecake?
Mom: My daughter x made this and that, and my daughter y made this, this, and these.
Lady: And what did Tololy make?
Mom: Umm…
Tololy: I provided emotional support.
Mom: She acted as our chauffeur, you know, took us places, got the kids home from school…
Lady: Ah.

Naturally, with every kiss I planted on each of the ladies’ cheeks, I heard a wish that I would get married. They wished that the next time they gather, it would be in my house, or that the next “happy event” will be my wedding.

The older ones seemed to be particularly interested in my getting hitched soon, and it’s funny because as far as I know they’re not entirely happy in their marriages or lives in general. For that reason alone, I believe that enthusiastically wishing someone marriage is actually a facade for a malevolent desire to spread one’s misery. In the very best cases, it is a ready-made expression which renders people into annoying parrots.

Today was my 24th birthday, and despite my usual habit of moping and reflecting on the passage of time and trying to populate my “feats” to justify my age, I didn’t do any of that today.

Today I enjoyed myself and I enjoyed life. I didn’t for a single moment let a negative thought creep into my head, and I had a blast like only a Leo could.

I am lucky to have wonderful friends who love me for who I am and who never judge me no matter what improprieties I commit. I am lucky to have an amazingly insane family who, even though we drive each other up the wall on a daily basis, love me and are proud of me underneath it all. Maybe when I turn 25 they will come out and say it out loud! They threw me a very nice party yesterday, complete with home-made cupcakes and flowers and everything.

Since last year, numerous events sculpted my meaning today. I went through revolutionary times, then through mortally depressing times, then through anticipatory times, then through experimental times, then, eventually, now, I am going through another rebirth. I feel liberated but my freedom is not yet complete and I must fight until I have it all. I am at a crossroads in my life, and luckily, I am still alive to take the route I desire.

It’s an outside-self experience for me to say that I am 24. It will take me about 6 months to digest the thought, then it will be time to change the number again. But who’s counting, anyway?

Dear Self,

It’s absurd that I am writing you a note and publishing it, a blatant contradiction in terms similar to saying “I am discreet but I have an exhibitionistic flare,” but I will do it anyway because I must unload my mind right this minute or I will lose this pressing idea. You know that my ideas are generally evanescent, you can’t blame me.

I believe I am about to change again. In the series of changes that make up who I am, this one is not yet very defined but I promise it will be extraordinary. I can feel it. There is a rush to it, a certain bitter taste at first which later turns sweet then insipid right when another change comes along.

It’s an accelerating feeling of getting close to something entirely authentic. At a certain distance I will have to decide if I want to embrace it, and that moment is always the most painful. Remember the last time I changed? It took years for me to finally muster up enough courage to shed my previous skin, and it’s an ongoing process still, faced with many obstacles and far from being complete.

It’s wonderful how other people can inspire improvement. I am fortunate to know some of these rare specimens of human excellence. I suppose they are models of godliness in their capacity to breathe life into other minds. To meet someone like that is a true privilege, so you should never compromise on the quality of company you keep. Remember this bit whenever you question your life choices. Also remember that while the public does not think, there is an intellectual elite hidden somewhere who make basking in their light worth the pain of brushing the masses aside.

Now back to work.
Tololy

2008 has been a bad, bad year for me so far. I’ve mentioned this repeatedly before this post, but this current time in particular is very trying. I can’t wrap my mind around the enormous shitiness of my current situation and it astonishes me that I am still alive and willing to take it some more. It’s either hope or curiosity that’s keeping me going. Probably curiosity though.

I don’t like it how people tend to portray future life to be all perfect and happy if you get married or find the perfect job for example. That’s simply not true because happiness is always short-lived, and I don’t care if you meditate or pray or shop to sustain that illusive state, it just does not last. Maybe it’s just me but my life unfolds as a series of depressing or frustrating episodes with significantly few bright interludes that do not last more than a day at a time, if not only hours.

