Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 8

I sometimes have moments of clarification.When the sudden thought of my existence pierces through me. Clarification, yet at the same time, a deep alienation and depression for my environment, because of my environment. I can see nothing, but the darkness of the inner core my mind, bouncing back to me from the others due to my impure thoughts and acts.

When I woke up, I was in my room. The lights were out, but I could vaguely distinguish the objects surrounding me. 
The lamp was sitting on a small table besides my bed. The window was open and a cold salty breeze filled the room.The curtains were rustling softly and the door closed. The table and chair near the television were the most difficult to see due to the way the moonlight lit the room, but they were the first things my tired eyes noticed.
Noor was sitting there, the chair turned towards the bed and away from the desk. She was looking out of the window, her tiny fingers were plucking her pink lips. Her eyes looked empty, as if they had been awake for a long time. She noticed the sound of the bed cracking. 
''You're finally awake?'' her soft voice whispered as I tried to sit up straight. 
My hands were hurting. My head hurting. 
''Yeah.'' I answered in a trembling voice. 
I tried to remember what had happened. I saw the beach before me, Noor sitting in front of me. The bruises on my hands remembered me of what had happened. How I had an attack Mother always hated so much and how I embarrassed myself in front of Noor. 
Blood was rushing to my cheeks and my heart was  pounding heavily in my chest. My head felt light and as she spoke to me, I couldn't do anything but break down in tears. I didn't hear what she said and frankly I didn't care. Embarrassment was the only thing I could feel at that moment and I was drowning in it to the point I couldn't breath anymore. 
I had buried my head inside a pillow, too ashamed to look at her worried eyes. She quickly rushed over to my side. Her warm petite hand was stroking my back and pushing my hair away, so that they wouldn't stick to my damp cheeks.
My throat hurt as I was desperately trying to inhale the cold air. My lungs were refusing the unfamiliar air. My head felt light, I couldn't think straight anymore. 

What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? Your purpose. Why are you here? The point, eh? Your purpose. Tell me your purpose.  

''I wanna go home!'' I finally cried. Noor looked startled. 
I could slowly feel my breathing tempo becoming normal again. I sighed a few times deeply, until my heart rate became regular. A void of nothingness replaced the panic.
''Hm, hm,'' she mumbled. 
I looked at the sheets, as she stroked my back and touched my head. I felt ashamed and gross. The girl with the fair hair climbed on the bed and sat across of me with her legs open towards me. Her hands were resting in front of her and she leaned on them, uncomfortably moving to the front and back. 
She looked so young and childish. Her shoeless feet were visible and she wiggled her toes. Her eyes were filled with worries. 
''Please say something,'' I begged as she was looking out of the window.
I couldn't see what she thinking. I tried looking for her eyes, but she turned her head away from me. Her blonde hair had a blue glow in the night, that made her look more mature. When she finally turned her gaze towards me, her eyes were looking right through me. I felt a shiver in my spine as she spoke. 
''You can't go home,'' she said in a rather icy voice. 
''Why not?'' 
She stared out of the window again, now biting her lower lip. I waited patiently, but she remained silent. I waited for her lips to open up, but nothing came out of her. 
My heart was aching, so I leaned towards her and took her pale hand. They felt surprisingly warm in mine. She first looked at our hands and then at me. Her eyes looked inviting, her lips whispered something that my head chose to ignore. Maybe so I could fully imbibe her presence. 
As she sat there glowing as pale as only the moon could, I can tell you, dear reader, had she obeyed me to die before her, I would've fallen before her feet. Right there in that very room, with a blush of shame on my cheeks, I could only think about what sweet secret there was for me to explore behind the ivory chambers that beheld the lock to our intimacy. 
A lock for me to open. 
As I pulled myself closer to her, I felt our friendship bloom to its fullest. The shame I felt earlier completely vanished in order for me to drown in the sea of lust that her thirst provoking lips pulled me into. And with every sip I took, my need to drink grew.
That was indeed, my dear reader, the moment I had come to the realization that she whom I had seen as a friendly stranger, had become my mirror in more than one way. Reflecting not only who I truly was, but also reflecting the long held desire we both felt and that was finally reaching its climax.

When the peak of the mountain had been conquered, she layed besides me with her head buried in my neck, while I lit a cigarette. Her lips finally opened up.

''I wanna die.”

Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 7

''I want to destroy everything.'' she sighed. 
I remained silent as she was fiddling her hair, I tapped my feet. 
''It's quite weird, I can't explain it honestly,'' she looked into the horizon. ''It's this immense urge of wanting to burn everything, to destroy it, to watch it slowly die away and stop existing. It's a beastly craving I have difficulties containing in myself.'' 
I nodded thoughtfully. ''So, you mean you enjoy watching things broken? Ruined? In a huge mess?'' I asked.
She looked at me, her eyes were piercing through me. 
''I shouldn't be telling you this.'' 
''Who am I not to trust? Just an old lonely woman, who has little pleasure in life,'' I smiled bitterly. 
''Exactly. Wasn't the old saying not to trust strangers?'' she was resting her head on one arm, still looking at me. I shrugged. 
''Not if we become more acquaint. I'm not the type to judge anyway,'' I said. I wasn't sure if I was lying or telling the truth at that moment, but I just wanted to get to know her more. Maybe Fate had brought her to me, perhaps this kind of insanity was what was missing in my life. An orgasmic explosion of craziness, nonsense at its finest. I was ready to receive all of it. 
She remained silent. The seashells in front of me were perfectly aligned. I moved forward and picked one up, twisting it in my fingers as I thought of what to say next.
''I can tell you why I am here, if that makes you more comfortable?'' I said and she shrugged at my proposal, which I took as a yes. She seemed tired, it quite saddened me to see her that way, her bright eyes had become dim. It was quite a sad sight, that ached my heart. 
''Well?'' she asked impatient. 
I cleared my throat. ''I have lost my mother not too long ago.''
''Oh, really? I'm so sorry to hear.''
''Not at all, I'm actually glad she died.''
She frowned. ''Oh. So you mean you didn’t like her?''
''No, I liked her.''
She gave me a confused look I ignored. ''The fact that she's dead isn't bothering me. It's that she existed in the first place and then left me. If you're planning to leave me alone, why be with me in the first place? What kind of sadist do you have to be to make your own child go through a planned lost?'' I heard my voice shiver. 
''But how can you say it's planned? No one plans to die.''
I sniffed. ''Indeed, no one plans to die. It's either too late or too early, but never at the right time.'' 
She nodded thoughtfully, mumbling my words. I put another cigarette between my lips. 
''Care if I borrow your lighter again?'' I asked.
She looked through her backpack and handed me the small pink lighter. I lit my cancer and gave it back to her. She shook her head and said I could keep it. 
''Care to explain why such a pretty young lady like yourself carries a lighter?'' I asked as I blew smoke through my nose. 
The wind was playing in her hair and she shoved it away violently. ''Didn't you just hear what I said earlier?'' she said irritated. 
''Oh yes, you like to burn shit down,'' I chuckled. ''I'm glad you gave it to me then, I'll make sure you won't harm yourself.'' I looked her in the eyes, she avoided my gaze. 
''Weren't you telling a story?'' she asked.
''Ah, yes. But honestly, I think you're far more interesting than some old hack who has nothing but complaints about her sad little life,'' I said and her eyes lit up once I gave her the occasion to talk about herself. It was evident she was as narcisstic as I was. The pink atmosphere around her could throw you really off guard, mistaking it for childish innocent. 
Grinning all the way, she began talking. Most of it were little things that only established my prepossessed opinion about her. I couldn't believe I was right, when she said her favorite color was pink, that her favorite food was ice cream, that she was an only child, that she had her first kiss under a tree near her house, that she enjoyed spending her time drawing playing the piano, although she claimed she had no talent, that her favorite subject was art class. (Typical.) Everything made the most logical sense to me, except for her reason of coming to this place. 
''You are a very typical girl, Noor. However what you've just told me doesn't add up to your reason coming to this place,'' I said.
The grin on her face disappeared and she frowned again. ''I know it doesn’t, I never said it did. It's just an error inside me. People tend to think I’m a freak once they find out I sneak away to cause fires or break windows. Whatever it is, I can’t explain it. I can’t even understand it, how can I explain it to anyone else then? I just know it makes me feel bubbly and warm, like when I eat apple pie on a warm Sunday. Everything in me adds up, because I want myself to be that way.” her bright eyes had a sad glow when she finished speaking.
“Well it does make you feel happy and after all it’s you choosing to break stuff. Perhaps there’s no border between either,” I said.
“I told you, I want to be the way I present myself, not the error.” 
''Why not want and accept both?'' 
She shrugged at my question. ''Does it matter what I want? It's just the way reality is sometimes,'' she replied.
''But what if this isn't reality?”
“We are all just actors,” she replied.
She looked me in the eyes again. Her grumpy face turned into a Mona Lisa-ic mysterious smile, that I couldn't place inside the borders of this reality. I felt I was blacking out again, so I deeply inhaled the salty air of the beach to calm myself down. She was still smiling at me and for a brief moment, I thought I saw Mother somewhere hidden in the details of her face. She looked at me with a concerned look now, her smile was still there, but resting above her eyes were worried eyebrows. Her lips were moving, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. The wind was whiffling very hard that day. Impure thoughts were taking over me, as I could suddenly feel the hard punches Mother used to give me, when she caught me touching myself. I felt nauseous, at the verge of throwing up. Her warm hands were softly shaking my shoulder, her smile had disappeared and I could see her lips moving again, still no sound. 
Suddenly everything became quiet, every emotion and illness I had experienced at that moment disappeared all together in one big explosion of nothingness.  I was transcending this reality and all I saw were atoms moving. I looked at my hands again and let my cigarette drop onto the sand. I tried to lean over and pick it up again, but my hands weren't working. They mechanically were grabbing into thin air. as I stared at them. My nails were yellow beneath the black nail polish, I concentrated on the contrast between the happy and sad color. It was quite fascinating. I could see some sand between my nails, I was trying to get them out one for one, molecule for molecule. Somewhere around me I could hear a voice from far away. I couldn't place it. It sounded like a mixture of different notes thrown together into an incomprehensible frenzy. I shook my head again, trying to bind the lose letters together into a words, words into a sentences, sentences into speech. 
''A...r...e...'' was the beginning. 
''Y...o...u....'' came next. 
Are you? Am I? Yes I am, of course I am. I'm here, right here. Breathing and living. 
''O...k...a...y...'' the bag of atoms finished. 
Okay, I replied.
I felt my eyes were getting heavy, that I was drifting away from here. A warm hand was stroking my cheek, warmth was surrounding me. Even my insides felt warm and cozy. My muscles relaxed, I was closing my eyes, all the noise had stopped around me. I saw nothing, I heard nothing, I just felt warmth. The warmth was overwhelming, it felt nice at the beginning, but it was slowly suffocating me. Where was the wind? I tried moving, but my muscles felt too weak. The warmth was making it hard for me to breath, it was piercing through me. I couldn't escape it. I then realized it wasn't just warmth that was making me feel so odd, there was a bright Light burning onto my closed eyes, dragging me away from my Über-ich. I moaned, it hurt my eyes. Even closed the Light was getting through my eyelids. I squeezed my eyes, but it had no use. The Light and warmth were everywhere, it was getting inside me, making itself cozy, curled up inside my intestines. 
When I opened my eyes, I screamed at the sight of Noor.

Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 6

My watch read seven pm when we arrived at the hotel. It wasn't anything worth bragging about. A simple small hotel made out of white wood. The road towards it was pretty actually, it was a huge asphalt path that only went in one direction, so getting lost was rather difficult as long as you followed the gray path.  The first thing I noticed is the amount of space surrounding the hotel. Except for a few cars in front of the entree, there was nothing. On the left side you could see the beach. As guide had promised, it wasn't far away. 
''You can reach it in fifteen minutes,'' he told us. The sand was easily visible, but if I tried hard enough I could vaguely see a silver line, that supposedly was the sea. Tints of orange and pink were splattered all over the sky in a dramatic waltz. The sight was beautiful and I closed my eyes for a moment, deeply breathing in the salty air wanting to stay in this trance for a little longer. I then opened my eyes again to behold its beauty once more. 
''Coming here was a good idea,'' I whispered to myself. There I stood looking at the silver line and I noticed that I wasn´t the only one intrigued by this sight. None of us had ever seen the sea before, as we came from a gray city surrounded by hills and mountains. The sight of the sea was like a fresh breath of air after a lifetime of suffocation. I deeply inhaled the salty air once more. Even the fair haired girl was staring in the distance with sparkling eyes. The sun was reflecting in her pupils and brightened her porcelain brown eyes. Laugh lines around her cherry mouth completed her dollish appearance. The sight was indeed beautiful.
''Beautiful,'' I heard her mumble. Her voice sounded soft and warm at the same time. It felt so inviting and with the dreamlike atmosphere surrounding us, I wasn't if I was awake or dreaming. She had closed her eyes, the watery sun brightened her peach like skin. If I looked more closely, I could count the gold hair on her face. Everything felt warm and radiating, my normally tight muscles were slowly relaxing. My head was drifting away. I was drunk. Can a perfect moment exist? Is there a point in life where all elements in life come together to play me a beautiful symphony?  Looking at her, it did. 
Looking at her I felt my own existence sting through me. What was I in this beautiful symphony? A false not ruining the moment? I lifted my hand and stared at it. It wasn't radiating, nor warm. I ran my eyes over my arms, they were pale and skinny. The skin of someone who had been damned to live inside, never seeing the outside world. I took a closer look at my thin fingers and disgust filled my stomach. Utterly aware of my presence, I felt disgusting. I was a prime example of someone who had never experienced life. A sense of shame was warming my cheeks. The sunlight was reflecting my pale skin and exposing it to everyone. I was shining, but not radiating like she was. Why was I here again? I looked over to the other people, who were returning my glare by pointing their fingers at me and laughing. I looked down to see what they were pointing at. My skin had turned from a pale white color to a glowing light shining brightly. My stomach was hurting and my head was turning. The world had lost balance, I was trying to maintain mine by fixating my eyes on the ground. 
Je suis, j'existe, je pense donc je suis; je suis parce que je pense, pourquoi est-ce que je pense? je ne veux plus penser, je suis parce que je pense que je ne veux pas être, je pense que je... parce que...
Balance, balance, balance! 
I glanced once at the fair haired girl, but then quickly turned over and took my bag towards the driver. He turned towards me, the sight of his smile snapped me out of the moment. My cheeks were slowly cooling down, I could sense that the ground beneath me had stopped moving. The people around me had turned back to normal. The old ladies were busy taking photographs of each other, while their husbands were staring into the sunset. I couldn't spot Noor anymore, but the moment I didn't want anything more than to get out of here and isolate myself from this madness. Our guide had a worried look on his face, when he saw me. I probably must've looked like a mad woman, but I still managed to speak politely to him, so he ignored it for the rest. When I asked him when we could enter the hotel, he told me that I could come and go as I pleased as long as I didn't forget the hand in the key by reception every time I left the building. I firmly nodded. 
''Have a pleasant day,'' he said and he smiled pleasantly at me. I tried to return it, but with what I had just experienced it didn't come off as naturally as I wanted it. He didn't look too mad, so I was sure I hadn't offended him. 
I walked towards the hotel, entered the reception and got my key. Room 35A. I felt a bit tired after the long ride, so I decided to freshen up, by taking a shower. It was 7 30 pm when I finished everything. I felt a bit hungry, but I didn't feel like going downstairs and seeing the crowd again. A bit indecisive I decided to smoke a cigarette to tame my hunger. I was just hanging outside the window, not particularly thinking about anything when I heard a knock on the door. I was a bit surprised, I wasn't expecting anyone. I walked over to the door to open it, only to see that no one was there. I looked into the hallway, left and right, but there was no one to be found. I closed the door behind me and walked towards my bed. 
Although I had rested a lot in the bus, I felt very tired. Sitting beside the girl made me feel tired, as I realized the intense pain in my muscles from sitting so nervously besides her. My neck felt the worst and I tried to slowly massage every inch of my body in an attempt to loosen my muscles. It didn't do much, so I just grabbed a pillow and rested my head on it. It felt very soft, like Mother's lap. My eyes felt heavy and my muscles slowly loosened as I felt that Sleep was covering His blanket over me. 
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Another knock. If it hadn't been for my sleepy head, I could've sworn it even had the same tapping pattern. I looked upon the bust of Athena before I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door. My head peeked out only to discover, that no one was there. Again. 
I deeply sighed about to close the door, before I peeked out of the door again and looked at my left and right into the hallway. 
No one. Not a single bug was moving. I turned around and headed back to my bed and tried to lay down. My mind was at unease, my head felt heavy, but worst of all, the grunts in my stomach were getting louder and louder to point that I couldn't ignore them. Most of the time I was the type that could survive a whole day on a cup of tea and cigarettes, but the extra energy to drag myself into this place needed to be refilled. So I had no choice but to brush my hair, pack my tiny handbag en search for a restaurant. 
I reminded myself to close the door before I left and handed my keys in downstairs to an middle aged lady, who uninterestedly took them from me. 
''Thank you,'' I still said to her in a friendly manner. Before I left she gave me a map of the area, I could read all the possible recreations I could partake it. Since I was hungry I looked for a restaurant that was near the sea and walked the necessary fifteen minutes. I lit another cigarette on the way while humming a lovely melody to an old song mother used to sing:
The trees are howling and the sea is flailing foam
Collect the sea shells near the willow
And you'll find Mother safe at home
I hummed the light melody all the way to the restaurant near the beach. I had forgotten to switch my shoes for sandals, so by the time I arrived they were filled with sand. I took them off and walked over to the restaurant, while the sea was lovingly stroking my cheeks. My long hair was tangled in a big mess, so I put it up while sitting at one of the tables outside waiting for a garçon to appear. The sea looked calm and peaceful, it was silver with bright colors of the sun reflecting on the water. I could sit here forever. The sun was setting and I had ordered a soup with a some garlic bread. The soup tasted salty, it was good. After such a long day I had forgotten how hungry I actually had become, as I hastly digged in. After I was done, I lit up a cigarette and let myself be embraced by the chair as I got lost into my own world again. The sight was something that needed to be shared. It was gorgeous indeed, but knowing that you're only one seeing this made a feeling of loneliness creep on me. The moment I stopped looking, the image would disappear forever. What a pity.
"Where are you, Noor?" I asked myself. "Come and keep me company, I am lonely. I long for a friend. You were nice and pleasant, I even smiled at the sight of you. We don't know each other, we will never see each other again. But I need a friend, please come to me." I softly mumbled as my eyes closed. 
It had been not to long ago on a hot summers day, when she approached me. The wind was pleasant and made up for the severe sunlight burning my skin. I was outside the wooden cabin with a Camel in one hand and Kafka 's Metamorphosis in the other. There wasn't much going these days. The beach was empty as usual and I had again spend my days collecting seashells from the seashore. They were perfectly aligned in front of me. Some were pink, others broken white and if I was lucky, a hint of baby blue, my favorite color. In front of me on the table I had a glass of cold lemonade, while I was sitting down and looking at the my beautiful shells. My dear came to me with a troubled face. I noticed her short skirt, that emphasized her honey colored legs in a girlish fashion. She held her book tightly to her chest. I could vaguely distinguish a book title, until she presented it to me. Not that I paid attention to what she said, because, my dear reader, my mind had blanked when I saw my Muse yet again standing in front of me. And at that moment, it had seemed that suddenly the world had become quiet to honor the welcome of what seemed to be the Goddess of Extase, Literature and Love. And yes, even I, your humble writer, could feel the radiation of her light overwhelm me. My lips were dry and I had the sudden need to write a poem, no hundreds of poems dedicated to my Muse, just to describe one perfect limb of hers, but my drunken state was awakened by her tender voice whispering:
"Excuse me?" I looked up to see her sitting in front of me at the restaurant. I blinked a few times with my eyes to make sure I wasn't dreaming, but indeed it was her, Noor. 
"Do you mind if I sit here? I know nobody else here," she softly asked. My mind was blanking at that moment, I felt I was drowning in my own presence. In our presence. I nodded as answer, still in the daze of where she appeared from. I hadn't hear her approach, but still here she was sitting. I was almost sure I wasn't dreaming. I averted my eyes from her looking at the sea and shrugged. 
"Do whatever you please." I said.
We sat across each other in silent, she was playing with her blonde hair. Her rainbow backpack was on her lap, she stared at it. I was looking at the sea with my chin resting on my hand peeking at my guest every now and then. I concluded that she walked to me when I had closed my eyes for a brief moment, that seemed the most logical. Still, what was the coincidence that she'd appear when I was thinking about her. Besides that, the realness of the ''dream'' made me question how much of this was a dream and how much that was reality. I could feel the throbbing of my heart in my ears and feel it in my throat thinking about my daydream. I closed my eyes for a few second, trying to compose myself, but her voice made it difficult for me to focus on my breathing. She was softly giggling in herself and I believe she was talking to herself. I felt uncomfortable because of her odd behavior so I finally broke the silence: "How are you doing?" 
She looked up at me and grinned, I could see her crooked teeth. She only looks beautiful with her mouth closed, the moment her mouth opened the Muse inside her died.
"I'm doing great. How about you?" 
I shrugged again. "Good, I guess." I answered. 
Except for the sea howling, there was little sound. I bit on my nails while staring at the small waves being formed. The sun had almost set, the hints of pink were vaguely visible before the sea devoured them. The tension between us became stronger when the silence fell. She coughed and opened her mouth.
"Do you want to see what I've found?" I looked at her while she was opening her bag. I vaguely smiled in response. 
''You're not much of a talker are you?'' she said while she was searching inside her bag. I didn't response, instead I tried to look inside her bag. She then presented me a few small shells. Some were pink, other broken white and, since I was lucky, one baby blue. My eyes widened in surprise. 
"Seashells," I whispered. 
She nodded happily. "Yes, look at the colors. I love the pink ones, they're gorgeous, but the blue one really caught my attention. Aren't they beautiful?" 
I looked at her with big eyes, but then pulled myself together and smiled at her. "Yes. They're very beautiful."
"If you think so, you're allowed to have one. I believe this one fits you the best, since I can see you don't like girlish colors that much," She pointed at my black trousers and black T-shirt. 
I looked at my clothes and then back to her. "You are very right." I said in a friendly manner. Her hands reached towards my hand and opened the palm, she put the blue shell inside and closed my fingers around it. "For you." she said. 
I looked at the shell and then at her. My heart was pounding. Where did she find these? No, she can't know. Or does she? She was back to playing with her hair, her face was showing no emotions. My cheeks felt warm again, I took a sip of my glass of water before I decided to be blatantly honest and ask her:
"Are you here alone?" her eyes were fixed on mine and she nodded. Her face still showed no emotion. The wind felt colder than usual. 
"Why are you here?" I was shivering, I'm sure she could hear that in my vice. I scrapped my throat and sat up straight. 
She was still looking emotionless at me. Once again she managed to look down on me. Where did her bright mood go, her sparkling eyes? Her voice sounded tired, as if she was sighing than speaking every word: 
"You will laugh at me, it's very strange." 
"Give it a shot, I'd say. You have nothing to lose," I said politely. 
I could see she was hesitating, but I waited patiently for her to find the right words. She was still twirling her fingers around her hair, then moved her looked up to me and I felt like hypnotized looking in her eyes. Some strange force was keeping me from looking away. We were staring at each other for a whole minute, before she looked away and started speaking. I felt very tired. 

Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 5

''I know it's none of my business and that I have just met you, but why did you run away?'' I asked the girl with fair hair. She was looking at me intensely, her eyes wide and almost surprised. A playful smile danced on her lips.
''I´m curious,'' she said while tilting her head. ''To your answer.''
''To which question?''
''Can you tell me the resemblance between a slave and yourself?'' she asked while I turned my head to face the seat right of me. I thought for a bit and then turned to her and answered: 
''Is it perhaps that both exile themselves from freedom?''
''So I see, that's good to know.'' 
''What is the right answer?''
''There is none, it just tells a lot about the person answering it.'' she said in a playful manner. 
I smirked and softly said: ''Have I give too much away about myself?'' 
She looked confused at first, but then laid her hand on my arm. Her fingers were tiny and had a light pink glow them. It was hard resisting not to intertwining my fingers in hers and feeling the softness of her skin, but I managed. 
''You gave away just enough.'' she sounded content with my answer. I wanted to repeat my first question, but since she obviously had avoided it, I changed my focus to the conversation behind me. 
''Yes, my grandson has just finished school. He's 18, but honestly I would say he's still a child at heart. When he visits me, he can't resist saying no to the cake I give him. Did you know that it's the same cake as when he was just a small boy? Oh dear heaven, he has grown so much, but for me he still the lovable little boy he had always been.''
The old lady behind me kept going on and on talking about her grandson. The other one responded by saying something likewise about her granddaughter and it kept going on and on like this for a while. After a while I lost focus on who was whose grandmother, so the conversation turned into hugger-mugger. I lost interest and went back to looking at the girl beside me, but she was back staring out of the window with one tiny hand resting on her petite chin. The bus was driving for a long while and all the time I was quiet, while she was staring out of the window. I wish I could see what was going on inside her head, but then again I realized I shouldn’t care so much. After all, I had just met her. It was mostly her appearance that made me want to look at her, but she wasn't the first pretty girl I had ever encountered in life. Her disinterest in me made the more annoyed that she had per se chosen to sit beside me. I tried to make my mind clear by going inside my own head detached from this world. Everything needs to become objective, away emotions, away body over mind control. I need to alone. Her radiating glow wouldn't fade away as she sat still, slowly turning herself into a marble statue. She annoyed me, her presence annoyed me. The fact that she was pulling me back was annoying me. It was Mother all over again yanking at my pigtails saying I should start behaving normal now. Mother.
I suddenly had the urge to pick my pocket knife and jam into her head to see whether the stone was empty or hiding something from me. Even after I coughed a few times she didn't move so I slowly reached to my backpack to search for the tool needed for the job. I was holding the blade into my fingers and squeezing hard. The frustration of not being able to get through her gave me the extra strength to lift my hand and move it towards her small head. My eyes felt hot, my body was trembling with fury. I had her right there, she was in the perfect position for me to crack her open when suddenly the cracking voice of the intercom said that we had reached our destinations. Sound of the crowd around me woke me up from my thoughts. The knife was still in my hand, it fell out of my trembling hands onto the ground as she slowly turned her head towards me. She looked me with her watery warm eyes. I smiled at her.
Fucking hell, my head is hurting so much right I can't even concentrate. I've had my daily cup of water, why is my head bonking like mad? Oh god, what is even the purpose of this diary? I can't get myself to continue it. I have lost her already, so there is no reason in trying to build a climax to my story, the outcome is clear. Words are not enough to describe inner thoughts and feelings. When rereading what I've written so far, I feel nothing but utter frustration for not being able to justify my thoughts, my feelings, my inner desires. The worst part yet, I can't blame anyone except for myself. Is this what I've been doomed to? Not letting the world know, what I see, what I think or what I feel? This book is nothing but a vague shadow of what I once was, even now as my tears are making it hard to see what I'm writing, they seem to bring more emotion to it all than I ever could have done. Maybe I should seal them, maybe they will bring more emotion to the story than I ever could with my words. Tears are a part of me. So humane and fragile. They'll remain forever, in thought at least, but what if they dry up? The world must know what I have experienced god dammit! My pain and despair must be shown in some other way than mere ink. So cheap and forgettable.  
Dear God, I have lost my sanity, this story has to remain forever. If words won't do then maybe I should just write the rest in my own blood. Blood? 
Yes, do it in your own blood. 
Oh god, my dear you're so brilliant sometimes! Indeed, marvelous, perfect, ideal and phenomenal! I am not a shadow, I am made of flesh and blood, and that is indeed how my reader will perceive me. No they won't mock me, someone who bleeds for their lover will never be mocked. On the count of three. One...Two... Ssht... deep breath, sweetheart. It might hurt, but it will not hurt as much as you think. Be a big girl, eh? Don't cry. It will be worth it. 
Okay. Here we go. One...Two...Three. 


