Shahd Alshammari's Blog, page 10

May

This is the month. This is the month we met, only so that you would start a revolution within me. Like all revolutions, it is glorified, made to look successful. But in fact, it is a massacre. The death of innocent people. The death of who I was. The death of who you were. I look at you and I can barely recall if you ever saw me as your anchor. 

And how ironic is it, that I waited for so long, waited for the yes, thinking we were longing for the same outcome. Now I know that hope dies last. 

Sometimes people can be doses of kindness, of innocence, ...

Sometimes people can be doses of kindness, of innocence, of simplicity. There is a darkness that requires a nudge, a slight movement, a whisper of hope. The surprise was in the spontaneous knock on my door, the smiling eyes, the questions unasked. 

Dark chocolate has always been my favorite. White is too sweet. But the mixture I don’t mind, like everything in life, I have to alternate. The chocolates reminded me of this. It can’t always be one flavor. And I am grateful for the gentle reminder, the attempt of getting me to stand up again. Thank you, it was “purrfect.” 

 

The taste of raw honey in my mouth. Something I hadn’t ta...

The taste of raw honey in my mouth. Something I hadn’t tasted before. My expression must have been childlike because you laughed like I was the funniest person on earth. 

“Weird. Bitter,” I commented, shaking it off. But honey has lots of benefits and is good for you, I was informed. I guess you had read it somewhere. 

You would force me, every morning, to endure the taste. And a spoon of raw honey would remind me that this was still raw love. I didn’t realize but one day I was reaching for the jar on my own. That was the moment it hit me. The death of you. 

Hepta

This is a post about reading and good friends. Or, at least, I think this is the aim of it. I can’t say yet. I am currently writing another book, and my good friend and colleague, Dr. Hend, is editing it. She will be writing the Editor’s note. So this has been an exciting project, but more about that later, or never.

Lately I have been immersed in deep thought, even more than my usual. As summer approaches, my energy levels tend to go down, the heat aggravates me, and my brain cells function slower than “normal.” With MS, we have a certain range of ability, and excessive fatigue tends to limit mobility even more. Naturally, this can be frustrating. And then there was the book. Not my book, which is still in its birthing process, but another book, a book that Hend gave me, after skimming through my poetry collection ‘On Love and Loss’ (available on Amazon) and the new book. Hend gave me an Arabic novel to read, and I remember carrying it around in my bag, buried amidst my exam papers, my Norton Anthology of American Literature, and green and red pens. The novel, which is called ‘Hepta’ or هيبتا has gained recognition and was a massive success upon its publication last year. Written by Egyptian author Mohammad Sadeq, Hepta revolves around a professor’s theory of love, love in its seven stages (which is what the word Hepta means in Ancient Greek, seven). The seven stages, as the professor Osama tells his students, are crucial for the lasting and evolving of a relationship. The stages include the beginning, the meeting, the relationship itself (honeymoon phase and madness phase), awareness phase, the truth/reality phase, the decision/judgement/choice phase, and finally Hepta, the ultimate fulfillment. I have translated the names of the stages, but I can’t do it justice.

Each chapter follows different protagonists’ and their choices, loves, and disappointments, disillusionment, and decisions. What touched me the most is one character’s journey, because I could relate to him. Like all great works of literature, the author managed to get me to say “hey, that’s just like me!” The character is unnamed, as all the characters are only given letters: A, B, C, D.

Basically, the character’s life changes immensely once he is diagnosed with a tumor at the age of 17, and he confesses his love to his high school classmate. She returns the “love” and quickly, the relationship becomes mixed with puppy love and pity love. He is left paralyzed, which changes the direction that the couple’s relationship takes. His girlfriend, being young, naive, and too innocent for a life-altering event, cannot handle it, and leaves. This is the “sad” part, but he soon realizes that love is not a need, and that people are not meant to be crutches. I won’t go into the interesting epiphanies he has, but the point is, as he evolves, so does his understanding of life and love. His disability features as part of the narrative, which was really nice to see, because most works of Arabic fiction are still hesitant to focus on a “disabled hero.”  As a Disability Studies scholar, I was on the lookout for different ideas of shame, cultural stereotypes about disability and normalcy. The character attempts to hide his disability, and does not voice it to his subsequent lovers, out of a fear of being judged, left behind. And that I can also relate to. Sometimes, people stop seeing past the disability, once it’s put out there. There is a massive fear or a crippling worry about what this disability means, how it can affect me, and if it will affect THEM (which is the funny and ironic part). From my experience, people are usually uncomfortable with disability and lack because they are not sure how to react, what they are meant to say, do, and what this means when dealing with me intimately or in a professional work environment. Ironically, I end up taking care of their fears, their lack of comfort, and try to put them at ease.

