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[ Wednesday, November 17, 2004 ]

 

"And now again I've found myself/So far down, away from the sun/That shines the life away from me"

I don't understand it. I get so frustrated. If I were doing well in just one of my classes, I wouldn't be as upset, because that's something to point to and say, "Hey, at least I'm doing something right, and maybe if I spend less time on that class and focus more on the others, I can do well in them too." But to suck at all of them...man. It's like every time I get semi-motivated, something has to bring me down. Ever since this summer it's been like I've been failing everything nonstop. I can't do anything right anymore. I'm sick of school. I don't want to admit it, but I just don't think I can handle school right now. I figured that it was a way for me to get away, have something to do, something to focus on and put all my energy towards. But it hasn't been that way.

I still think way too much. Contemplate. Stress. Cry. It's draining. A week or so ago, I had a blast from the past. One of my friends contacted me after six years. We had lost touch when both of us moved. I was beyond surprised when I received her email. I was pleased and curious, but I have to admit that I was a bit worried as well. I don't want to revisit those memories. That was an especially bad period in my life. The timing of this is so ironic. It's like when you're already down, life knows how to kick you in the stomach just for good measure to make sure you'll curl up into yourself even further.

On another subject, I see that she's interested in him. She's getting deeper and deeper into it. It's innocent, I suppose; he tutors her when she needs help, but it's obvious to the both of us that she's motivated by more than that. I'm in no position to give her advice, yet I try to warn her...about how he seems like a good, nice brother, and initially it may feel great and that I sincerely hope that insha Allah it works out for her, but that if it doesn't, there are heavy emotional consequences and that's something to keep in mind. She understands. But she's already too deep in.

Yesterday I was thinking about my own experience with love. I thought about how love makes one feel so alive, energized, beautiful, protected, shy, and hopeful. About how hearing one name mentioned makes one blush and grin in a way that tells it all. How you think about that person a thousand times throughout the span of one day and wonder if they're also thinking about you. One minute conversations that you replay in your mind. Analyze every single moment. Every reaction. How you pray for him more than yourself, wishing him the best in this life and the next. Hoping for a future together. Long conversations. A family. Sharing. Seeing the beauty in it. So clear and reachable.

But love is more complicated than that. There's always the flip side. It can make you feel more alone than you ever were before. It makes you weep and scream without embarrassment in frustration when you're alone. Always questioning, "WHY?" You feel cold inside. Revisit those memories and they've lost their shine. Ruined. Makes you angry at moments, when you feel like violently lashing out, most likely at yourself because you're the easiest target and you end up hating yourself. But love is more passive than that: It can make you feel so weak and vulnerable. To the point that you feel emotionally crippled and can't find the energy to move. Or get out of bed in the mornings.

How do I explain that Ramadan didn't do much for me? How can I explain that it all blurred into one continuous day, not giving me a potent enough dose of the medicine I need so badly. And I must wait now, patiently, for another year to pass. Will I even make it? "Eid Mubarak," everyone says, and all I can do is give a weak reply, inwardly feeling sick. "Doesn't it feel weird to be able to eat again?" they ask, and I nod. But it doesn't. Because it didn't feel as if I was truly fasting in the first place. Ramadan fled from me before I even had a chance to breathe and take it in.

I miss everything.

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