And a youth said, "Speak to us of Friendship."
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."
And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

Khalil Gibran.

The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole ---
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

The first stanza of Sylvia Plath's "Insomniac" poem. I love this poem so much. I think Plath really nailed it about sleepless nights, and how individual and introspective it can be.

Its been a long time since i've had an insomniac night. I remember writing posts about Insomnia and likening it to a car that is perfectly still but still has its engine running; i still feel the same way about it even now.

What's odd is that this hasnt happened for a long time now. Most of the time, sleep for me means staying in my bed for an hour or two, then dozing off. I've had sleeps that totally didn't energize me at all and those were different matter entirely.

Tonight, i actually feel fully awake. That might be because we've got so much chocolate in the fridge (i've counted eating 8 bars today) and maybe its the sugar thats keeping me awake. But still, i've had a lot on my mind recently. I can't help but feel my sleeplessness is coming from all the stupid things i've been doing lately.

True, i am reaching a transitional point right now. I am being tested to see if my resolve really was as strong as i claimed it was. That's fine. Watching Garden State the other day though, reminded me how much i miss having "me time". Its that time that you spend being yourself. Your family, your friends have nothing to do with it. Its a time of complete isolation where you regain that personal space.

Recently i've been collecting this "me time". One problem when it comes to me is that i do not focus on myself enough. Everything i do is so centralized and focused around others that rarely do i get the opportunity to sit down and focus on the most immediate issues. Me and osman were talking about this earlier- about watching certain films alone the first time (or alone altogether) and i really like that. I really miss that.

Or for example, when Nigella's talking about "Strangely enough most of my biggest life desicions have been made while stirring in the kitchen, stirring eases the mind" and what she says is true. When i'm alone in the kitchen, undisturbed and stirring a pot of gravy or custard (or something similar that requires constant attention) you cant help but let your thoughts wander in the same spiral that the spoon is moving in and then you begin to seriously make commitments to yourself.

Being sleepless tonight makes me think about all those things that i want to sort out. All those bits of time that i want to selfishly keep to myself. The problem comes is when people misinterpret that you're avoiding them. True, i'm a lot more distant nowadays than i used to be. That's because i dont actually have the energy to talk about the same issues that i would talk about when i was younger. Nowadays, you just wanna get on with it.

So in a sense, i live my life alone and i take pride in that. It can be very fulfilling to know you can achieve things in that solitary state. It can be empowering, like you dont need anyone in the world and the only thing you have is yourself.

But we all know that's not the truth. There's always room for contradiction in any pattern of human behaviour. And while i can keep that rouse of strength up for quite long, i can crack. After all, i have a very strong support network around me and i am extremely fortunate.

Sometimes it gets to me that i couldnt have more time with these people. Ashja, Shabazz, Ismael, Tehreem, Carina, Tarik. I cannot live without these people. They are my life and my blood. I can only go along living this solitary life and then feeling claustrophobic, feeling a need to break out. Feeling a need to connect. To not feel so alone anymore.

But then, i have serious problems to sort out. You've got to be so careful in striking that balance. Because the minute i get involved my friendships, i stop caring about myself. My friends and their happiness and satisfaction is all i ever care about. And in my situation, that's quite self-destructive if its not kept to a minimum. I have no self control when it comes to this. I love my friends too much to hold back. But I'm always going to be there for them when they need me, its just i cant go out of my way and spend energy to make sure things are Ok all the time.

There's 2 distinct things that stick out in my head tonight, regarding friends.

Firstly, me and Ashja. I keep forgetting to call him. Its almost as if i've tossed him in the back of my head. I'll call him today, no doubt. But even when i do, he's such a busy person. We almost have no time to talk anymore. When was the last time i saw him? There's just so much i have to say. I feel upset and bitter that life has gotten to the point where it interferes with everything. I grew up with him. I remember running up phone bills of hundreds of pounds just because me and him talked so damn much.

Secondly, Tehreem. Doing the light paintings and the photos at Osman's house just made me realise how much i really wanted tehr to be there. No doubt she would have come up with all these stimulating and artistic ideas. And then from that thought, things expanded further. What if me and the gang showed her around london? What if we took the SLR cameras and took some really interesting photography? What about if we messed around at hyde park, or rowed on the boats on the lake? What if, what if, what if. A collection of possibilities that are destined never to happen. Then i stamped my foot impatiently and cursed myself for being so foolish in dreaming up such things.

