taking the midnight train to anywhere

it's music slash photos time!!!!

with a quote or two.

i don't want to waste my good quotes on this post cos i'd rather use photos i didn't take for that!


so i recently turned a bunch of my pictures into polaroids.

i think they look much better this way, but i still want a real polaroid camera.

i still want to take a photo that will take my breath away.

if you're interested to see what these looked like before i edited them, let me know.

and if you want to see more of 'em, let me know.

** p.s. blogger totally butchered the quality of these photos. must they be so small?! and when you click on them, must they be SO large?! i'm sure there's a way to fix it.... but i'm technologically challenged. any help would be greatly appreciated.

Eisley - Just Like We Do

My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know. Everybody you see. Everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake and they live in a state of constant total amazement.

~ Joe vs. the Volcano

'If only.'

Those must be the two saddest words in the world.

~ Mercedes Lackey

I love that feeling. You know, the one you get when you take a deep breath and suddenly everything feels like it's going to be okay. When you're hopeless as can be, and life is going nowhere, there's those moments we have every now and then where we just stop, and we get this feeling, that can't be described, but you just.. you just feel like everything really is going to be okay. Like the world stopped spinning for a second, and everything was clear. I need more of those moments.








take care, be good, don't drink and drive

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happy birthday sister

Phil Collins - You'll be in my Heart

dedicated to my sister and our oldschool disney marathons

so my sister's birthday was last week; she turned 8 years old.

i told myself i'd write a little summin summin for her, but, naturally, being the pathological procrastinator that i am, i didn't.

i told myself it's too late for it now...

but then i thought...

says who?!

so here it is:

i'd always wanted a little sister.

growing up with two brothers completely shaped my personality.

i'm very competitive and i don't accept defeat easily. i love wrestling for the heck of it. i really enjoy burping contests although i can't participate in them myself, seeing as i don't know how to burp on purpose, although many people have tried to teach me.

so one fine day (august 17th, 2001, to be exact), when i was 10 years old, i got the one thing i've always begged my mother for:

a baby sister named Zeina...

too little too late, though. thanks mom.

zeina turned to me to teach her how to apply make-up (indeed, generation x is doomed).. only to find that i was more helpless than she was.

she strutted around in annoying plastic high heels and laughed at me when i stumbled in my mom's.

she begged me to paint her toe nails and i did, even though the smell of nail polish nauseates me.

she looked like she'd gotten a pedicure from a chicken...

dear zeina,

even though we're polar opposites, i love you so much.

even when i tell you i don't.

even when i call you zeina shaina*

i don't know anyone else who can shoot mickey-shaped snot out of their nose

(dear readers: not a work of fiction. it really happened. it was hilarious)

i don't know anyone else who gets so cut up when they see someone cry.

you are so attentive to lots of things.

even when our brother hits you, then baba makes him cry, you cry with him and hug him and tell him to stop crying.

i don't know anyone else who isn't asking when taking permission for something, just merely stating a fact.

(like the other day when you "asked" me if you could use my ipod, and i said no, and you shrugged; then i walked in my room 2 minutes later to find you, on my bed, listening to my ipod)

i don't know anyone else who could spell transportation when they were 4 years old.
(and you never let us forget. zeina: "*meets a perfect stranger* hi, dare me to spell transportation?")

zeina, i love you like a french braid.

you start out with 3 strands and that could be enough; it would work out fine. but then you add more hair to each side. you pull on the hair and it hurts sometimes. but that only makes the braid tighter and more secure.

we've had our share of fights,

but i'll always love you,

and i'll always be here if you need someone to scribble on your toes again.

-x-

(my sister and i have fun photoshoots together)

p.s. don't let the messy appearance fool you; i did that... for purely artistic reasons.

she really is the girliest girl ever.

* shaina - arabic slang for 'bad.' which is ironic since zeina means 'good' (:

take care, kind earthlings

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I'll be as real as faeries

Just a quick one today.

I need to find a way to harden these tear glands
And maybe my heart in the process.
I'll numb myself down
I'll stop myself from feeling.
Because if feelings are what make me real
Then I don't want to be real
What has that offered me but misery?
I'll be as real as faeries
And a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow
I'll be as real as monsters underneath my bed
I'll be as real as love.

I hate it and I'll most prolly end up deleting it.

Hey tell me a joke!

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Women.

I promise I'll do a real post real soon.

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"But this time with your mouth open"

This video made me cry buckets.

I'm serious. I don't exaggerate much.

I don't recall ever laughing this much in my life.

My tummy and cheeks are still hurting me.

GRR WHAT AM I DOING?

Back to chemistry!

