انت بتضربني ليه؟ هو انا عملتلك يه؟

عنوان المقالة؟ لأ عادي بس دي الحاجة اللي وصلتلها انهاردة بعد يوم سواقة "مشاوير" طبيعي.. هو في ايه يا جدعان؟ لأ بجد في ايه؟ انا اتشتمت فوق الاربع خمس مرات ومنهم كانت ست كبيرة -من بتوع يلا موضة واعمل شعري وارَوش ويلا محدش واخد منها حاجة- وقفت جمبي بالعربية مخصوص عشان تقنعني اني مجنونة ومحتاجة مساعدة وبقلها معلش ومفيش هي قفلت معاها "ده حاجة ترارللي خالص" سايز ذا اولد جريفي وومن.. احلى حاجة اني اللي عملته اني كنت بعدل عربيتي عشان واقفة صف تاني في شارع المعسكر الروماني فطبعا موقف زي ده خلاني روحت فكرت ميتيين مليون مرة في طرق علاجي.. اما التاني كان واحد طالع من شارع داخل وحينزل يبصملي بالعشرة اني انا اللي داخلة غلط وانه هو ادرى والرجالة دايما على حق واسمعي كلام سي السيد والجو ده..

فا في ايه برده محدش جاوبني يا جماعة؟ انا سافرت الغردقة خمس ايام حسيت اني روحت الجنة.. ناس هايصة وجو جميل ومتفائلين وصدرهم رحب كده، مش دي الكلمة اللي بيقولوها على الناس اللي مرحبة برده؟ طب دول ايه الفرق انا مش عارفة، محدش فيهم واخد قلم في نفسه ولا بيبص لنفسه في المراية بعوجان -اصله جامد اوي واللوك ميكملش غير بكده- ولا حد كلمني وحش ولا ضايقني ولا انا ضايقت حد، بغض النظر طبعا عن ان المصريين زي العسل في التعامل في المطعم او عند الاوض او حاجة بس اول ما نشوف بعض على البحر التبرييق يشتغل، بس والله احسن مليون مرة من الاجانب هما اه الاجانب ولا كانك موجود ملهمش دعوة بيك بس برده اتميين..

المهم اني برده مفمتش في ايه ولا هافهم ولا عمرنا ما حنكون قاعدين في مكان كرتاحيين طول ما كل واحد قاعد باصص شزراً للتاني او بيشبه عليه عشان ينم وكده ولا طول ما الشارع ارض سباق وتحدي وانا اللي حعدي الاول يلا وكده.. انا بس نفسي انزل الشارع وانا مرتاحة واقعد في مكان حد يبتسملي معرفوش بعد الشر.. يعني مفهاش حاجة لو يوم انت نازل رايق تستحمل واحد راجع من شغله تعبان يمكن ربنا يفتحها في وشك في حاجة ولا حاجة او حاجة..

انا عارفة ان اللي بيكتب المفروض بيوصل استنتاج للقارئ في الاخر بس انا بعتذر اني معندييش عشان انا محتارة في الناس وف اسلوب التعامل معاهم ف اللي يعرف يريت يقوللي، بس حل يكون بعيد عن كبري دماغك واقفلي الشباك بلاش سلبية حضرتك منك له.. 

اما بالنشبالي حروح اشوف ادور على كتاب اقراه في اساليب التواصل او حاجة يمكن الاقي حاجة كويسة اقدر اطبقها واعدي بيها الناس اللي حتولع في بعض دي او الحق اشوف حاجة لعلاجي عشان انا ترارللي وكده.. 

 واخر حاجة بقدملكوا اهداء اغنية انت بتضربني ليه للفنان  هشام
 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnyixXEvQtQعفيفي وشكراَ..

 

See.. where we go..

He sat there lonely, uninterested as he watched the whole world passing by and nothing stopping for his apathy. They say everyone has a story, he thinks he is a whole bunch of stories of everyone who once touched him; deep down his soul. He writes thousands of words that are barely understood, or taken at depth. Do you know how artistic things could get? Writing gets him feeling the words through his hands, every letter is bound to the next; a train is built, a story is yet structured. Words carry so much meanings people don't get. A book that is written in months, or years is read in days. How deep? You bet. It's by how far a brain gets to understand the rest. No writer seems to write at rest; It gets so superficial, his words are too light to hold a meaning, a truth or some lesson. If you write them they will be no longer in your head. Do you really wanna know which idea gets be written after all? The one that conquers the writer's mind for the longest time. You don't really like the story, nor it is that it is new to you, you just like the perspective it has given you.

  He doesn't really know what he is writing, but it always feels like a good way to communicate. No matter how far you travel or how many places you visit, you lose if you're not perceiving; life's meanings. It's too sad if you know what's hiding behind a door that could hurt everyone in the room, and yet choose to keep it to yourself. It doesn't matter how hard you work, it only matters how much of your soul gets in it. He likes it when he writes, line by line; it's as if he is not forced, yet not so dying to do it. He sees more than one face that keep visiting his mind while he is on it. Faces he could impress, others he died to see once again. He never knows how much he touches people, they never tell; he is the only one who speaks it, out of his mind. Go through your imagination, write some more of what you've always hoped. Can they hear the sound of his voice in their head, reading through these words to them?  Reality and fiction are very close, yet they never touch. The more of what he remembers the more he writes. How many moments have been so treasured? How many did last? Your needs changes and you end up with your compromising self at the end. Stop searching for truth, there is no truth. Just cherish and salute. How many people don't get at that point of wondering where they are, or what the hell they've been doing? Not much. You only get confused through your options, when you want none of 'em.

Old men will always tell you to appreciate life and never take it for granted; because they know either way that thing you're so confused about keeping or letting go, won't last, and if it does, not in it's so same state. Want a proof? You take so many pictures of the things you mostly are afraid to lose. Idiot he is who invented the picture, he only made us more sad when visiting our so-called memories. Do you know why the world will end, when it is all back to it's raw state? Because things are way better unmodified and when not yet played. They keep inventing things they don't yet know how much they mangle us. Look back a hundred years, everyone was much more happier. You are at your most elated state, when nature is what's only surrounding you. They invented airplanes, yet the most enjoyable thing is a long freshening walk. Light bulbs kept people more at homes, houses and places their minds no longer bear. What's so amazing about having a screen connected to a keypad, when you mostly feel the words running through ink on a paper? What's so beneficial about having a social network when the best crush ever is the one who waves back with a smile; at the first time your eyes meet 'em? Why is the whole world so running at technology, when it's very relieving having none? You crave clarity, yet you can't lead your own path, you let them lead it, and so you stop for none.