The sun was setting when we arrived. A cool breeze was welcoming us as we stepped out of the vehicle. It felt refreshing after such a long drive and I was more than happy that I had partaken in this journey. We had come to a nice location, it was near the sea I had been told and I could smell the salt in the air. Had it not been for that, the inhabitants clothes gave away the same impression. Simple worker clothes, that were comfortable to wear. They had wrinkles and looked as if they've been wet and sun dried a couple of times. The same could be said about the people, their bronze complexion gave away the years they've spent on sea. Although their sunken in eyes looked harsh, they pleasantly waved at us when they drove by inside their open cars filled with freshly catched fish. Very refreshing and different than what I was used to in the city.
Our bus driver was also our tour guide, he stopped the bus on a rather empty parking lot. The cracking voice of the intercom asked us to pack our belongings and follow him. Everyone seemed to be rather excited and I couldn't deny that I felt the same way. I glanced to the left of me, the fair haired girl sat up straight and was looking at me with a big content smile.
"We've arrived," I said to her and she nodded with her eyes half closed still smiling. Both of us felt rather sore from sitting so long, so I we packed our stuff and went outside. I didn't bring much with me, neither did she. Her backpack only affirmed her childish mannerism, it was pink and had a smiling sun on it. When I asked her about it, she giggled.
"It helps me to get through the rainy days," she explained. I found it bit childish, so I just shrugged, but honestly I couldn't see her with any other type of bag. 
"The hotel isn't far away, so please stay together and follow me, for those who are hungry there is a restaurant next to the hotel, so bear with me until we arrive ," the bus driver said. Someone, one of the two old ladies, asked how far we had to go. 
"We'll be there in a half hour, ma'am, but this is the closest parking lot they have. To maintain a good atmosphere, they rather have we didn't bring our vehicles too close to the hotel. So don't pass out on me until then," he winked at her and two ladies had another reason to babble away while we walked. A half hour walk, plenty of time to smoke away. I grabbed my package of Camel and was looking for my lighter.  With the cigarette dangling from my mouth I inspected every inch of my pockets, but didn't find it. I must have left it somewhere inside the bus. I sighed and raised my hand towards our guide, about to ask if I could reenter the bus and see if I had left my lighter there. 
The girl was still standing next to me, carefully listening to our guide giving some information on where we were. He wasn't paying attention to me so I was still fidgeting in my pockets, she probably noticed. A creamy white hand appeared in front of me with a bright pink lighter in her hand. Her eyes looked soft and inviting. I'm not normally the type of person who likes getting things offered by stranger, but I decided to make an exception.  I held my lips close to her hand and inhaled the smoke. 
"Thank you," I said and I nodded towards her. She lowered her gaze and even though she was shorter than I was, she managed to look down on me. Her lips were puckered up in slightly arrogant manner. 
"Don't mention it," and she looked away back to our guide. Normally I would have been irritated, but I couldn't bring myself to become mad at a child who wanted to act grown up. It was actually rather amusing when someone wants to be their ideal rather than themselves. Then again, who was I to judge? I, a refugee of the Self. I inhaled deeply as we quietly made our way to the hotel. 

Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 4

When I woke up a few days before the Big Journey, I had no idea what I would do. It had been a peaceful night, no nightmares, no dreams, nothing. At least, as far as I could remember. My eyes felt heavy as I erected myself and looked around my room. The same wooden room I had left before I went asleep. My room was small, but cozy. There was a small bed, a wooden desk that held my books and a chair. On the table there was an ashtray and a used coffee mug. Other than that it was empty. Looking from my bed there was a small window, where light could shine through and wake me up when I forgot to draw the curtains. I had forgotten to draw it last night, so the early sunlight had woken me up from my nightly slumber. I tried to lay back down, but I knew that I wouldn't fall back asleep. As far as I was concerned I had little reason to get up, but my empty stomach suggested something else. My hands rubbed all over my face before I convinced myself to get up and make my way to the small kitchen. I wasn't the type of person to eat much, but I felt that I needed to get my life straight. Not only was my lack of appetite causing me to feel moodier than usual, I also had difficulties looking at myself at the mirror. My eyes were sunken in and my face was pale. All the clothes that normally fit me perfectly were getting too big for my lean body. I looked like a living corpse. I often couldn't get myself to look decent, but the more time passed the grumpier I got looking at my own reflection. It is hard to explain honestly and I doubt it can be backed up logically, it's more a feeling of displeasure. The cherry on top of my unorganized life, I could say.  When I went to the kitchen the coffee tasted more bitter than usual, but I still drank it. I took some toast and put some butter on it and forcefully fed myself. Eating away I looked out of my small kitchen window. There wasn't much to see. The early mornings of the suburbs were quiet, everyone was fast asleep except for me. Looking at the clock on my kitchen wall I saw it was just 5:15 am. A sigh slipped over my lips. How extremely bored I was, dear reader. This wasn't the usual boredom I felt every other day after Mother had died. It was a deep gnawing feeling of discomfort. It's like when you hear an annoying buzzing noise, first you ignore it, then you notice it, then you can't hear anything else and finally it's pounding inside the deepest part of your brains. And that was exactly how I felt, life felt like a parasite manifested inside of me. I couldn't keep up how many days had passed in this manner. This endless pattern, a cycle of life that refused to come to a merciful end. Oh, I was so sick and tired of the same old bitter coffee in the morning, the sight of the gray buildings that didn´t reflect the warmth of the sunlight. My little cozy room felt more like (as cliché as you might consider it) a prison. I had seen it all. Every book in the shelf had been read, no cup had remained untouched, my fingers had counted every centimeter and millimeter of this house. This world was getting too small for me, so extremely small I could easily fit it inside my pocket. Suffocating even. Yes, that´s the essence. Suffocating, drowning. Drowning in this timeless realm of endless repeat. 
I inhaled the bitter smoke of my cigarette and ticked it off in a gray ashtray. How extremely bored I was, but worst of all, I was too lazy to do anything about it. What's the point? Is there ever going a drastic change in my life at this point? I have had my childhood, I've been to school and I've worked for quite a while. All of it felt empty and was just the same endless repeat, but in a different form. And now at the marvelous age of 42 I had blatantly given up.  I convinced myself I was happy when Mother had just died, but honestly speaking, did I ever have another choice? This is the path Life has chosen for me, whether I liked it or not. I couldn't do anything, but be happy. Where was Mother when you needed Her? She could have lend me a hand, pushed me over the edge. Finally get me to do something with myself, even if it was useless, She'd give me the illusion it was not. Right then sipping away on my bitter coffee in loneliness I felt like an orphan of Life. Nothing seemed to satisfy me in the slightest. Even worse, I felt empty and joyless. Sucked and drained. I barely had enough energy to enjoy anything, but just enough to spend my nights contemplating and worrying. Wasteful nights if you ask me.
I knew that escaping and isolation were meaningless, but what else was there in life?
Growing up and facing the challenges of a possibly meaningless and empty life, yet giving our all to it?
Amusing if you asked me, for I couldn't judge whether that was genius madness or ordinary madness. These had been my thoughts for the past years after Mother had died. 
However that day, I saw things in a different light. The stains on my coffee told me it had been enough. The sunlight was almost blinding when it shone inside my house. Everything had a surreal and absurd atmosphere to it. It looked mad, I looked mad for wanting to stay here. My oversized clothes were suffocating me, I couldn't bare to see my sickly looking face one more time, I had to leave this haunted place. Mother would not come back, I knew that for sure. This house only reminded me of her. Even though she wasn't here, I knew that it wasn't her presence that was torturing, it was also her absence. I had to get out of here, I had to escape this place. It was time for change, a new environment, a new experience. My heart was beating like mad just thinking about it. Away from this gray island of misery, on my way to something different. Not better, but different. Anything felt better than this state between death and alive. How exciting it was! I hastily threw away my half eaten piece of toast and finished my coffee before rushing back to my room. I wanted to pack my stuff while I was still motivated to do so. So, I went to my closet and looked through my stuff and threw together a bunch of clothes. Since I had little I valued as important, I was ready with packing my stuff that morning.  A backpack filled with some food, my favorite big sweater and few other clothing items. I went to the bathroom and packed my toothbrush. I knew that wherever I was going too, there would be someone who'd lend me his or her toothpaste and shampoo. Besides, I didn't feel like dragging a lot of stuff with me. While I was packing I felt I was on automatic pilot again, but it was different this time. It was like a burst of energy that never had gotten its outlet was finally expressing its true colors to me. I was enjoying every minute of this high.
When I was done packing, I still figured out I needed a destination. Although I didn't care where the wind was taking me, I at least had to choose one of the many directions possible. I knew there was a bookstore nearby I could visit. It was where I bought my books and smokes, but other than that there was also a plate on which people could pin certain ads. It varied from ads for jobs, to free film tickets, to discount on certain magazines. Every now and then there would be an ad for traveling. The destination varied, which was ideal for me. My only weak point was that I was afraid of flight, but as soon as I arrived at the bookstore my worries were gone and replaced with delight. I read there was a bus trip heading to a nice hotel near the sea. It was a group trip, but I didn't really mind that as long as I got to sit alone. I wrote down the number that was written on the sheet of paper. Later that night I called the number and a pleasant male voice picked up the phone. He asked for all my information, name, date of birth, location and age. I obediently answered everything in a cool voice. When were we close to hanging up he said he was looking forward to seeing me there, I wished him a pleasant night. The trip was in a few days and I was prepared to leave this place for a while, I wasn't even sure if I would come back. Maybe I wouldn't take the trip back and get lost in a unknown city somewhere far away, living day to day in different motels. I just had to be patient for the moment being, the rest would follow. 
The first night I mostly spend on the toilet, barfing away all my nerves. Once my stomach was empty, so was my head and I felt like a zombie. Easy chores were nightmarish and I couldn't focus on the presence. Just thinking about leaving this place made me feel sick. The delight I felt the moment I had packed my stuff was all gone. Lucky for me though, I was so worn out from all the vomiting, I didn't have the energy to reschedule my trip and unpack my backpack. So mostly spend my days in bed asleep, away from reality. Day and night were swirling around each other in a danse macabre, until finally the day had arrived. 
I woke up that morning knowing that nothing would be the same anymore. There I was sitting in my room thinking of what awaited me, but I didn't really care as long as I was leaving this life behind. I still had my usual morning routine, to cherish one last time the life I had grown tired of. Coffee even tasted unusually sweet that morning, maybe it was a good sign. I went through every room one last time, inspecting every inch of it, moving every piece of furniture one last time, before finally closing the door. I knew Mother didn't like it when her house was messy, so I wanted it to be as tidy as she remembered it the last time she had left it.  I then grabbed my backpack and closed the heavy door. Locking the door, I threw away the key in a garbage bin outside. Hastily I went to the bus stop and sat there waiting for my fortune to be written. The man on the phone had told me that we would collect near the bookstore on the parking lot. When I arrived I was the first one there. The bus stood there waiting, even the bus driver hadn't arrived yet. I sat down, smoked a cigarette and even went inside the bookstore to buy myself a cup of coffee. As time went by, I was feeling more at ease. I was looking at the bookstore while I was outside, sipping on my coffee and waiting for the people to gather. Lost in thoughts I barely heard the footsteps behind and I was startled when a deep voice began speaking to me: 
''Good day, ma'am,'' A bald man said. He was small and chubby with a big dumb grin on his face. I turned around and looked at him. His hand was stuck out towards me and I took it. 
''Welcome, you must be early.'' he said in a sheepish manner. I smiled at him. 
''I wouldn't want to miss it, so I came early.'' I answered him.
''Good, good. It's always better to be early than to be late, ain't it?'' he grinned at me and I tried to return the smile. 
''How very right you are, sir. I assume you are the bus driver, if I am not mistaken?''
''I am, but I'm also your guide, so if you have any questions, don't be too shy to ask them.'' he said
I nodded. He continued talking about where we were going and at first I was carefully listening. He said it was a simple hotel near the sea. He asked if I traveled a lot and I truthfully responded it was actually my first time alone. 
He raised his eyebrows, but then winked at me. 
''Don't worry, I will make sure it will be a memorable experience for you.'' He then kept going on and on in details about all the places he has been and how many hours he had spend inside of this bus. My concentration was fading away and I just nodded after every pause he took, making a few noises like 'hm' and 'aha' to show I was listening. My lack of sleep the past couple of days was making it hard for me to focus and honestly this guy was testing my patience. I looked behind him and saw a few more people coming towards us as he was blabbing away. 
I coughed and said: ''Would you look at that, more friends to join us in our journey.'' He turned his head towards the people. Most of them were middle aged women in hiking clothes and big Nikon cameras around their thin necks. Some of them had brought their husband along. They all wore similar clothes. A blue shirt, shorts that showed their white leg hair, a cap against the sun, socks in sandals and small backpack. Their wives were loudly talking to each other as their husbands slowly followed with their heads hanging. The bus drivers whose name I've forgotten was distracted, so I saw my opportunity to swiftly grab my bag and head towards the entrance of the bus.  Being the first one inside, it was empty. This meant I could choose any seat I wanted to, so I kept going to the back of the bus until I found a place next to the window where I could isolate myself. I sat down, my backpack beside me and looked through the window at the happy people talking to each other. I wondered what their plan was, where they were going, why I was the only relatively young person here. The sight didn't give me answer to any of these questions, so I drew the curtain and laid my head down. After a while I could hear the sound of the excited passengers, but long before the engine had started, I had fallen asleep, not knowing what my next plan would be after this journey. 

Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 3

Fate is an odd lady. She determines my path, but has also given me free will to choose my own destiny. I suppose it depends on how moody or happy She is that day. Some days it seems as if my choices, no matter how hard I try, bring me towards that which I was striving to avoid. A mean classmate, spinach for dinner or a cold bath for misbehaving. Other days I'd have the luck of coming across a dime laying on the ground waiting for me or Mr. Cat wanting to get pet. After Mother's death I believe that Fortuna had become mad at me. The structure of life is something She controls. That was what I had neglected after Mother had died. In some sense I had dishonored Mother by making my own choices. You see, I stopped being naive and altruistic and instead I became sensitive, egocentric and liberated from this world and the others like Mother, but most of all from lady Fortuna. That can't go unpunished. 
Oddly enough, rather than feeling liberated when Mother died I felt lost and scared. The first few days were wonderful, it didn't matter what I did when I did it. I was free, swimming in an ocean of Freedom. Soon enough though I had come to realize that me swimming was an attempt at not drowning. The days went by and I neglected more and more rules Mother had taught me. It was exciting at first, but when I got past that phase I understood that beyond the borders of rules and structure there was nothing. Everything was empty. Suddenly it didn't matter whether it was half past ten or eleven o'clock when waking up. Whether it was Saturday, Tuesday, Monday, summer day, Spring evening or winter night.
Time, which I had always lacked, suddenly lost meaning. It didn't matter what happened when, as long as I got it done. Even then, there was no one controlling me, so even the tasks had lost their value. And when a person loses grip on the concept of time and value of their actions, they become nihilistic bitter people, who have nothing left living for. People who see no meaning in life, someone I could have become if it was all according to Fortuna's will. I believe that part of the world is reserved for the people She wants to punish. People who can't contain their curiosity and look beyond their borders of Fate. Soon though they realize there is nothing but emptiness. Those people are damned to live with bitterness and emptiness for all eternity. Those are the nihilists of this world. I could have become one of them. Lucky for me though; Fate only works in the realms of reality, where time and determinism exist. With my head in the skies, You see, after Mother's decease I had found my escape in my own little world. The world she had forcefully pulled my out of had finally opened its gates for me once again. Honestly I was worse than the nihilist, I was indifferent to it all. Wherever the wind took me, I'd go; I couldn't care less about this world, its meaning or destiny. I didn't need this world, I had myself and my own world. That was sufficient. And being a powerful Goddess, she couldn't stand seeing me, a mere mortal, overcome the power of Destiny. So what she did was cause me to escape my fantasies that reached beyond her powers and placed something in the real world she knew my heart couldn't resist.
No writer could resist. She was a sneaky Lady and she had finally grasped me, pushed me over the edge, 
Dear reader, I am sure you are familiar with the envy of Gods and Goddesses. They do not like being ridiculed, not one bit. Whether it's intentional or not is unimportant. But my indifference went beyond the limits of shameless elation. Even then a mortal acknowledges the power of Fortuna and tries to fight it, but me. I overdid it. You could say my act of indifference was the boldest thing She had ever experienced, far worse and more shameless than She could have ever imagined. So she put a curse on me. Not in the form of hell, Devils or eternal darkness. No, if only. What a relief it is only thinking about being consumed by Darkness. Instead of darkness, she handed me the torture of human desire. Instead of hell, I received bliss.
Instead of Devils, I saw a Muse. Instead of eternal darkness, I received the eternal suffering of Light. 

Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 2

Sitting in the bus, I rested my head against the cold window. It was an ordinary September day for most people. Drops of rain were slowly falling down, my cheeks pressed against the glass and my warm breath condenses the glass. I lifted my head and wrote my name on it, carefully in calligraphy. My head felt a bit heavy, I still felt exhausted.  I must have woken up from a dream, since I could barely remember ever entering the bus. The displeased noises of the crowd must have woken me from my slumber. Slightly annoyed I twisted and turned in my chair, trying to fall back asleep and go back to my dream. Being woken up without your consent has to be the sadist in our sub-consciousness, pleasing itself by teasingly dragging people from their dream world, back to the harsh world of reality. Assholes. I rearranged my cushion, took off my black sweater because I felt too hot, but then put it back on because I felt too cold. The radio had started playing and at this point I was sure there was no way of me getting back to sleep.  After a few more minutes, I gave up. With a deep sigh I looked out of the small window to distract myself from the people talking. I was curious as to what there was outside, maybe we were getting closer to our destination.  Sadly, there was little to see except the usual sight of suburbs. We must have been getting closer, since I couldn't recognize my streets anymore. Outside I saw some green trees decorating the usually harsh ground that had turned muddy from the rain. The concrete streets were filled with cracks and mud. Everything was grey, the flats, the streets, the weather, even the people walking outside looked grey. I saw a few business men stopping in front of a stop sign, an old lady struggling with her groceries, a few middle aged women in tight clothes and running shoes. Children in uniforms were frowning as they made their way to school, I assumed. Some were shivering from the cold while dragging a broken umbrella. The rain must have been worse when I was asleep.  Since this looked like the poorer area of the city, I assumed there were no other ways to get to school instead of walking or taking the bus if you could afford it. Seeing their red faces and drenched clothes I concluded that the latter wasn't an option. There was little to see inside the bus so I rested my head against the window and stared outside. Our bus came to a stop. I saw a brother next to our bus waiting to cross the road while carrying his little sister on his back, his little feet trying to make a way through the puddles of rain and mud.  The road was bumpy and I was waiting for him to lose his balance and fall flat on the ground. The little boy was focused on the ground, making sure he wouldn't fall. The bus slowly started moving again and so did the little boy.  Soon enough he tripped over a tree branch lying on the ground and fell with his pudding face onto the ground. His short spikey hair was turning red with what seemed to be some blood he probably got from falling so hard. Fortunately he served as a cushion for his little sister, who quickly stepped away and tried to help him get up; helplessly she looked around, when suddenly our eyes met. Affright hit me like lightening when I saw her mouse-like beady eyes. 
I quickly turned around pretending to have seen nothing. I even drew the curtains, in case I saw her little rat eyes again. Lucky for me, the bus had driven away from the incident, so I felt at ease again. I dwelled off in my own thoughts and started thinking about how funny it is that some snails have houses and some don't. A bit like me, maybe if I'm lucky I'll find myself a house in the rain. 
I rested my head against the chair. The soft sound of the radio was playing, I heard some vague Portuguese lyrics, but my mind was too blank to concentrate, if only I could fall asleep again. My head felt heavy; behind me two old ladies were complaining. I caught a few words, but my mind was too lazy to interpret the sentences. Something about the bus being stuck in the mud. I ignored the crowd around me and tried to focus on the radio that had changed to an upbeat Arabian song.  
Since I had little to do and the radio was getting on my nerves, I tried to block my mind by focusing on something else that would drown me into my own little world. So I took out a notebook and a pen and doodled a bit on the words I had written the day before. I probably wouldn't be able to read what it says, but honestly I didn't mind. I hated rereading my own works anyway, so I mindlessly made a sketch of the little pudding boy falling on the muddy road. For some reason I never had difficulties ignoring the area and people around me. Some might see it as a curse, someone who can't keep both feet on the grounds of reality, but I rather experienced it as a blessing. Or so, I told myself, because it's how I've always experienced my life. Drifting away I was caught in a landscape of nostalgia. Do you know what I mean? Those moments where reality seems to be odd and only your fantasies seem to exist. Those usually happen when I look at the sky and realize how small everything is. The world, the people, myself. ''It's all stardust in the end,'' I'd say to myself. I felt I had one of those moments, but I didn’t need to look at the sky this time. It came naturally to me.I thought about Mother. The old ladies behind me made me think of Mother, they were loud and careless about other people in the bus. They obviously didn't care for the needs of others, as long as they could shamelessly raise their voices. I didn't care either fortunately, some people are just amusing to me. It didn't really occur to me what they were saying, it was all a beautiful chaos of stardust trying to comprehend itself and the Other. I was drifting away from here. Everything seemed surreal. People were turning into atoms that could speak, I became weird. I stared at my hands while I was drawing in my notebook. The more you stare at something, the more it loses its essence and purpose. It's like stripping an object down of its many layers and seeing nothing beneath stopped functioning the more I stared at them, until suddenly I dropped my pen and was unable to pick it up without putting all my focus on every movement of my fingers. Is this how God perceives the world? Pure logic, pure movements, purity in itself without the curse of developing a habit of everything we do. 
Mother often told me that when I drifted away beyond the borders of reality, She would pull me by my hair, metaphorically speaking, back inside the cold prison bars of this world. Funny if you ask me, because when I drift away I feel more alive and aware than anyone surrounding me, but she doesn’t understand. That's no surprise I've realized after a while, no one did. Luckily for me though, she had deceased a long time ago. Or was it just a few months ago? I don't know, not that it matters anymore. It could've been yesterday and I still would have felt joyous to finally swim into this ocean of freedom. I had realized that swimming wasn't the correct word, after her death. It was rather drowning. 
It seems as if I had finally started living and yet at the same time all the given structure had been lost. It felt odd living alone for the first few days. I still hadn't become used to living life by my own, so I adapted to the rules she had given to me. Waking up at eight o'clock, brushing my teeth, making my bed, having breakfast, getting work done, eating lunch, cleaning the house, an half hour break, having more work done, dinner, bath, setting the clock for the next morning and going to sleep. Repeat. This schedule had persistently jammed itself into the inner most subconscious level of my mind. So not knowing better, that was indeed what I did for the first few days. All according to my habits. And so the first few days flew by with no changes, it was as if Mother had never left. Her ghost was always present in me to guide me throughout the day. She used to be a severe parent, always making sure my clothes were tucked in neatly inside my oversized skirt, that my hair was in a tight ponytail without any baby hair framing my face. Neatly and organized, no wits to be found.
My daily schedule was organized as if it was made by the dictator of China. For such a tight schedule, I still had the time to bore myself beyond belief. You see, spending your days studying isn't exactly the dream of any little girl filled with energy of a young pup. Lucky for me though, She managed to quickly kick that out of me. Literally that is. And I had finally bowed before Her in this master-slave relationship, in which I had accepted fate. Thus this fate became a habit, in which I became so used to my daily activities that at one point there was no need for me to think about them. This habit didn't immediately die out after her death of course, so I continued living in this automatic mannerism. 
One odd day however, I had noticed that my alarm didn't go off. I checked the clock and indeed, it was not eight o'clock. I had overslept that day an extra half hour, so in order to compensate I skipped brushing my teeth and hastily ate my breakfast and went on to my other activities. Slowly though throughout the day I had noticed the presence of somebody else. It was Me. Something inside me had burst into a flame of different colors. Colors I had never seen before. Suddenly I could see everything clear I looked around my tiny wooden bedroom realizing how empty it was. Mother was no longer here, it was only me and nobody else. I felt a bit scared, but excited at the same time. That evening I went to the kitchen and made a sandwich for dinner, something Mother would strongly disapprove of and happily ate all of it in the living room instead of the kitchen. This tingling feeling inside my stomach made me shake, I wasn't sure whether it was fear or excitement, but whatever it was, it made me feel alive. The next couple of days I slowly started neglecting more and more of her rules. I overslept, delayed work, ate sandwiches for lunch and drank alcohol at night. It felt good, no. It felt amazing. I actually don't bother to fill these pages with memories of Her, She has her own people to grieve over her loss. I have more important things to write, however I can't be more grateful for anything she has done than giving me the great gift of her young decease. Oh the joy! Oh the freedom! How I can finally be the arrogant self-centered twat I always was. 
The people inside the bus were getting noisy and I looked up from my drawing. The ladies behind me were obviously in a bad mood, their raspy voices were scratching in my ears, making it hard for me to focus on my drawing. 
''How long do you think we will have to stay here?'' the lady with the short white curly hair asked.
''This is not what I paid for when I wanted to have a nice bus trip,'' the lady with the long straight black hair said. They both sat with their arms crossed, muttering more complaints to who knows who. Obviously they had better ways to spend their times and so did I and I raised my head to see what was going on. The radio had finally stopped playing I realized and had been replaced by the cracking voice of the bus driver. 
''Dear ladies and gentlemen, it appears that we have a flat tire that has to be replaced. Please remain seated and wait for further instructions,'' he repeated this phrase one more time before hanging up and the music came back on. Bless you, bus driver. Maybe if I ask it friendly I can go outside and have a break from the noise around.  I discussed with myself whether I should remain seated and get some sleep or get off the bus to smoke a cigarette. The itch in my throat suggested the latter and I lifted myself from the seat towards the bus driver. He nodded when I asked him if I could go outside, but warned me to stay near. 
''I understand, sir.'' and he opened the door for me. I saw that the heavy rain had stopped, a fresh breeze of wind was blowing through my hair. Pleasant, I thought to myself as I inhaled the smoke of my cigarette. There was nothing special to see, or so to say, nothing that I hadn't seen before. Mountains turning into smaller hills. Green landscape that had turned muddy. Here and there I could vaguely distinguish a few wooden houses, but other than that it seemed to be a rather abandoned rural area. There was nobody to spot either, so I enjoyed these few moments of loneliness before I had to go back inside. The silk scarf I was wearing however didn’t help much against the wind. That was fine by me, if I had to choose between death by heat or death by cold, I'd certainly prefer the cold. The feeling of being numb before turning into a great pile of nothingness was a great metaphor to end life on. With a last deep breath I exhaled the smoke and turned to get back inside the bus. 
When I got on people were chatting. Not just with the person besides them, but some were leaning over their chair talking to the strangers behind and before them. Being stuck in the middle of nowhere brought out the social creature inside of us apparently. I looked over to my seat and frowned. Someone was sitting on my spot. It was a girl. She was young and she was wearing a short skirt showing her milky thighs. I felt uneasy approaching a stranger, especially asking them what they were doing on my spot. Not only that, but she was arrogant enough to take my spot next to the window. Awkwardly I stood next to her and waited for her to notice me. She was staring out of the window, the sun was shining vaguely, but enough to bring out her hellish blonde hair. Her face was flawless, which was unusual because of her premature full body. 
''Hi.'' I tried, but she was staring outside the window not answering me. I felt irritated by her rudeness and loudly coughed. This finally seemed to grab her attention and she looked at me. Her eyes were wide and bright blue, soft and tender. She smiled at me, some of her teeth appeared to be missing. 
''Yes?'' she asked in a high pitched voice. I was a bit startled by how nice she answered me. I scraped my throat before answering, almost immediately regretting my passive aggressive behavior. 
''Do you mind if I sit here?'' I asked as neutrally as possible. 
Her eyes widened and she looked surprised at me. 
''Oh fuck, I'm sorry. Did I take your seat? Well, I'm sorry.'' and she lifted her hourglass body towards me so I could make my way towards the window.'' I was pleased by her kind intention, but refused. It seemed she needed the mindless out of the window staring more than I did. 
''No, no. It's fine. I'll just sit over here.'' and I took the seat beside her. She seemed to hesitate at first and opened her mouth but then just nodded and turned her head back to the window staring away. I did the same and looked at the ceiling and sighed. People around me suffocate me. 
It was quiet for a full half hour, I wondered whether she had fallen asleep or was still looking out of the window, but I didn't dare to look to the right, afraid she might catch me looking at her, so I just rested my head on my chair and stared at the ceiling. Finally though the engine indicated that we could get back on the road.. ''Ladies and gentlemen, the tire has been fixed. We will arrive at our destination in approximately two hours. Thank you for your patience.'' the bus driver's voice cracked. I heard the approved mumbles of the old ladies behind me. ''About time,'' one sighed. 
The rest of the trip went by quietly but at one moment I could sense her looking at me, I pretended I was deep in thoughts. At this moment it was enough that she had taken my seat, I didn't want her to occupy my thoughts too. Her high pitched nasally voice however made me look over to the side as she said: ''I'm Noor and I ran away from home. Who are you?''
Through the window the sun was shining. 

