TRUTH & CHEESECAKE

new domain

2010-08-25T14:29:00.001-04:00

Truth and Cheesecake has moved to:

www.truthandcheesecake.com

are you reading this?

2010-08-13T11:56:00.006-04:00

once again, a simple turn around an unsuspecting corner, and everything has changed.

there is something sharp and translucent about the initial moment a new thought crosses the mind. the introduction of a new concept, something never before experience or considered, valicating the delicate surfaces of my eager mind. possibilities flow from every neuron and suddenly, perspectives have travelled spectrums.

there is something about the human condition that angers me. the endless almost cruel cycle of pain inflicted due to pain caused. people's behaviors and thoughts, beliefs and understandings, all altered by the accumulation of the things others have done to them - things that they will in turn do to others. where does it end ?

know who you are.

ehhh

2010-08-06T13:47:00.000-04:00

writer's block

noctivagant

2010-07-19T14:15:00.002-04:00

I guess I thought I was immune. My system, composed partially of distilled resilience, a dab of this fleeting sense of belonging and the rest, filled to the brim with the quintessential hope of my youth. But here I am, sick and coughing, nose running and head pounding with knowledge which I'd rather not have acquired.

An elderly woman climbed slowly onto the packed bus. She gazed over at the designated seating, already filled with the glowing faces of men and women seated in exhaustion, healthy but tired from a day of work and a heat heavy and clinging. Eyes began to shift, each trying to avoid the gaze of the elderly woman, now gripping the railing, her frail arms attempting to balance the motions of the moving bus. For a few suspended moments, no one moved, each hoping that the other would get up and give up a seat which, in all effect, already belonged to the elderly woman.
finally, a slightly overweight hijabi woman who had previously been engrossed in her novel, looked up and seeing the situation, immediately stood up. gently guiding her arms around the small older woman, she maneuvered herself aside and gave up her seat. gratitude flowed from the elderly woman's lips, lilting in her Asian accent. Others looked on with looks of relief.

How deep does human apathy go? From allowing an elderly citizen to stand in a crowded bus during rush hour traffic, to pedestrians walking by a person collapsed or injured on the side of the street - what defines our capacity for compassion? Do values and faith develop a sense of immunity to an apathetic existence? Or is compassion something one is born with, and cultured into?

excerpt

2010-07-15T15:39:00.000-04:00

"your memory stands the test of time"

sanctuary

2010-07-09T09:29:00.004-04:00

I don't know what to say. I want the things I don't have (can't have, really shouldn't have). and words that I fumble with fail in their attempt to describe them. A want and a need, morphed together into an undistinguishable entity.

I want to speak to someone with the freedom that comes from the abscence of judgement.

**********

After a bit of delay and paper work, I finally begin working at an undisclosed MP's office next week. and so it begins.

home

2010-06-30T15:22:00.003-04:00

the fatigue that grips my bones feels almost welcome. a new day, and a new beginning. albeit temporary, this is going to be 6 weeks I'll never forget.

?

2010-06-22T02:38:00.003-04:00

The conquer of the world, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretense but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the idea - something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer sacrifice to...

- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

Helen Thomas - excerpt from Jon Stewart report

2010-06-14T22:43:00.002-04:00

"tell them to get the hell out of Palestine"

the circumstances surrounding her sad resignation raises some serious issues:

what's the line between opinion and opinion journalism?

when does the America's unwavering defense of Israel begin to compromise their unwavering defense of free speech?

does our media demonstrate a casual bias against the arab world and the suffering of the Palestinians?

these are the kind of questions reporters [and americans] must be asking themselves.

somewhere in ajax ...

2010-06-13T18:09:00.001-04:00

What is there in the unsaid? The words that pile and accumulate in tension, taut and heavy with the weight of silence in which they are carried. I climb a concrete roof that covers the subway, feel the hardness beneath by feet. I climb and twirl in wheels of confusion and it’s only on the landing that I see what he sees. Eyes shaded by the promise of a drunken remedy. I’ll help you down, they say. Take my hand.

The vulnerability of the moment, seeing him for the first time ever and in that state. It’s almost like a movie, or something you’d read about in one of those paper back top sellers that you picked up on your way through Chapters, almost as an afterthought, walking through just to get to where you want a little bit faster. to cut across the sea of pages and bound words, and make it there on time, even though you’re not really running late in the first place. His lips parted and he said things that made me feel like I was in one of those indie small budget movies, the ones where scenes are cut and pasted with inexperienced ambition – raw in their form, humane in their essence. Good intentions that harm more than they do good.

The woman behind the counter was Indian. She smiled at me, with a look that was strangely free of judgment. I paid her and thought to myself, how many times before have I done this? They say a mistake that is repeated is a mistake that is earned. Well, they don’t really. But they ought to, seeing how we tend to live not only in clichés, but the reality which we embedded in each, an excuse in the making.

We’re just random particles.

An afterthought to my initial decision. This isn’t what I had imagined. I walked in veiled, walked out unveiled, like a transitory moment where I am who I am, and just as suddenly, who I’m not. Maybe even now, simultaneously. Trying to change the nature of what is really happening with kisses on closed eyelids and a forehead that creases in anxiety. Later, when I have time to reflect, I worry that maybe everything will need to be rearranged again. Reshuffling parts or whole emotions, stacking them to make space for more. A new sensation that grips me by the throat and asks me to give in. it’s nothing I haven’t handled before, I think.

And right now, all that matters is the feeling of residual sand on my feet and the rivers flowing in my eyes, coming home to a family that is always willing, regardless of what I might have done. and everything is okay.

Frank O'Hara

2010-06-08T16:57:00.000-04:00

The unrecapturable nostalgia for nostalgia
For I might have hated, thus mourned

But do we really need anything more to be sorry about
wouldn't it be extra, as all pain is extra?

