Beirut is fed up with its residents. It has been raining non-stop for 48 hours. I did not forget my umbrella back home.
It’s been a while since I decided to write a post in a cafe, it’s been a while, since I had the urge to try to write how I feel.
Does my reader know, that English is the language I speak to myself when I am alone? Does this reader know, that I write in Arabic, as a statement?
I am so fucked up. This world is/has fucken me up. I am ok with it, I am dealing with it.
I don’t think I will ever be happy, I dont think I will have friends. The same way I had them when I was a teenager. Then I used to fall in love, I used to miss people. Now I plan to lose them, I actually, plan on how to lose someone in my life.
Everything is turning into nothing. Photography, faces, thoughts, and feelings.
I consumed myself so much in this city, this city that gave me a lot, what damascus destroyed.
I hate the person I am becoming. Too loud. Too obvious. Too nothing.
I have stopped dreaming. I had my first nightmare two days ago in years.
I am too Fragile, but I am numb enough to care less about the latest stupid comments on this blog. I hate my blog, I truly hate my blog.
I hate my gmail inbox, I enjoy deleting my spam, I hate my facebook, my room, my life. And I miss my parents. I miss watching cartoons.i love my mom and dad very much. I dont want to live the day where I will lose them. Not allowing it. Can’t.
I miss missing someone. Now I am too liberal, i get into “open” relationships with men every now and then. I am too liberal. I dont fall in love, that’s too traditional you know. To love someone. To expect a futur with someone, is a clishe. But I am too leftist, you know. I am too revolutionary. I am bullshit.
I wish I could write this in arabic, but arabic readers are the worst readers ever. Yes, fuck you, this is my page, my fucken page, and you are not allowed to fuck me here. Not in my house.
This cafe is all about Christmas, I am invited tonight for a christmas dinner. I dont feel like it. Not sure why I am going. I am nothing without people.
I am weak enough to do what I say. What I want.
I want to shut down this blog, my gmail, my facebook, not my flickr though.
I want to boycott the internet. I want to get back to my depressing yet functioning days.
Where I used to be shy, naïve, but a reader, and a writer. I used to had nobody. My parents gave me the balcony in our old house in damascus. They built it for me. I stay there all day, reading, and writing. I used to hate our neighbors. I used to draw naked women. I used to draw pornography.
And I used to hate men. Real men. The real they become the more I hate them. But girls in syria hated me. They love me better when I have a boyfriend.
I used to talk to myself for hours in that balcony. I used to imagine press confrences. Where I speak for hours, I sang to them. I talked Fusha when Ramadan comes. I miss how sick I was. I hate me being fitting in the world now. I had unique sickness. Now its common.
Now I am just another female body, who smokes a lot, drinks a lot, and feel nothing, whilst stressing her sex.
I am thinking of going back to syria. Nothing can be done there anyways. I want to drink tea with my parents on the evenings. I want to talk to myself in my bathroom. Mostly, I want to cry, really hard. I never cry in beirut. I am always sociable on beirut. Everything is fucken ok here.
I wish I can say goodbye 2008, 2007, 2006, all of you, 28 years, you’ll always be fucking me still. Always.
7 thoughts on “untitled 1-openoffice.org writer”
Good luck Razan with your trip down your thoughts
The refocusing on your own thoughts, attitudes, simple explorations about you, things so silly but yet so thrilling is one of the most exciting things in the world to do.
Enjoy it :)
Oh and by the way… those girls in Damascus you talked about are the most fucked up “humans” in Syria,
بفوت بالحيط كل ما بدي اكتب كلمتين ورا بعض بالانكليزي فلا تآخدينا يعني
بعرف هالشعور منيح, عشتو بهالسنة شي مرتين تلاته, و بتذكر نصيحة رفيقة عزيزة كتير قالتلي: لباس برمودا و وقّف عالبرندة و معك بيرة باردة و تفرّج عالغروب
كان الجو صيف, بس انو يعني هلأ اعملي المرادف الشتوي و اعملي هالشغلات, خدي اجازة من كل شي, و أهم شي انو تاخدي اجازة من حالك, عن جد
بس انو تسكري الفيسبوك و تسكري البلوغ و كل هالبلاوي..انسيهون
و ميلاد مجيد و هالقصص, رغم انو أنا مالي بقصص المناسبات الدينية بس كل شي فيو احتفال نهنّي فيه على مبدأ كريم عربجي الله يفك أسرو “كل شي ببلاش كتّر منو”
I am glad to have made the acquaintance of your blog. I am quite glad that you have named it razanism, because talking about oneself in Syria is still a “selfish act” and not a necessity although it should be. I still remember the letter my uncle wrote to me 18 years ago when I decided to immigrate to France. In a diplomatic way, he called me a “selfish traitor” who abandoned his country. If I believe in reciprocity, which I don’t, I would have said “it abandoned me long ago” . So good luck in your quest for acceptance, if that is what you want. I do believe that being yourself is what you were born to do, the only right one needs to have.
By the way have you read any novel by Ilham Mansour.
dont be sad razan. you are one of a kind! and dont let anyth get you down.
Hey… you want take a drive somewhere…??!!
هاااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااااي انا اسمي ولاء بحب اشكر الي نزل البرنامج هاد لانو نجحني في اختباري او ستفدت منو كتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتير كتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتتير او بحكي للي نزلووووووووووووووووووووو ميرسي بوكو او بحكي لدانيا احنا اخوات متل بعض انا بحبك موت
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