Some pointless realizations about the stars

I've luckily spent the last two nights of my life sleeping under a sky full of stars, that I started knowing more about them than I ever did before.

Stars, I've discovered, are such shy creations. I've noticed how they never show themselves to me whenever they realize I'm busy with something else other than them. Every time I look up to the sky, I'd only see plain darkness. I have to spend a few good staring seconds before they'd finally agree to show themselves to me, one after the other, seldom together. As their trust in me increases and they're certain I'm not going to leave them and look away again, they start showing more sides of themselves that no quick starer would ever notice. The tiny cute ones gradually start showing up. The sky gets completely filled by them, and I don't know how but the more I stare, the more they show up, that eventually the darkness of the sky can no longer be noticed. And as the darkness disappears and the staring increases, it feels like none of my surroundings are even there, and it's just me and the sky.

I have no idea how something as tiny as this manages to hold so much beauty within when they only seem like tiny dots of light, and how they could keep me staring at them for hours without even feeling slightly bored. I used to stay under the stars at night with a special someone, making up whatever shapes we wished to see out of them, imagining figures, and coming up with stories. Now that this special person's not around, stars do carry many memories within.

Something worth noticing is, stars never make themselves visible in crowded places. I know it's about pollution and such matters, but when I come to think about it, staring at stars would have never felt that peaceful after all if they existed in a non-peaceful atmosphere, and for that I really feel thankful.

My favorite realization about the stars is that -unlike other creations in space- they're so still. Anything that I get to stare at in the sky eventually changes position, but because stars are too far, they seem like they're not moving at all, and they just never leave.

Stars are such beautiful blessings that I'm so thankful I get the chance to stare at every now and then. Their existence truly makes me happy!

خُطُوات الشيطان - آ شورت ريفلكشن

عُمري ما حبيت إحساس لما أي حاجة من حاجتي المُفضلة تخلص، ورغم إن أخر حلقة من برنامج خُطُوات الشيطان خليتني أفضَل مُبتسمة لفترة طويلة بعد لما خلَّصتَها، بس برضه حسيت بشوية حُزن ناحية فكرة إن خلاص كده مفيش حلقات تاني. قعدت أدور على الحلقة ٢٨ واقول يمكن يكون لسه له بقية، بس طبعاً مالاقِتش حاجة.

بغض النظر عن الكلام ده كله، كمية الحاجات اللي حاستها واتعلمتها من البرنامج ده مش ممكن تتعد، بس لما جيت أفكر كده إيه هي أكتر حاجة علقت معايا من كلام مُعز وعُمري ما هانساها، جه في بالي حاجة واحدة.

كان فيه حلقة من ضمن الحلقات كان مُعز مركز فيها مع المرأة وكان كلامه مُذهل. في الحلقة دي كان بيستشهد بأجزاء من سورة النساء وكان بيتكلم عن الأية اللي بتقول (فَلِلذَّكَرِ مِثْلُ حَظِّ الأُنثَيَيْنِ) وبغض النظر عن تفسير الأية أو الحكمة منها أو كل الكلام ده، مُعز ذكر حتة كده في النُص خلِّت قلبي يتنطط. كان بيتكلم عن عظمة ربنا في إختيار ألفاظه فقال إن بكل سهولة ربنا كان ممكن بدل الكلام ده يقول "للأُنثى نصفُ حظ الذكر". أنا توقفت عند الحتة دي كتير.

إزاي الجُملتين دول ليهم نفس المعنى كده، لكن الأية نَفسها فعلاً بتثبت عظمة ربنا للدرجادي؟ أنا طول الوقت مُقتنعة إن القرأن فيه مُعجزات كتير طبعاً، لكن لما شُفت واحدة منهُم بعيني وحسيت بيها قوي كده، أدركت إن القرأن فيه أكتر من ما أي حد ممكن يتخيَّل أصلاً.

أنا باحب الكتابة جداً، ودايماً باحس إن لما باقرأ لكُتَّاب مُبدعين، ده بينعَكِس على أسلوب كتابتي أنا، وتدريجياً بتبدأ تتحسن. لكن أول مرة أُدرك إني لو ركزت في كلام القرأن قوي كده، فعلاً هلاقي كل اللي بادوَّر عليه في أي كاتب في الدُنيا. من اللحظة دي ربنا بقى -أوفيشيلي- كاتبي المُفضَّل. ومن اللحظة دي برضه قررت إني عايزة أركز مع معجزات ألفاظ ربنا أكتر عشان لما أتسئل عن كتابي المُفضل، أبقى ساعتها مية في المية مُقتنعة وانا باقول: "القرأن"، وماتكُنش مُجرد إجابة بارددها.