Oh demons of procrastination please go away.

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'Cause I saved a few and I keep 'em in a jar

So lately I've become a professional insomniac.

If I were to sign up for an insomnia tournament, they'd kick me out and tell me sorry, no professionals.

I think you can tell that I haven't slept in a while because the lameness is running high.

Higher than usual, that is.

Unfortunately for you, I still amuse myself. And that's enough for me.

So here's a music video that gives me a sense of calmness when it's 5:20 am and I'm tired but I can't sleep - like now.

Owl City - Fireflies

*if the vid's not working try refreshing 'n stuff. it's worth it

I would seriously kill to have that room.

I'd never leave. I'd have people bring me food and I'd relieve myself in a bowl.

In any case, so I know my blog's been facing a drought recently. But I've been living, breathing, and possibly eating chemistry.

I miss my friends a lot.

I can't even afford to open Facebook 'cause I'll stay on it for hours. But yes I have tons of evil deadlines to meet so I'm going to remain a hermit until I meet and beat them.

Until next time.

Be good!

What helps you sleep?

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Hi Dad, Hi Mom!

I'm famous!

Well, okay, as close to famous as I can get.

Ri, The Music Savvy Mom, asked me for my shuffle! Ri has this nifty little (soon-to-be-huge) blog where she asks moms, procreators, or non-procreators (like yours truly) to set their iPods on shuffle then share the top 10 songs that come out.
When she asked me for mine, I was honored, and thrilled. Why not bless the world with a few selections of my enthralling taste in music? (Oh be quiet)

Y'all be sure to check her out and leave some comments. She's hilarious and insanely sweet.

Okay, reason #2 why I'm famous (who'da thought, ey? I have two reasons)

I got an award! From this lovely gal right here, Laila.

So, in the spirit of receiving this award, I'm supposed to list 10 things about myself. So here goes:

1. I have a terrible fear of crickets. That's why 'cricket' is one of my curse words. When something bad happens I yell, "Cricket!" You know what the problem is, with crickets? You just can't kill them. They always hop around like deranged lunatics whenever you attack them with a tissue box. So your only solution is bug spray. The problem is, I'm too scared to use that on them. I visualize a wheezing cricket, on the verge of dying, antennas wiggling – and I just know he's using those impossibly long antennas of his to communicate with his army of crickets, which will come harass me in order to avenge their lost brother. So I put the bug spray down and scream until someone rescues me. Except that never works, because usually a darling member of my family ends up squishing the cricket in a tissue and chasing me around the house with it.

2. You know that expression, "Your eyes were bigger than your stomach?" Yeh, that's never happened to me. I have quite the stomach, you see. I eat, a lot. If it weren't for my abnormal metabolism and my stick-thin father's genes swimming around in my body, I would never find a door that I'd fit through.

3. I'm very easily amused. Once I spent 30 minutes looking outside a window, chuckling at this newspaper that was being tossed around by the wind. That's why I laugh at the lamest jokes, including mine. When I'm bored I just have a little stand-up comedy skit in my head.

4. I am frighteningly lazy. I once watched two Spy Kids movies in a row because I was too lazy to extend my arm a few inches and reach out for the TV remote.

5. Building on #4, I suppose, I am, as the name of my blog so subtly suggests - a pathological procrastinator. The most repeated word in my vocabulary is probably: "Nyahhh... Later." This year, for example, I can count - on my hands, without having to take off my shoes and socks - the number of times I did my homework at home. I just copied it off people in the morning or during recess or crossed my fingers and hoped the teacher would forget about it.

6. I have a very strong aversion to physics. I hate that subject with a passion. A lot of things in physics don't make sense to me. And since my teacher never quenched my undying curiosity, I started hating the subject even more. Whenever I asked her a perfectly logical question, she took it as a personal offense - like I was challenging her authority or being blasphemous towards the holiness of Sir Newton the Fart. She's mastered the art of making students feel like the stupidest people on earth whenever they ask a question, while simultaneously managing not to answer their questions.

7. I like being nice to strangers. I smile at them if I notice them rudely staring, or I compliment them. I was once at this hair salon and I saw two sisters arguing – I assumed they were sisters, since they were bickering in that professional way only sisters can master. One of them was short and a bit chubby, the other one was tall, thin, and possibly beautiful if only she didn't look like someone had stuck dung underneath her nose and forced her to smell it. Dung Sister was getting married (she was wearing a white wedding dress), and she was giving her sister a hard time about something very mundane. Dung Sister stormed off and Poor Sister looked like she was about to cry. I piped up, "Sorry for asking, I'm just really curious – was that your sister?" The woman looked shocked, "Yes… How did you know?" I shrugged, "She looks like you… But you're prettier." And then I watched her face glow in a very pretty way indeed, and that still makes me feel good.

