آه

قضيت وقتي كله أتساءل إن كان بإمكان المرء أن يسير خلال الحياة وحيدًا بلا أهل ولا رفقاء؛ تساءلتُ فقط كي أواسي ذاتي وأشعرها بأنّنا بخير، وبأنّ هجرَنا جميعَ من أحبَبْنا قبل أن يهجرونا كان وسيظل أكثرَ قراراتِنا حِكمة… ورمَت الحياة الإجابة في وجهي فور ملاحظتها أنني جزءٌ منها، مخبرةً إياي أنّ الشوائب لا مكان لها، وأن أمثالي ما هم إلا جسور بين دنيا الحقيقيين وآخِرَتهِم.

لا يمكنني الحديث بصراحةٍ عن المشاعر التي تغمرُني كلّما جالَ في ذهني أني لست سِوى أداة.. لا يمكنني فعل أي شيءٍ حيالها سوى البكاء، وأكره كيف أنّ هذا مثيرٌ للشفقة جدًا… تمنّيت أن أكون بطل روايةٍ أكتبها يومًا، ثُم أرَدت فقط أن أكون بطلَ قِصةٍ قصيرة، ولكنّ قِصّتي مَسروقَةٌ ومُكَرّرة، لا أحداثَ فيها ولا ذروة، لا شيءَ يدفَع أحدَهم لتضييع وقته في إكمالِ قِراءَتها، ولا شيءَ يدفعني لتضييع وقتي في إكمالِ كتابَتها.

كم تمنّيتُ أن أكونَ إنسانًا كاملًا بأحلامٍ وأفكارٍ تُهِم أحدَهم، أو تُهمّني أنا حتى، ولكني وجدت الحال لا يتغيرُ مهما تظاهَرتُ أنّه قد فعل، ومهما آلمت نفسي وبكيت وصرخت لأغيّره… أمي لم تُرِدني، ولم يُرِدني أحدٌ بعدَها.. هل يُحزِنُني الأمرُ حقًا، أم أنّ عِنديَ بعضَ الوقتِ الذي أوَدُّ تضييعَه في تنميق صياحِيَ هذا وزَخرفَتِه كي لا يؤلمَ قارئَه، الذي لا يَقين عِندي بوجودِه؟ لا عِلمَ لدَيّ بحقيقةِ هذا الأَمر، ولا بحقيقةِ ذاتيَ التي إنْ علِمتُها زالَت كُلّ آلامِي.

تَمُرّ الأشياءُ خلالِيَ أكثَرَ من مُرورِي خِلالَها، وأغلَبُ مُشاجَراتِي مع من يُمكِنهم رؤيَتي تدور حولَ اقتناعِهم بأنّ جُدرانَ غُرفتِي، التي طَليتٌها بيدَيّ باللون الأَسوَد، هي في الحقيقةِ كانت ولم تزل وَردِيّةَ اللونِ… أحيانًا يأخذهم تبجّحهم ليزعموا أنّ الغرفة التي قضيت عُمرِيَ كُلّه حَبيسَتَها لَيسَت لِي!

تتجَسّدُ أمامي اللاجَدوى من هذه الحياةِ عِندما أنظرُ إلى يَدايَ المُرهقتان المُلطّخَتَانِ بالسوادِ، وأشتَمُّ رائحةَ الطِلاءِ النفّاذة، فقط كَي يأتي أحدُ أولَئكَ الحَقيقيينَ ليَسرِقَ منّي ما ظننتُه واقِعيَ أنا.

أراني بقعةً قبيحةً على لوحةٍ كانَ كمالُها سيَوقِفُ قلبَ الناظِرَ إليها بُرُهاتٍ إنْ لم أكُن هناكَ لأشوِّهَها وأُنقِصَ من جَمالِها… ولِكن أَلي عُذرٌ إِن عُلِمَ أني فعلت هذا بها فقط لأحبِسَها مَعي في دُنياي الناقِصة، كي يتسنّى لِي النظرُ إلَيها طَويلًا كما أراد الجميعُ أن يفعَل؟ أيجِدُني أنا ولوحتي بعض من يقدّرون أنصافَ الأشياءِ بأيّة حال، ولا يتذمّرون لوجود الخِلالُ أمثَالي؟ هل سيصرخون ويحاولون إحراقيَ كما فعَلَ الساعونَ إلى الكَمالِ في ذلك الزمانِ السابِق؟ أم أنّهم سينظُرونَ إلى ألوانيَ التي لا تتماشى عشوائيتها مع تناسق الخلفيّة، ويجِدونَ ما يَجعلُها ذات معنىً يُريهِم فيها انسجامًا رغم قُبحِها الواضحِ؟

لا أدري إن كنت أودّ التأكيد على أنّ الوِحدَةَ تَروقُني حقًا، ولكن لا حَاجَةَ للكَذبِ هذة المرّة لأنّه ما مِن ناظرٍ ولا مُستمِع.. لا حاجة لارتداءِ أيّة ثياب جميلة، ولا لتَركِ أيّة انطِباعاتٍ زائفةٍ لحمايَتي.