Sent from my iPhone

haha

2010-06-07T00:19:00.001-04:00

my statcounter just showed me that someone from Marina Del Rey, California, US typed in "will cheesecake give me heart burn" in Google and got my blog. why thank you.

fact

2010-06-03T20:46:00.001-04:00

there are only two types of women in the world: goddesses and doormats.

what to believe

2010-05-31T23:14:00.003-04:00

i learned yesterday, what it means to be stuck between a rock and a hard place. i learned the hard way, as i usually do, and i reflected. a change stirred inside me. i remembered the day i sat across a man who said he was there to help. he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill. maybe it was a fifty dollar bill. all i remember is that it was new, edges straight and crisp, not yet wrinkled by the thousands of hands that would eventually touch it. he held the bill and asked me how much it was worth.

"fifty dollars" I said.

he smiled, blue eyes glinting.

as he held my gaze, he crumpled the bill, crushing it between his hands until it became nothing but a small ball of coloured paper. garbage.

he stared at me intently, and slowly began to unwrap the now very wrinkled (and at some places, very torn) bill.

"How much is it worth now?" he asked.

I looked. the bill, even though now prematurely torn and aged, was still worth fifty dollars. i could still present it at a store, i thought, and other than the odd look from the cashier at the state of my money, i would still buy what I wanted. the bill, it seemed, had not lost it's worth.

yesterday, i climbed to the execution place

2010-05-31T08:30:00.002-04:00

Grief settles thick in the throat,

and lungs:

thousands of sorrows being suffered, clouds of cruelty,

all somehow from love.

Wail and be thirsty for your own blood. Climb

to the execution place. It is time.

The Nile flows red: the Nile flows pure.

Dry thorns and aloe wood -- are the same until fire touches.

A warrior and a mean coward stand here similar

until arrows rain.

A subtle lion with strategy gets the prey to run toward him,

saying

Kill me again

Don't try to figure this out. Love's work looks absurd, but trying to find a meaning will hide it more.

Silence.

- Rumi

conclusion

2010-05-30T11:55:00.003-04:00

verbs become past tense. today, i have come to the heavy realization that secrets are necessary in this life.

this is how my heart behaves

2010-05-30T11:47:00.002-04:00

a girl, in her early twenties, sits at a table on the patio of one of the bars on St-Catherine street. even though the sun's intensity had lessened with the passing of time (it was late afternoon), it was evident from the empty glasses that line the table that her and her partner had been there for a while. she wore jeans and a pair of designer flats, with their heels clicked back in impatience, pedicured toes peeking. occasionally, the wind would move strands of her dark hair across her face, or pull at the checkered shawl around her neck, which she adjusted absentmindedly. her partner, a man in his rather late twenties, sat to her right. he wore a navy golf shirt and khaki pants the colour of his hair. he spoke in hushed tones and a slightly turned head, as if he was constantly speaking of something he deemed highly important. her face, however, seemed unregistering of the urgency of his message. with furrowed brows and her eyes glazed and wondering, she stares at the glass of wine she holds in her hands, swirling the liquid and watching it's movements with a distant concentration. finally the man's frustration becomes evident from the clenching fists and raised voice. she pauses her swirling and stares at me for a moment, shifting her concentration to the sudden lines of worry that have appeared on his face, almost as if noticing him there for the first time.

he meets her gaze and for a moment, the observer is tricked into believing that the storm might have passed. that the conflict and the weight of what she'd revealed to him might have become lighter through the touch of their love. but before this thought becomes reality, the scene shifts and she is gone, wind carrying her away with every step of swirling promises, broken hearts and open ideals. the man, left behind at the table, the man with the heart of strength like the steel structures that surround him, simply sits. lighting a cigarette, he lifts his head in submission, staring silently at the cloudless summer night.

potential

2010-05-28T09:59:00.005-04:00

there is an eternity between who I am and who I used to be. an eternity that I've travelled in what seems to me to be have been nothing but mere seconds, expanded and filled with the moments that have defined who I am, only to be stretched taut with the reward and consequences of the decisions I have chosen to make.

I meet new people everyday. people who know the present me, oblivious of what came before. which gets me thinking about who they might have been, and who they no longer are. we are simply who we choose to show others, a reflection of our ideals and sometimes, a reflection of our unrealistic perceptions of the world we live in.
"You have to believe that life is more than the sum of its parts, kiddo."

I have started a group called YEH! (Youth Eleminitation Hobophobia). I was surprised at the responses that I received - and the myrad spectrum of what every individual believed to be true, and each of which I hold in high regard. after all, what is an idea if it is not scrutinized and praised where each are due?

ta da!

2010-05-16T23:53:00.006-04:00

mornings have become difficult. these mornings, with their weak light, promising nothing short of a restlessness bound from within. one that comes with the first thought of the day - a frustration at the lack of answers, and the lack of purpose. what now? they ask. what are you going to do now?
these mornings, taunting and relentless, mock the idealistic vibrance of my far away dreams.

the sadness has given way to a void. a void so vast that in my dreams, it sits as a field so endless that it envelops my thoughts whole -- a realm where I can't even imagine visiting, at the risk of getting lost in the abyss that seems to hold everything I've ever wondered about.

it is not a bad feeling, and rather painless. but this restlessness that has settled in my heart is something to be reckoned with. it follows me wherever I go, to whichever state of mind I seek refuge. As I run tucking away thoughts of change and challenge, the void sucks them back into the frontal lobe of my tired, overcharged brain. think about them, it says. think about them now.

answers are coming

Black dynamite 'em!

2010-05-07T07:54:00.001-04:00

The lights from the cars go by in streams / seems like I stand pretty
much unseen / but I open my eyes and beaaaams come out / scores of
angels play / and the loneliness gets blown away / Gimme gimme
symphonies / gimme more than the life I see

Sent from my iPhone

heart-burn

2010-04-27T15:33:00.003-04:00

when i read the email, i could feel each and every single one of my defenses breaking. fibers of anger dissolving as if they'd never even existed. i guess my weakness has always been other people's weaknesses.

but there was also something final about it. a knot at the end of a rope that has been suspended and uncertain for a long time.

i don't know how to move on from this. why lie? the concept seems foreign and frightening. how to cox my heart back? convince and persuade it to let go and start over. that things will get better. to lure it with promises and open ideals. it's almost like trying to convince a child that the shot they're about to receive really is necessary, when all their little eyes see is the sharp, pointy end of a needle that is going to hurt oh so bad.

it's almost like trying to fool myself...with self awareness.

