The First Words

Dear you,

To you, and only you; you who strive to understand me with words, while knowing that only silence works with me, you who know that my silence makes my words so devoid of life, of breaths, of everything, that they simply mean nothing.

I will dedicate these entries to you, and even though you may not know me, get to meet me, or even see me as I am, as I truly am and truly deserve to be, you will be here with me, right on the road to being, not me, but just..someone I can stand being with. I write this all to you in hopes that one day, soon or too far away, you will know that you are not alone in this universe, that someone, somewhere, somehow dives as deep as you do, even when they're completely out of their own depth. It is Ok; or at least I do believe and think it will be, someday, for both of us, even if we stay this far away. Knowing I had you in the first place is enough, will be enough.

Thank you.

Now as I start telling you my story, I must introduce you to some oriental music for the thrill of this ride. Do listen to some; music in the background always gives a dramatic sense to words, scenes, conversations, and feelings.

Let me just say that my name is N, and that I have a very tough fight with words every day of my life. I do talk, but I'm an extroverted introvert, and if you don't know what that means, just imagine from the sound of it. I have my own people around me, but I'm also happy so many times to just shut the whole world and watch something unreal, so I can escape everything, even my family (well, specifically my family), to live in a fictional character, or inside a drama show, because isn't real life enough of a drama to lead us all to escape to something that is at least not real? Yeah.

But let me tell you something of utmost importance about me; I do not do surprises, and I sure as hell do not appreciate them. I may look and sound calm, and this is because I hate to sound too surprised or excited, and I hate to react in ways I shouldn't. I hate reactions and I hate surprises. This is probably why I hardly get impressed with anything. Some people wish they can kill me during my long pauses of 'unimpressed'; and it is why I am telling you this, so that you won't kill me when, or shall I say if, we meet up someday. Nothing surprises me in this world; every evil act or devilish shit (excuse my language, but I am not sorry) is just another 'whatever' to me or 'I kind of saw it coming so why bother.' 

I do not know, however, if this is the same reason why I do not get impressed easily. Is it because human beings, generally speaking, lack the creativity to impress? Or is it because I am such an arrogant snob who refuses to feed people's egos? Perhaps. It doesn't matter.

Now listen to me, from this moment on, try to get me right, or wrong, but just try to get me, at least so I don't feel lonesome and down as I feel now. Please do not be upset if I only write you in moments of downheartedness, or even in another language (my mother tongue is Arabic by the way); it is only because I tend to write about depression more than I write about happiness, and isn't this what most prize-winning authors master at?

I'll talk about anger, depression, disappointment, frustration, pain, failure, even suicide. I'll tell you about everything that could make you feel sorry for me, but it'll only be because I cannot talk to anyone about it but you. You. Because I know you'd understand how everybody's who they really are when they write words that no one would care to read, or talk when there is no one there to listen, or sing when there is no one there to listen to their awful voice.

But I do want honesty in return; I want something in return. Doesn't matter what. Just give me something. Please do. Even a violin string so I can bow.

Yours faithfully and sincerely,

N.