Writing

Woman, Please.

I was driving to the doctors today and hit a traffic jam. Frustrated, I leaned back and turned up the radio and this is what I heard…

It would appear that women who breastfeed their children are being given shopping vouchers as a treat for providing food… to their own child. It’s a new scheme that has been put into place in order to try and raise the very low figures of breast-fed children in England. Some women reported that they felt rewarded enough by the scheme to carry on feeding their children via this method. To clarify, no vouchers = no breastfeeding. Vouchers = happy to continue breastfeeding.

The many facial expressions I made whilst listening to this “news” were quite the sight for other vehicles passing by I imagine.

The mind… it boggles. I appreciate that breastfeeding doesn’t work for some women and causes pain and therefore more damage than good. I even get that some women choose not to go down the breastfeeding route because they are not comfortable with the idea, fair enough. To each his her own.

But to then tell me that you are essentially being bribed to feed your own kid, I somehow can’t get on board with that. She says like she was invited to get on board.

I just feel like there are a million and one other ways to encourage women to breastfeed; creating more (clean!) breastfeeding rooms in public places for instance, just off the top of my head.

Mothers are great humans and should be given all the rewards known to man. Just not this very twisted one whose main purpose is to raise statistics and has naff all to do with actually bonding with your child.

Cue hate mail.

Advertisements

//. 7

There’s a few shitty things happening around me that are too close to ignore. As hard as I try to turn the other cheek, pretend none of it is happening, this invisible force makes me turn back round to face my demons whether I want to or not. I wouldn’t wish this gut wrenching pain on my worst enemy and I’m quite a bitter bitch so that’s saying something.

Still, December is coming.

December always fixes everything somehow.

December is a storage compartment you rent so you can lock all the bullshit away and leave it behind for a long time before you need to pay it a visit again.

December is the end of all the bad and the begining of (potentially) all the good.

December is the shoulder you sometimes want to lean on because the people around you just aren’t cutting it anymore.

December is that warm embrace you need when everyone else is asleep and no one is around to comfort your distressed ass.

December is that piping hot tomato soup warming your soul on a bitter cold day spent in your car, parked outside the cemetery.

December is hot chocolate and release; an influx of much needed happy hormones.

December is that soft breeze that tickles your face like a caress.

December is the winter sun that warms your finger tips.

December. Hella pressure being put on you I know, but you better turn up.

Things I think about…

…when I’m supposed to be sleeping, because work;

-I don’t make nearly enough people jealous that I speak Arabic fluently when they don’t. I feel like it’s the one language that everyone is learning these days and there is a teasing opportunity not to be missed here.

-I cannot wait until December. This month brings my heart so much joy and God knows I need me some joy right about now.

-Why did I buy a scary book yesterday that I am now too scared to read? Dimwit. There’s £7 I ain’t ever seeing again.

-Waiting for medical test results is one part of growing up I don’t want to have to deal with. Going to hospital for further tests is a second. Physical pain is a third. As it turns out, my pain threshold is an absolute joke.

-Sometimes, I honestly think I am the funniest person I know.

-If greenery didn’t make me itchy and the ground wasn’t muddy 24/7 because England, I’d sit under a tree all day, close my eyes and just feel.

-I want a fitbit just to see what my sleeping pattern’s saying. I know 100% that my sleep is disturbed every night because I wake up and stare at my ceiling like a zombie but evidence would be nice.

-I should cut my hair. I’ve grown it long enough. It’s not grass. Decision is now made. Goodbye hair.

When people piss you off…

…here’s 10 things that will help ease the pain irritation:

-Escaping the scene of the crime and driving aimlessly for a few hours.

-Finding somewhere warm (with wifi) that won’t throw you out when you outstay your welcome.

-People watching. There is something theraputic about lots of feet going left and right.

-Your phone and headphones. Plug the fuck out of life.

-If there’s a bookshop get a book.

-If there’s a cinema go watch a film, pick a seat that isn’t popular to avoid humans.

-Park somewhere quiet, after the druggies leave, savour the silence.

-Don’t text people you will regret texting when you have sobered up; you got this.

-Have a portable phone charger handy.

-Don’t leave the house without warm clothing in November.

//. 6

There’s an Arabic proverb which roughly translated says; “those who knock on doors will recieve answers.” Essentially it means if you rattle people’s cages, you will get what’s coming to you. If you meddle in what doesn’t concern you, you will regret it later. If you eavesdrop on someone’s conversation, only you are to blame for what you end up hearing.

I unintentionally eavesdropped on someone’s phone conversation once. I didn’t mean to, but the snippets I caught grabbed my attention and it was destructive shit that concerned me and several loved ones so I had to know what was being said. Could I prevent any of it from happening? No. And yet there I was listening to things that ate away at me bit by bit coming from the mouth of someone I never dreamed would be saying any of it at all.

I got so scared of what I heard, I felt nauseous, hyperventilated and had a panic attack. As I sat on the floor trying to control my breathing I remember thinking I am never going to eavesdrop on anyone’s conversation ever again.

…until I found myself doing the same thing, five years later, tonight. Do you ever worry histroy is about to repeat itself?

