I light it up just to break the silence. The sound of the sulfur dust flicking off the match, lighting up a narrow path between my reflection and I. ‘All that matters I can see’, I said, ‘right between my fingers and the floor’. So revealing is the natural fact that a shadow can always outgrow you, unless you’re lying on the floor, burning in your own flames.

Particles of smoke filling up the void between us now. ‘Clarity is overrated’, I lied to myself. ‘Let the rising tides of tar bury every figment of bullshit I have swallowed’.

I’ll put it out and move on. It’ll be another time frame to sleep through, another void, another recycled stub bleeding out a mixture of ashes and tobacco. Another thing kicked cruelly when it’s down. They think they’ll make you stronger, wiser; that you’ll eventually outgrow that lurking shadow, but what do they know?! That red fucking layer of rust ain’t necessarily covering a silver coin.

Bullshit, bullshit… and a bit more.

Solid? Yeah well…

I used to think that a match can only burn so much, but everything melts at some point.

I’ll inhale the smoke just to be able to feel something again…

even if that something is eating at my lungs.

It feels like I haven’t blogged in ages. To be honest, blogging doesn’t do it for me anymore, I think.

I lost my ability to vent.

I wanted to write about Spiderman 3 and how I wasted twenty five pounds watching a teen flick. All actions have become teenage garbage, all romance are chick flicks, all dramas compete at excellence in depression, all comedies suck so hard they make me want to cry.

Kinda feels like I’m on the verge of ending my movie addiction phase. Touché.

As I walked out of the movie theater, I noticed that half the Egyptian population was waiting outside to catch the next show. That’s when I realized that Egypt is by far not a poor country. Some people wash windshields dirty while others don’t mind paying to watch Spiderman 3 three times.

I don’t wanna write about it anymore.

And the PROM epidemic. What is it with kids going to proms these days? We didn’t have that shit in my day… I think.

Too much, too much, and little bit more.

I also wanted to write about that girl I met, but I won’t.

I wanna write about the spyware that blocked my msn messenger. Oh well, I didn’t use it anyway.

Buddha bar’s new album’s ok I think. Not as good as the older ones, but definitely better than Volume 8.

My two year old niece is driving me INSANE. That Elmo toy of hers is cute. I should get me one of those.

I wanted to write about the new branch, my new workplace. How my new manager is a SET BEIT by all means. I’m just glad she doesn’t bring any house chores to do while she’s at work. I wanted to write about the two new guys I’m supposed to teach the job to and how I can’t find enough time to do that. That set beit should be teaching them the job, but she doesn’t give a shit. I volunteer too much I think. Why do I care? Nobody taught me anything.

A lot of stuff going on in my life these days.

A little prayer wouldn’t hurt now would it?

I should stop observing… judging?

I should stop thinking now, shouldn’t I?

Just turn it off and carry on…

At ease soldier…

One of the well known definitions of the word is to settle down. So what settles down exactly? Don’t they also describe a rock (or a body for that matter) that hits the bottom of an ocean that it settles down?

Hmm… I don’t want to get into that really.

Many people, of our generation specifically, have trouble accepting the idea of arranged marriages. Especially men I guess. We hate the fact that we’re going in to meet up with a total stranger, ask him to marry his daughter (who’s usually also a stranger) and promise to take care of her forever. Same lines, same clichés. It’s like we’ve all been reading the same book.

Many questions hit the brain where it hurts most once that issue rises up in the horizon, such as what if she ain’t as pretty as described, what if her father’s an SOB, what if her mom’s a bitch, what if her brother’s a pain in the ass, what if they ask for a lot of money, what if they want to write an “ayma”, what if… well… the list’s too long I don’t think I have enough ink.

Unfortunately, once a man decides to do it right; knock on a door, meet the man of the house, and propose with his faith in God in his heart and his mind on the table; everything changes. Sometimes, that is.

I hate stereotype.

I used to think that it’s like buying a car but it’s not… at least not all the time. Al 7amdulellah I’ve sorta grown into the right perspective, the perspective I’d like to raise my kids into. If I were a father, I’d definitely want to check the proposer first. I, being the all powerful proposee, am probably going to be tough on him if he’s a wiseass. But then again… I’ll probably do what my parents did when it came to my sister. See if he’s a good man… then welcome him in. That’s what it’s all about I think.