الحقيقة هي أني لا أشعرُ بأن لِي مَكانًا بين الناس، ولا في هذا العالم، ولم أشعر بذلك يومًا.

الحقيقة، هي أني قد سئِمتُ كوني إنسانًا بهذا السوء.

آهٍ يا قلبي… متى ننتهي؟

~◊~

Art: Eleven AM by Edward Hopper.

Cracking up

If I could learn one single thing,

It would be

To only exist.

Not stone cold, or stone strong,

But unbothered by impermanence.

Unbothere by whether or not

I’m worth being loved.

Unbothered, whether

I’m worth nothing,

Or worth this whole entire world.

Is it not the hardest of skills;

To only exist?

To wait for nothing,

Just like the earth, or like the sky?

Not too warm, or too cold.

Watching clouds, watching rainbows;

Watching life and death play catch forever.

If I could learn one single thing,

It would be to never cry, and never smile.

I have grown so tired

Of jokes and sorrows

holding hands in front of me;

Cracking me up.

~◊~

Art is by Avogado6.

Robbed

Of joy, of kindness, and laughter.

Of meaning and of hope.

Of my voice, and of my shape.

A floating cloud fleetingly drowns the earth.

I run and yell but I’m a shadow

A tiny dot rolling down the meadow.

Seeing things from above makes

a huge difference.

But Noah doesn’t know my name;

I’ve been robbed of that, too.

I left my doors open, but now

The snakes are in.

I feel so sad having to kill them.

All my feared wishes incarnate.

My weird fishes, bring me ashore.

Terrified, with the lights out.

Does his love make your head spin?

~◈~

Art by Avogado6.

Gifted

Being here is my occasional reminder that…

I don’t know when I’ll stop coming back every time in hopes that I’ll feel better, only to leave feeling more distraught and unworthy. And I know, that I need to get away from here. This place needs to become out of my reach.

A hopeful, amnesiac moron; always walking back into the dark, dry cave with bright eyes and a curious heart, as if you haven’t taken this same road hundreds of times before. As if the bats haven’t eaten your physical form away ages ago.

When all is said and done, love has the strictest conditions, and every item in her closet is weaved out of smoke. Needless to say that none of them will ever fit you. When love notices your presence and realized the power she has over you, you might have to get your corpse burnt and your heartstrings sown together with the smoke to make her a new piece. You always have to compensate for what you thought was yours and took without asking.

I wonder if I’ll ever deserve to recieve even the faintest traces of love without having to pay for them in sanity points.

It makes me sad to know that we’re tied together with this chain you’ve put around your ankle from one end, and my heart from the other. I am too tired of being dragged. Sometimes it feels like the only solution would be the death of one of us, and I’d rather it be me.

Oh, mother, mother,

~♥~

Warm (Death II)

I heard the quiet steps of a small being approaching me from behind. I could easily tell who it was from the scent.

“Is everything okay, Denise?” I asked without turning to look at her.

“I… can feel my body getting warmer… and I don’t know what is happening, master.” she said hesitantly as she made her way towards me. I turned and looked over her quickly. The woman’s white, long hair was turning darker and shorter. Her frame has already shrunk considerably, and she was visibly shivering. Her skin was also starting to look more pinkish than it’s ever been, and her features were softer. I smiled.

“I’ve decided to let you live.”

“This is- Why did you do this? Do you have an idea what’s going to happen when the news are out?.. And my body, I don’t think I can survive this. I feel so much weaker!” She half-yelled, clearly angry but still sounding very confused and drained from all the sudden changes her body was undergoing.

“You need to get used to it. This is how living feels.”

“I can’t… Let’s stop this. Look, I forgave you for taking Evan. You don’t need to do this. I know you can stop this, please-“

“No. I won’t let anything stop this. It has cost me more than I could afford to lose, and now we’re here. Why do you not want it?”

“But-“

“You’re finally becoming human. Isn’t that what you kept asking for? Do you not want to survive, and be with Luna and Lin?”