دلوقتي بس إقتنعت قوي قوي بالأيات اللي زي؛ (قل لئن اجتمعت الإنس والجن على أن يأتوا بمثل هذا القرآن لا يأتون بمثله)، (قل فأتوا بعشر سور مثله مفتريات وادعوا من استطعتم من دون الله)، (فليأتوا بحديث مثله إن كانوا صادقين).

أحلى حاجة إن ربنا عارف قُدرِته، وإنه فعلاً أحسن حد بيكتب في العالَم ده كله. وأحلى حاجة إن كتاب زي ده مش محتاج أي شئ غير إن حد يفتَّح دماغه وهو بيقراه، وهو هيلاحظ قد إيه جمال ربنا بيتجسد في صورة أجمل كل مرة. وأحلى حاجة إن كل مرة بنقرا فيها القرأن، بنطلع بـ-ريفلكشنز جديدة.

الحمدُ لله -قوي- على نعمة القرأن.

On missing people

"Missing someone isn't about how long it has been since you've last seen them or the amount of time since you've last talked. It's about that very moment when you find yourself doing something and wishing they were right there by your side."

I've read this quote a couple of times before, at very different phases of my life, and I'd always interpret it differently every time. Sometimes I felt that it completely made no sense, other times I knew it was perfectly describing me. I felt I couldn't understand what it implied at times, but I still realized it was too relevant to my life at others. I never really knew if I truly believed in this quote, but it has always been there.

I stumbled upon it again a few days ago, during a phase of my life where too many of the closest people to my heart are not around that much and I'm missing them all. I read it, and found myself coming up with a totally different interpretation for it this time.

The first sentence actually never seemed truer. In the past few months, I've become friends with online people probably more than I have with real life ones. It's not something that odd for me, but it's been excessively happening and some of them are becoming very close to my heart. Observing myself during this past period, I discovered I've actually typed the words "I miss you" to online friends way too much for someone who hasn't even met most of them yet. And that's when I realized how much the first part of the quote made sense, for I currently do miss people whom I haven't seen at all, and there hasn't even been a first time for us to allow us to have a last. So yes, it totally isn't about "how long it has been since you've last seen them".

Some other online friends are just acquaintances whom I haven't been able to stop stalking, but still cannot really be called "friends". I'd feel that there's something wrong when I don't stalk them for too long, and sometimes they're people who don't even know I exist. Surprisingly, I'd often catch myself feeling like missing those people, without really having talked to them before. And so, another new part proved to make sense because it's still not about "the amount of time since you've last talked"; you can miss them without any talking involved, or so proved my creepiness.

Now, having made total sense of the first sentence, I moved on to the second one and had a really hard time trying to accept it. It implied that, somehow, the definition of missing someone lied solely within the idea of not having them around when you do a certain something, which was very, very hard for my mind grasp.

I miss people all the time, but it's never just only about wanting them to be there at a certain place or a certain time. Missing people is much more than that..

I currently miss too many people, and I miss them in many different ways.

I miss hearing the ringing tone next to my ears as I try to call them. I miss getting excited over the fact that they're going to interrupt that tone anytime and their voice would be the first thing I'd hear. I miss standing in front of the mirror, only to watch myself smile as I hear their "Hello!", and looking the other way as soon as they do, so that the only thing I'd be seeing is my made up imaginary image of them around me as we speak.

I miss hearing my phone ringing with their names, and sometimes with the pictures I've assigned to their numbers, knowing I have no time to talk but still choosing to answer the phone. I miss listening to them as they talk about their day in details, wanting to end the conversation because I have so much to do, but still not letting my ears skip a single detail. I miss them beginning a one-hour call with a "Don't worry, I'm going to make this quick!", and ending it with an "I'm sorry it took so long!".

I miss daydreaming about them only to find a random message from them a few minutes later telling me they've been thinking about me. I miss sending them all what I have to say in a long message for when they have the time for it, and watching the 'sent' sign quickly shift into a 'read' one a few seconds later. I miss shortly finding their perfect reply to my words, making me unable to stop rereading them every time I'm done. I miss the excitement of reading their words for the very first time, feeling hungry for more of their words, yet trying to slow myself down as I read because I don't want to experience that feeling of reading their last line.

