Isn’t A Myth

It shouldn’t pass a day without writing about something. Whatever you have in mind, as long as it is not going to overwhelm you with serious troubles, wordify it.

Anyways: Importance is to tell something. It doesn’t necessarily have to be occurred- but most importantly you make it up. I don’t mean lying though it is basically lying but seriously *purposefully* it is for the sake of practising to come up with a well-expressed composition. Your goal is that you let others get hooked by your imagination and your intellect.

Writing skills results from writing as many compositions as possible. Writing is a habit so it is advisable to write on a daily basis despite of the fact that you cannot think of anything. In fact, interestingly, you need to write about why you couldn’t think of anything and tell it in written words. See? It is never a problem of inspiration.

The problem, personally speaking, is sometimes I somehow get the sensation of timidity for I’m trying to admit something about my personality, or about something that I suddenly start to look at it trivially.

Writer’s block is a myth, I believe. Fear of confession is the killer of evolution.

Write, even for a period of minutes, and never fear your imperfections, it is actually the step up to self-recognition, self-taming and self-learning.

Admit it: I just did my writing and you are currently reading it.

Publicités

Come Safe

Hi, beauty

Call on you to come as a lovely guest

Come to me,
My home is always opening to you

I am a warm hug,
comfort kiss

Say hello to me;
it’s a password to my heart

Hi, sweety
Your presence fills up an empty in me, lights up a kind of missing glory, joy…

Just be around and greet me whenever walk past me,
Your words are like I am in a honeymoon
Listening to my wife on the phone

Telling me to slow down, baby
I love you, come safe

A letter but no Letter

Have you ever lied to me ? because I did.
You think we get to know one another just because it happens
by luck. No there ‘s a reason
I might be the reason or you might be the one. But let me
tell you this. It’s not luck. I heard souls have met each
other before we’re born or being created as bodies. So it is
simply we ve met before. That’s the truth. How we meet as
images is the reasons we somehow freely make; we have caused
them somehow.
I’m telling this because I looked up for you on facebook. I
saw you in university. Something in me liked you so I wanted
to approach you. I couldn’t do it in person. I had the option
of finding on facebook. I did. I read you’re interested in
writing. I thought you would have written something. I don’t
remember exactly how It started, maybe from s4. But for sure
I wanted to get to know you. I liked the fact I felt you’re
my kind girl I want to be my wife. I don’t think I’m
exaggerating it. It’s the truth. I’m the guy who has no
relationship record. I always saw no benefit in being a
boyfriend. A husband or a husband. No way, the other.
We talked that evening, tried to be serious so directly into
my interest and supposedly yours too, writing. I showed you
my draft. You typed you liked them. And from here you started
to believe I’m good at writing. I helped you with getting
some points (lectures) understood. You confirmed it that you got them well. I was happy then. Our student to student relationship kicked off that day. We discussed lectures from time to time.

I always annoyed you by my drafts, trying to
impress you.

I will skip to that day when I gave you a book. Do you think
it’s luck I gave it to you that day? No! Sure.
I had dreamt of giving it to you. The other day I wanted to
see the dream comes true but couldn’t do it.

Turning around I saw you coming to sit next to me. It’s not

my thing being at front of the classroom but that day I sat
there in the front. So you sat beside me. And I gave you the
book I told you about on facebook.
Where’s luck here in whole of this?
There’s a reason but I think this reason is no longer
interested in us. No more chatting… This is a lesson.
I learnt who truly am I in this part of life.
That I never liked you as I thought I was. It’s just my heart
or my eyes needed someone beautiful or nice to talk to in my
university life since I used to feel lonely and I needed
someone to interact with, to feel human with. That’s it I
think.
I hope you learnt who truly you are… Hiba.
As your name says it, you’re a Hiba to me. Don’t love it so
you don’t get hurt. I’m just making a thank farewell.
Your no one, Yassine.

Nothingness

The worst thing could happen to you is you figure out you are diagnosed with nothingness mood/ state. You know when it’s there around and within. Some symptoms that I might cite here are tiredness, anxiety, fear of future, and the most bitter is it feels like you are more tempted to sinning. Briefly, heart is at its lowest faith so you sort of avoid going into the Halal-Haram ( good-wrong) argumentation. You just do whatever feels desirable to your nafs (ego). Surely it’s Shaytan/ devil doing its whispers into you; like you’re being spelt on with the dearest nafs (ego) magic. It takes place at a blink of eye, that you find you’re heavy in the heart, that you need to be purified. You see this is all because of your nothingness situation/ state.

Isn’t scary to death you feel out of your Wakar ( sanity/ spiritual peacefulness) ?

 

Baseless Reaction

I’m attracting to the idea of keeping silent. Whatever it’s going on, I’m forcing myself not to speak out. I have a voice, though. But I don’t think I have the wisdom. Having a voice without the wisdom which will strengthen its intonation/ emphasis is baseless, is a waste of time and energy.

All I read from posts some guys post on their facebook are but momentous pulses. They react to things just for the sake that they like to be perceived as intellectual people, that they have their opinions. Reacting to surroundings out of sound knowledge/ reference, know that it’s coming from their unsound judgments. It goes like, » there’s an issue going on, why not giving my opinion, why not writing about it ( no researching taking place for the truth). It’s the new brand. Write a post reacting to situations going on within or around. What I’m trying to refer to is that not everyone could come up with a sound wise reaction/ opinion/ comment.
Many are just creating more propaganda for the sake of their self-recognition. They want to be recognized as activists or intellectuals. Please you have to know that intelluctuality is not about this, but is about having well-researched publications( books, articles…)
Intelluctuality suggests you’re becoming a reference.

Guys, stop reacting as some media do. Peace of mind is a goal/ a right which some try to destroy it.

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Crazy or Not Crazy

What keeping me from going crazy is that I don’t know I’m indeed currently crazy. I always thought I would create something insane. I always saw in me someone extremely important. To what criteria, I cannot say. I don’t seem to believe I know it.

Reading some type of original stories has been impacting me on a great level; I think I’m someone important to the world I’ve been setting for my personality. Schizophrenic I am, don’t you consider it?

Getting back where I used to have fun trying to solve a math equation, I remember I was into numbers. To high school, I figured out I was no longer having the feeling of fun doing math; I became useless at getting the whole matter behind solving equations nor doing calculations. All’s messed up. As though I lost my pride; mathematics was my pride.
But I realized that solving equations is not the essence of mathematics, instead knowing where the equations were leading me to is the matter. The larger meaning behind figuring out an equation. That day I started to develop a sense of failure. I was no longer into numbers. They outsmarted me. I couldn’t keep up with them. And there’s the other truth I couldn’t bear it’s really the truth- that I’ve never been a mathematician. It’s average level that’s why it’s gone.

I’ve been accusing my heart of all the things occurred to me up to now. Losing to its urges turned me dumb. Stupidity of some kind, which I didn’t dream of, crippled to my brain. It then stopped functioning. Numbers got out of it. I turned out bad at calculating even easy calculations.

At university, I switched to study English. I struggled especially with realizing how to structure my essays. Getting rid of the translation from my mother tongue to English was hard to solve out. I got helped from a comment on one of my writings and so tried to structure it as conventions dictate.

Do you know what’s crazy about diagnosing my craziness is that I still don’t know when I’ll be all focused, that is, having a goal or a dream or an insane idea!

Life’s about getting to know my purpose, trying to approach it, or never I will have children.

See how my mind connects things? Out of order to the chaos driven by failures… Good Night and for some: Good morning.