Confess! Confess! Confess! Tamam, I Do Confess!
Dear God, I do confess.
Hearken my confession:
I know and feel - right over here, that I am loved.
Should that not be a blessing then I don’t know what blessing is!
The Universe has got its magical way… Tune in, my dearest, tune in!
I love my Damascene Rose, I do.
This is my oasis where I come to BE and recount stories -
as I recall them, amidst the 1001 petals of Damascus.
I have missed you, Damascus, I have.
What other confession do you have to make?
I confess I was scared too. Terrified actually.
To the point where I’d freeze.
I don’t know when and how I’d come back into my senses
and focus on him. On the surroundings... the dinner we
were enjoying. You name it.
Feeling the slightest drop of love would have me freeze,
just like hello!
Mariam checks Facebook Messenger one more time.
Fares hasn’t replied yet. He will, any time soon.
They’ve rejected me so. Or is it me who has allowed for rejection by not loving myself?
How could I have known of self-love when nobody has
taught me HOW?
Why is that? Confess!
Because I am the daughter of a narcissistic lady.
Like I said I am working on it. I shall write a story on narcissism. Soon, my dearest, soon!
What does that mean? Confess!
For the Love of God, I am confessing!!! The narcissistic
mother deprives her child of love. There is nothing she
can do about it. It's pathological!
Just like the Damascene Rose needs the rays of the sun and water, the child needs their mother’s love for the overall well-being and for the good functioning of their cognitive system. The brain goes dry when it runs out of love. Subsequently, the soul gets activated and sends in its artillery to back the system of the human. Since the mind is frozen, the soul takes the lead.
That’s how I started this oasis of fragrant stories - with a frozen brain and a cheerful soul.
Yes, I know, I know. I am infinitely grateful.
The narcissistic mother can be a very good friend, at times. Moreover, Julieta is a fantastic cook. By God, my mouth waters at the sheer thought of her deliciously exquisite dishes.
That’s eating a sorta-kinda twisted love. Perhaps!
Yes. She’s got a very beautiful name. She’s always been a very beautiful lady… My father’s blue-eyed babe.
I am confessing. Bare with me for a tiny bit, will you?
What’s more to it, a couple of months ago, Julieta bought me four pairs of socks. And guess what? She’s just handed me a box of Vitamin D3 - the so-called "Sunshine vitamin". She has bought two packs: one for herself, and one pack for me. That’s a blessing of the day. I shall definitely write it down in my notebook - among the blessings of the 4th of May. Or is it a miracle?
That’s a beautiful exquisite gesture, alright!
What other confession do you have to make?
Today, this very moment, I feel I’m on the verge of exploding.
It was a terrible decade. Terrible! I am shutting the gates down on it so that it doesn’t spill over into the new era.
I have lost friends. Were they truly my friends?
Turned my back to a dead-end, toxic life cycle.
Sadly or neutrally, the truth has its way of showing up in a very majestic way.
It never shows up alone.
Twirling and whirling like a hurricane, it comes accompanied by an avalanche.
One truth is followed by another, and another. So that when one opens their eyes, they find themselves alone, face to face with the ugly truth, amidst the avalanche.
The curtain of the truth opens the eye to things one hadn’t realised before. It exhausts the being. Hence, you take a deep breath and make one step ahead.
I am clearing my mind and absorbing energy in this mild, clear and sweet pond.
The vibrant pond of his energetic soothing writing. My favourite spa for the mind nowadays.
Yes, I practice mind earthing, every day. Or was it mindfulness? What about you? What's your "pond", nowadays?
Fares, my best friend in crime, once told me that “men can behave like animals, sometimes.”
And the Professor got a divorce. The witch he was married to seems to have gotten away with all of the paintings. Yes. That is after having priorly fornicated with his lawyer, the one dealing with their divorce.
At times, one would believe that the desert of humanity is getting drier and drier…
Never have I thought I’d be happy again.
Never have I thought I’d feel again, save my heart from the fierce claws of numbness.
My heart overflows with love. It's abundance, baby! Maybe that's why I am spreading petals of stories right and left... I can't help it! The story is leading the way. She is the Light of my heart guiding me through. She leads, I follow.