As far as everyone else goes.....i know they're all struggling in their own ways. I wish i had a way to influence things, to shift things in their favour. But i know this is beyond me, and i'm a person that is aware of limitations. Especially my own.

Having dad here has cut the momentum into a lot of things. But i wont let that stop me. After all, there's a lot of things heading for me. I just need this little insomniac night to pass, then i will return to normal. After all, why do we fall?

So that we can learn to pick ourselves up again.

The abyss passes over me when i open my eyes. Someone has been filtering light through my window, and i refuse to give in. I try my best to slink back into the shadows. Into safety. But i hear those familiar sounds of birds and cars, of divinity and man. I realize that i am embedded in this wirework.

It twists around, its sharp edges poking holes into me and making bleed. Thats why i always come back to this place. This place that always keeps me stagnated in convalesence. I rememeber all of you, those who came here and shared your souls.

Sometimes i ache for that, for the truth. So I cave in, i dismantle underneath these secrets. Slipped in tightly in the gaps inside me, these secrets breathe. I want nothing more than to let them go, to unwind them with my finger into nothing.

All that remains is the haze. The endless fuzz of a future unwilling to compromise itself. Somewhere in that distortion, you may be there. I like to think so, believe it so. But i will never really know.

Life is a pool, and the world is an ocean. Becoming part of it means learning how to move among the waters, taking care not to drown.

I remember my first attempts to swim in primary school. Nothing worked. I had to have every kind of floating material attached to me, and yet i couldnt do it properly. It wasnt clicking.

Fast forward a few years to dubai. I can see the pool from my hotel room. It looks inviting and exciting. I think "why not" and then i go straight for the pool. The water at first is disorientating, but i try my best. In 30 mins, i'm swimming.

I learnt that the most important thing is to trust the water and not to be afraid. The problem with water is psychological. The fear of drowning, of being consumed and not having solid ground underneath your feet. But you develop trust with the waters, the more you stay there, the better it gets.

Life is scary, and difficult the more we run away. When we confront our problems, it turns out that it wasnt as bad as we thought it was; that we were stronger after all. That most of the difficulty in life is self made, and self inflicted.

Its only when you look at your life, at all of it - from beginning to end do you truly realize that all you have to do is calm down and trust life. Trust that if you put your energies into what you're doing, then you will carry yourself across the waters. Sometimes the waves will carry you this way and that, but there's always that degree of control, of influence that you have over your own direction.

But the danger of drowning comes when you dont put faith in the current of life. Have you ever seen it when people who cant swim get into deep water and believe they're drowning? They move their hands frantically to grab something but nothing is there. They panic and try to escape. And yet ironically, a dead corpse only floats on water. If only they learnt to trust their surroundings. To have faith.

And once you trust the waters, you can fly. Swimming is a kind of flying. You float across the surface. Its truly an amazing feeling the first time you feel it. And then you realise, it wasnt so bad after all. Once you face your fears, you begin to overcome them.

Life is too short, too fleeting to live every moment in fear of what may happen to you. In fear of the surroundings and trying to have everything safe and planned out. Anything worth living for in life requires risk. Waking up in the morning is a risk. You might have a bad day, you might not. But by getting up and out of bed, you are taking that risk.

Its worth taking because of the faith i have. I know that after all, things will be alright if i just face them. I will be ok, because i jumped into that cool arabian water, and swam.

There's something i need to get off my chest. Pride and Prejudice was fucking amazing. Jane Austen is such an amazing writer. The two things that struck me (there's probably much more to it but i'm blind to it at this stage) was firstly, her witty sarcasm. Lizzy Bennet is absolutely charming as a character. She has a razor sharp wit and attacks anyone who dares to challenge her. But her attacks come off as really smooth and elegant, especially in her exchanges with Mr Darcy and later on the confrontation with Lady Catherine. Which leads me onto the next point; the characters.