"i always thought you were so much above any of this"

too proud for love

2010-04-25T13:18:00.000-04:00

"Dying people lie too. Wish they'd worked less, been nicer, opened orphanages for kittens. If you really want to do something, you do it. You don't save it for a sound bite." - House

Kiosk - To Kojaee

2010-04-22T20:56:00.001-04:00

soale khoobiye

filling up their glasses

2010-04-19T10:37:00.001-04:00

just a couple more days before exams are over. this summer will be unlike any other. i'm going to make sure of it

delam havaato karde

shades

2010-04-13T08:57:00.001-04:00

filling my clothes with smoke // a couple of the wires of my heart are broke

yeki bood yeki nabood

2010-04-09T16:26:00.002-04:00

so i started digging. from one end of the earth to the other through stones and rock and rubble. i guess in a way the scraps and bruises became comforting after a while - a sign that if anything, i was at least moving forward.

i've tried writing back but i don't know what to say. what is there to say?

/

2010-04-07T15:30:00.001-04:00

can a person be fixed ?

chetori

2010-04-03T23:10:00.003-04:00

i miss those days of simplicity. when i loved you and you loved me. there is graffiti behind you in a picture i've taken. not knowing where this journey would take me, i dived right in. we used to line up candy and papers and smokes on the arm rest of a car that carried me and my memories across early september heat. the sun coming through the windshield i never would have guessed that our days would be numbered.

kashki hamechi arezoo nabood.

2010-03-31T11:49:00.001-04:00

Without a wrinkle in today cuz there's no tomorrow

Sent from my iPhone

Edward Maya - This Is My Life

2010-03-30T09:51:00.001-04:00

kw

2010-03-25T10:53:00.000-04:00

I'm the only thing I'm afraid of

all or nothing

2010-03-23T14:01:00.004-04:00

why are we afraid?

the answer wouldn't answer itself, as they usually do, with strings of thoughts and paradigms that scan through my mind. i guess it took this to realize that the reasons for the fear i see in everyone is as different as each of the people who carry them.

i don't understand the ironies of life. the clips that play themselves out and become someone's life. there will be a day when you won't be looking forward to your life anymore. with numbered days, you'll sit there, looking back on your life. a journey complete. the reality of that moment places me in a place of awe and agitation that i find myself visiting often.

a red string tied around his wrist. i guess i was trying to convey, somehow, the way i felt at that moment. i almost faltered and changed my mind. but then i recognized it as fear and i'd sworn to look it in the face. this life is the here and now, and not the flicker of afterthoughts and 'what ifs'. and perhaps, with this, lays chance to do good by someone. and although everything right now is uncertain, there is something (which I can't pin point) that is keeping me around.

maybe fighting for our humanity starts here.

burn some bras

2010-03-19T13:21:00.005-04:00

on this beautiful sunny March day (and a Friday at that!) i want to take this opportunity to honour every single girl and woman (and in betweens) who have had their hearts broken (mislead, stabbed, erradicated, etc) by boys (yes, boys) who, out of fear (cowardice, ignorance, apathy) have used said women as trophy punching bags in vain attempts to add dimension to their glorified failures.

Ladies, here's to us!
...and to men who are dignified and noble enough to be worthy of your presence :)

in my life

2010-03-15T12:01:00.004-04:00

but of all these friends and lovers, there is no one compares with you
and these memories lose their meaning, when i think of love
as something new

though i know i'll never lose affection for people and things that went before
i know i'll often stop and think about them
in my life, i love you more

edukators

2010-03-15T01:37:00.001-04:00

revolutions are born in the heart

"Happy, you think they're happy? Look around, get out of that company car and walk on the street! Anyone look happy? Or more like scared animals? Look into their living rooms, all glued to the TV listening to chic zombies speaking of happiness long gone. Drive around town you'll see all the filth, the overcrowding the masses in department stores up and down like robots on escalators. Nobody knows anybody! They think happiness is an inch away but it's unreachable because you stole it. That's how it is. You know perfectly well. But I have news for you, executive: The system is overheated. We're just the forerunners, your days are almost over. Swim in your shit technology, but others are full of rage. The rage of children living in slums watching American action films... the people have had enough of your shit system!" - The Edukators

Gnarls Barkley - Who's Gonna Save My Soul (video)

2010-03-14T21:49:00.001-04:00

23 mins

2010-03-13T12:54:00.002-05:00

you are the best and the worse thing that ever happened to me.

love, eat, pray

2010-03-10T09:19:00.000-05:00

"I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have always fallen in love fast and without measuring risks. I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man, rather than with the man himself, and I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism."
— Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)

tik tok

2010-03-08T01:41:00.006-05:00

i know that i should write. somehow express the things that are going on in my head, and put them into a concrete form. something that can be handled, examined and tucked away.

a curtain is falling. and there you are, standing behind it as someone who i don't recognize -- someone whom comparison with seems absurd.

to be honest, i tried very hard to keep it up. this curtain so thick it had managed to hide even the most elaborate of intentions. i nailed it up everyday when the brackets failed, after that long initial wait. and when those didn't hold any longer, and the days went on and on, i used my hands to hold it up. i'd stand on a stool everyday, precariously balancing myself and the weight of a curtain heavy with denial. and i guess, after a while, when it became clear that this phone was not going to ring in your name again - the weight became unbearable -- and irritating. and so i dropped it.

i'm starting to think i've wasted more than enough space here, for this.

*************

on a lighter note, i love my job. and, i gotta admit, i just might love school too. but lets not get ahead of ourselves. i'm itching to travel again.

word by word

2010-02-24T22:48:00.002-05:00

i guess i just got tired of feeling guilty. a flaw that suddenly becomes the enigma of the day.

i get the human condition. heck, i live it every single day. but to actually understand how people feel -- to put together the words they dont say and the looks they are too afraid to give? it's enough to make you wish you had no sense of time or space. a freedom and a curse.

i'm working on this thing called happiness.

rebuttal

2010-02-23T02:45:00.002-05:00

i wear them like invisible pendants around a tired neck. accumulated days and taken breaths.

i guess i'm doing okay

..