My family thinks it’s because I’ve abandoned faith. I say psshh, one would think god has better things to do than take it personally and take it out on me. Think of the wars and natural disasters and true and actual “sins” taking place and stop with all that superstitious talk, and then compare all that to me…a 20-something young woman trying to figure things out in an oppressive society. Seriously, he’d have a lot of issues if he were to single me out and pick on me. I wouldn’t worship that guy.

I personally think it has to do with my eternal incapability to decide. I can never make a big decision and be comfortable with it on the long run, and I also have a problem with authority. These two combined with my fear of time make for a very interesting cocktail — the buzz of which you must be feeling or otherwise you wouldn’t be reading my thoughts. But to me, the actual person, it’s not half as interesting as it sounds and I sometimes wonder why I can’t be just like everyone else. No overthinking, no calculating, no challenging, no arguing, more sheep-like than tololy-like. I really wonder. Just a tad of submissiveness is all it takes to bliss, honestly. I just can’t bring myself to grow that tumor. Can’t.

All of my life I made the decisions that were socially appropriate. For example, in 3rd grade, I wore the veil because my mother encouraged it and everyone around me had one on. I registered in the literary stream during my high school years because I hated math but also because I wanted to get a good result and make my mother proud. I had originally wanted to become a nurse or a vet (luckily for everyone, that didn’t happen.) Then I did not major in art history as I thought I wanted, because my mother thought that only dumb people opt for arts, and what sort of a job would I get after graduation? During college I missed out on scholarships because it was not “right” for me as a young woman to travel alone. The same thing happened over and over, but I was fine. It was when I started having trouble with adhering to social restraints that my life went downhill.

That started years ago. Now my life has almost hit rock bottom, but it’s not quite there yet. If I insist some more I can guarantee that it will be there in no time. I think I must have done some unbelievably horrible act of cruelty to a lot of people (not animals though, I love them more than humans) at some point in time in a different life, or maybe this one, to have earned this. It’s either that or I’m just seriously and chronically unlucky and designed to be miserable. Whatever it is, it’s not groovy and I want my money back.

I took the Jung Typology Test, and if you’re interested in knowing a little bit more about my personality (if my bio page did not already reveal enough), stick around.

I am of the personality type INTJ, which means that I am 67% introverted, 75% intuitive, 88% thinking, and 1% judging. All this translates to my being a Rational Mastermind. I like that title! It makes me feel like an evil little mad scientist!

Masterminds will adopt ideas only if they are useful, which is to say if they work efficiently toward accomplishing the Mastermind’s well-defined goals. Natural leaders, Masterminds are not at all eager to take command of projects or groups, preferring to stay in the background until others demonstrate their inability to lead. Once in charge, however, Masterminds are the supreme pragmatists, seeing reality as a crucible for refining their strategies for goal-directed action. In a sense, Masterminds approach reality as they would a giant chess board, always seeking strategies that have a high payoff, and always devising contingency plans in case of error or adversity.

That pretty much sounds like me. I am not fond of loud, bossy types who equal nothing but fluff and connections. To me, they are shallow and emotionally unbalanced people who compensate for their lack of quality by being loud and bossy. Quite honestly, I usually find myself annoyed when in the company of said people and even though I don’t normally enjoy confrontation, I find that I continuously clash with these types both verbally and intellectually. I am really loud and obnoxious when irritated, and I like how that surprises these people every time.

I am more on the calculating side of things than on the shove-myself-down-people’s-throats type. I am not boasting when I say that when I assume a position of leadership, the outcome is always stellar. That said, I usually avoid working in groups because I feel that group work usually sucks individualism away and I like to stand out and take credit for my work without associating with less-than-brilliant people. Is that uppish?

To outsiders, INTJs may appear to project an aura of “definiteness”, of self-confidence. This self-confidence, sometimes mistaken for simple arrogance by the less decisive, is actually of a very specific rather than a general nature; its source lies in the specialized knowledge systems that most INTJs start building at an early age.

