Passive Agressive State of Mind
I am living out my own passive aggressive phase of life, admittedly i would've preferred having it sometime other than my prime 20s.
Did I experience anything worth chronicling during these 7 months?
Well, depends, on how u identify experience... I have definitely changed many lanes, I have been in and out of many situations, and had chances to meet brilliant people, and communicate with individuals who have been idols for me throughout my life. I've started a real university life again, I am handling Ghurbeh on my own, I have written many comments and taken part in many debates, I have laughed a few times, I have danced till my legs literally gave up on me many many times, I've thrown up tequila shots many more times than I can remember, I've read some of my favorite literature so far... yet.... I still come back to this futon everynight, and stare at my laptop with expressionless eyes.
How much did all these experiences change me? how much did they push me forward or backwards? not a single inch, I am still at the same place I was at a certain moment 7 months ago. It's like I am frozen in time.
Maybe I should add that to my definition of Frustration.
It's not even that, it's not even that I am frustrated or unhappy, I am just, at this moment, utterly Nothing.
I feel like my own biological clock is slowing down day by day.
This blog has been a mirror of this pathetic state of mind, with the most repetitive, boring and meaningless posts I've ever written. I look back and I realize I haven't written anything worth reading for more than 7 months now.
This blog was, at some point, one of the many faces of me exploring the extremes, in their extremity... It was the place where I wrote the most boring story ever, it was where I cried out my insides time and time again. Now it's just like my insides, just like my GV Roundups, just like my Syria, just like my Absolutes, frozen, with a passive aggressive look on its forehead.
Why am I writing these thoughts?
Because, for the first time in a long while, I felt real pain this week. The kind of pain that paralyzes you, and in the same time electrifies ur brain, it has been a while since I admitted to myself a painful thought.
What happened last week in Syria, brought back so many flashbacks and thoughts, dreams and hopes, so many friends, and so many slogans, so many nights we spent on the streets, walking and laughing, and making plans for our Syria, days that seem so distant now.
Flashbacks of when my vitals mattered, of when I was able to taste food, of when I enjoyed a good meal, of when vodka was not just another alcohol. Of when I wrote passionately about me, about life, about everything, when writing used to fire up bottled emotions, when they'd make all these bubbles explode inside of, with a hysterical cry, laughter, or simple exhaustion, when I used to write about love... of days when I loved with every instinct I had, whether it's a beautiful city or a gorgeous lady, a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean or the taste of freshly baked warm bread at 5am, whether waking up at 4pm and staying in bed until 7pm, or waking up at 6am and watch sleepy Latakia wake up little by little... whether Fairouz, Ziad, Radiohead or just a random MTV show buzzing in the background, I miss the small details I used to fall in love with.
I miss the days when we were allowed to hope for a new Syria. I miss the rush that used to run through me when I walked through the streets of Damascus, not even paying the slightest attention to all the ugliness surrounding me, because it was simply, temporary, my country had a chance to be reborn.
I will go through my passive phase, but who will bring back my home? who will bring back my eternity? and who will bring back Summer 2004 in Latakia, and Summer 2005 in Damascus, and Summer 2006 in Cairo... who will bring back my Syria?