So, That's Awesome

"God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys

...I may not always love you / But long as there are stars above you...

Sniki texted me early this afternoon. She is a blogger and a blog reader (I feel as though that sounds so culturally contrived).

She texted me about two blogs that she thought were interesting and told me to check them out. Her blog is also quite amazing. She is on my Magic Woman blog as The Niki.

Because I decided to skip my only Friday class, my mind was in no way occupied, not being intellectual, and not being productive.

I was checking out these blogs and then I became a little idle. Some folder in my brain reminded me about a certain someone's blog, and, like an idiot, I decided to check it out.

Now, I didn't know the address so I looked up on Google the email address I remember he uses.

And I found it. And in it, he very measuredly, very casually, callously but effectively, and hurtfully called me crazy. The entry was not even about me and nor was my name explicitly mentioned but context exposed "the last girl I called myself in love with" as me.

I spent hours, hours thumb talking to my counselors Christina and Brittany trying to figure out 1) why he would say such a thing and 2) why I am so upset about it.

Here I am: A few months ago, I received a text asking how I was doing. I did not respond and received another message a few minutes later, a reminder from him that he will always be there for me.

I was enraged. I was so livid. After having "thrown a grenade and running," he was back, I guess, to assess the damage. I cannot convince myself that he was returning to rebuild a damn thing, although I could be wrong. Still enraged, I called him and let my angry lips talk without having thought about what I was going to say. It was profane and mean and emotional and raw, but it was honest. I still don't even know how he managed to get this new number.

What happened? What happened to "I am always here for you"? How quickly we arrive at "crazy" (and he knows I am afraid that people will think I am crazy so that's an awesome choice of a word). After the whole "betrayal" (oh it was such a production), I felt (feel) so slighted that I don't think he deserves to be angry.

But that is not fair. Those are his emotions. I cannot think for him nor can I feel for him. And if there is one thing I believe, I believe that we are all entitled to our emotions. He is angry and I cannot do anything but understand.

And I am trying. I am trying so hard to forgive. I try so hard sometimes it seems like he may feel it. He may feel that I am trying to let go and stop hating him. Obviously, he does not. I am trying to let it go, realize that people do bad things and will do bad things to me, I do and will do bad things to people, and move on with my life.

But it is hard. I understand that he his angry and I have a good idea about what and why. I am a student of psychology and I have already concocted some explanations about it, but it does not help me. It does not comfort me.

I let him in...all the way. I told him all the things that embarrass me, that I am ashamed of, angry at myself for, everything. And he caudled me and informed me that nothing is wrong with me, that I am still lovable, that I am a good person and then he left. And I wonder if he meant any of it. And then I returned to the days when I was certain. I am certain that something is wrong with me. He did not want me either.

I'm not angry. For one, I should not have been on his blog. For two, he is a human being and he deserves his anger and any other emotion he has. For three, he is a good man, a very good man who's ego was slighted. Empathy is almost always wholly silenced by ego. He is a good man, but he is a man.

The Christina and the Brittany responded to me all day with texts of encouragement. They said some unflattering things about my former friend (they may hate him more than I do, and it is not as though I haven't said some things myself), mostly just to make me feel better.

And even though I want to believe them and be angry because it feels so good, so filling, it is not right. I feel for him in the midst of my anger because whether or not I am wrong or he is, both of us are still humans and your pain is always real and never soothed by pointing fingers and dodging responsibility.

I am sorry. I apologize. I hurt you and I am sorry. And I shall never be so stupid as to read the blog again.

It's like I eat stupid for breakfast or something.

Lumières Lourdes

We have again re-entered the 30th Century as of January 26, 2009. He called me as I was making my nutritious dinner and watching the news.

I returned upstairs to view a missed called from...30th Century Man. I smiled like one who has had her sold soul restored by a sheepish, bitter devil.

I called him back and spoke to his voicemail (even though I hate when people leave me voicemails). He called me right back and we talked. He sounded a little disappointed that I did not call him during his whole vacation but I had lost the number. I thought about him often though (although I dare not tell him that). I think he forgave me.

I cannot even really remember the conversation but I was happy to hear his voice on the other line and know that I could call him whenever I felt.

I am not going to outline any plans or expectations or anticipations here. Writing my heart's literature is akin to publishing the future and if the future does not happen like the literature has recorded...I will be highly disappointed.

So I shonuff will keep this manuscript under lock and key, only read in the dark, basement office of my giddy girlhood, and only once in a while. But, this is me admitting that I have high hopes and expectations. I am simply not listing them. Things make too much sense when written and documented. I will keep them hazy and undefined for right now.

As a teaser though, I am hoping he is indomitable competition for Mr. Jones.

Shaken, not stirred and Taken, not single.

Work It Out

"Declaration (This is It)" by Kirk Franklin

...it's a new day / I'm not afraid anymore...

I woke up for Yoga this morning at 8am. Showered. Made a small breakfast. I abhor waking up early in the morning but I suppose I am a "morning person" for my energy level rises to normal level rather quickly.

I have made a pact to exercise more will power and discipline this year. I have extended this to mean I must wake up early in the morning and be productive each day as early as I can.

I have not been waking up for Yoga because I stay up late to study. Not following the healthy schedule.

So I was able to do it today and Yoga was at 8am not at 9. I am not sure if it is because it is raining and ugly, because I am still living under my chronic melancholy, or what but I was VERY upset about it.

I feel as though I have lost control of my life. I therefore try to maintain it in even the smallest areas that I can. I clearly schedule every hour of my day because my time is all that I own and control.

As I walked home, I cried about a lot of things. This is the prayer I sent to God, not as humbly as I should have, but as honest as I am infamous for:

Sometimes I feel like You push me too hard

Sometimes I don't understand why You made me this way

Soemtimes I feel like I can't wait for the morning to come

And for Your blessing to wake me

Sometimes I feel as though You are not listening

Sometimes I feel like my tears are meaningless

As the cheeks they run down

Sometimes I feel like I'm too dramatic

But that just reminds me that I don't understand

Why You made me this way

Most of the time, I don't doubt You because my belief,

My faith is all that I have.

I am still alive and that is all the proof I have that You are alive

Waking up, sometimes, is all the testimony I have

Most of the time I cling to You like nothing else

Because I learned that you don't know that all you need is God

Until all You have is God.

And all I have is God.

I don't have a thing in the world to give anyone

I don't have a maternal hand to stroke my head when I feel the most defeated

And I don't have a tissue absorbant enough to catch all my tears

Which is why I don't release every tear my heart feels it needs to shed

And I don't have a paternal hand of encouragement to rub my back

When the weight of my sadness is too heavy.

But he is a father to the fatherless and a mother to motherless

So let the Devil know that your encouraged.

I hope God isn't mad. And I don't think He is. We all doubt Him and from what I understand, He expects us to. Smart people, critical thinkers, intellectuals write theses to discredit Him, but I don't think He gets offended. He gave us the talent to do so.

People have told me, "Zainab, I don't understand why you believe in God. You're so smart." As if to say only stupid people believe in God. And I do doubt things in the Bible. I don't believe in the story of Adam and Eve. But I know what I have seen and endured. I should not be alive to type this blog but I am and ain't enough luck in the world to have kept me alive.

Besides the doctrines and hard-to-believe-stories, anti-Semitism, persecution of homosexuals, church denominations, hypocrisy, hateful evangelists, my pending degree in science, my inclination to turn to science, and other controversial subject about Christianity, I have just been through some things I should not have survived, so God is as real to me as the keys I am typing on.