The novel’s ending left me completely shocked, and I won’t ruin it, but I picked up the phone and told Hend how much I loved it, and how grateful I was that she pushed me to read it. It was written in Arabic and colloquial Egyptian, which was extremely difficult for me to read, and I ended up having to read it out loud. I carried it with me today to work, to give it back to Hend, because I know, like most book lovers, we make sure that the book is returned in one piece. But Hend wouldn’t have it, and asked me to keep her copy. Her copy, with its notes, its highlighted passages- evidence that this is a novel that has touched her, and now it has been passed on to me, I folded its pages, and I am writing this post about it. Sometimes it takes a friend (Dr. Hend) and another friend (Hepta) to make you think about how literature still saves lives. The book made me think there are still many undiscovered phases of life and love, and many different selves of mine that I haven’t found yet.

Below: from the text itself.    

       

Experiment

The past few days have been unusually difficult. Getting out of bed, making it through another day has been sort of a hassle. I don’t mean to dwell on this. But, the point of the post, I was asked to speak about what it feels to love, and to be in love, and to be confined at the same time. To be stuck. To be stuck in a body. To be stuck in space. To be disconnected. This was a very experimental type of performance, no real style, and the audience was very open and receptive. I worked with a wonderful Yoga instructor and dancer, and she felt that the words resonated within her. I did it for fun, mostly. And I chose the words that were mainly about you.

Sometimes, I think the words bring us closer. Sometimes, I think the words can reach you. Do you still believe? I want to know.

 
  

 

 

http://www.artparasites.com/when-a-wr......

http://www.artparasites.com/when-a-writer-falls-in-love/ 

Falling in love with a writer and the way it happens. We love differently and break differently. 

   

 

“How do you like your eggs?”“I love them all, can’t deci...

“How do you like your eggs?”

“I love them all, can’t decide. But poached is difficult to cook.”

“I’ll do it, it’s simple,” you replied. 

What you don’t know, is that I was mesmerized. What you don’t know, is that I was making a mental note of this morning, the morning you cooked me something. You knew I loved breakfast. 

I ate the eggs, but watched you instead. I didn’t want to look at my plate, afraid of missing the moment, of watching you watch me. It was as though this was my first breakfast, first taste of eggs. I could say I miss breakfast with you, but I would be lying. I miss knowing you’ll be the first word of the day, the first breath, the first breakfast, and marking another day knowing you woke up. Still alive, still here. 

I don’t eat breakfast most of the time anymore and there is a ghost, with a pair of hands, making me a sandwich, insisting I take it with me. 

We didn’t get to be together, but we never separated eith...

We didn’t get to be together, but we never separated either.

 

And that night around twelve AM.. Me, shivering, afraid, ...

And that night around twelve AM.. Me, shivering, afraid, exposed, vulnerable. You cradled me and rocked me back and forth, telling me it’s supposed to happen this way, that we have been here before, that there is a history of lifetimes, and that you were real, not a figment of my imagination. 

Cake and rose petals on the floor. Your jaw dropped. I saw the child within you. I didn’t think the child could stab me. 

“Hearts aren’t handcuffs and people aren’t prisons. When ...

“Hearts aren’t handcuffs and people aren’t prisons. When you feel it’s time for you to leave, you leave. You neither need to wait to be released, nor ask for permission.”

“If you’re with her and you wish you were elsewhere then leave. One of the cruellest things you can do to a person is make them feel like home when to you they’re only temporary. We all deserve adoration and undistracted attention. We all deserve to feel complete. If you can’t give her your whole heart, then don’t you dare hold it hostage.” 

And as the author says, being held hostage isn’t right. I have realized that people are beyond cruel, and they will keep you dangling, hostage, a puppet, only for their satisfaction. I have heard the words “but I don’t want to lose you” .. Yet the contradiction lies in the question, but what have you done to keep me?