//. 5

On a whim and against my better judgement, I decided to Google “30 things to do before 30.” A move possibly inspired by my friends kindly going on and on about my looming 30th birthday and how we have to do something crazy for it, like throw me off of a plane or something. No thank you. They think I’m a bore for not wanting anything for my birthday.

I do want something. I told them all I wanted a charpai weeks ago and they literally still think I’m joking. Smh, what’s a girl gotta do to convince people she refuses to pay £150 for the one she found online (not pictured) when I think know they are hella cheap to obtain else where? I won’t tell you what they said when I then told them I wanted a set of metal silver cups that we used to drink water from back home. I’m just an old homesick soul yano.

Moving on, most of those 30 before 30 lists said 1. Start a blog and I thought: well, done. Maybe, I should close blog though just to jazz it up a bit, keep things different. And yeah I know I’ve already gone missing a couple of times recently. But I’m toying with the idea of writing until the end of the year then boom, shut down.

Thing is, my heart has really not been into blogging lately and I think it was starting to show in my writing. A couple of you are my worst critics and ya’ll suck for letting me know btw. Hate yous now.

Anyway, all the above being said, blog has served me well and I have this God awful habit of not being able to fully let go of anything or anyone that has shown me kindness at any given point in life ergo, I stopped being active on blog then returned to it again; rinse, repeat.

And if you’re thinking that closing blog permenantly would have ensured that I didn’t reoffend, don’t think I hadn’t considered that. Unfortunately, active or inactive, I had to keep it open for legal-ish reasons. Without going too deeply into it, think stolen content, evidence, dates and Sinan & Leyla. Those of you who have been around my blog that long will be able to piece that together and shed a tear of frustration on my behalf.

Back to those God forsaken lists. It appears that most of them are designed to numb you down (spas), scare the crap out of you (sky diving), bankrupt you (traveling) and taxing you (learn a new language). Ergo I am going to start my own list I think.

.

.

.

1. Make my own charpai.

Nah, revelation much? I think so – *dabs, remember she is 30, shuffles feet round looking lost, signs out*

(image: @theatticdubai)

//. 4

When I was younger, not only in my teens but also throughout my twenties, I fell into this trap of believing that I was one hundred percent entitled to knowing certain details about my life. Like what I would be doing with myself by certain ages.

To walk you through it, I was supposed to graduate by 21, which due to failing the same exam 3 times in a row never happened. Then I was supposed to be married by 22, because it was the obvious next step after graduating, but also- and it makes me cringe to admit this- the hopeless romantic in me thought that this was the perfect age for this particular step to take place. That didn’t happen either because well, men. I was also supposed to be a lawyer by 24 and there are various reasons why this never happened, mainly because of failing said above exams but also there was no way on God’s earth that someone who hates conflict and arguments as much as myself was ever going to make it big in that field. And finally, if I didn’t get married by 25, I was supposed to buy a house by 29- and maybe it was life taking pity on me, or maybe it was all the self inflicted deadlines catching up with me and biting me in the ass that did it, but this particular target I somehow managed to meet. Alhamdulilah. One out of twenty is not bad, right?

Almost every night of the last month I’ve laid in bed wondering where life will take me at 30 and 31 and 32, almost completely forgetting that growing old, which sometimes feels like a cruel and painful joke, is actually a real privilege that is not bestowed upon everyone. I think of all the people I have lost in the last five years alone- family or non, to death or otherwise- and honestly, my knees feel like they are about to give out.

Growing up, I’ve always thought that I was going to be one of those people who dies in their 20s which I suppose still has a 5.5week’s chance of becoming a reality. If I do make it to 30 though, this means that for some reason or another, God has chosen to keep me on this earth until he decides otherwise. Which is a gift, however…

I do always wonder why he’s keeping me here and what purpose he wants me to fulfil, because not knowing kills me inside. I want to know it and do it. I’m not about crusing through life and just seeing where the pieces fall. I feel like I have been losing my self and sharing my bed with these intrusive thoughts for a long time now and they simply refuse to let me sleep. I have also experienced, in the last 3 months alone, several painful episodes of phyaical unwellness that have driven me to brink of insanity and back.

All of the above, has led me to conclude that planning every step of your life to perfection is the equivelant of flirting with disaster. I know someone who spent the best part of 5 years designing their dream home only for it to be blown apart to pieces in a state of war that no one saw coming and I still hear their voice break when talking about that home because to them, it was more than just bricks and grout and plaster, it was where a thousand and one memories were made.

It has also led me to conclude that the question “where do you see your self in 5 years?” needs to be axed from interviews because it has the potential of ruining someone’s peace of mind worrying that they were supposed to be a researcher by 30 but they’re still working their way up in the labs.

There’s no moral of the story to any of the above. Take what you will away from it, something or nothing, makes little difference to me. I guess what I take from it, is that no one was supposed to be anything by a certain time just because they thought it and planned it that way. Anything could happen to interrupt your plans; war, death, weddings, births, bankrupcy, inheritence, anything. You just have to swallow that bitter pill and deal. As for not knowing what my purpose in life is, then I guess, for now, it could be to leave goodness wherever I go until said purpose finds me (which is a challenge if you know how much on an angry and short fused person I can be). At least this way, I will have left my own little legacy behind and that is better than merely existing… here but not really there.