“But Death, I don’t want-“

“I. don’t want to hear you,” I stated firmly, deciding to raise my voice to intimidate her. She went completely silent and looked at her own feet.

“Moments from now, you will never be able to see me again, so you better also forget all about the underworld and the elders. This is now my problem to deal with, and This is also your new beginning, Denise. Here, you don’t exist any more. I’ll leave you in the Taiga and others will find you. Please find your children and be with them.”

With that, I snapped my fingers, and she vanished.

-.-.-

I opened my eyes, finally becoming conscious, and once again getting away from all the ghosts trying to hunt me down in the Limbo. I couldn’t remember what knocked me unconscious, but I could kind of guess that I’ve been captured. Also, there was so much light everywhere, more light than I’ve seen in years, so there was no mistaking it.

Ah, The sounds, the scents, and the silhouettes I hated with passion. The higherwolrd; The elders have summoned me.

There they sat up high as usual. Ancient and ironically, mean, as usual- At least to me and the likes.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I was chained to the ground.

“Seems like he’s finally awake, huh. Who knew he’d be as much of a sleeper as the mortals he’s saving.” one of the booming voices teased from above. “Let’s begin.”

I heard three loud thuds, and it was suddenly completely quiet. The same voice went on.

“Today we’re here to decide the fate of the fifth grim reaper, condemned Archangel Augustus, also known as Death, for committing the horrible crime of protecting a criminal, and mortalizing a creature from the underworld.”

“This case is concerning a Succubus named Denise, who has started a long relationship and had two children with a mortal, clearly violating the laws of the higherworld.”

“The accused’s task as a reaper was to take the human and his children, and as a ruler of the underworld, to send off his hellhounds to find and turn in the succubus to receive her punishment. However, he has only taken the human. He then has hidden the children, and went on protecting their mother until he has finally committed the worst of his crimes, and gave her a piece of his soul to mortalize her as a means of protection from the consequences of her horrible actions. He is today presented with his limbs confined by chains of shame, to receive his punishment from the elders.” He finished, and it was completely quiet for about three seconds.

“Augustus, how can you defend yourself in front of the elders today?” another voice asked.

“I do not need to defend myself, for the only shame here is yours.”

My statement earned me the strongest dirty looks that have ever been given. I decided to go on being rude to them since I was ruined anyways. It felt like the day.

“The people of the underworld deserve to have families. Denise did nothing wrong. If an Archangel did this, according to your laws, they wouldn’t be questioned.” they were silent so I went on. “And, I regret murdering her lover because he knew she was a succubus. Now, free me so I can go on being actually useful. The souls are not going to reap themselves.”

“How dare you!”

“Disgrace!”

“Trap him in the Limbo!”

“Shame on you!” One of the elders got up and held up his wings as he glared at me, but I just knew that he wasn’t going to attack me. I was more powerful than each one of them, and they knew it.

“And so, the people of the underworld cannot have families with each other instead? Do you need a reminder of the reason why you were thrown out, Augustus? It is not wise to make such dangerous… statements here, as it might cost you your role as one of the underworld’s rulers, and this just, might be the last role you could lose, you see.” Jeremiah, the youngest of them all, said smugly.

I could tell he was trying to get me angry by hinting at my sin; the reason why he became an elder so early, and the reason I was condemned to fall. I clenched my fists, and that was when I noticed that they have so foolishly used chains made of light and not shame as they had claimed.

Of course, light was ironically the cheapest and the most abundant in the higherworld, and shame was something those of they had very little of. Too little that they couldn’t just waste it on making chains for their small court that was held every few moments.

I knew I could easily teleport, now. However, I decided not to show anything and wait for the right moment to take them off guard.

“I am only being honest.” I gave him my bitterest tone, trying my best not to show my anger and satisfy him.

“I thought you have learned the difference between being honest and being outright obnoxious after your obnoxiousness has costed you this much, Augustus.”

“If there’s anything obnoxious it is this place.” I said before I made my escape and easily teleported back to my castle, leaving a cloud of smoke and a pile of useless chains behind.

-.-.-

“Lucas!” I called as soon as I arrived in the castle. The demon appeared within seconds, looking sort of afraid since he could probably sense my anger. I spoke, and with every word I could feel my smile grow bigger, and see the demon’s face grow more terrified.

“Bring lucifer and ask him to bring his key to the Sun, and gather the demons and the hounds. Tell everyone I ask that they leave whatever they’re doing for this, and bring the other four reapers, too. Tell them we’re having a feast, an then a meeting. Tell them it’s the most important meeting.”