It’s never like buying a car because you get enough time to get to know the girl before falling into… well.

It’s not a car because the father doesn’t get a commission out of it…

… at least not in most cases.

I know for sure now that I am no longer the dating type. No late phone calls that cuts off your sleep time, your phone credit, your wallet. No dates where you go out to meet a girl who just lied to her parents and told them that she’s out with “friends”… of course if her parents already knew that she was out on a date… then you know for sure you ain’t marrying that girl. But hey that’s just me; different religion, different culture… different perspective.

It’s funny how more and more unmarried people live together these days in Egypt. It’s sad how they keep promoting it in Egyptian movies now. It’s even sadder that, even though we depend on Sharia’a in many things in Egypt, there are no laws against adultery. Basically, you’d only get arrested if you were doing it in public. And that’s probably even not because you’re caught doing something wrong… it’s probably because they don’t want crowds to gather up in fear of a public demonstration against society for not giving them a chance to afford legal sex.

But hey… who can blame them, huh?

It’s funny how mobile phones have helped promote all that crap. Before Mobinil and Misrfone dating was limited. The people western wannabes out there on the streets today are the same 13 year olds who, in 1995, found a cell phone in their laps. We always search for ways to practice what’s wrong though the inventions of the “others”. I bet that if we ever had a nuclear bomb that we’d probably blow ourselves up.

NEWS FLASH: LOST DONKEY SLAMS INTO NUKE!! The fakahany said: I DIDN’T DO IT!!

Such a shame!!

Yeah so you’ll call her up on her cell phone every night at 11 pm and talk for like three to four hours. You can go for about a month before you realize that you’re done. Ain’t nothing more to talk about. See that’s what never happens with marriage. When you’re married you have someone to share every single moment with, moments that would probably slip off your mind when you’re talking on the phone with your ‘girlfriend’. But naah… we Gypos are smart. We don’t call it boyfriend or girlfriend anymore. In fact, we hate that term. Totally despise it. We’re ‘researchers’; ‘testers’ if the word makes you feel any better. We disguise the fact that we’re in a bf/gf relationship behind the mask of innocent and mutual acceptance. ‘We’re just trying to see if it’ll work out eventually, if we match’. Oh well, I bet you’ve been there… some of those researches have even lasted for years.

Yeah we’ve all fooled ourselves with that crap before haven’t we?

The innocent, publicly approved of, and secret online chats, the phone calls, the dates, the valentine gifts, and more and more… these things practically amputate baraka out of a relationship. Allah doesn’t bless whatever it is that you want to call it anymore. You’ll just lose it… and if you’re brave enough to waltz through the world, through a relationship, without God’s blessing, then you haven’t really been reading the right material.

I mean, one of my worst fears has to do with the W word. THE WEDDING. I don’t want to have one. I know that it’d probably be a deal breaker but, I don’t want to start my married life off with a bunch of people dancing to some cheap music, a zillion people staring at my wife… and in the end they all hate the wedding and end up talking about how bad it was, how fat you looked, how cheap the food was for the next month. My plan was always to do one of those Waleema kind of things at some hotel or whatever. Have everyone there, feed them a fancy dinner, have them congratulate you and what not… then leave in like a couple hours… off to our very own Euro trip. It sure won’t be cheap… but then again, overall, it’ll probably cost about the same as a four-hour wedding. But then again, unfortunately, most girls want to have a bigger wedding than that of their best friend or cousin. Most girls want everyone to know how successful you are and how excellent of a dancer you are.

Some cheap guys want their wives to have a bit of cleavage on their wedding just to show off.

God’s blessing, Europe… and a celebration with well cooked food… If it’s all about the WHITE DRESS… then I don’t want that kind of person in my life. Since I’ll be asked on the Day of Judgment about how I spent my money, I’d rather give the wedding money to the poor.

I am not even going to mention love in this post because… well, I’m not a pop star and I’m not trying to get laid here. I’m just babbling about… the right thing for a change.

But hey… that’s just me.