The characters are so memorable because what Austen is dealing with is stereotypes. Each of her characters are a particular stereotype, but not in the conventional sense of what we would think of a stereotype. When you think "stereotype" you think a set of values and behaviourisms that come off as rather one-sided and naive. But Austen's characters get a fair share of everything. They're stereotypical of real life, not our ideological, perceived stereotypes. Mrs Bennet for example, only ever cares about money. Yet when her daughter's safety or dignity comes into question, she automatically makes that the highest priority. She is infact, a stereotype of mothers who are in a decadent state, but she has her fair share of faults and humanity.

This essentially is what drew me to her characters and the way she plays them out. They're all characters we know really well. So that just because Austen calls them by a different name doesnt change the fact that they are still very universal. "What's in a name? That which we call rose would smell just as sweet" and whatnot.

Another thing that struck me is that Mr Darcy and Lizzy are very radical in terms of what we expect men and women to act like in a conventional romance. Jane and Mr Bingley are a perfect representation of a typical man/woman relationship, the woman is weak and gentle and the man is strong and courteous.

But by the way Mr Darcy and Lizzy are in the story, Austen is putting forth some really fundamental questions. Why do men always have to be strong, unfeeling and arrogant? Men have sensitive, vunerable sides that need to be addressed and taken care of. And most of the time society ignores this. And similarly, why do women always have to be at the whim of men? Women can be strong, independant and have her own sense of pride just as easily as men can. She doesnt have to be relegated to being dumbed down and weak just to fulfill this stereotype of "innocence" or "sensitivity" that society expects of her?

And in that sense, Austen really set her characters free. Mr Darcy's change towards the end of the book was really satisfying because she wasnt confining her characters in a box. The characters had room to move, room to breathe and become something entirely on their own. So yes, i loved every bit of it.

The night is cruel, and shadowy. Its dark tones are not one of impertinence, but of surrounding truth. It shelters us underneath its beauty, and hides evil in its cracks. And within this protection, the clown rides triumphantly through the streets, the jagged smile changing shape as the shadows move over it. His smile has been forced by a blade, carved out into his face and into his destiny; his laughter remains there always, for all to see. In the dark streets, a small group of cars glide over the streets imperceptively. With what few people that pass by, the ones that do spot the group of cars glare at it, and then walk away in intimidation.

Tonight the clown is heading to the Sumria building. The recent events of uncontrollable smaller gangs, the rising force of the police in response to their own activities, and above all – the big cloaked bat make tonight a night where stringent measures will be taken. The biggest gangs begin to gather there in order to reach an agreement on how they will deal with the situation. Of course, things are never quite straightforward as one would like them to be, and a big room of criminals seldom each agreement to each other in words, since for the most part they choose bullets as their language.
After some time, the Sumria building pulls up into view. It is a dirty, building with wooden boards for windows, but some traces of light can be seen filtering through the cracks. It was once a building used by Gotham’s main companies but dulled over by age. A message on the phone tells the clown that there is a change of plan as they are entering not by the main doors, but by the basement entrance. The Estri gang tonight is responsible for maintaining security of the entire meeting, and it just so turns out that the best security is the one that remains shapeless, and invisible.
The doormen recoil in surprise at the sight of the clown approaching the building.

“Is that him?”
“No, it can’t be”
“Look at his face ...god....what the hell happened?”
The clown’s face is easy to notice. The jagged smile has been smeared in thick, red lipstick. The distorted flesh is less noticeable, but the flesh sags around the edges. His eyes have a beady intensity, as if they have the power to burn through wood. It is covered by thick layers of dark eyeliner, which diffuse into the white paint that surrounds the rest of his skin. It is a cheap sort of paint, and it does not create a pure sheet of white, as the faint colour of flesh can be seen behind them. The paint is peeling off in some places. He opens his mouth gently, to speak. The scars can be seen shifting place slightly.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, i was told that we’d be making a grand entrance today! Why the sudden change?
The guard shifts nervously but keeps his composure. “Sir! we’ve received reports that there will be a few patrols around these areas of streets tonight, Mr. Estri has told us to move the entrance point to the basement” he says this in a hurried manner, he is terrified of looking at the clown in the eyes. There is a slight silence that hangs after he has finished his sentence, but the clown simply grins and places a gloved hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, i see. Well, whatever you need to keep things smooth! And as always, i like to start from the bottom upwards. Ha ha!”
Nobody understands the joke as of yet. The doors creak open to a narrow hallway. “This way sir...”
The clown grunts and says “Now, don’t bother with the formalities. Just get me to the room.” And they nod anxiously and hurry along the hallway. It is damp and wet, the water pipes above occasionally drip into their contained puzzles below.

