half past nomad

Honest to God, I ain’t dead.

Currently, I have 7 half well written, half badly written draft entries sitting in my publish Inbox. They were all written at times when the context of them felt absolutely right. As I re-read them now, I find myself wondering how to even go about publishing them. Nevertheless, here’s a glimpse.

1) ‘Post #18′ was written when someone from the past called me up and stirred memories that, well, I didn’t think were stirrable. I still haven’t decided what to call it. Or even publish it.

2) ‘I need space’ I wrote close to 2 years ago. I have carried it carefully because, well, you never know when you may need it again. I had read a blog entry about someone in great pain and it hurt me to read it. This is the result of that.

3) ‘return to the blank back wall’ is the unfinished sequel to ‘the blank back wall‘. I still vent now and then and keep expanding this entry to the point that its bloated and, well, fat. I need to work it.

4) ‘Bust a move, lose your inhibition’ was written in an extremely drunken fatigued state of being. It talks about, well, being drunk tired.

5) ‘I dream of Jeannie‘ discusses the adventures I’m having as I live this dream. At the moment, it contains a nice title and jotted down ideas of what I want to say.

6) ‘Harf’ is arabic for a letter, an individual character in the alphabet. Sometimes you have trouble finding the words. Sometimes, you have even greater difficulty in finding the proper Harf. Language just fails you.

7) ‘Life on a beach’. I live on an island and am constantly driving past or staring at the gorgeous beach. It gives me a lot to think about.

There you have it. Actual proof that I do write. That’s commitment for you buddy.

Dad: We’re in Mecca now. We reached around 2am from Medina and we’ve already done our umrah. Tell the kids we’re ok. And tell them that we’re right behind the Hilton which is across the street from Masjid al Haram. It’s a good location beta. It’s good to be here.
Me: Subhan-allah. The guys are doing fine. Just make dua.
Dad: We are. All the time, just making dua again and again for you guys.
Me: Did you make that one? That Allah gives me and my siblings and our children a character-
Dad: Yeah, yeah. I did.
Me: Oh. Good. Good…
Dad: Are you eating alright?
Me: Yeah yeah, the tailors downstairs insist on feeding me. Also the neighbor. And the Imam. Alhamdulilah.

My parents are at HQ right now.
But duas are heard everywhere.

I had carried the damned thing for almost 5 years before I finally delivered it. I didn’t think I would ever get that chance and after a whilst, it lay forgotten in the wierdest of places; my shaving kit. A childhood friend, she had no idea how hard I searched for it. Now that I look back at it, it still feels more like an obligation to give then to want to give. She had gotten gifts for me, souvenirs from her vacations and social etiquettes required me to perform such acts too.

I remember when I gave it to her. She was delighted, completely surprised that I had remembered. I think she may have even cried. I mumbled some sentimental crap and left it at that. By that time, I had started to hate the damn ring. I didn’t even want it to be a ring, I just wanted the bloody Cats-eye stone but the jeweler didn’t have anything else. And I didn’t have time. It was obviously the wrong gift, sending off signals that I didn’t want to send but I had to give something, right?
Damned bloody ring.

I hope she threw it away.

One of the most common pickup lines I get is “Haven’t we met before?”. Fortunately, I now minimize such situations.

But to answer your question, no, we haven’t met before. We didn’t goto highschool together, we didn’t share the same campus, we didn’t share lunches together. We didn’t have friends in common, we didn’t goto school plays together, we never met up at our highschool graduation. We didn’t go through grief together, we didn’t go through sorrow together, we didn’t lean on each other ever. We didn’t promise friendship forever, we didn’t promise support eternal and we didn’t write to each other every summer. I didn’t keep your gifts, I never carried your letters endlesly, I never memorized your phone number. I never impressed your mom, I never discussed topics with your dad and I was never introduced to your friends. This engraving on my watch doesn’t match who you have with you in your heart.

I’m sorry. You must be mistaken. That photo is not me. Anymore.