I don’t speak much about myself. I keep silent. This is how I try to manifest magic in my life.
It is one of the magic spices I use to help people and relatives understand that it’s not their perception of me but rather me being myself.
Tao’s 23 principle comes to mind:
"To be of few words is natural.
Strong winds do not last all morning,
Hard rains do not last all day.
What causes them?
Heaven and Earth.
If Heaven and Earth are unable to persist,
How could man?"
She gets astonished, annoyed with my being single for quite a while now.
However, I wonder how come she’s still married!
It’s only a matter of choices and perspectives.
And yes, I believe in marriage. Yes, I believe in respect and the magic formula of love and respect, blending as one, personalised to every couple's needs. Before you try to invade my soul, remember! My walls are thick and woven with the blessed Light of my mother source - Damascus. I am not taking you in. I am not having you herein, within.
An Arab woman, a mother of a daughter herself, once told me: “Unless you get naked you won’t get married!” Hmzzz... My mind wasn’t able to forge a response. Naked… as in: “Naked in Tahiti? Naked when I'd be with my beloved? Naked when I am walking down the street?"
You, an Arab mom - me, a Hybrid Damascene. Getting naked out of the sanctuary of love isn’t part of our culture. However, we could undress the robe of unsolicited advice, of invading one’s personal space, now couldn't we?
Moreover, a married woman, irrespective of nation, religion or race can give away pieces of unsolicited advice whereas a single lady - may not?
And I'm thinking of Albus Dumbledore:
“It is not our abilities that show what we truly are. It’s our choices.”
Wait! Don’t rush me, please! I must breathe before I commence a new story.
You see everything starts with that tiny dose of the oxygen we take in.
Patience, my friend, patience!
As long as we breathe, safe and sound, everything is possible.
The 1001 roses of Damascus linger…
How could one forget so magical a place?
By God, I love you, I do.
What will you have more of me?
Hyenas! Greedy, thirsty, feelingless hyenas!
I’d love it to go home.
Have you watched Outlander on Netflix?
It is so much me, in a way. How about you? Have you ever felt alienated, somewhere, someday?
I've felt, quite often, as if I have landed in strange times, in a strange world with a very serious gap in mind and spirit.
As if I’d stepped out of the Garden of Roses, never to speak again until now.
I am. I am confessing. I feel like Sassenach, just like Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser in the remarkable Netflix production. Where it’s 1945 and she’s a former World War II nurse, who reunites with her husband Frank after the war. They visit Inverness, in Scotland. Connecting to the Craig na Dun standing stones, she’s carried back in time, alone, to 1742.
Thus the 19th-century nurse becomes a healer in the 17th century, as terminology of the time has it.
She’s an English woman living in Scotland, where she marries a Highlander, Jamie Fraser.
And what a H i g h l a n d e r! Excusez-moi!
I might relate to Ms Sassenach. ("a typical Englishman or something considered typical of England —often used disparagingly by Scots and Irish" according to Merriam-Webster Dictionary.)
Me, the one bearing two worlds, with a being enrooted in Damascus, and a living in Bucharest.
Me, the “other”, the “different”, the “black sheep” of the family, perhaps? The Sassenach who doesn’t fit in?
Have you ever faced stigma or rejection or any of the sort?
Tell me more about it. I know I shall encrypt a petal of the story - right over here, soon, very soon.
Call it the benefit - of space, time or multiculturality?
One minute my male friend, somewhere around the globe, sends me a photo of himself, followed by a caricature of a series of female “triangle”. I ask you:
“How am I supposed to react to that? Why would HE send ME a “female triangle” when I have got my own?
Besides, the caricature is not inspiring. I shall let it be.
This lockdown might have affected him. A tiny bit.
The other minute, a friend from Romania sends me a beautiful painting of a child on the stairs. I wonder… what’s his story?
Fares replies to Mariam on her wall: "Thank You, for all the Joy you have brought to my life!"
Now I’m running out of time,
I have many other confessions to make.
How about I told you more of it - some other time?
Pirouette! Dance through! Sing with me, will you? I shall sing with you, again, soon…