This practicality that is very much a part of who I am is not always pleasant. I am both practical and passionate about certain people and things, but not enough to lose my balance, which in turn has earned me a reputation of being impersonal, aloof, or heartless. This goes for my position on relationships, work, religion, and basically everything else. It is not easy being an extremely rational person in a society that always asks you to take concepts and practices for granted. My mom calls my attitude “3anjaheyyeh,” while I call it “thinking for myself.”

To complicate matters, INTJs are usually extremely private people, and can often be naturally impassive as well, which makes them easy to misread and misunderstand. Perhaps the most fundamental problem, however, is that INTJs really want people to make sense. :-) This sometimes results in a peculiar naivety.

I am not an extremely private person, on the contrary, I am ultra-friendly with people whom I perceive to be on the same “wavelength” as I am. With other people, well, I don’t see why I should be as friendly to them and so I keep my distance. This goes mostly for my behavior in a work environment and in forming new friendships. It’s very functional.

Interestingly, both Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling are INTJs. No wonder I love the Silence of the Lambs trilogy and its characters so much!

You can take the test too and post your results here. For now, this Rational Mastermind bids you adieu.

I am living proof that things can ALWAYS get much worse. As if all the suffering I have gone through since the start of 2008 was not enough, today more bad things happened.

I woke up with a badly sore throat and muscle ache all over, but I helped clear out a room that we wanted to paint. I kept going back and forth in the house to transfer objects from this room elsewhere. I hadn’t had breakfast yet because we were in a hurry to get the room ready. When the room was cleared out, my brother was dissembling a bed that remained there. I happened to walk by as he was working on the other end of the bed, and BAM!, a large wooden board fell on both my feet. The pain was excruciating. I remember leaning my hand against the wall and saying ‘it’s okay.’

When I woke up, my vision was blurry and my head hurt like a bitch. I saw my mother’s face, with tears in her eyes, and then I saw my brother wiping a damp cloth on my face and on my feet. I thought I was dreaming. My feet were killing me, and my head was buzzing. I asked them, ‘what happened?,’ and they just told me to stay still. I was very hot and I was trying to move the turtle neck I was wearing away from my neck. Everything hurt and I was very confused. Then I started crying.

Later on, I realized I had fainted and fell on the floor head-first. They tell me they thought I was okay when I leaned against the wall but that I suddenly seemed to want to stand tall and instead just dropped to the floor. When my head banged against the floor, I opened my eyes, then I was gone. Luckily, I didn’t bang my head on a sharp angle or any object. I got up after a while, bruised and shaken. I guess my system shut down because I was in a lot of pain, and the stress probably helped.

So, you see, 2008 is not my year. In addition to that early morning incident, which I remember every time I look at my blue-purple feet or try to move, I had a presentation to do at school and I did it because I did not want to lose the grades. I also learned that fixing my car will cost me 700 JD, which is obviously a fortune. Also, I have a research proposal to submit tomorrow and a midterm exam the day after.

I am extremely hating my life right now.

ANYONE who dares call me a pessimist as if it’s a bad thing will get bitchslapped by me until their nose bleeds maggots and their head becomes a hallowed ashtray for the butts of my cigarettes. That is a promise.

Lately, all the sleep I have been getting has been a series of absurd and torturous nightmares ending with my waking up struggling to breathe. That’s if I sleep at all — I didn’t sleep last night because of some stupid stupid overthinking that I did NOT ask my brain to do, and which caused me to stay home today because I could not zombie to work because then I would not have produced anything of value.