-.-.-

Death: https://singularit.home.blog/2019/08/23/death/

Presence

The sound of the leaves

Outside the window.

The empty, closed,

Quiet room.

The echoing, unanswered yelling,

Towards the end of the house.

The unnoticed absence

At the dinner table.

The unheard voice

Of the forgotten.

Are your presence.

Art credits: Avogado 6.

月

One month since I’ve last seen life.
Rivers of gold, and a mesmerizing gaze.
Her lips shining bright and coming close
Burning my forehead
A gentle flame of light and comfort.

It was good to know
She noticed I was missing.
Wrote me a letter in my blood,
Sending love and greetings;
Newborn laughter, and ancient kindness.

I got to meet the crimson envelope
It came and kicked
At my kitchen’s window.
The shadows, however, seized it
Before I could.

Despite everything
We can all agree
Dancing blindfolded
Wasn’t the wisest thing to do
Around the edge of a burning hole.

I cannot see him, but I can feel
His fingers around my ears
His sharp nails digging
Into my fragile paper skin
Merciless silence, as silent as I’ve always strived to be.

I can never get my torment in shape.
Not in lines, nor boxes of sound.
I have been pushed down
Deep enough to taste the earth and get
Shaped and molded by the roots within its heart.

Take me back to where it’s safe and lit.
Not having to breathe in rocks,
Nor get sent through words and thoughts
To this small hell of mind.
Miniature, spacious, hell of mine.

My bones are breaking
But all you can hear is music
So you keep squeezing
Although I’ve told you tens of times,
My ribcage Is not an accordion.

o – o – o – o – o

Birthmark

When I was a child I asked my mother what the tiny pink patch I found on my body was… She said that when God was making me, the angels thought I was so sweet that they’ve taken a small bite of my tush, just like we use our index finger to steal some icing off a cake, or taste that delicious batter we’re not allowed the freedom to just drink up.

As a child, I really liked any stories involving angels, so hearing that rendered me extremely joyous. There was also the one where they’ve given me dimples on various spots on my body because they were pinching around the squishiness of my baby self, and another in which they’d visit every now and then to share their milk rice porridge with me as I slept.

Years passed. Wonderful years during which my mother agreed with the angels all throughout, unconditionally; The years that made my heart grow so big it couldn’t fit inside my body any more.

Somewhere from there to where I currently am, the love between my mother and I was the same in quantity… However, it underwent drastic qualitative changes, and started requiring more to maintain. She started to think that maybe the angels weren’t 100% right at some point, and that was when I became determined to try everything I could to erase that doubt off her heart, and also started feeling like none of it would ever be enough.

I remember random glimpses of my life where I’d read a page of a fat dictionary each night for years, and others where I’d only get my musical instrument from under the dust or set my voice free when no one was home.

And so started a cruel cycle of trial and error; I’d spend hours with strings, needles, brushes, pieces of wood, wires, books, and a bunch of other things, not knowing if any of them would be my next useful key to the door of love.

Myself would learn a ton of things and then go ahead and make them visible to try and test the waters. The ones that worked, I’d kept out in the open and gave them freedom to play and leap around, and the ones that got me a fake smile or a dismissive comment, if not a very mean one laced in laughter, I’d hidden in the heaviest casket before throwing it to the bottom of the ocean.

And it did work.

However, none of the things that worked could work long enough, for the lock kept changing every few years, giving me more things to learn, and each time they were getting harder. I started running out of new things that wouldn’t hurt me any more than I was already, and another problem was that my heart decided to have a mind of its own. One magical night, it dove straight to the bottom of the ocean, and sought out its most favorite things ever so stupidly.

When I decided to finally do things for myself, the angels vanished from around me just the way all the love did. No one wanted to think of me as sweet any more, for I had visible crystals of salt and grains dust all over me, and my very own squad of demons had the heavy scent of their perfume lingering in the air wherever I went.

I really miss not being a useless overused joke, and I miss the time when I felt like freedom was mine and looked good on me. I miss when my name wasn’t said with shame, and when I felt like someone’s hopes and dreams incarnate. However, I am better off with things just the way they turned out to be. I am happy with knowing that this version of myself is able to be my own hopes and dreams incarnate.

More than a decade later, my birthmark is still here, but I don’t want the angels to like me any more. Their love is painful and unnecessarily expensive, and as time goes by, it’s getting more and more inaccessible and tiresome to reach. Sure, it does make me sad… Most of the time, actually. But I’ve spent enough time hating things I should love, and I’ve decided I don’t want to run after golden wrappers any more if kraft paper is what makes me the happiest.