Diary of a Certain Lady: Chapter 1

Light and life. A fresh breath of air in the midst of the smoke. I was suffocating, but she entered the flames and showed me light.  Her name reflected her essence, as if it existed solely to be associated with her. I often pondered what came first, she or the word. 
Noor.
These four letters signify my desire, my lust, my passion and grief. She was always shining beside me; while I was her humble shadow following her to wherever she took me. I am not much of a follower, instead I am and have been alone until a flash of light broke through the clouds and shone me the emptiness surrounding me. I had no need of a companion, so I thought. It is difficult to miss what one has never experienced before, you see? Loneliness. This loneliness began as my journey towards the end of life, never looking back or besides me, just focusing on going forward. There wasn't much for me to live for anyway, I had no one besides myself. The best thing to do, so I thought, was to just go towards Death rather than Him encountering me. Thus I spend my days doing the usual empty headed things every human around me did. I woke up at eight o'clock, I ate, I interacted with the world, I smoked, I worked, I drank. The usual. After a while these acts of life become a habit, in which your mind stops working and you become one with the world surrounding you. And with that time passes faster and faster. Not having to think about what you need to do put me on automatic pilot, there I was acting in front of the world, but never really present.  Maybe that's why I have difficulties recalling what I did before the Big Journey began. It is as if someone is asking me to remember a dream, I can describe it, but when I think I have gotten to the climax of the dream, it slips out of my hands into an unknown unreachable place. Mostly because there was no climax, which left me half lingering in emptiness. It probably isn't worth mentioning that I have so much difficulties remembering my past life. Or even if you could call it life, since I felt mentally dead. I actually see my life divided into two chapters. One named Darkness and the other named Light. The first has to remain in the darkness, where it belongs, where no one can see it. Why you ask? Because this diary is dedicated to my Noor. And where there is Light, all Darkness has no choice but to disappear. The other chapter must be mentioned and shown to the world to shine brilliantly, to make every inch of Darkness disappear, She burned inside me, as a writer. I long to make her immortal in my diary. 
Dear reader, who you are or might have been, let it occur to you that I have begun my diary with the name that has turned me into a sinner of passion and lover of ecstasy. This diary must not be taken lightly, no matter how reluctant you are of me or of this diary. Dear reader, I beg you, let the world know to whom I have dedicated this diary. Grieve over it, laugh over it. Experience my feelings along the way. Even make filthy remarks towards me and only me, for I am the one who has been cursed. Now it bears no importance anymore, but mind me, the foul creature, whom no one deems worthy any longer, for I have suffered for her. The least I ask is to pity me. You may even make blames towards me, dear reader, since I know it is in the essence of a human to judge someone’s choices long after the consequences have presented itself in front of them, me, a miserable person. Then frown and chuckle, knowing what they would have done in my place, had they been in my place. Always better, always wiser.
Do all of this, I have lost my feeling of dignity long ago. It bears no importance anymore. But let my Light become a lullaby for those who have not been born yet, the least she deserves. And let this become my story, the last one I will ever write, for when I have lifted my pen from the last letter, my suffering will finally stop and the thoughts of my Muse will die with me.