I miss seeing their name on my Facebook notifications, liking or commenting on what I post. I miss seeing their name in my Twitter interactions tab, retweeting or favoriting my words as soon as I press the tweet button. I miss seeing their name on top of my WhatsApp conversations list, because we never even stop talking to give the chance for their name to move downwards. I miss their out of the blue messages all over the social networks, making my heart dance every time I receive a cute unexpected something from them.

I miss typing their username in the search bar and finding lots of their new words to read. I miss feeling my bedazzlement at the perfection of their words, and I miss how their words inspire me to write more. I miss stalking them every single day, and not even once feeling bored or regretting doing it.

I miss them being the first people to know about my happy news. I miss having them come to my mind first thing in the morning and I miss them being my very last thought before I sleep.

I miss getting excited over the fact that I'm going to see them the next day, whenever we part. I miss counting down the days, the hours and the minutes till a certain event that's related to them. I miss preparing surprises for them and having my mind constantly play imaginary scenes of them upon receiving what I've spent so much time planning to do.

I miss feeling that I might be bothering them with my over-care and wondering how they feel about me, only to find a very random message from them assuring me that I'm very welcomed in their life.

I miss having dreams about them every night, because I've fallen asleep either thinking about or talking with them. I miss waking up the next day to tell them all about the details of how I've seen them during my sleep.

I miss people in these ways, and much more.

I miss people in ways I can't even put into words, that it aches every time I try to write about it.

As much as missing people isn't such a nice thing to feel, it still makes people value those whom they miss more than they normally would. It wouldn't make sense living in this world without often feeling like missing some people. And as much as it hurts while telling someone that you miss them, it definitely makes their day knowing that they do occupy a part of their favorite people's lives this way.

Missing people is both, a beautiful and an ugly phrase. But what I'm very sure of right now is, missing people is never only about wanting them by your side when you're doing something you wish they were doing with you. Missing people is way deeper than that.

I needed a hug

I needed a hug. I needed someone to be there and open their arms for me whenever I need a shoulder to cry on. I needed to feel safe between the arms of someone who wouldn't question my tears, who wouldn't ask for answers that I'm not ready to give. I needed someone to listen to my incomplete, distorted sentences that arise in between the gasps caused by my tears, and still understand every letter of them. I needed someone to comfort me with their words, tell me that it's all going to be okay even if it was the only thing they'd say every time I'm sad. I needed someone to stay with in the dark, in complete silence, because they'd know how much their presence would mean. I needed someone who'd make me feel comfortable crying around them.

I needed someone who'd unleash the issues and insecurities that keep piling up inside me only because they can't find the right person to be discussed with. I needed someone to talk with on the phone when I feel like talking. I needed someone who understands I don't like talking on the phone and text me instead. I needed someone to leave me alone whenever I felt I can't stand neither phones nor texts. I needed someone to understand my introversion, never criticize it, and never try to change anything about it. And I still needed someone to take me out everyday and travel the whole world with me. I needed someone who'd know all about my awkwardness around people and still doesn't make it sound bad. And I still needed someone to tell me I should start learning how to deal with people and stop being awkward around absolutely everyone.

I needed someone to know all about my insecurities yet never change the way they looked at me since the moment we became friends.

I needed someone to point out the defects in me, and help me change them. I needed someone to see the good in me and always point it out without making an arrogant person out of me.

I needed someone to discuss my fears with and ask for their opinion whenever I'm confused, because I'd know they always knew better. I needed someone to help me take decisions and never regret them. I needed someone to tell me what to do whenever I didn't know what to do.

I was looking for a perfect human being, and I wanted them to be mine.

But things just shortly changed..

Things shortly changed after that one night I spent crying in the dark, all by myself, for no reason. In the midst of all my tears, I looked up and found what I was looking for..


I found Him. I found God.


I found Him spending the night with me -when no one else was there-, hearing all my distorted sentences, never leaving the room until I was in deep sleep, and not even leaving then.

I found comfort in Him. I found it easy to discuss my insecurities with Him, without fearing He'd think any less of me, because He's the only one who knew and understood them anyway, whether I pointed them out or not. He didn't push me to talk, and only waited for what I wanted to let out. He listened to me and understood. He even heard my inner thoughts, without wanting me to talk about them out loud. He listened and listened, and when I felt I needed to hear His reply to all what I've said, I opened His Book on a random page, read what my eyes fell on, and immediately felt at peace.