I just want to be left alone.

♦-♦-♦-♦

5 Pancake-making hacks no one ever says aloud

Anyone who’s been cooking for some time probably knows well about the whole “finding out things along the way” story. You try a new recipe, then the next time you try it you tweak the procedures a bit, or maybe the ingredients… you fumble around a couple of times until you finally figure out the perfect way for you to do it. Here, I’ll be talking about my own (not so unique) imperfect ways of making perfect(ish) pancakes.

Last night my sister asked me to make her some pancakes, and as I worked, I found myself revising weird pancake rituals neither tutorials nor cooking books have ever told me… they were simply things that I discovered and subconsciously made mental notes about as my experiene grew. However, it is said that the devil loves to lurk within the details. These tiny rituals, I think, are important stuff without which my pancakes would end up flat, stuck to the pan, and just plain ugly.

Before I unleash the awesomeness I’ve got up my sleeve, let me tell you that it’s okay if right now your pancakes are flat, or if they stick to the pan, or if they’re anything else that you wouldn’t like them to be… and it’s also okay if you like them that way, but it wouldn’t hurt to try and improve or take a shot at some change.

Of course, my tips and tricks won’t give you some of those korean extra plump babies (they are that way because they beat the egg whites separately first, as is the case with sponge cakes and the like), but they should definitely give you something that’s as good as classic pancakes can get. So, without further blabber, here I share with you, my dear reader, the five sacred keys of pancakeness.

~♥~

  1. Don’t overmix.

    One mistake most people do with pancakes (including myself at some point) is overmixing the batter. You see, pancake batter’s texture should be very close to (and only a teeny tiny bit runnier than) normal cake batter if it should. My younger self used to think at some point that the runnier the batter the fluffier the pancakes for some reason, but oh boy did I end up with omelette-rella’s mean step sisters on my plate every time the batter was water-y.
    –
  2. “Let the batter rest!”

    *insert the “let the potato rest” meme*
    Just like you, myself, and baked potatoes, pancake batter does need to rest before you start cooking it. This gives the baking powder time to wake up and start working, and helps you end up with your pancakes a bit more plump and fluffy. However, you shouldn’t, say, leave it in the fridge to the next day… that would be just plain awful.
    I say 5-10 minutes is just perfect. You could just leave it alone as you get the pan heated and ready after mixing, maybe.
    –
  3. Ease with the grease.

    If you don’t want to end up with crispy things that are either too dry or taste like they’re coated in deep-fried stuff, you better be using just the right amount of grease for your pancakes. I say just add a couple drops of oil, or spread out a tiny amount of butter in the pan before you start, then renew that after every few pancakes whenever it goes too dry. Make sure it’s well-distributed, too. This (along with the next tip) should make any sort of pan work perfectly fine, so having a non-stick pan isn’t really that necessary (although it makes everything easier and a bit less scary, of course!). I personally keep a brush with a small amount of melted butter next to me, and I rub that around the surface of my pan gently every few pancakes; It gives me just the right amount of grease I need for nice pancakes that aren’t at all greasy nor too crispy!
    –
  4. Let the pan take its time to heat before you start.

    Ever asked yourself why most people’s first pancake of the batch it sticky and ugly? That’s usually because the pan isn’t hot enough when the batter is poured for the first time. So, letting the pan get well-heated before starting is a very good idea. Of course, I’m not saying burn the thing, but yeah you get me.
    –
  5. Cover the pan as the first face cooks.

    This awesome tip I just discovered last night has upped my pancake game to a whole new level. They used to be nice when I worked with tip 1 and 2 as well as being generous with batter, but this one made it even better. The secret is to cover the pan when you first pour the batter in, and then let the magic happen for the next 2-3 minutes. It’s very important to use very low heat, too. I think this way, the pan acts like a tiny oven, which gives your pancakes the suitable atmosphere to rise and thrive like a real cake should.
    You know you’re done with the covering when the pancake’s upper surface is bubbly and most of it not uncooked any more. After that, you just flip and leave it for another minute or less, until the second face gets her glorious tan like her sister, and you’re done, with pancakes twice as plump as usual. 😀

~♥~

6. Kingdom plantae loves you (Bonus point).

Oh, and don’t forget to eat them with fruits, of course. Syrup and/or butter (at least on their very own) are (very) unhealthy. I’m not saying that pancakes themselves are the healthiest thing, either, but at least they don’t possess the amount of sugar or fat these guys do. Fruits do love you, and you should love them right back.

~♥~

… and I’m done. Here’s a cute song to light up your nightmares, dears:

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