Then, amidst all that sleep deprivation and mental anxiety, I have to perform at school. I have reports and term papers to write, I have a presentation that’s worth a ton of grades to do, I have to think and write and act normal when all I want to say to all the people in my classes, professors and students alike is: Sod off! I do not care if you want to write about the social positions of students in the classroom, and I do not care if the professor thinks it’s a good idea, I do not care about the history of the American economy, and I do not give a rat’s ass about any of the babies in your bellies –you pregnant students– or your wedding plans –you engaged ones– and most of all, I do not like how bitchy uppish you have become JUST because you will graduate this semester, as if that gives you an automatic god status. So yes, don’t talk to me during breaks. I like it that way. Bitches.

But something tops all that. In the past two weeks, I have had THREE major bad things happen to my beautiful car. First her battery died, then I gave her side a good rub against a trash can I did not see while parking in the garage and thus she needs a paint job now, and today it seems I have to replace the whole transmission system which will cost me a fortune and which was not among my foreseen expenses for March. Interestingly, it all happened after a certain group of people known for their ‘evil eye powers’ saw her for the first time. Am I being irrationally superstitious? No, just stating the facts. What are the odds of your car getting thrice wrecked like that within the span of 14 days from the day a certain group known for their evil eye saw it? I don’t know, you tell me.

And let’s not forget my computer troubles. First I lost everything I had on it upon installing Ubuntu Linux. Then I couldn’t properly install it, so I had to ask for help and then it was properly installed. Then some idiot gave me a malicious command on the SUPPORT FORUMS, and he did it on purpose, and it erased everything on my hard disk AGAIN. That unjustified sick behavior really got to me, it even made me think of extreme ways to vindicate myself.

Oh, yeah, and let’s not forget that in January I lost my bellyring. I had planned to go to NYC in the summer to get re-pierced, but that is almost impossible now thanks to the above mentioned catastrophes that I have had to endure for the past three months since the start of 2008. There’s no going anywhere for me this summer. No break from social censorship, no spa for my sanity, nothing.

That’s not all. I am under a lot of pressure to magically know exactly what I want to do from now until the day I die, and I am supposed to make a huge decision which I am not equipped to make and which will affect every aspect of my life. I am even tired of complaining to people I know about the enormous shites I am facing. I see no point in talking about what’s bringing me down at a single moment, because I know in the next moment something more severe will happen to me and I will complain about it too.

I hate 2008 with all my heart, it is an anathema to me. This March has been worse than last May. As far as I see it, 2008 has been the worst year in my life thus far. And people DARE call me a pessimist with a sneer, as if I am rejecting the joys of life which are flowing into my lap at all times and choosing to be a brooding grump, as if pessimism is a disease of some sort. I call optimism in my case a disease, an obvious state of disconnection from reality. I don’t live in a bubble, you optimists you, I live in reality. Now go ahead, call me a pessimist and curl your lips, if you dare.

I discovered that the more active I am on my blog, the less frequently I write in my diary. I risk losing a lot of memories this way. I must stop before it is too late.

I discovered that I think too much. I overthink, if there is such an activity. It’s not my fault that I can overthink. Lately, I have been overthinking above my average overthinking rates, and it’s giving me difficulty-breathing nightmares and skin-picking fits. It’s not a happy state.

I also discovered that what I have been suffering from for years and years is actually a form of mania. It’s called Dermatillomania and I have it. The knowledge that there are other people who have the same feelings is comforting. The knowledge that I have a mental disorder, a form of mania, is disturbing. I guess it’s romantic in a really skewed way, but whatever, who’s got time to be romantic these days? I want it to go away. Been wanting it to go away for years. It’s still here.

I am wondering why I am still awake looking at pictures when I should have been sleeping for the past three hours. I must wake up early tomorrow to go spend the weekend in Karak. I am promised lots and lots of BBQing and Pepsi, and many siestas. Maybe a chameleon or two, if I am lucky. Maybe I will fall and crush my skull on a stone, who knows.

I want to take a break that lasts a few years. I do not want to socialize with anybody during this time. Just relax in a library overlooking a beach and have an infinite supply of flavored soda and shrimp. I also want to have a fast internet connection and a personal masseur who looks like Craig Ferguson or Johnny Depp or the guy I had a crush on during my freshman year at college.