His Book, I realized, could point out all the defects in me and help me change them if I wanted. His Book still pointed out and encouraged me to do all what I was doing well, reminding me that it's always Him who'll help me continue them, so that I'd never get a false sense of achievement and forget it was all thanks to Him. His words only needed someone to open their ears to, and they'd make their way right into their hearts, when they knew the ears truly wanted to listen.

I realized that all what I've always needed, all what I've been looking for in a single person wishing so bad to find them one day, was already all present in Him.

His hug is like no other hug. He hugs me during Sojoud. He allows me to cry on His shoulder down there. He never hugs too hard if I don't feel like wanting to be hugged, but is always there whenever I ask for it. He gives me silent hugs, and He gives me attentively-listening hugs.

He allows me to talk to Him whenever I feel like it, and He has allowed me to write Him a couple of letters before when I felt I wanted to write instead.

He was always there, sending me signs to where I should go whenever I was confused. Offering me Istekhara whenever I wanted His opinion on something, because He knows what I'll never be able to know what He knows, and can perfectly guide me on anything.

He sends me blessings. He throws them my way in the form of people, each of them having a thing of what I need, leaving some of my needs to be fulfilled only by Him, for if we found perfection in His creation, we'll be too occupied and never experience His own perfection that not a single human being can attain.

He has the answers to so many of our needs, He only wants to hear us ask. He loves us, even if it sometimes feels like He's giving us a silent treatment; it'd just be that He's waiting for us to truly turn back to Him. He might sometimes seem harsh, but it'd always turn out that He wants to teach us a certain something from the toughness He put us through. His kindness can never even be compared to anything once He hears the sincerity in our voices, and senses the trust in our hearts. He tests us, often very hard tests, only to strengthen us. He allows us to do anything we choose, but will always be there if we needed him, saving the enjoyment of His closeness to those who truly deserve it.

He is all what I need, all what everyone would probably need. I don't understand why we spend lifetimes making homes out of people and finding comfort in them, when we have Him. The one who'll never, ever leave.

I feel thankful for finding Him every time I turn to Him, even if it has been years since we've last spoken. I feel blessed to have Him as my God, always keeping an eye for me, and never leaving my side.

ربنا يخليك ليا يارب :) الحمد لله على نعمة وجودك

A letter from me to you

Dear you,

I haven't written to you -or about you- since so long, thinking that I've already gotten you off my mind a couple of months ago, but it turned out to not be very true.

I'm not really sure how I currently feel about you, but I've just experienced one of those moments when I felt I really needed to have you by my side. I really needed to send you a WhatsApp message at this very moment telling you how thankful I am for God having sent you my way, imagining you in my head waking up to read it first thing in the morning, brightening up your whole day. I needed to reread our conversation right before we said goodnight, a conversation that didn't feel like we've gotten used to it, yet it's the same thing we do everyday. A conversation where my heart skipped a beat every time I noticed a message being typed, wondering what could it possibly be, and rushing to read it as soon as you decide to send it to me. A conversation where I could perfectly hear your voice reading your every letter and every word, warming up my own ears. A conversation where we both competed on who's going to be the first one to start it, instead of the usual waiting for the other person to type in the first message, ending up not starting it at all because we're both too egoistic to speak. I wanted to send you a random smiley face, hoping it would reflect its image on your own lips and face.

I wanted you to be the first thing that came to my mind when I read a certain quote, and the first person I felt like sharing a picture that I've come across on the internet with, knowing no one will get it the way you would.

I wanted to feel my face turn red at the sight of your "Good morning, beautiful." every morning, even though I should have already gotten used to reading it. I wanted to feel excited about hanging out with you the next day, mentally making plans for what I want to wear; what I want you to see me in. I wanted to feel the pressure of your eyes the next day, as it analyzes every inch of me in a way that still doesn't expose me. I wanted to feel your desire for me as it grows, yet without making it feel like you want me in a dirty way. I wanted to feel the nervousness of being so close to someone as confident as you are, someone who makes me feel as safe as you do, while knowing that deep inside, your heart is probably melting, but you're too considerate to show any of it to me. I wanted to feel the nervousness of having everyone's eyes fixed on us, noticing that there's definitely something going on between the two of us, but letting it go because it's too cute to be pointed out. I wanted to feel like pushing them all away, just to get to spend a few minutes alone with you, where we'd say nothing from what's hidden inside, but the silence would clearly reveal it all.

