I am only

Ok so I went to Bahrain. Highlights:

1- They didn't have Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.

They did, however, have The Final Destination… IN 3-D!

I honestly couldn't say no. And I'm glad I didn't. Because it was friggin amazing. It was the goriest one.

Honestly. Before the opening credits have even rolled, you'll already have seen...

#$%#$SPOILER ALERT%^#$$....

Two people being sliced in half… loads of people being crushed by concrete… people being burned alive… poles and broken pieces of wood slicing through people... umm... a tire flying through the air at turbo speed smashing into a girl's head from behind, leaving her lying on the ground with her head all blown up into smithereens…
Look up 'The Final Destination Nadia's death' on YouTube if you're interested… You know you're dying to.
Anyway. You need to get your butt down to the nearest theater to watch it.

The dialogue is awful, the acting is pathetic, but it's awesome. There's just something in me that secretly likes peeking through my fingers and biting my ring to keep from shouting the vile curse words going through my head when I see blood and guts and intestines.

2- Went to the bookstore again.

My copy of Everything is Illuminated hasn't arrived yet -_- Even though it has been 3 weeks! They said it should arrive next week. But in any case. I bought a book called She by H. Rider Haggard; it looks interesting. Then I went to another mall and I went to the same bookstore (different branch) and bought yet another book. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It's an addiction. I'm spending all my Eid money on books.

And now! New novel excerpt.

It's a combination of Leila's character, thoughts I've shared with my cousin, and feelings I think all humans are afraid to let themselves feel sometimes. Here goes.

(random, but i was listening to this while i was writing)

The Postal Service - The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

-

It is another slap in the face from life that I have morphed into the hermit I am today. I - the social butterfly, seemingly excelling in everything I try – would rather be alone than surrounded by a group of people who say they care, but never in quite the way I want them to.
It is also another slap in the face that I've come to realize I don't like being on my own. I don't like being left forlorn with my thoughts. They take me to places, little nooks and corners in my mind that I really don't want to visit… Or, rather, I'm not ready to yet.
I am a loner who doesn't want to be left alone.

Am I really the only person who feels this way? Or do I share these thoughts with other people... with you, but you are just too afraid to voice them?
I think you should. Voice them. You never know, it might end up like that time when you told your best friend in second grade that you are dying soon, because you have a worm in your eye socket that's been twitching on-and-off for two weeks, and it's probably already made one hundred and three holes in your brain, and she said, No, you silly goose! Those are just your muscles! Twitchy eyes are normal!
No, you silly goose… Feeling empty is normal.

So let me ask you.
Do you ever get the feeling that you just don't want to talk to anybody? You're tired of smiling and laughing at jokes and pretending to be happy, but at the same time, you don't understand why you have to fake being happy in the first place, because, last time you checked, nothing in particular was bothering you?

You tiptoe around life. Hardly anything warrants a reaction from anymore. You stage your smiles, your laughs, your tears, your gasps of shock. Facial expressions become difficult for you to arrange, because you feel (or, rather, not feel) the same way about everything.
You run into your old 3rd grade teacher, and she tells you that she remembers you used to be sad and withdrawn all the time. You start to question your childhood, and whether or not you were ever truly happy. You think long and hard about the last time you had a good, genuine belly laugh that rumbled from the center of your very being and made your insides hum… and it scares you that you can't remember.

You start to hate your friends for seeming so… normal. For talking about TV shows you stopped watching; for giving a crap about their future, when you can't seem to bring yourself to care about yours.
You start to feel as if the world is one big theater, and you are just an inexperienced crew member who's been pushed on stage. You are clumsy and awkward; you stumble everywhere you go. You search endlessly for other people who seem to be out of their element, just like you, because you know that'd make them fit perfectly into your own… But you don't find anyone.
Your edges are jagged, but everyone has been artfully mended at the seams. Everyone is pretending to be someone they're not; fitting into their self-assigned personas, playing roles they think they ought to be playing. They listen to "cool" underground bands that'll make them come off as artistic and cultured, regardless of whether or not they actually like the music. They style their hair a certain way and wear clothes that "express their individuality," as if individuality is some sort of ultraviolet beam that's supposed to radiate from strange clothes and funny-looking haircuts.
You begin to stay away from those people, those actors, because no one can get close to you without tearing themselves up trying to fit into the constellation of your jagged edges - and you don't want to hurt those people, who glide gracefully across the stage, seemingly at peace with the characters they've created.

Despite the emptiness, you want to be alone. People have stopped being comforting, but being alone never was – it isn't supposed to be. And that, in a sense, is comforting: at least one thing in life still makes sense.
At least when you're alone, no one keeps asking you what's wrong. No one will refuse to take "I don't know" for an answer. You keep waiting and hoping for the feeling to pass, so you can finally go back to being yourself again… except, for the life of you, you can't remember who that is.

You pass a dusty car on the road, and you notice the message someone has scrawled on the windshield – "I am only." And instead of wondering, "Only what?" You think to yourself, "That is a complete sentence."

I am, only.

-

fin! So here's the deal. I'm thinking about discarding the whole novel idea (not that I was seriously considering it in the first place) and just sticking to short pieces and thoughts like these - something my fellow blogger and friend Wuthering made me think about. My plot isn't really shaping up, and I don't think most people would appreciate a "novel" that basically consists of thoughts :P

So, 1- What do you think?

2- Ever seen any of the Final Destination movies? Do you like 'em? Or am I just weird?

Take care, lovely people who still read my strange strange blog.

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