2010-01-15T11:50:00.000-05:00

sometimes it's hard to see the lines we've drawn -- until we cross them.

no time for time

2010-01-13T03:33:00.004-05:00

she sat there crying, mascara running. so bewildered. holding her felt like holding myself. or any woman, really. our hearts all feel the same. love the same.

it's nearly 5am i'm sitting here listening to kanye. i woke from thirst, grabbed my watch and bottle of water simultaneously. it was only 2am then. after the initial confusion passed, and the night settled, i remembered.

i pulled the cigarette from her lips. she'd fallen asleep smoking again. i always wondered if i would come home one day and find her in ashes. the walls in ashes. the furniture and the memories, gone in flames. and then i try to reason why i seem to always be itching to start stories i know I will never finish. sentences i'll never put together quite right.

do you remember how i used to wait for you by your door?

i thought about asking you to come back. i know where you are and why you haven't written yet. I mean, what could you possibly say? reality sometimes doesn't just sting, it brands you. i thought about asking you to come back and live here again. do it right this time? i dont understand how promises that were made just this summer could no longer be valid now. words thrown into the air -- letting them fall where they may.

it's almost over

set

2010-01-06T00:21:00.003-05:00

i miss you the most at night. when all the smoke has been inhaled and all the clothes folded. when every class has been attended and all notes dutifully taken down -- when i've drained every minute of the day, shifting between my reality and the dreams I built around you -- only then do i allow myself to miss you the most.

it's real talent

2010-01-03T01:53:00.003-05:00

the first night i found out, i didn't sleep for two days. but now that lady karma has handed you your reward, the scales seem to have finally tipped to equality.

*************

i write letters to you in my mind. sentences glued together in the haste of wanting to say it all. i never send them because i never write them down. the endings are always too patchy, the beginnings too innocent.

a chipped heart. the words together never made sense -- how can a heart chip exactly?

unless it's made of ice?

************

When I stepped inside again,
I stopped thinking about love for a minute — I thought about it
almost all the time then — and thought instead
about being alive for a while in a world
with cobblestones, new snow, and the unconscious
poem printed by hooves on the maiden street.

Of course I was not yet ready to be grateful

-- Excerpt from "Imagining it" by Kate Barnes

808

2009-12-13T23:53:00.002-05:00

flakes of black have floated and landed in the white.

evidence. i move the snow around with the palm of my hand and the flakes melt and become water. i scrape at the top layer, for a few seconds, vainly attempting to cover the remains of what was only happening a few seconds ago ... but it's useless. it seems as if once tainted, the mixture becomes inseparable.

grey matter.

the contents of the issue have been sealed and locked. somewhat of a metaphorical air tight container. i'm not going to even look at it until exams are over.

hmm.

montreal for new year's?

tanhai

2009-12-11T11:20:00.002-05:00

cheers

2009-12-08T01:01:00.002-05:00

advice that came from a very unlikely source. and i say that all the time, i know. everything seems to be an 'unlikely course'. but this time, it's definitely been strange, to say the least.

and with this glass, i vow to remedy! (exclamation mark was an after-thought)

state of mind

2009-12-06T02:21:00.001-05:00

the clarity of the situation is awfully painful.

traffic

2009-11-20T13:09:00.001-05:00

why is that people tend to realize your worth only after you're gone?

I've seen more poverty and sadness in the past few nights than in the span of my short lifetime. there are so many faces, so many stories swirling in the streets of Tehran that you become dizzy just trying to grasp the scope of it all.

from those prison walls to the orphanage we visited, everything feels to epitomize the irony of life -- the brutality in their kind eyes, the kindness behind those cracked, over worked hands.

depending on the societal class you belong to, there seems to be either a never ending struggle to survive, or a never ending struggle to constantly impress those around you.

english hospitality

2009-11-11T12:22:00.005-05:00

i'm sitting at heathrow for what seems to have become a never ending wait for the next connecting flight.

"In my world, it's not a matter of where, but where next"

I went to buy a sandwich at one of the airport shops here. We'd already converted 20 euros to pounds to buy some snacks and smoothies, and I had exactly 2.65 pounds left. I looked around for a while, hoping to find something that would be just under that, so that I wouldn't be forced to break yet another 20 euros and get the change all back in pounds. (which would be useless to be since we're leaving heathrow in about an hour)

So after a while, I found myself in a little shop called "Pret at Manger", which for a London airport seemed a tad off -- pret a manger is after all "ready to eat" in French :/

So I made my way through the stacks of displays of food, and finally settled on a sundried tomato and cheese baguette sandwich. the cost? 2.69 pounds. happy with my discovery, I made my way over to a very pretty cashier and hoped to receive nothing short of the hospitality that I'm used to in Canada (and a hospitality, I may add, that I wouldn't have had a moment's hesitation to offer to her, had she been in my shoes). So, our pretty cashier rang up my purchase and declared that I owed her 2.69 pounds. I handed over the change with a apologetic smile, explaining how I was short by 5 cents. I was traveling and only passing through, I explained, and I didn't want to convert a 20 euro bill and break it only for 5 cents.

"sorry" she said, "I can't do that."

her statement was so final that I was caught off track. I waved the 20 euro bill in her face, asking if she was serious. her unsmiling face was my answer. I left the sandwich on the counter and walked away, bewildered.

a bit later, I found another sandwich shop and bought a sandwich for which I had an extra 11 cents left over. still shocked (and by now a tad annoyed) at what had happened, I returned to Pret a Manger, and stood in line patiently until the same girl who had served me earlier called me to the cash. I walked over and handed her the 11 cents, explaining that she should start a tip jar to help people who are short by a few cents -- this is what we do in Canada, I said. We help people get through their day.

The look of utter shock (and maybe guilt?) was enough for me. She thanked me profusely and in a fluster, took the change and slid it beside her cash register.

