"Guppication" The Status of our Generation

Reblogged from 2chaps:

Guppification; The Status of our Generation

Guppy: a term used to describe the inhabitants of todays world; a specie that has become so globalized that he/she now identifies himself as part of this new generation rather than a national identity.

Actual Translation: A small, livebearing freshwater fish (Poecilia reticulata, family Poeciliidae) native to tropical America and widely kept in aquariums…

Read more… 1,766 more words

Directing the light on the change we failed to describe; written beautifully by @albluwe01

The Truth

My eyelids did the function of a curtain;  whenever I needed a cover in the bright light.  I also had the insides of my palms  giving me warmth whenever  it got so cold.  It’s not the circumstances I complain of,  it’s all the wrong choices.  I can’t tell you how many  of them you had.  I had my bad decisions, too.

Loving  unconditionally,  my biggest flaws.  I should have reached a level  where I gave limits to the affection  I had,  but at times like these I give up,  to fate , and surrender  to god’s will.

Today I think  to myself,  even though there’s no bright light around,  I still close my eyelids and swim under the silence  of the darkness inside my head.

My darkness showed me how pictures slip away and only words remain.

I have had your five-lettered  name  indented inside my inner eyelids so I can never forget you. To me you formulated many persons, but only that one I saw at the beginning, the very one I fell in love with, the one I still love now.

Just like how I grow, self-preserved,  head held high,  anticipations clear and actions being the only values I owe,  this is how I will move on still keeping  my priceless love  to you.

Coffee

Words of love had been knitted down on immortal skins
of those who heard them. Whoever said them knew exactly
where they were going. Like a pact, saying them once would
seal up for devotion to eternity.

He told her “I love you.” as she was leaving their room. She smiled, not for
him, but for herself. Nothing makes her satisfied more than
these words. She heard it so clearly and sharply. Nothing
would have made the 3 words sound hazy, but still she asked,
“What did you say?”. She heard it again and louder this time,
“I LOVE you”. She couldn’t stop grinning, she lost patience of
her teasing and faced him again. Had him all between her arms
and enjoyed the satisfaction of being loved. Later on he was
too busy to realize that she didn’t in real answer to his words.
Same as every time.

I don’t know how I was living. I knew places, but I can’t recall a
phase in my life before her. I wasn’t always like that. Years
before her, days so old they feel like a dusty book of my senile
collections; I can rewind their feeling but it’s so dull that I only
see colors of black and white. Back then I thought love was
nothing but a prank.

After I met her, I thought I went through something special, but
this is how she treated everyone else; she pursued them into her
utter affection, and they’re more than what a five-fingered hand
would count. I’m just a slave, trying to understand how she’d have
them all kneel under her altar; just to please her, and she delivered
none but a delusion of an embrace.

I fell for love. I fell for her; a wish I didn’t ask for. She came right
through my path, took a look at what she got and decided to own it.
It all started with a button being pressed in its right places. A stroke
of a finger, trailing unseen traces; where my blood left all the places
to go, and went there to rummage behind those fingertips. I don’t
even blame my heart if it went through a trance after begging for
more glue to our bodies. I must have felt close to that as I heard
her telling me she loved me. That was a beginning for my body,
but my mind had been through a lot before it dropped its defenses
under the mercy of her attack.

Out of the shatters that are left of what I used to call a mind, I recall
a coffee setting. Our start reminds me of a little kid who used to wonder
about the beverage. It smelled heavenly, and the cups they drunk it
with; he felt he deserved them more than those giant-handed adults.
Somehow no one ever regarded him with one, and so he slipped one
cup out of the mug cabinet they were placed in, then crawled beneath
the table to have a little privacy. Without the least hesitation, he took
a mouthful sip, and a tiny fraction of a second was all it took for him
to spit it out coughing. I still remember the ugly stains it left on my
favorite white shirt. “It was a drink of the devils; not adults”, I kept
saying afterwards. But at our coffee setting, I ordered a dark blend
with no additions. What sweetness did I need, if I had all the delights
at an arm’s length?

Under the scent of those two cups we had, I watched her eyes lighten
up with every sip she took, but she had full control and wandered my
attention away. Suddenly everything I had been through feels pleasant
to be complained from, and I wished for worries to magnify and inspire
me; so I can have her attention multiplied.

Even before I’ve noticed it, coffee became my alibi. I never craved it
the way she did, but I claimed it troubled me to be deprived from it;
the very same way it felt with her. She used to marvel at coffee’s
blessings, and I used to write it all down as she translated my
tongue-tied feelings for her. Afterwards, I stopped noting all the talking.
I only watched how its bitter taste touched the sweetness of her lips; how
its warmth covered her up – even though she hated warmth, she cherished
coffee like her own lucky lover. That was a hundred of days before she
started slipping away like a piece of half-empty porcelain cup. Coffee drinkers
order for a refill even before they finish it. I had her all for myself at once,
but devotions still got her blinded. Reasons still fail me every time I attempt
to narrate.