I lay in my bed every night, making scenarios of the words I wish we'd share, and the words that I imagine you'd want us to say. I lay in bed every night thinking of all what I still have to give you, not even caring about what I should be expecting from you, because I know you wouldn't give me the time to wait and expect anyway. I lay in bed every night thinking about us, you and me. I lay in bed every night, mostly thinking about the beautiful you.

I miss you. And I'm too nostalgic for what we haven't even had.

I really do miss you, so very much..

Yours,
me.

عقدة الشيخ

في صلاة التراويح النهاردة، وفي الخطبة اللي ما بين الـ٤ ركعات، حسيت إني تعبت شوية فقُمت عشان أسند ضهري على حيطة من حيطان المسجد. صادفت إني قعدت جنب مجموعة من الأطفال صُحاب، كانوا قاعدين يلعبوا مع بعض، وشوية شوية تطرق اللعب إلى ضرب. قاعدوا يضربوا في بعض وأنا كنت قاعدة أضحك وأنا باتفرج عليهم، لحد ما بنت منهم إسمها سارة وقْفت ضرب وقالتلُهم "ياجماعة عيب كده، إحنا في بيت ربنا". راحت صحبتها بصتلها بسخرية كده وقالتلها "واللهِ؟ الشيخة سارة حضرتك؟". أنا أعصابي تعبت مع الجملة دي وحسيت كأن سحابة سوداء عدت من فوقي.

الأطفال دول مايكملوش ١٠ سنين مثلاً، وبغض النظر عن إن ده كان هزار ما بينهم أو لأ، بس فكرة إن موضوع زي ده يكون مترسخ في عقول الأطفال من سن صغير كده، ضايقتني. بس عشان هي قالت جملة فيها "ربنا"، خلاص بقت متشافة على إنها شيخة. الموضوع فكرني بكتاب كنت باقراه إسمه "The Forty Rules of Love" وكان مركز في بعض أجزائه على نقطة إن فيه فرق ما بين شخص -religious- وشخص -spiritual- والفرق ده يا إما الناس مابتفهموش يا إما بيعملوا مش واخدين بالهُم منه، بس إكتشفت إن الفرق ده كان تقريبا عقدتي طول حياتي.

ليه مثلاً لما أي حد بيتكلم على حاجة ليها علاقة بربنا أو بالدين، تلقائي بيُصنف على إنه شخص "متدين وبتاع ربنا"؟ وليه لما حد ممكن في نظر الناس يكون مالوش علاقة بالدين يجي يتكلم عن نفس الحاجات دي بيتقال عنه إنه "بيمثل التديُّن"؟ ليه مفيش بند "الروحانيات" ده في عقول الناس؟ وفوق كل ده، ليه اللي بيحاول يبقى كويس بيتقال عنه "شيخ"، وليه لقب زي ده ممكن يخوف اللي بيتقله ويخليه يفضَّل يبطَّل يتكلم عن أي حاجة ليها علاقة بربنا تجنباً لإن يطلع عليه إسم زي ده ويُصنف بطريقة غلط؟ وليه أصلاً حاجة زي دي تكون مشكلة واضحة ما بين أطفال ماكملوش ١٠ سنين؟

أنا شايفة إن قبل ما الأهالي يعلموا ولادهم الدين ويخدوهم معاهم المساجد، يبقوا يوضحلهُم الأول الفرق ما بين الدين والروحانيات. لأن مش شرط المتدين يبقى شخص روحاني ومش شرط برضه إن الشخص الروحاني يبقى له في الدين.

لما رجعت بقى من المسجد لقيت معز مسعود في برنامجه بيتكلم عن موضوع شبه الموضوع ده وهو التدين الظاهري وبغض النظر عن الحلقة نفسها بس في النُص قال على نفس المثال ده وهو إن لما أي حد بيبدأ يربي دقنه بيتقال عليه "شيخ" برضه. الموضوع فعلا لو ماتحلش من الصغر هيكبر مع البني آدم بالمنظر ده ومش هنعرف نتخلص منه، وهيبدأ يُستخدم بطريقة غلط.