I'd say that's a pretty good way to leave London :)

growth

2009-11-01T23:05:00.003-05:00

projections into the future keep playing in my head. the possibilities seem so endless. i think I'm going to prep for LSATs this summer.

i know, right?

peut-être, Je vais être un avocat

near future

2009-10-26T21:47:00.007-04:00

i try to do good by people. i genuinely try. but it becomes strange sometimes.

sometimes, we're in situations where doing good by someone might mean something completely different than what you'd initially imagined. sometimes, situations call for a kind of 'goodness' that doesn't fit the conventionality of it's own definition. a goodness which might seem unlikely and delusional to an outside witness. but, you do it anyway. because it helps, in some small way, to keep things right.

if they ever ask me, I will tell them the truth. It won't be something they'll want to hear, but it will be something they'll need to hear.

time. i feel as if it eludes me.

*****************

I'm making post graduation plans. i'm going to go away. between 3 to 7 months of just being away. I'm going to travel, and probably live with my little sister in Europe for a few months while she goes to school there. oh and Iran. good good Iran. the restlessness that won't be tamed!

I keep anticipating the worse, and planning for the most intense recovery session possible. anything short of it would be... unacceptable?

I'm also saving up for an SLR camera -- it's pretty much haunting me in my sleep these days :/

tic

2009-10-24T13:29:00.002-04:00

in the depth of waking light, wrapped in between layers of sleep, i always wake up and reach for my phone. i check it, always looking for something. a text, a message, an email? there's always a bunch of each, but never really what i'm looking for. perhaps the search would be easier if i had even the slightest idea what it is i wanted to see.

...

2009-10-22T23:56:00.000-04:00

illusionista

2009-10-17T22:21:00.003-04:00

i didnt realize i was pacing. or even that i had been pacing for a while. lately, my thoughts seem to be continuous // relenting. as soon as one ends, another begins, picking up precisely where the last one stopped. a surprisingly seamless transition.

maybe that's why recording them has been so difficult.

there is traces of her on my page. there is traces of her, in fact, all over this thing. it's this kind of invisible evidence that everyone seems to feel, but do nothing about. what baffled me was how ecstatic she got over leftovers. interpolating herself into a mess of a situation only she would benefit from. ironically, it reminds me of the bold and the beautiful.

"I mean that, of course, with the utmost ... disrespect." ha.

I watched wuthering heights today. which, when i think about it, can probably be blamed for the ensuing moodiness that followed me around for the rest of the day. not that i minded - it was a nice change from the everyday [good] madness that is my life.

i never even changed out of my pj's all day. i wish i could write for a living. i'd do it in my pj's too.

cross roads

2009-10-04T10:27:00.002-04:00

the smoke clears and what's left behind is unrecognizable. absurd, almost, in it's redundancy. repeatability.
the words wont come in their regular flow, and im too tired to try.
i like keeping things simple.

"start the war!"

2009-09-25T17:13:00.005-04:00

the office is quiet. not the sort of quiet where no one speaks - the sort of quiet where no one is here.

and there isn't. everyone has over an hour ago. but a feeling of obligation and somethign else i can't quite pinpoint, has kept me here.

i hate endings. even the smallest one rearranges my already carefully arranged insides, and the feeling that remains is the one of unfamiliarity. and what is more frightening than the uncertain?

it's my boss' last day. i'm going to miss her. if i ever write out the events of my life, she'll be one of those characters i met along the way, the ones you mention and dedicated a chapter to, because they've impacted you, changed you, but most importantly, taught you something no one else could have.

i hate endings.

On repeat

2009-09-23T17:42:00.000-04:00

The door wide open,

These words you've spoken

hang like rain clouds pending the storm

Cut me slowly
Like you owe me
I feel like being torn

Show me 'round the rooms in your house,
down the hallway to your doubt
and I won't blame you
I won't blame you
I won't blame you

A season's ended
lives change with the melting snow

There's no easier decisions
just life we've been given
resigned to failing control

Show me 'round the rooms in your house
down the hallway to your doubt
and I won't blame you
I won't blame you

Lay them at my table
secrets meant for me
life we know's not simple
this loving not for free

Show me 'round the rooms in your house
down the hallway to your doubt
and I won't blame you
I won't blame you
I won't blame you...

-- "I won't blame you" by Pilate.

One of my favorite bands of all. time.

Sent from my iPhone

multiessentials

2009-09-19T14:07:00.006-04:00

the vulnerability of the moment. it's always been with me. lingered in my mind's thought like a residue, hard to remove.

the bloody nose. the quiet of the neighborhood. his expression, a broken almost bewildered look, cast in shadows. was there shame? or was it guilt?
it's too heavy to even write about. the best way to end it, i suppose, would be to insert a cliche. something about how everything happens for a reason. or that those moments are what makes us who we are. either way, whichever the case might be, i know that it wont end here. it's strange, but it's one of those things i know. the characters in the story might age and change, but they'll never be too far. suspended always in the spectra of my vision.

***************

i've decided to start another 'blog. a 'political one'. i dont know much, but i'm learning, and i wanted to document the process (and my frustrations with it).

hence, Politricks.

my soul is taking a break :)

2009-09-17T01:27:00.003-04:00

the places i've been. i could just tell you and the little hair you have on your arm would stand up.
the places i've been

some scenes fabricated entirely of fibres of light. lighter, even. i wonder if thoughts weigh anything, and if they do, what the unit would be to count them. i can't even get my mind around it.

sometimes i travel so far that the string that holds the events of my life become taut. stretched and pulled from the weight of these moments, elapsed, condensed. heavy. moments are, after all, only an accumulation of thoughts.

our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure.

never have these words been more true than the past 2 weeks.

zendegi az in behtar akhe ???

coco

2009-09-09T01:21:00.004-04:00

i open one eye. light gives way to consciousness even when i strain to keep it out. it flows in. cold and smooth and unrelenting.
the initial thought, the first raw, raspy thought of the day, is always you. i know how scared you are the the thought.

i was telling her how it took so long for it to all fall into place. i say this as i juggle pieces that are still homeless. parts that don't quite fit. but somehow that play, that theatre for the world, has become a trophy.

i fear that one day you'll leave me.
fear? comon now. why be modest? it's something much deeper than fear. something much more trivial.
i think about it almost every-day. perversely orchestrate scenarios in my mind, all of which that end with and ending. concrete. permanent.
like the periods at the end of sentences you wish had never been written. even that has a finality to it.
how can a sentence ever be undone?

we always dream of 'forevers'. but we only see the ones that suit us. a forever apart is still a forever. and equally possible.
ever thought of that?

there is a resilience that builds on hard work. on skin that has been scrapped and healed and scrapped again.

i thought for while that words had started to fail me. it wasnt until i saw her, staring back at me with resentment and anger that i realized. i'd been the one all along.