The only thing I’m left with is her dooming infinite memory with every daylight.
I never was a morning person, but mornings seemed glamorous with her.
I never spent a time with her in the sunlight, but I made sure to gather up
the sweetest words as her eye-opener. I wished her mornings she deserves,
and marveled at the lights entering her eyes; just the thousandth humming to
those prettiest eyes. I miss those eyes.

Countless are those day-times of coffee without you. Every morning I pour up
my cup and live the same love-affair you go through. I never thought coffee
needed marketing; it’s either a love or hate emotion, a pure desire. The very
same way souls speak through, but you enforced a campaign to your addiction.
The touches, the smiles, the tickles your fingers left. All the pleasures in the
world can’t yet count up to the first cup of coffee I had with you.

Dona H.Barakah

Letter

Dear someone,
I write you these words not daring to push down with the tip of my pen,
as it’s a paper I’m sure would be held delicately by you. You are human,
and you have those fingertips I’m sure are lacked in other humans,
but you’re still human.

At one point I thought you were an angel. Your touch magnified an
angelic effect of which acted like nothing but utter magic. To my surprise,
and to anyone’s surprise, your personality is the biggest doctor in you.
It’s just a shame you have no patients, as I’m sure they’d have been
healed by just the sight of you.

You healed me from my limits, took me to a place I never imagined I
would reach. I was your well-chosen patient and you diagnosed me and
managed me on your own, without the aid of any of the books you held.
Those heavy fat books held by your hands. I remember them because
they gave me thoughts I shouldn’t have had.That was a different type
of knowledge of which I may never understand. All I know is that
I was cured.

But my heart-full physician, I got attached to more than just your
words or cures. Instead of coming again whenever I “needed” to,
I “want” to see you day-after-day even if it would mean I’d become
ill again.

It was your duty I presume, and you deprived me from it. Why did
you have to do that? Least thing you could have done was to teach
me how to make it on my own again. I’m a loner, I can’t find a
company to advise me of wisdom like yours.

You spoke of my mind, heart and soul, and so you left me drunk of
nothing but you. But now I’m sober, and it’s a hell of a hangover.
I can no longer think of you the way I used to. I’m just soaked with
dread for the reasons that split us. Not people I despise, as I believe
you need a love-cure, too. I just never knew why your happiness
would be the detachment of me from you. How is it that you doctors
make your fortunate patients believe you come up with loads of
love-cures..

Just leave me again like you used to do. Stop me from lingering by
taking a stand, too. Stop looking and stop your stares that sink me
into that ocean of your admiration, and let me come back to life again.
Goodbye,
wishing you rivers of joy,
and a good memorial, too.
Something you can still remember me of,
my best dedicated to you..

A bond

There’s a line, drawn between two.
It comes a moment when it dissociates and mumbles its last breaths,
right when two palms face each others..

A bond.

Two persons become one.
Two lungs working in synchronization to feed a heart beating for one being,
as if they were made together…

Those endless cells, working mindlessly, day by night…
They get struck by a lightening of deja vu,
and suddenly they reclaim a memory they never had as a storage;
Their source.

Their prime.

The rhythm they had been made of.

That point of eternity.

A cross road.

A start point.

An ending.

Reaching out to Chris Isaak

Music and souls. More precisely melodies and souls. The first melody ever know to human is the Heart Beat. A rhythm that we can’t live without or function without. Next, people started to use instruments like woods and whatever made a sound. There was this itch and this urge to look for something similar to what we live on – our inner melodies -, and finally they were founded. They created millions of sound-generators and they lived with them being everywhere.

We may not realise it, but music plays a big part in our lives. Just like how it plays a big part in mine, and just like how She couldn’t be helped if not for music. A single song that was played and played, and was consisting of a rhythm of which was closest to the heart. Something quite natural and spontaneous. I call it fate. Just like the Radio Game. In case you don’t know the Radio Game, it’s when people ask a question and shuffle the radio and see what song they may get – as if it is some sort of answer – and surprisingly it usually works – if we had proper radio channels where we live.

First song that inspired her was Chris Isaak’s Wicked Games. It was the literal portrait of what is considered as Forbidden, and at the same time needed. She couldn’t resist, and she was stuck by wicked games that she finally fell in love. And after months of hearing the same song, the lady who seemed distant from my type of music seemed to be a big fan of that song. She kept on hearing it over and over, and suddenly it was everywhere. It just took her trademark and was meaningful to that period, to her and to me.