وبجانب كل ده، معز قال جملة في النُص علقت معايا قوي؛ قال "عُمر الظاهر ما كان الأصل في الدين"، وده حقيقي جداً جداً. ربنا عمره ما بيبُص لألقاب أو أشكال، ربنا بيبُص على قلوبنا من جوا، ودي أنا متأكدة إن مفيش مخلوق في الدنيا يقدر يعرف إيه اللي فيها زي ما ربنا يقدر.

الحمد لله إن مفيش غيره يقدر يحكم على حاجة زي دي.

الحمد لله إن هو ربنا :)

Random Blabbering

I'm not entirely sure why I'm starting this, but I've been having some flowing thoughts for quite a few days, and I've suddenly had the urge to write and let them all out, now. I've promised myself before that whenever I get such a feeling, I'm going to leave whatever it is that I'd be doing, and grab anything to write in and with. It's actually frustrating how too many thoughts are lost because we either delay writing them until they unawarely evaporate through our heads and shortly get replaced by new, once-again-ignored ones, or as time passes, we start thinking that some thoughts are unworthy of being written down. There's just no such a thing. It should actually be a crime to strangle thoughts inside, and not let them out; through spoken words, written ones, or even tears. Just because our head doesn't physically explode, it doesn't mean we should take for granted its ability to store in some thoughts.

Anyway. This is probably going to be very random, because the thoughts inside have nothing in common except that they all strive to be let out, and so I'm happily granting them their wish. One thought at a time, totally pointless, but somehow still comforting.

So, I've luckily had the opportunity to spend some time alone lately, all by myself, and it has been truly relieving. But with a mind like mine –which I have discovered lately can't be around people without observing and absorbing in their every detail, storing them inside, and always comparing the new details with the old ones– it couldn't not continue doing that. I have no idea if the details thing only works with people or if my mind does observe the details of everything around –I'm yet to find out about that–, but I've observed how it observes people's details, and it actually impressed me. So, being alone, the only person it was allowed to observe closely was; myself. The only difference this time is that I was aware of it observing me, so I decided to join in and observe along.

I've observed myself while reading. Particularly reading an e-book. I have noticed how comforting reading in the dark has made me feel, with only the laptop's screen lighting the words for me to read. I don't exactly know why I liked that, but reading with the lights on just feels like I'm not really having my space with the book. Like someone's invading our own personal space, someone is watching over us. In the dark though, it's just me and the book. We can do whatever it is that we'd want, because it's just us. The same way it differs being with my best friend around people, and being with her on the phone or within our own WhatsApp conversation. It's not the same, it cannot be accurately described in words, exactly like how it's difficult to describe being with a book with no lights on. Lights just feel like invaders.

Besides the dark, I had a word document opened aside, to write in any thoughts that would occur to me while reading, and to copy out my favorite lines that I'd want to reread later. But with the lights off, I didn't clearly get to see the keyboard and the letters I wanted to type. Typing has thankfully never been an obstacle to me. When lights are on, I don't give much attention to the keyboard, my eyes might only throw a few glimpses on the letters as I'm typing, but my mind would be really consumed with what I'm writing, not how I'm writing it. Through the dark, it changed. My mind knew it was being forced not to see the keys on purpose, and it panicked. I have never been that slow while typing as I had been while I took notes through this book. It annoyed me because it wasn't usually a problem, but because my mind was forced to think about it, it deliberately started screwing up on something that it was already good with. And this is exactly what happens to me through everything with life. Whenever I concentrate on something in an attempt to get the best out of it, I screw it up. Whenever someone tells me I'm good with a certain thing, I become aware of that fact, and start making a mess out of something that I have already been told I was good with. Only because I was told that.

It frustrated me. I kept trying to concentrate on the words I'm typing, rather than the letters that I was looking for through the dark, but I was excessively using the backspace key. I tried typing really fast, not allowing my mind the opportunity to actually think. It would work for a few seconds but then my mind would concentrate and blow it all up again. I finally decided I'd just talk my mind into agreeing that whatever mistake I was going to do, I wouldn't use the backspace key for it until I was done with the whole thing, and only then can I go back and correct all my mistakes. It worked! It magically did. Because then, I wasn't really concentrating on not typing the wrong letters. I knew I wouldn't go back to it anyway unless I let the words I initially wanted to write out. My typos started decreasing as I concentrated more on the content. And every time I'd get done with something, I'd go back and correct any typos, and it went well. I realized then that this was exactly what stopped me in life from doing the things I was told I'm good in, because for some reason my mind believed that being good with something implied getting it done with absolutely no mistakes. I don't give myself enough room to make mistakes. I'm always concentrating on how I'm doing what I'm doing and not what or why. I didn't realize that typing in the wrong letter might eventually direct me to another letter that I would later need to find, I only concentrated on it being the wrong one.