Zeikwijven

Is het niet grappig hoe overgevoelig onze generatie is geworden? Je bent op social media, je bladert door alle commentaar en je leest: "Not all [insert noun] are like that." en "What you're saying is wrong, because I am not [insert noun/adjective]." of de altijd amusante: "omfg u fucking gayfag go kill urself lol." (Beautiful) 
Niet is het mogelijk om ergens commentaar te leveren, zonder iemand ergens op de wereld op een bepaalde manier te beledigen. Zelfs de kleinste negativiteit vindt zijn weg naar een individu die het toch op een zodanige manier jan opvatten dat hij of zij zich persoonlijk aangevallen of beledigd voelt door de (vaak) algemene strekking van iemands opinie.
Of het nu een positieve intentie heeft, zoals het bekende One Direction nummer "You Don't Know Your Beautiful", maar een klungelige uitvoering of een negatieve intentie (waarbij de persoon haat en/of verdriet wil zaaien), van een ding ben ik zeker overtuigd. 
De mening van de massa verspreidt en is prominenter aanwezig dan ooit in de geschiedenis. 
Ziet u, beledigd zijn is een luxe die we met trots moeten mogen dragen. Het is het resultaat van een eeuwenlange strijd tegen de mensheid en de mening van de minderen. 
Als ik de geschiedenis bewandel, bemerk ik de feodale strijd tussen de onderdrukte werker/slaaf/arbeider tegenover de vetgebuik te Kerkelijke Instanties/koningen/heren. De privilege om beledigd te mogen zijn is een die machtsverhouding vertoont. Gezien de historische ontwikkeling, kan je stapsgewijs nagaan wie het waren wiens mening enige waarde bezat om beledigd te mogen zijn, en zij die niet het recht hadden beledigd te zijn, maar enkel gebukt leden aan hun tekortkoming hiervan. 
Gezien het feit dat ik 'De Tweede Sekse' van Simone de Beauvoir lees, is de positie van de vrouw het eerste wat me te binnen schiet, terwijl ik dit uittyp. 
We gaan even naar de man/vrouw verhouding anno 1900-1940.
Bijvoorbeeld, de man was het hoofd in het gezin. Zijn mening was wet, hij was immers geleerd, ervaren en kundig in het leven. Ook verzorgde hij dat er brood was op de plank en dat zijn achternaam gedragen mocht worden met enige mate van trots door zijn kinderen. 
Hij mocht dan wel niet vaak thuis zijn,  maar zijn bijna vergoddelijkte gezag zorgde ervoor dat hij uiteindelijk het laatste woord had in het gezinsleven. De moeder was uitvoerder van deze ideaalbeelden en functioneerde bijna machinaal in haar plichten om deze verwachtingen tot uitvoering te brengen. 
Kwam er een moment waarop zij niet haar taken goed uitvoerde, dan was dat een reden tot belediging voor de echtgenoot. 
Zij het, omdat ze niet goed gekookt had, of omdat de kinderen ongemanierd of vies waren. Of misschien, omdat haar prestaties in bed ervoor zorgde dat hij zijn gezicht keerde naar een andere vrouw.  
Ach ja, wat wil je dan ook in die tijden als vrouw? Er was weinig steun voor je, zowel maatschappelijk als persoonlijk, omdat de vrouw meende dat ze in haar vrouw en moeder zijn gefaald had. 
Wat een schaamte en ellende! De man was ontevreden en boos. "Mijn verwachten zijn niet uitgekomen, omdat jíj je plicht niet hebt gedaan," bromt hij.
Vooruitschakelend naar 110 jaar later, bemerk je dat dit een zin is die ieder zichzelf mag toeschrijven wanneer hij of zij conflict ziet in diens verwachting versus de realiteit. 
Een privilege, waarbij je idealen mag hebben, dromen mag hebben, meningen mag vormen om de realiteit, omdat je denkt dat jou mening enige grip en kracht heeft op de realiteit zelve. 
Een victorie noem ik het voor de democratie.
De zeikwijfjes van nu, die alles zo licht en persoonlijk opnemen, zijn de resultaat van een eeuwenlange dialectische strijd tussen privilege en gehoorzaamheid. 
Gelijkheid zegeviert, niet langer is het nodig om 'iemand' te zijn om een mening te vormen. Ieder maakt deel uit van de maatschappij en ieder mag zijn hand uitrekken naar het middelste deel van de kring om een bijdrage aan deze saamhorigheid te leveren. 
The downside however is also a fact. 
Het is een zegen dat gelijkheid in de Westerse wereld geleid heeft tot een gevoel dat ervoor zorgt dat ieder kan beschrijven als: "Ik doe ertoe, mijn bestaan is niet stom of waardeloos. Ja, ook ik mag iets te zeggen hebben. No matter how stupid, at least I'm trying to be someone."
Dat is erg mooi natuurlijk, de negatieve kant echter is wel dat het soms lastig is om met een dergelijke privilege om te gaan.
De kern van democratie bestaat eruit dat het volk recht van spreken heeft. Echter, wanneer dit het geval is, gaat de unanimiteit verloren. Een zee van meningen overstroomt ons, vaak komt men tot consensus, maar vaker is dat niet het geval en valt de democratie uit elkaar in kleine feodale groeperingen. 
De goddelijke gezag van de koning mag dan weg zijn, maar het feodale denken krijgt een nieuw hoesje. Eentje waarbij een idee wordt aanbeden (vaak met een vriendelijk kijkend persona aan verbonden die de fysieke manifestatie is van een groepering.)
Gelijk zijn vervalt in gelijk krijgen, waarbij men streeft naar de unanimiteit van een groepering in plaats van de unanimiteit van het volk.
(Zie bijvoorbeeld extreme atheïsten die elk vorm van religie met kracht willen verbannen, of juist de racistische groeperingen die vinden dat buitenlanders banen stelen etc.) 
Een schreeuw vraagt om reactie, maar nu zit dat anders.
Anders dan voorheen, wanneer de het beledigen van bijv. protestantisme in Nederland gedurende het schrikbewind van de Spaanse Inquisitie de toorn van Filips II opriep en dit leidde tot massa executies, krijg je nu een tegenbeweging. 
Eentje die terugschreeuwt: "Je mag dan wel een mening hebben, maar het is niet absoluut! En mocht dat wel zo zijn, dan heb je geen recht om mij te doen buigen voor jouw idealen, wanneer de mijne ook mij heilig zijn." 
Dus wat kan men tegen dergelijke gevolgen doen? Wat is de oplossing tegen het wederkeren van een potentieel neo-feodalisme, waarin idealen vergoddelijkt worden in een democratie? 
Misschien ligt het antwoord wel in het woord zelf. 

"Democratie." 

(Bron: wikipedia) 

Democratie is een bestuursvorm. Het Nederlandse woord[1] stamt af van de Grieksewoorden δῆμος (dèmos), "volk" en κρατέω(krateo), "heersen, regeren" en betekent dus letterlijk "volksheerschappij". Dit houdt in dat het volk zelf stemt over de wetten, zoals in hetoude Athene, of het volk verkiest vertegenwoordigers die de wetten maken, zoals in België en Nederland. 

Volk wordt als gemeenschap beschouwt, het is een gezamelijk gelijkwaardig lichaam. Wanneer een deel de ander pijnigt, pijnigt indirect zichzelf. De tijdelijke overwinningen van iemands mening zijn de gevolgen van jaren van onvrede niet waard. Een volk wat maar voor een deel gelukkig is, is geen volk meer. En zeker niet een volk dat gezamelijk regeert. Neo-feodalisme is de zorg van de toekomst die grappig genoeg erg simpel opgelost kunnen worden. 
Schreeuwen voor rechten die evident zijn (ze zijn gebonden aan je vanaf je geboorte, waar maak je je druk om?) hoeft niet. Eigenbelang kan geen plek hebben in de maatschappij wanneer je als bewoner merkt dat het geluk waar je voor streed voortkwam uit egoïsme. 
Een egoïsme dat gebaseerd was op het behalen van jóu idealen met de medemens als middel en jij als centrum van je verlangens.
Hoe goed kan een volk zijn dat enkel drijft op eigenbelang en uiteindelijk de laatste klap van onvrede zelf moet verwerken. 
Korte termijn denken is schadelijk. Het maakt je een volger van je instincten en sluit je op in je eigen lichaam.
Terwijl ik wil zeggen, kijk over je schouder. De wereld is groot en ligt aan je voeten, wat een zonde om dat niet te delen in eenheid. 
Er is zoveel meer dan die microscopische kijk op een punt, alles is groter en complexer dan de grenzen van jouw waarneming. 
Waarom dat als ultiem nemen? 
Ik stap achteruit wanneer ik overweldigt wordt door een mening en haal diep adem.
Sterke meningen komen niet voort uit een vertrouwen in hen, maar juist in een onzekerheid dat ze misschien nooit zullen kunnen waarkomen of misschien verwoest kunnen worden. 
Maar agressie is het laatste waar je als een volk naar wilt werken. Het doel van democratie was de vrede handhaven en tevredenheid van ieder. 
Tevredenheid zal dan moeten voortkomen uit het verminderen van onbereikbare idealen in ruil voor het welzijn en innerlijke rust van allen. 

Telefoon Verslaafde

Ik maak me zorgen om mezelf te laatste tijd. Ik schijn een leven te lijden waarin mijn mobiele telefoon zo vast aan mij zit als mijn ledematen. Een verlenging van mijn hand, maar dan in parasietvorm.

Een schijnleven, zou ik het haast willen noemen. Eentje waarin het opeens lijkt dat ik besta uit likes, comments, berichten, alles wat mijn aandacht kan trekken.

Cliché natuurlijk, aangezien het erg makkelijk is om het gebruik van een mobiele telefoon af te zeiken.

Nee, dat wil ik niet. Ik realiseer me al te goed de positieve kanten van een mobiele telefoon en van die positieve zijdes de enerzijds pragmatisch en anderzijds amusante kant ervan.

Hoe naïef van velen dat ze denken dat een telefoon bezit over hen neemt, alsof hun wilskracht wegvaart omdat ze een verslaving beginnen te vormen. 

Nee, ik ben hier om mezelf de volledige lading te geven. Inderdaad ben ik het die de actieve houding richting deze verslaving heeft gevormd. Om dan passief op mijn rug te liggen en te wijzen naar een intentieloos apparaat, alsof het in zijn essentie zit mij verslaafd te maken, is nonsense.

Ik weet dat ik niet een moment kan zonder eventjes naar nieuwe meldingen, berichen, filmpjes te kijken. Al te vaak voor een nutteloos doeleind, waarbij ik zaken die er werkelijk toedoen uitermate verwaarloos.

Nu vroeg ik mezelf om half drie 's nachts, waar is het goed voor? Deze eeuwige cyclus van like, comment, antwoord. Like, comment, antwoord. Like, comment, antwoord.

Like. Comment. Antwoord.

Ik word moe en chagerijnig, mijn werk krijg ik niet klaar. Mijn telefoon vervloek ik, ook al hij heeft geen enkele actieve schuld. 

Nu ik op lege maag, drie uur 's nachts vermoeid wegtype realiseer ik me hoe leeg het is om niet telkens erkenning van de ander te krijg over je bestaan.

Men meent vaak dat eenzame mensen verscholen zitten in het donker, klaar met de wereld, geen behoefte aan sociaal contact, terwijl wij in werkelijkheid niks anders willen dan dat, maar het nooit op een zodanige manier krijgen dat bij ons past.

Ik weet deze cyclus van korte erkenningen op een gegeven moment hun betekenis verliezen, de eenzaamheid zal terugkeren en al het toen gewenste sociaal contact zal degraderen tot een grote bol grijs waarin elk gezicht tot een onafscheidbaar geheel samenkomt. 

Wat dan? Heeft het dan zin om schuld te geven aan een machine? Terwijl het verlangen naar erkenning van binnen komt?

Of is het tijd om eindelijk rust te vinden in stilte, in gedachtes en donker? Daar kan ik me niet meer verschuilen voor mezelf en is het nodig om te confronteren wat er te confronteren valt. Of voor jou een manier om te confronteren, wat er te confronteren valt. 

Dat gezegd hebbend, ik neem morgen afscheid van mijn dierbare telefoon.  Kon ik maar zeggen dat het fijn was zolang het duurde, maar genieten van illusies is genieten van kersenlikeursmakend vergif.