Concept of beauty

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Isn’t it ironic that most people would do anything to get some pieces of clothing just because it is made by a famous designer? “How could you say it isn’t beautiful?!!! It’s by Zuhair … What do you mean you don’t like it? This is designed by Valentino!!” I hear this alot, especially in a society that rewards you by your amount of money and judges you by what brand of shoes your feet are wearing. Let’s see this in another way …

Why would you look in the mirror sometimes and be unsatisfied? Why do you call yourself ugly, hideous, bad looking and so on? Why would you hate some features in you and try to change it with plastic surgeries? Aren’t you made by the Almighty creator of the universe? Aren’t you made by god; the perfect and the flawless? Aren’t Zuhair, Valentino or whoever are created by god and are imperfect human beings who make mistakes?

You are made by the greatest and you should be proud! How couldn’t you be? Your existence is not a coincidence! You are here because god has chosen you to be and god has created you with love, so how dare you say that you are not beautiful? Beauty is appreciated in different ways by different people and that is the beauty of it; we are all beautiful according to this law of nature which is created by god like you.

Look in the mirror and say -” I am created by god and I am beautiful. God loves me enough to put me in his universe and he took time to create me because I am worth it.” Look at this bird of pride in the photo; he is beautiful and he knows it. Meditate in god’s beautiful creations, there is a lesson waiting to be appreciated in every atom.

Life, responsibilities, misdeeds and freedom

What an old lady from hell! She is picking up pieces of earth like she’s picking up flowers and she is scooping out crumbled street like she would scoop vanilla ice cream! She is running after me … Picking, throwing, scooping and throwing …

AAAh! The gravity is trying to squish my spine! I must fight back … I will look up to the sky to hold my head high with all the power I have left …

Wait, what is that heavy weight burdening my shoulders? That weight took a form of a green old skinny man who is clutching on my back and piercing my skin with his long dirty nails. If I give in she will win and if I kept my pride I will break.

Lemons are rolling towards me … What would I do with lemons? “Make lemonade.” she said as she laughed in mockery. Home is where I want to be; where I can cry alone. “Turn me into a bird!” At last! I am free to fly back to my golden cage.

I was … I am

In that cold white room I thought … “I remember this place.” Is it sad or funny that I look up to my younger self? In that time I feared none but one and now I am afraid of the endless possibilities. I lived in the house of fear where I got bruised and where I couldn’t feel safe or belong yet I stood tall. I lived with illness and I was the cure who worried about death.

I tried to run away from my own life but I’m still here trying to keep up. The younger me is much braver than I. If only she were here to guide me through. Five cups, who are nine years old today, are my only childhood friends who are left. I look at them as I grow bitter and think … Where have you gone? I’m lost without you.

Mysterious man

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“Am I next?” I thought as I walked by a cemetry in Turkey. They were people like me, I am no god. Will I die? That is out of question. What about my pitiful misdeeds … will I carry their heavy weight on my chest? Will they fit in my grave? In the darkness lays green. Who is that man standing before me? Why do I feel pulled and submissive?

Fear of death is suddenly clear and planted. Stranger, Are you reading my thoughts?! Stop shuffling them on your poker table. I am only grey fading to white. As the healing illness runs through my veins I can hear his only loud thought – “You are next.” 

La Maison Des Acteurs Cafe

Through all of these tables, I sat on that one. This chair is the oldest, so it is the wisest. Dear chair, I wonder how many stories have you carried? How much have you suffered and endured to get these wounds on that torn skin of yours? I love the wrinkles on your face, it complements your grey hair. Oh here comes the Asian waiter who greets me with a smile that never gets old. Oh, the way that six-fingered virtuoso showers my cake with chocolate exhilarates me.

What I love about cafes is that the people change everyday but it’s almost the same. That leaning tower of Pisa is all over his lady whom he loves deeply and as she sips the goodness of life he recites poetry to the beauty of her eyes. The old man secludes himself in the corner and has a glass of warm milk. The vulgar man who mistreats my friend is always here in different vessels. The boys who come in with rolling eyes examine the place as if it were a crime scene.

What if I opened my third eye? Would I see their real stories? Their secrets perhaps? Is there a murderer? A thief? If only it were true … I bit most of them are calculus teachers. What is that on the front page? A new bomb has exploded on the east side? Rich, please bring me today’s newspaper … Never mind I’ll get it myself. I pulled out the rolled one thirsty for fresh news and before I knew it a gun fell on the ground with a bang that scattered them like cockroaches. My favourite cafe is now closed for investigation.

Bedtime story

If only he hadn’t dropped the note … John Sevefaro; a respected man and a brain cancer charity founder is not what he seems. John , who is married to Katy Witherspoon, is the owner of the new science laboratory in town. They had three children together; Mary, Joseph and Noah in close ages from seven to ten. Ten and a half as Noah always said proudly. Katy is an art teacher in her children’s primary school and is loved by her other ninety three children.

Everyday she dives into waves of admiration by the parents and love from her students. They were both quite a couple; wonder makers. She would create Art pieces from nothing and he creates green paper to feed the eyes of his wife.

One day as the mother and her three little slaves were getting up to go to school, Katy felt sick and passed the duty to drop off the children to the husband. He was complaining at the door about being late since the ways are too different and the nice nosy neighbour has heard him so she offered to take them to school on her way to work.

They singed in the car together and she offered them candy and sugar treats, they were happy and that cheered her up after the divorce of hers. Seven hours had passed, so Katy called on the husband to ask him about the kids, were they polite? Does she need to punish them with face slaps? Her curiosity was boiling till he picked up the phone to tell her about the lucky day he had.

She went to the neighbour’s house to see if she brought them back but the old lady is gone and instead there was a paper on the door. Katy took the paper; it was a printed letter – ” I took your three children to an old friend of mine, they look beautiful in red; those angels. We told them that they have been chosen to sacrifice themselves to god. If only you saw the innocent looks on their faces! They were so happy as we tied them up from their legs. It was painless I assure you, we drugged them first then we murdered them. I threw the bones to stray dogs, made a wig out of your daughter’s beautiful shiny hair and we kept the tender meat in plastic boxes for us to cook and eat later. Love, Sandra.”

Katy choked and shook in fear then lost her ability to speak as she waited in shock helplessly for her husband who was really late. He came in finally with a smile of satisfaction on his face, he hanged his jacket and a little note fell out. She couldn’t speak … What would she say? She quietly picked up the note to read it and it had red stains and a meat cooking recipe. This morning she knew too little and this evening little did she know.