Then there is the question of personal destiny. People assume, if you are outspoken and independent, that you know exactly where you are headed. They wait for you to make decisions pronto, and they expect you to understand them fully. Little do they know that you are playing it by ear, just learning the ropes like the amateur that you are, all of your superficial extravaganza aside.

And what do you do? You feel stuck, uncertain, unprepared. Then you moronically blog about it.

“My feelings for you shame me into silence. The truth of this and your name will never be revealed. It is you who has made me realize the failure of my life. The thought of you fills me with longing and at the same time, a burning humiliation that produces scar tissue and dead brain cells. Your existence mocks me and I am unable to confront this. You have no idea of any of this. None of this is your fault. It is completely with me. It is you who makes me see what I really am. I am weak and out of touch with myself.”

- Henry Rollins

To the people who visited us this evening:

Sod off! Your expensive car and your expensive clothes, your degrees and your social status, ALL mean nothing since they have obviously not improved your sickening attitudes towards a woman who could have, in a parallel universe, been a potential bride for your son.

You come to visit us, in our house, when you have already been told that I am not interested. Yet you come, and you make it appear like you want to genuinely get to know my family for whatever social purposes and you make it seem you understand that I am not going to be sized up like a sack of potatoes. You come and we receive you, then you dare ask why I am not present. You, old hag with a PhD, mother of a 30-something ‘independent‘ engineer looking for a wife, YOU bluntly say you want to see me so you can describe me to your son. How lowly of you! Do you think all women are as cheap and available as you once were?

Did they not teach you that women are not objects? That even if you find a 100 who are willing to serve you coffee when you honor them with your visit, and let you look at them up and down, and let you go back home and call your little momma’s boy and tell him “she has short hair, she’s petite and she has a nosering and a ton of earrings, we’re not buying”, that even if you find a 100 women letting you do that, you do NOT find that marriage worship in my house?

I know why you came. You thought you could embarrass me or my family with social crap. You thought if you came and asked for me, I would somehow be polite enough to go out and meet you because it would be socially inappropriate otherwise. In the meantime, do you know what I was doing in my room? I was studying in my pajamas and eating ice cream. You see, I do not care about you or about your little king, just as much as you do not care about my intelligence and feelings. Quid pro quo, mofos. This one is not so polite.

You wanted to see me and you didn’t. It’s offensive that you imagined I would be willing to be treated like that, but then again, you don’t even know me. Did you honestly think my family will force me to shyly parade in front of you? Or that they will shy away from telling you that I will NOT bother to see you because your king is not with you, and that even if he was, I will not see you anyway? Why did you lie then, and say that you wanted to get to know us only?

You, old hag –daughter of some minister, you must have done rounds like this before. I am sure you have a candidates’ list of all the houses and the girls you have seen for your ‘boy,’ and I am sure you looked at everything in these girls. I am sure you know exactly which one of them has a longish nose, which has big ears, which has a lisp, which has an attitude, which has boobs too small for your son’s taste; I am sure you know all that.

You expected me to join your list and be proud of it. You thought I would be happy because your son will consider me as an option, if I was lucky. You imagined that I will let you degrade me such that when the king finally decides to come do the rounds with you, to check out the candidates you shortlisted for him and size them up again, I will be on cloud number nine because, oh my god, a man I don’t know shit about is considering me for his wife.

By refusing to be another BODY on your list, I retained my value which balanced people appreciate. I am not yours to buy, and I will not be part of your king’s imaginary harem when you describe these other women to him. You do not know me, and you never will. I am above your petty list, your examining stares, your twisted sense of social conduct, your disgusting expectations. Moreover, I am kingdoms above your little king.

I am reading parts of The Edward Said Reader right now, for class.

There is brain sweat on the pages of the book.

This is exciting but

Quite exhausting.

It requires

Thinking.