2009-08-11T14:04:00.002-04:00

i feel completely drained. over worked in almost every miniscule square inch of my being. a state of semi-numbness has formed where i no longer completely feel, but i'm not completely spared, either.

the simple truth is that i dont understand. the numbness began when i realized there wasn't much left to understand. stay in rome for 3 months. i wish i could.

i heard a song the other day. it's been on replay ever since.

cuz i dont know who i am, who i am without you
all i know is that i should
and i dont know if i can stand another hand upon you but
all i know is that i should
cuz she will love you more than i could
she who dares to stand where i stood.

monday

2009-08-03T09:05:00.001-04:00

i read somewhere that the reason people procrastinate is to avoid the sinking/negative feeling they get when starting or attempting a task.

i think they're right.

I was going to volunteer at the bia2ottawa Persian Festival at Vincent Massey (it was supposed to be yesterday)... but it got postponed to today because of rain.
which is fine... if I worked in ONTARIO, since they have a civic holiday today.

but us Quebecers gotta got to work :(

2009-08-01T22:12:00.001-04:00

indifferent

the hardest part

2009-07-22T23:21:00.008-04:00

acceptance. complete, soulful acceptance. needs practice.

i remember flipping through her 'secret' book once. by chance, landing on a page where she'd scribbled words that contained such rawness, that to this moment I still remember them. so i picked another page, a blank one where things were still possible. I wrote her a note, a reminder of how incredibly beautiful she really was. something to counter what i'd read -- a way to explain. another story.

I've started yoga today. the instructor talked about steps in how to become...wait for it...

a YOGI.

when I heard her say it for the first time, it cracked me up. but then i wasn't sure if i'd heard right, till she said it again a few more times. all it reminded me of was a weird combination of 'yogi bear' characters and 'southern ontario.' ha. my giggle spreading in the large, quiet room.

in a way, i think i was completely unaccustomed to the serenity of the place. the utter quiet that seemed to almost live in everything. it wasnt silence. there was soft, stringy music playing in the background and the sounds of movement coming from the girls around me. but it was quiet. from the couches to the wooden separators -- everything seemed to just -- be. i didn't understand the silence and i spoke in a normal tone -- which, i came to find, is pretty loud for a yoga classroom. but my friend taught me, patiently: for every one of my loud questions she delivered a quiet, whispered explanation. i caught on soon enough. actually, after a while, there really was no reason to talk. her presence, and the presence of the other students all seemed to fade into the background, even though their movements was something i was constantly aware of.
but so many times, when i was told to not to forget to breathe (which was pretty often for me), i'd catch my jaw locked, my teeth gritting. a kind of tension that took quite a bit of concentration to soothe down.

contentment

2009-07-20T13:47:00.003-04:00

I know. it's been a while.

things have been keeping me busy. my mind - in it's constant state of overdrive - has been keeping me busy.

i'm going on vacation soon. in a couple of weeks. doors open, doors close. i don't know what i'm leaving behind, or what i'll be coming back to. but uncertainty is something i've become accustomed to -- something i expect.

in the awakening i've shed the saddness. i write less because contentment doesn't entirely measure up to the dramatic material of my former melancholy. i don't know what changed but things gradually began to smooth out. the pieces fell with hesitance into place, but once there, it feels like they are lodged forever. there is no way i will forget these lessons i've learned.
in a way, i'm better off than I have ever been.

retro revolution

2009-06-15T23:24:00.001-04:00

i made a list when i was a child. i remember clutching it to sleep, dreaming of granting people the things they were never able to get for themselves.

this is the stuff that dreams are made of

be hameye iraniha:

2009-06-13T09:33:00.001-04:00

negaraan nabaashid... khodam dorostesh mikonam :)

halo

2009-05-27T23:15:00.000-04:00

changes start to happen when you start to dream big

"in your face"

2009-05-19T21:57:00.001-04:00

everything is temporary

rain

2009-05-10T12:18:00.001-04:00

ye shab zire baaroon ke cheshmam be raahe
mibinam ke kooche poreh noore maahe
toh maahe mani ke to baaroon residi
omide mani to shabe naa-omidi

simpler time

2009-05-04T22:04:00.002-04:00

"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK"

ridiculous things

2009-04-30T00:14:00.000-04:00

There’s some sort of
annoying german song being played right now
a few cubicles away from me.
It’s ridiculously loud for an office setting so
I walk over and find a blonde man (probably german) fumbling with an old Dell laptop
His frustration evident by the redness of his face and
The way he kept yelling “I zon’t know what ziz going on!!”

I’ve come back to my desk and

I know I write this in an attempt –
A forced attempt
From my part to me
To get thoughts of him off my mind. You can tell that it’s not going too well.

I drag out sentences and words of
diminutive importance to try somehow make sense of it all I don’t
know how
or when this happened
I don’t even remember feeling a drastic change but
It seems that you have made your way into the creases and fields of my
Very naïve heart and made a resting place
So deep
Claimed your land so adamantly
that
There is no erasing you

The rooms of our days are empty. I think back now and reminisce
Wondering if you’d still let me leave had you know it was the last time I’d be inside those walls
I close my eyes and imagine myself walking
On ground moist with sudden rain
shomal
It feels as if for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to go there with you

I know writing used to be a method. A haphazard life line
It still is, in a way
But I’m beginning to see that it’s more than that.
how else would I explain any of this?