Next, the period between the end and the start, people rarely notice that period. It’s like the gap between your thirst feeling then fullness. We never named that period and we will never really do. But that was to her. To me, I had the suffering. Knowing someone almost your whole life, you can’t understand how Love can change them. How to some aspects they may seem infinite and extreme more than ever, and to others they just seem to be gone. Unintentionally, you end up asking for those ugly habits they used to have even though they are now done with them. You want them back and somehow that love-psycho makes you feel unhealthy. You want them back whatever that package consisted.
I had wished I never let her hear that song. I had wished I never got her through this, if only i had known it was written and i had nothing to do with it. Still, i got myself to blame.

Lastly, we never predicted when that would be. It all seemed to be ending to my surprise. Life Will Go On, Chris Isaak’s as well, a song I had for myself at first for reasons She never knew – for she was so busy with her Wicked Games – she suddenly shares a part of my playlist – again – and suddenly, her life is the one she needs to go on with. Suddenly, the love is gone, and she has to make it through each day passing as if it was hell itself. That’s the period of the suffering.
Unlike my thirst example, the first period is where you seem blind with desires and the happiest , and the last period is the time when your body aches. Physically.

She stopped eating. She stopped smiling. She kept looking through a distance that seemed too far away. She kept telling me she can’t make it. She kept me awake all night when she couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t leave her. Did i feel responsible? No one will ever know.

Only thing you need to know is that Chris Isaak had helped me. The time when i was unable to tell her what to do next, his music had told her. The time when i got speechless and seemed as screwed up as she was, she had music to keep her sane, and she reached out to Chris Isaak this time. A music that is a part of our souls until we find them.
®written by:
Dona H. Barakah

To know you

“To know you” is just a phrase. To some it hold nothing, but to me it’s more than 3 words.
There were times i had taken it for granted, going through life so smoothly not thinking of “what if”s or any fears. Those stories of a heart-aching pain seemed nothing but a faraway reality. All until i realised it was close. Just when i was awaken by a very heart-ache itself.

It hurts more than a knife stab in the chest. An “ache” is an underestimation for it, but the significance for the pain’s extent is insignificant. What’s more to be sought is how easily it is for me to get that pain everytime i get “to know you”.

To know you is to open up my heart for you. To know you is that you become one of my “one and only”s, because yeah, to me, everyone is a “one and only”. I don’t play games and mystery doesn’t attract me if I dont know you. To know you is to start to care, and to start to care is to like your mystery, but not a misery.

I will choose to abandon a misery, but only in that period before i get “to know you”. A memory can never be erased, and those who claim to be forgetting a detail in an exam, will recall it one day especially at the time when they want to forget it. “to know you” is that you become a part of my memory, and if i cared, then it would be either one of the two, a flinch from a pain when recalling a scene, or a smile due to a warmth from that scene.

Priorities

Lying on my back. Trying to relax and i am already numbed. Listening to “right angles” by “ben lee”, studdenly it strucks me to write this.
I recall dates, events, encounters and bad memories.

Love is in The Air

Breathing in and out, heart bumbing, blood moving, tingles and sensations. All came across me in that moment of pure love. I breathed it and exhaled it, and from the air i blew, it was inhaled by everyone around me, then life turned into butterflies and pink roses. Happy life that was.

It’s hard to imagine all of this especially when we experience the loss of love, or even when we never ever experienced it, but what’s the point of you expriencing it if you haven’t contributed into spreading it? I honestly consider that person whom had seen love so clearly and didn’t spread it a selfish one. Let those who didn’t see it know it.

When an artist writes an amazing melody, out of love that melody was generated, and those souls who lack that sort of love are the very ones who relate to it. In that very way, the artist had contributed in spreading it. Anyone doing a job with care and honest expression is spreading the love, amd thats how life should be. Yes, all butterflies and pink roses.

Experience love, spread love, and you’ll live happily ever after with everyone around you being happy. Even if they were no one to you. Even if you once upon a time had lost a love that was so valuable, you gained that feeling and it’s your duty in return to give it freely all around you. Don’t stop on any failure after a sucess. Keep on moving and change the world.

Today, i realised I was passing through Eid, a time that is supposedly our time as muslims to express gratitude and care especially to those whom we love the most. Last Eid i expressed it with someone I care for, this year I can’t even imagine myself doing it. So i decided to spread the love. Thought of all these whom I assumingly share even a bit of love toward and magnified it and simply told them all “I love you”.

Although to me, they may never seem same as that person I lost – as us humans we are so stubborn and always look at the empty part of the cup -, still i felt a minute of unexplained happiness after they all answered with warm replies. That happiness was once there when I loved truely, and I re-lived it. So yeah it’s possible. Go there and tell everyone you care about that you love them. Somehow life is too short to be lived in silence.
-Dona Barakah

An Angelic Love ((“A Stranger’s Love” Sequel))

When living we do mistakes more than we do rights. We learn from our mistakes and we never learn. A stranger’s love had to end and to persist. It was written.

Such a shock it is, for you to realise that everything is nothing from what it seemed. To change prespectives from heaven to hell in less than thought possible. To look into someone’s eyes,