The hallway grinds into a dead end with a solitary door at the end. Behind the door, various growls, squeaks, and noises of many kinds can be heard escaping through the wood. The shift of a vodka glass on a table, the clanking of coins, the slamming down of a fist, accented by a few rings on the fingers maybe. And perhaps, the rattling hard plastic of a gun, somewhere securely in people’s coats. The next noise is a little chuckle from the clown. “Heh.” …the sounds of crime, he thinks. These sounds he has known all his life. The noises soon stop, as the door opens with a creak.

One particular deformed part of my being that most people overlook is my eyesight. I have quite bad eyesight, with -4 and -6 in each eye, and its been quite bad since my childhood.

I was never born with bad eyesight, thats for sure. But my bad eyesight was caused by at first, excessive reading, then excessive tv. Gradually my eyesight worsened overtime. I practically rely on glasses. If i do not have those frames of plastic and glass, literally half of the functionality of my day has gone down the drain. Its funny really, how something can have such control over me.

There is also something that people with bad eyesight will never understand. When you first wake up, because your eyesight is naturally blurred and hazy, it makes it difficult to get out of bed. The very first thing i do when i wake up is reach for my glasses straightaway. The sooner the world gets into clear vision, the more energy i'll have to get out of bed.

And so the common consensus is that bad eyesight is something bad to have. And for the most part, thats mostly true. But bad eyesight brings with it one main, hidden benefit.

And that is the power to turn your eyesight on and off.

When i'm in front of a crowd, or when i have to do public speaking, turning my eyesight off means i wont be able to see their facial expressions. It feels like i am talking to a blank wall of blur. It makes me that much more confident in what i'm saying. Its an unfair advantage you could say. But one of the more immediate benefits is just turning it off in everyday situations. I dont have to look a single person in the face. Which means, useless activies like flirting or stirring passions can instantly be turned off at a moment's notice. Its actually very satisfying to have bad eyesight.

As soon as winter kicked in, i felt my moods change straightaway. I'd get up in the morning and suddenly feel menancholy and lethargic; not wanting to give up the warm comfort of my bed for the cold outside reality.

Looking outside the window, i saw that all the daylight and colour had been completely drained away, leaving a kind of cloudy curtain that highlighted everything in grayscale monotones.

Then leaving the house you feel the cold biting away at your skin, and suddenly you just want to rush and get to wherever you need to get to go straightaway. Waiting for the train and the bus is a lot more irritable compared to spring and summer.

I remember reading an article in the newspaper about "Winter Blues" it spoke about how winter can induce a kind of seasonal depression linked to a lack of sunlight and also cold temperatures. Also, a lack of sunlight reduces the amount of Vitamin D you receive which affects your immune system; making you more susceptible to diseases which can contribute in creating a depressed/menancholy mood.

"Interesting" i thought, but i wasnt quick to pidgeonhole myself into that category so quickly. I could have done the same with bipolar depression, and then i'd be psyched on anti-depressants right now.

Going to the doctor is one of the last things i do. Its a last resort. I remember when i had problems with my foot, i left it for an entire year even though occasionally it'd hurt so much. "It'll heal" i told myself, and only when things got really bad did i bother going to the doctor. The thing about physical ailments is that you can actually measure and quantify whats happening.

It's a lot harder when it comes to the mind. So much of what we think and feel is completely unmeasureable. A lot of the time, we think on the terms that we invent for ourselves.

So when it came to issues such as bipolar, or winter blues, i wasnt rushing to get myself checked by the doctor. I didnt even consider myself as a victim of any of these conditions. "I am normal, fine, and healthy" i thought to myself, sure the winter made me slightly blue, and occasionally i can get depressed - but it never really lasts long enough to cause real harm.

The overarching issue over everything was simply this : How can you reduce yourself to a simple medical definition? I'd like to think i have more choice, more power over my own life rather than assimilate myself as part of the medical dictionary. Some would call that denial. but i think its really empowering.