Tracy Chapman - Change

2009-04-18T17:49:00.002-04:00

if you know that you would die today
saw the face of God and love would you change?
if you knew that love can break your heart when you're down so low you cannot fall
would you change?
how bad how good does it need to get
how many losses how much regret?

what chain reaction would cause an effect

makes you turn around makes you try to explain

makes you forgive and forget

makes you change

if you knew that you would be alone / knowing right, being wrong

would you change would you change

if you knew that you would find the truth bring
s a pain that can't be soothed

would you change?

how bad how good does it need to get? how many losses how much regret?

what change reaction would cause an effect?

makes you turn around

makes you try to explain

makes you forgive and forget

makes you change makes

you change makes you change

Are you so up right
You can't be bent
If it comes to blows
Are you so sure you won't be crawling
If not for the good why why risk falling
Why risk falling?

If everything you think you know
Makes your life unbearable
Would you change?
Would you change?

if you broken every rule and vow
and hard times come to bring you down
would you change would you change

if you saw the face of God and love

would you change?

destiny

2009-04-17T19:14:00.002-04:00

i want a clean start. a light heart

stumble

2009-04-04T11:36:00.001-04:00

http://www.ohfuckiloveyou.com/

clap again

2009-03-26T01:53:00.002-04:00

it started with a hug

summer is coming

many dare me already

2009-03-23T21:59:00.004-04:00

what do i talk about first? why i did it? how it felt?

i wonder which is more important.

the escape was enormous. filling. i didnt think about it. it wasn't even there. except when i talked about him. it poured out of me in words and sounds and it felt like a breath for my soul.

he'll like never know what he means to me. he is incapable. suspicious. tired.

sometimes i think of the extent of the damage, and i wonder: when did i become this woman? why do i love so hard? sometimes, i wonder if things had been different if we'd met later. in our late 20s. but then i remember what they say. about men who pretend to sleep. you just can't wake them up. not now, not 5 years from now.

the night was a blurr a shot of gold. bass. light coloured eyes, everywhere.

premadonna

2009-03-18T20:41:00.002-04:00

what are you waiting for nobody is going to show you how why would they when there's someone else to do what you can do right now? got no boundaries and no limits if thats exactly what put me in it if its against the law arrest me dont stop me now dont need to catch my breath i can go on and on and on when the lights go down and there's no one left i can go on and on and on no on's gonna stop me they say a good thing never lasts then it has to fall ... those are the people that did nothing no not too much at all // give me the baseline and i'lls hake it give me a record and i'll break it there's no begining and no ending give me a chance to go and i'll take it dont stop me now

much to learn

2009-03-11T23:48:00.004-04:00

my eyes were closed -- most of the time. but at one point, when i did remember to open them, my lips parted in wonder. the look in his eyes -- the questioning, puzzled look in his eyes. the frown on his brow. i guess all i can say is that it took me by surprised. gripped me so hard, in fact, that i'm writing about it now, days later.

i guess i didnt expect it. never thought of how they hurt // those small, jagged edges I repeatedly inserted into his chest. they paralleled my own. you'd think i'd be able to understand by now

the smell lingers on me much further and farther than I realize. the darkness of saturday's fiasco still hangs on to me. the confusion, the flood of faces, hands, sad sad smiles. pretentious eyes following me. how can you be surrounded by so many bodies and be utterly // completely // alone?

thoughts chase each other in my mind. reminiscent of my prowl(ness). i can't say i'm hurt // on the contrary. i'm just shocked. i knew the way the world was. the yearnings people had. everyone there wanted the same thing. it was the only reason they were all crammed there. the same reason they all came in lines and waited patiently. there some things money can't buy.

i don't remember much. this should frighten me, and it does at times. but then the parts i do remember are far more vibrant than i could have ever imagined them to be. there was compression columns in a deserted construction site. i think i tried to take a picture of the reinforcements. my fragmented education amused me. but it wasnt happening. the darkness, the one i couldnt shake seeped into the camera. it wasnt even the fact that it was night anymore. it was everywhere, making things so confusing. so easy to accept.

so what?

i carry the book everywhere. it's something to plunge into. something to keep my eyes from wandering from the windows to the faces to the hands. bitterness leaving me in the middle of an intersection.

i am constantly reminded of my mortality. they say we never know when death will come // and i understand what that means. then there's the dreams. the ones that wake me with racing heartbeats moments // seconds before i die. sometimes i wonder if this yearning to know what is beyond is mirrored in the recklessness. the harsh decisions. the vibrating energy. my smile

i had to admit to myself today that i'm clumsy. the entire meaning of this is still not clear to me though. or better yet, i choose that clarity as it suits me?

i'm just testing it out. the door opens sometimes and there is a breeze. a breeze so light it is almost not there. but the brush of it on my face reminds me: it's only the beginning. if i want to do it, and there's no one there for me with me, what do i do?

no one's gonna stop me

waiting

2009-03-08T22:44:00.003-04:00

random

2009-02-19T22:59:00.003-05:00

i wont stop // wont mess my groove
cuz i already know how this thing goes

her parents were divorced. she was one of those kids who referred to their homes as "my dad's place" and "my mom's house". the first time i saw her, she was standing near me in the bus, phone to her ear. her nose was pierced and it strangely suited her. but she was dressed expensively // a girl who's father showered her with expensive, miscellaneous things during the divorce. he's trying to buy my love. she'd think. and most of the time, she was right. it wasn't until the beamer came that she was certain. taking the bus had become a stubborn, inconvenient way to make a point.

who do you love more? mommy or daddy?

but that moment, standing in the bus and talking to her dad, her voice was distant. nonchalant. she addressed him by his first name. not dad or daddy or anything to show her link to him.
'i told you brian. i'm hanging out a bit before coming to your place.'

i wondered how it must felt to be her dad at that moment. there must be much worse things in life ?

it's like i dont care.

karma

2009-02-16T23:50:00.001-05:00

someone who takes pictures

2009-02-14T10:12:00.001-05:00

" I’ve been making a list of the things they don’t teach you at school. They don’t teach you how to love somebody. They don’t teach you how to be famous. They don’t teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don’t teach you how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer // or how to move on when the one you love walks away from you. They don’t teach you how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach you what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach you anything worth knowing."

fact

2009-02-11T22:19:00.000-05:00

you can't wake a person who is pretending to be asleep

...