8. I have Futurephobia. Sometimes I get so worried thinking about things like majors and colleges that this dread fills me inside and the room feels very very warm until I calm myself down.

9. I still watch Barney. If I stumble upon it on TV, I'll watch it. And my 7-year-old sister will say, "Ewww Barney's for babies!" And I'll tell her wetting beds is also for babies. Then she'll shut up.

10. ……… I have a sticker book.

And in the spirit of receiving this award, I must pass it on to 5 bloggers. So the torch goes to...

An Experiment in Poverty

Desperate in Dubai

Something Like That

A "Cheery" Disposition

The Adventures of Rose Red

Take care, folks.

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Sometimes

5:23 am in the morning, I was tossing and turning in my bed. I was so tired but I couldn't go to sleep! I had a migraine and a tummy ache and yet my insomnia was kicking in. My fingers were itching to write something. So I pulled out my big blue notebook and wrote something for the story I'm working on.
I know it's bad, and needs editing, but it shall do for now. Here it is:

[pssst! in case you didn't read the one I posted before, go here]



Sometimes I feel trapped by what others expect of me. Every move I make has to add up to the carefully painted characters I have fabricated; a different me for every different person I meet.

It might sound complicated, but it is actually a matter of simple mathematics. Here's how you do it: analyze the person you want to impress, add all the parts that will make you desirable to them, subtract all the parts that don't, and voilà – there you have it.

But it is also a matter of simple chemistry, and - just like in chemistry - some equations are reversible. You think you're only heading in one direction: the end products.
Little do you know that another reaction is simultaneously taking place, quietly simmering in your insides, turning your end products back into their original reactants, until you reach a point of equilibrium.

But to every rule, there is an exception.

And, surprise surprise, that little exception is me.

Because every night when I lay on my bed, waiting for sleep to creep up on me, that equilibrium is gone, and I am stuck with nothing but the lies I have told, the ugliness, the emptiness - the original reactants, with none of the fascinating chemistry that created the desirable "me."

I tell myself,

There are so many people right now in my life, and they're all very different.
They all bring out different sides of me.

I tell myself,

I am not being hypocritical; I am not 32-faced – This is just human nature.
Different people have different opinions, different personalities, and different ways of accepting things. And so I expose different parts of me and keep others somewhere close to my heart for later use.

I am not lying to anyone.

My heart still feeds on those precious secrets that I haven't told anyone of, and that's why I keep them there.

Once they are gone, I am exposed, raw, unmasked – and I don't think that what I am at the core is all that pretty.
I am not sure if something still exists under all these layers of personalities I've created.
Once they are gone, I have nothing.
Once they are gone, I am nothing.

When I told you that my heart feeds on my secrets, I was only telling you half the truth.
My secrets feed on my heart, too.

The more I keep to myself, the more alive I feel.
But also, sadly, ironically – the less alive I am.

Maybe I am not lying to anyone.
But I am lying to myself - if I still classify as a human being anyway.

Because no, it is not human nature to have two MSN conversations at the same time and feel like I'm two people at once; trying to live up to the separate images I've created of myself.

Some people see me exactly how I want to be seen: Funny, clever, social, maybe even okay-looking.

And some people see me exactly how I don't want to be seen: jealous or arrogant, a loser or a freak, a misfit or a conformist.

But in the end – Everybody sees me.

So why can't I see myself?

***

I slowly drift awake, and I don't know where I am, or who I am. My view is fuzzy, and painfully, blindingly white.

Am I dead?

But there is a dull, throbbing pain in my head, and somehow it is hard to believe I am lucky enough to be that.

Pictures begin to fill my head: a woman grabbing me by my hair, a woman kicking me, a woman smiling coldly at me, and a little, still, blue-faced girl.

That woman is my mother, I realize.
That girl is my little sister – or was, because she is no longer with us. She is in a better place, I've been told. Why can't we trade places?

I am Laila.

Except I don't feel like Laila at the moment. But then again – when have I? Will I ever?

I don't know who I am.
Or what I am.
Except stuck.
Stuck in this drugged body on a hospital bed.
A body that doesn't feel like my own.
A body that doesn't belong to me, and a body that I don't belong to.

Maybe because I don't want to.

Who is Laila? Where has she gone? Why has she left me behind?

All of a sudden, I am filled with rage.
Rage at myself.

Rage at my mother.
Rage at the God that gave me a life when I don't recall ever asking for one; then tells me that I can't take it way, nor give it back.

