Heartbroken

It hurts in the morning, it hurts when I go to sleep. It hurts to think I might be lying somewhere dead and he would know nothing about it. It hurts when I know where he is and I can't see him, can't touch him. It hurts to think the world of him when I am nothing to him.

I am nothing.

It hurts to hear his lies, and repeat them all over again. It hurts to suspect he's a jerk, and then know for sure he's a jerk, and all I can do is to be helplessly captivated by his charm. It hurts to trace any news about him, to calculate your every past word and move, and know you can't undo them. And it's not exactly like undoing them will get him to love you.

It hurts to blame yourself for feelings you have no control over. It hurts to think you might end up all alone till the end of your days, deprived of his kindness, deprived of his wit, deprived of his humour.

It hurts to breathe when you're heartbroken.

The Guilt

I am emotionally unable to deal with the pain of the revolution; the murder of protesters. Protesters and bystanders alike were killed in cold blood by the Egyptian police in all ways you would imagine the cruellest. Obviously the regime thought it could quell the protests and, perhaps in an act of revenge at their failure, proceeded to fire rubber bullets, live ammunition and intentionally hit and run protesters with various vehicles.

Why people have to suffer, bleed and die for me to live, I don't understand. I survived the 18-day protests and sit-ins unscathed, and I feel I have not provided enough for this blessed revolution. Indeed, this revolution is so blessed that nothing short of our lives could possibly be presented to it. I don't deserve having someone die for me. Why did they have to suffer for us to regain our dignity? The revolution is now at stake, what if I one day realise that the dead have gone down the drain? Will I not wish I had been dead too?

Only I am not dead, and I am not alive. I am in some sort of limbo where I fell after the initial euphoria of success has worn off. I do understand cruelty is inherent and I will have to bear it the rest of my fucking life, when I or someone else faces it. In the case of the revolution, it was a collective dream and a collective goal. In my world this means we either live to see it all happen or die together, but this half-way reality is depressing me.

Quarter life crisis - Part One

She: I want to plan your 50th surprise birthday party.

I: Why the 50th?

She: I don't know. Because it will be such a big day.

I: I think my 40th will be a lot more fun. I will either be married with children and depressed, or unmarried and depressed, so I will adopt a two-year-old girl and a stray dog.