2009-02-11T20:17:00.001-05:00

who do i tell?

days go by

2009-02-10T21:13:00.001-05:00

it's a little funny

inordinate amount of time

2009-02-04T22:25:00.006-05:00

where to begin?

"write about the irony of not being sad anymore"

what about the irony of the irony? but this borderlines on redundancy and maybe even dare i say, insanity?

i carried this sinking feeling all day today. almost like a background noise, subtle but consistent. along with the big smiles firm handshakes the folders piled high, ID card clipped. smile smile smile. but of course, as these things are, it was always there. subtle. consistent. tiring

i tried to pin point it around lunch. what was it? i guess i never figured it out because i'm still boldly denying it. i just keep drawing circles around myself
fading chalk // tracing out lines and boundaries. harsh strokes of reality.

i know. its dramatic and somewhat ridiculous. he told me that being alone was the worst thing in the world. how did it come to this?

i learned a lot about myself today // i'll laugh it off tomorrow. it's just another obstacle.

"how can your heart heal if you keep pulling out the sutures?"

day 3

2009-01-31T17:05:00.003-05:00

i don't remember the last time i was so sick. i have been in bed so long i feel like my body has imprinted itself on the mattress. mountains of empty juice boxes and used tissues litter every possible inch of the floor near my bed. i'm going out of my mind with inactivity. i crave a good conversation.

instead, I've kept busy with movies. documentaries. i've watched a lot so far:

revolutionary road
the reader
white oleander
Che Part I
doubt
Cidade de Deus (City of God)
frozen river
chronicle of my sexual failures
vicky christina barcelona
bride wars (hehe)
an american crime
dustbin baby
united states of tara (series)

i'm definitely missing a couple :/

it was you who said

2009-01-30T00:33:00.005-05:00

i wrote a letter and put it in the one place i knew he'd see it. he can't help himself.

i heard your voice in the background. it sounded forced and sad even though it was laughing. what is your affiliation with pain? come back.

there's a new character. it's weird because i can't seem to hear his voice unless i close my eyes. those two sensors seem completely unrelated. I don't know. there's a snapshot i took a voice i remember. i know it's another perfect set up for another perfect disappointment. but when i talk to you, I feel like I'm living.

her hair has waves black rivulets flowing backwards almost.against currents. uncertain of certainty. conformity.

i feel right, lately. better

trigger

2009-01-25T01:36:00.002-05:00

it's like she's perfect. and he's perfect and they're perfect.

they say there are different types of hesaadat. i think that just translates to other // things.

'i like... things'

i dont want to get heavy(-ier?) right now. so i do.

the tabs i've accumulated seem random. haphazard even. they're not. they are a list of things put off // constantly. ten online publishers / creative Byline / 50 perfect songs / lil wayne my life / doubt / roghaye/ ottawa school of photograpy // youtube // oxford dictionary what does it mean to be daedalian ?

dream more realistically. i should really take my own advice.

a joke.

2009-01-24T22:30:00.001-05:00

do not fall into despair

sorry.

2009-01-21T21:44:00.000-05:00

i love my family.
more than anything in the world.

:)

2009-01-21T00:40:00.001-05:00

A student comes to a young professor's office hours. She glances down the hall, closes his door, kneels pleadingly.

"I would do *anything* to pass this exam." She leans closer to him, flips back her hair, gazes meaningfully
into his eyes.

"I mean..." she whispers, "...I would do...*anything*."

He returns her gaze. "Anything?"

"*Anything*."

His voice softens. "*Anything*??"

"*Anything*."

His voice turns to a whisper. "Would you...*study*?"

i hear a story

2009-01-18T00:41:00.002-05:00

eyes. I admit. mine are freakishly large. almost alien like and animated. Green scales where skin should be

her eyes have dogs inside was the literal translation. these word by word translations rarely make sense. they do, however, convey the certain sense of the phrase. This one makes me clench my teeth. Dogs remind me of ferocity. Of something you feel could perhaps even be rude. it's such a different angle. the change is harsh.

I’m starting to feel as if there is something here that I’ve failed to notice. Failed to ever notice. Something I seem to be able to do. Something my eyes give away without my permission…without my knowledge even. What do they see when they look in them?

I’m afraid that none of them know me. Actually, afraid is the wrong word. I am aware that none of them know me. ridiculously aware. Aware of the charade I am playing. But then again, who am I kidding? Everyone is either playing a charade or creating one.

I type words quickly to make noise to keep her outside it becomes almost like a pattern, a dream. deceit. “How could you be so heartless” . something I’ll never understand. nor how lonely he must be.

On a brighter note, I have picked up // brushed up old hobbies. The ones I’d put away on shelves, now dusty. It’s almost hard to believe they belong to me. my hobbies.

I remembered an image in my mind today.
have you ever remembered a forgotten dream? or rather, i guess the real question is ... have you ever allowed yourself to forget a dream?
The image is clear. The memory of it… the naïve excitement it gave me to think of it. ‘once im done school’. done with the cold factual manner of engineers. thoughts of photojournalism // political activism flooded my mind. a desire to get to know the people i called ‘hamvatan’. I imagined camera in hand, friend in tow, reading writing conversing travelling touching lives. recording.

The crunch and crank of the gears as they turn into place. Old, yes.
Broken? hardly

mixed up

2009-01-15T23:52:00.000-05:00

take care of the moment
be congruent.

gaza

2009-01-13T00:20:00.003-05:00

I don't understand.

delam

2009-01-12T00:40:00.003-05:00

it's hard not to let the uncertainty overwhelm me. sometimes i wonder if the rather unsubstantial events of the past have irreversibly altered the moments i live today.
it's even harder not to dream of the future. any future.

wasted potential is hypocrisy. I feel like I've been asleep all this time.

Marry Me

2009-01-11T12:35:00.003-05:00

Directed by Michelle Lehman, last year's Tropfest Australia winning film, Marry Me, tells a little love story about "a little girl who likes a little boy and a little boy who likes his BMX bike". The film was inspired by a true story when director, Michelle, at 5 years of age, would chase Jason Mahooney around the school in a pretend wedding dress (her mother's nightie).