No refunds.
Especially when the currency you've exchanged with is grief.

------





So what do you think?
Tell me how I can make it better, please!






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She-Hulk

That video is adorable, I must say.



Alright so I went to the mall today. Here are the highlights of the day:



Highlight #1: The She Hulk Destroys Her Bras

I went to the mall because I had a mission – bra shopping.

I destroyed two bras while trying to put one on after I took a shower today. I was just pulling the first one over my head when I heard that unmistakable RRRRIP that had me giggling for a while. My bra ripped in half. That's never happened before. And I know I haven't gotten any bigger – oh contraire! I've lost 5 kgs and I don't even know how. I'm eating more than ever, sleeping more than ever, moving around less than ever – statistically speaking, I should be giving a Hummer a run for its money.


And when I tried to pull the second one on, THE SAME EXACT THING HAPPENED. This time I only gigged for two seconds. Then I frowned. Well, that's not cool, I thought. Now I only have one bra left! (I don't like any of my other bras, so I never use them).

So I put on my last bra carefully, meticulously, as if it were a fine piece of glass, or a very delicate slice of cheesecake. It didn't rip. Score.

My friend Lumberzack had everything to say about this, from calling me a She-Hulk to making this snarky comment:
"Danya: ME NO LIKE BRA ANYMORES! RARGH!"

Which naturally pissed me off, until I visualized myself as a primitive woman, with mud and dirt and leaves in my hair, muttering and mumbling and growling, with a club in one hand and a tattered bra in the other… then I was in hysterics.



Highlight #2: Let's All Get Married

So as soon as I got to the mall, the first thing I did was go to the food court (naturally). My mom was waiting for me at a table when I finished, and she told me that she'd invited my friend Deema (Sad Girl) to join us.

When Deema got there and my mom drifted away, she told me about the conversation she had with my darling mother on the phone. This is how it went:

My Darling Mother:
"So Deema, I was talking to Muayyad [my older brother] earlier today on the phone, and we started discussing marriage. And I asked him, 'What about Deema, dear? Why don't you love her? She'd be a great addition to the family.'"

Deema (Queen of dealing with awkward moments):
"Oh that would be splendid! Then let's get Danya to marry my brother Hisham, since they're both geniuses, and they can have little genius babies!"

My mother and I will have a little talk tomorrow.

I think her Arab roots are kicking in.



Highlight #3: "Is It a Jail?"

On the way back home from the mall with my uncle, my 13-year-old cousin suddenly pointed at a building on the right side of the road and said:
"Hey dad. What's that building? Is that a jail?"
Uncle: "No, you idiot. That's a college."
Cousin: "Ohhh… okay."

5 seconds later
Cousin points at a building on the left side of the road:
"What about that, dad? Is that a jail?"
Uncle: "…… That's a MOSQUE, son."
Cousin: "… Oh."



It's almost 5:30 am and I'm off to bed. Leave me a comment that'll make me laugh and we'll all live happily ever after.

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The Colorisa

I've always wanted to do a balloon painting. A painting where I tape a bunch of paint-filled balloons to a canvas, then throw darts at them until they all pop.

Yesterday, a bunch of my friends and I got together, and, united, we decided to fulfill that dream of mine –

which turned out to be a quite mutual dream.

And so we....

taped and we...

laughed at our awful aiming

(this picture was taken 5 minutes after we first started throwing darts...)
and we...

got all excited about our first pop (!!!)
and we...

noticed that our aiming had improved significantly,
(or we were suddenly just very lucky...),
and we...

took some awesome pictures,
and we...

went a little overboard with the paint-filling,
and we...

gave up on the balloon popping thing,
and started randomly squirting the poster with paint,
and we...

laughed at the result,
especially when we realized that,
the true masterpiece was actually......

on the ground.

Nevertheless, we are all very much in love with our painting.

We called it The Colorisa.

Behold....

THE COLORISA

We joked about what would happen if we were to hang it up in a modern arts museum.

We are pretty certain that the critics will be all,

"This piece is so......... deep. If you notice the little blotch on the left, it is very evident that the artist has a tortured soul. The fuchsia stands for the disturbing dreams he's been having about mating with a pig."

We got more paint on ourselves and on the floor (and on our photographer's camera - sorry Fatima) than on anything else.

But that was the best part of it.

We're going to do another (hopefully more successful) one soon because we have new tactics lined up.

Wish us luck.

Naimah, Sumer, Fati, Sara -

Thank you for an awesome day.

You guys are the keys to my piano.

Rare Readers -

Tell me about an awesome creation you made (:

Photo credit: My friend Fatima.

Except for the final result one. Naimah took that with her BlackBerry.



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