I've realized this, and I'm not sure how I'm going to change this about myself, but I can tell that it might have changed something inside, and that after this, things are definitely never going to be the same again.

Moving on..

Fictional Characters.

Fictional characters, a huge problem I always face. I'm more into novels and stories, and so I come across a great number of fictional characters with every book, only that I refuse to believe they're fictional. The books I've been reading lately were full of deaths, especially the death of fathers (which by the way scares me to death every time I think about it happening to my life; I can't bare the idea of having to lose my dad one day..), and I've realized how losing those characters affects me the same way losing real life people does, if not more. I keep thinking about them even after the book is over, wondering if their spirits hover around me like what I like to believe about real life people who die. I keep rereading parts of books when they were still there. The idea of their death always aches inside.

This all made me think of something. Why is that we fall in love with fictional characters that easily? Fictional characters are still people. We get really involved in their lives through books, especially those who are the narrators, and get to clearly talk about their own feelings and thoughts. It's because we get that close. It's because we get to see the true parts of themselves that we even fall in love with their imperfections. There's this quote I've always loved, it goes like, "I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words". It's very true, applying it to people in books. They get to be honest. However, it still occurs to me that we might love them only because they choose the sides of themselves that they'd want us to know about. Maybe we don't get to see the whole picture; we only get to see what they want us to see. Or maybe, because we don't actually see them. People's inner details are usually way more beautiful than their physical appearances. Or maybe, because we don't get involved in their lives; we have the opportunity to observe from afar. We get to love them for who they really are, not for how much they give us, or for how it feels doing cute surprises for them, or for how they listen to us, or how they make us feel. None of that. We never actually get to observe someone's life in real life without somehow getting involved in it. Expecting things, feeling things. Fictional characters rarely disappoint us. Maybe it's writers who sometimes do, but rarely the characters themselves.

I don't know. I failed to understand why I personally get attached to fictional characters that much. Maybe they're all the previous reasons combined, but I still find it beautiful that I can fall in love with someone I've never even seen, or interacted with. Beautiful.

One more thing that makes reading enjoyable to me is, I always get to learn new words. I've previously always made sure to write down the new words I'd learn through a book, but I've recently discovered that new words can make their way inside on their own. I notice this every time I write; new words always come out as I write, some accompanied by memories of their places in certain books, and others popping out of nowhere, reminding me of nothing but my mind's awesome ability to absorb new words without me noticing. It's truly one of my favorite moments, when I come up with a word that I've never heard about, only to discover I've read it somewhere. It makes me smile knowing that I'd never run out of words as long as I read.

Now, Writing. I've noticed myself as I write as well. I've seen a difference between what I write for myself, knowing no one would read, and what I write to be published somewhere. And this greatly increased my love towards writing stuff that no one would get to see, because it actually brings pieces of me together.

Sometimes, I'd try to write my thoughts somewhere and someone would oppose my point of view on something, and it annoys me. That's not because I'm someone who insists on holding on to their own beliefs, but actually, it's because I'm a flexible thinker, that it takes too little effort to change my thoughts about something. Writing to myself enhances this, I've noticed. It makes me definite about my thoughts, my ideas, and my beliefs, that it's starting not to be very easy to change my view about something unless it's logical. Writing to one's self does miracles, I believe.

Besides reading and writing, I still tend to fall in love with the side of me that comes out the minute my room's door is shut. I feel comfortable around me.

I love the way I smile at myself. The way I laugh at my inside jokes. Particularly the way I let out weird laughs. The way I blankly stare into space without someone pointing out how weird I look. The way I stare at the mirror. The way I crawl up inside my bed, hide under my covers, holding on tight to my pillow, for absolutely no reason. The way I talk to my belongings and have them mentally answer back. The way I notice I've acquired some close friends' personal qualities.

I've been asked several times what is it that I often do in my room alone. I think I have an answer now.

I be me.

I've truly noticed so much about myself by just being on my own for sometime. I keep discovering new things about me, and it makes me happy. It makes me connect my own dots. It's a blessing I so much want to keep holding on to.