Mazloum

People usually do lists on their blogs, right? Thought I'd get with the program. Here are a few things I'd be quite happy about them happening before my eventual demise (read: ascension to Valhalla and bro-ing out with Thor and Odin): 1 - Travel to seven different countries. Get hopelessly lost in one, have a life-changing epiphany in another. 2 - Be on the roof of a really tall building at sunset, stay there chatting with friends until sunrise. 3 - Wake up one day to nothing but the sea and the sky. Oh, and a book. Clothes optional. 4 - Punch someone. Doesn't have to be a massive one. Just a punch. 5- Be hugged lovingly by a child, and not just because I just gave them candy. 6- Write a best-selling book. Tease my nemesis endlessly about it.          Addendum: - Get a nemesis. 7 - Jump off a waterfall. Hopefully not land in shallow water. 8 - Live long enough for someone to discover a drug that would make my parents live forever

I write to feel right. This is - quite basically - the reason I write at all. My brain is often a cauldron, within which thoughts are constantly frothing and bubbling, threatening to spill over the edges, but the cauldron is tightly sealed, and so the thoughts keep percolating endlessly, never surrendering, only giving rise to more thoughts and ideas until you feel like your head is about to burst. And so, I grab a pen, and with it I carve holes into my skull, allowing all the thoughts to filter through in an orderly (or not so orderly) manner, so that I can simply stop feeling like my head is three times its size, so I can stop grinding my teeth so hard that I feel my jaw giving way. I write to stop feeling angry, or sad, or tired, or even to celebrate my happiness or random bouts of content. I write, because I like words. It's ironic how I've managed to fail to find a word that expresses how I feel about words. There is no word, sadly, to describe that feeling you

A few minutes ago, I looked out my window, and saw the moon. Then it hit me; I am on the surface of a planet, looking up at something thousands of kilometers away, reflecting the light of something that is even farther than that. Scale is such a funny thing. We think the world of our problems, whereas we're really, really small. Take a moment, look out your window right now, and think about it. Is it really worth worrying about?

This was initially triggered by a six-word suggestion from a fellow Twitter user. Thanks, Amenah. This is also dedicated to Adly , who was one of the first people to encourage me to start this blog, and who's leaving the country soon. You shall be missed! ----------------- You were in my dreams again yesterday. You stood there, clutching that lace umbrella you loved so much. I watch in awe, as you twirl it playfully in your hands, and I can see you’ve painted your nails blue, that brilliant azure color that I’ve always loved so much. I smile, you’ve always had a thing for all things Victorian; you called them regal, austere, beautiful. 

My existence is a series of questions that I attempt to answer everyday, and the answers never really impress me. I start with the obvious. “What am I?” - that one is easy enough. I am a man, a human being, an assortment of organs linked together by myriad vessels in a body that runs like clockwork. I am a being that is recognized by fellow beings as one of their own, part of a herd, member of the not-so-exclusive club of Humanity. At least, that’s the physical interpretation of my existence. I am okay with that, it is clear and clean-cut, and it’s hard to argue against. It is what I perceive myself as, and it is close enough to what I perceive others as. So, it’s all right. Then you move on to “Who am I?”, and that’s where the problems start; how do you know who you are? Do you define yourself, again, by your physical existence? No, because then you’d lose your individuality, that you fought for so valiantly by popping out of that birth canal, and you just become another

I'm writing this post because a certain trend has come to my attention, which is no way new or unexpected, but the repercussions of which are truly staggering. We, as humans, have this amazing tendency to abuse whatever privileges we manage to provide for ourselves; various forms of energy, all sorts of ingenious inventions, but no privilege has been more widespread in its disastrous effects on the human race than the exponential growth in technological advancements, and especially the internet. Consider your life right now; you spend your day connected to the internet, browsing a massive amount of websites, reading, watching videos, checking in to your favorite coffee shop (then whining about how everyone now gets their coffee there and you have to stand in a queue for half an hour...God, those troglodytes!), then you see something nice and you decide to take a photo and maybe share it on Twitter or Instagram, and maybe then you'll record a video of your favorite undergroun

What am I doing here? I’m in a country I don’t know, working with people I’ve never seen before, discussing a topic that I’m not even sure I’m interested in anymore. And yet, here I am, walking down the only street I know, trying not to feel like it’s all a waste of time. And then I see this famous donut shop, and I realize that even though I’ve been there for weeks, I haven’t even tried a donut. I never even thought about it, even though I walked down that street probably a dozen times since I got here. Apathy? Perhaps. Maybe I should just go home. The thoughts are still circling my head, giving me no respite, as I walk into the shop and decide to maybe try one of the donuts. I walk up to the counter and... ...you know what? I’m sure you’ll think I’m exaggerating, or maybe you’ll roll your eyes when I say it, thinking that I’m just another person spouting off nonsense, or perhaps I was in a deeply impressionable state, but I’m pretty sure that the girl I saw working at the counter th

“All right, you know what? I’m leaving.” “What? Why?” “Because I’m sick of this. Of ALL of this. I can’t take it anymore.” “But, you can’t leave.” “Why can’t I?” “Because...I dunno, because you’re not supposed to leave. You need to be here with me.” “Really? And why is that? What makes you think I’m not supposed to leave?” “You’ve been here with me since as far as I can remember!” “That’s not a good enough reason.” “No?” “No. You could say that I’ve never...known any better, and so I just resorted to sticking around, seeing how things go.” “And now?” “Well, now I can see that this is not the best use of my time, and so I’ve decided to move on.” “So, it’s like that then?” “Oh, please. Don’t give me that wounded dog tone. It’s not like you ever paid attention to me in the first place.” “What?” “Oh, yeah. When was the last time you thought of me? Talked to me? Even looked at me! Think about it. It’s like you don’t even know I’m there.” “But, I do know. I just...” “You j