I'm Not Catholic

So is it really wrong to want to offer confession?

I want to purge my soul of its secrets to a complete stranger who cannot really judge me, or if he does, doesn't really know me.

I want to go to confession, but I am not Catholic.

Trying to figure out my place
somewhere between this new,
unfamiliar place between the cracks
and the old world with its
responsibility and values
is the hardest thing to
undertake.

I didn't ask for this role,
the role of keeper of
tradition and key
to future hope,
I was only
the first
born.

Unsuccessful in finding the balance.
Unhappy in the current groove.
Unbelieving of the last few words.

Waiting for the response, or lack thereof.
Waiting for a miracle or disaster.
Waiting for an answer from above.

A little birdie told you what?!?!?!?!

What in the world? I'm so pissed off. Who is saying such things? I already had to deal with this before, not again. Not ever again. Dude, we talked twice. TWICE?!?!?!?! Forget being nice, I'm now going to be so mean, he'll wish he never met me. Seriously.

Everything I say tends to come back to bite me in the butt.

****

I don't want to talk to him. I don't really want to talk about him to them. I don't. Really, I don't.

****

I graded papers for two hours. TWO and a HALF HOURS really. Or maybe it was really just two. Either way, it was too long.

:/

****

Okay, actually, I'm dying to talk about it. However, since my first statement is true, everything DOES come back to haunt me, then I really don't want to talk about it (so statement #2 is also true). I did really grade papers, maybe because I wouldn't be free to answer the phone (especially since I really hate grading papers ESPECIALLY for a really long time in one sitting). So if I'm dying to talk about it (and laugh about it....and maybe cry about it too) why can't I? Because I'll regret it.

****

Remember that time that I said the guy I was talking to was kinda gay? Remember when she said it too? She married the guy (he wasn't gay). I was 'dumped' by the guy (he wasn't gay; he didn't really 'dump' me). She's (happily?) married. I'm (happily?) single. The guys were kinda gay.

****

So why can't I talk about it? Because.....well, you see.....because if I do, then.....ummm....I guess I can. Maybe I will. But how can I talk about it without coming straight out and blasting him or saying something mean? And who the heck am I supposed to tell who won't ask questions?

****

I need a therapist. (But I don't believe in such BS.) I need...nope, don't really need anything else.
;)

escape

first, open the window

second, remove the screen

third, climb out

fourth, fall onto the grass

fifth, tell the questioning voices that it's nothing, you're fine

sixth, get up and close the window from the outside

seventh, laugh out loud

eighth, run

ringing in my ears

When this writing is complete, I will pick up the phone. I can’t really tell my friends. Every time that I do they listen too carefully. They don’t listen to what I want to say but what they think I really want (and maybe I do, I’m not certain about anything). I mean, what do we have in common? A country that I’ve never seen and don’t really know? Religion. It is religion, or so they will tell me. But what if I don’t know where I’m at now? What if I am really not too sure about marriage or relationships? What if I don’t want to start something that I won’t finish? I can’t call my friends and complain because they won’t really listen. I can’t call my friends and tell them because I won’t giggle and be friendly.

When I am done writing this, I’ll just have to call. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to talk about this and I don’t want to write about it and I don’t really want to live this. I don’t know what I want. The truth of everything is that I don’t know what I want and I don’t really believe in all this crap. The basis of everything is that I don’t know who I am and what I want. I am lost.

When I am done writing this, I’ll finally call back. I want to tell my friends that he is desperate. I want to tell them that I can’t even remember what he looked like. I want to say that he is stupid for even trying. Weren’t my mannerisms clear enough? When someone doesn’t answer three times in a row, isn’t that reason enough to stop?

When I am done writing this, I’ll give in and have a stupid awkward conversation with someone I don’t want to talk to or try to impress. I don’t even think communication is possible, but I will try. I don’t like playing games, and this only seems like a game. I don’t like pretending, but it seems like pretending. I feel like my heart is under pressure, like my head is in overload. I don’t know.

When I finish complaining, I’ll call. I will pick up the phone and dial the number. I will spend a few minutes in a conversation I don’t want to have. Maybe I do. I don’t know what I want. I guess I don’t want to be alone.

When I stop typing, I’ll dial the number. Last night I realized that I’m the last of my crew. I truly realized it. I wanted to leave the party, I wanted to sit down instead of dance. I walk away when someone says “Uqbal farhatik” (my translated meaning: hope you get married next) or tries to talk about weddings and engagements. I don’t want to be forty and unmarried. It’s not fun to get old and have no one. I don’t think I want to be twenty-five and married either. It’s not fun to be responsible for others. I don’t know what I want. I miss being able to call up my friends and go out at the drop of a dime. I miss random lunches and being able to go to the movies whenever we wanted.

When I convince myself in writing, I will pick up the phone. Maybe my fear is kids. I expect to have them; I’m not convinced I want them. When they were married, they could still go out. When they had kids, life was over. Not for that reason alone, though it is a good one, I fear kids. When my friends complain of marriage and their husbands (or wives sometimes), I wonder if it really is worth it. When I have to make breakfast, I think “Is it worth it?” When I see them laugh at each other, I think, “Maybe it’s worth it.” When I remember that feeling in my tummy, the butterflies, and the lightheadedness, the dizzy sensation, I know it must be worth it. But when I have to try so hard, I think it is not.

I’m going to call. I don’t want to. I don’t know what I want. I hate this part of everything. I don’t even want to write this. I definitely don’t want to post it. I have written it and I will post it. I have to make it real. I have to legitimize my writing. I have to give my fingers some purpose. I have to smile and pretend. I have to write and be real. Now that I feel drained of all emotion, I will call. What do I have to lose?

I am calling.

Two things worth mentioning

1. For about half an hour on Thursday night, it was like old times. We laughed at each other, at ourselves. We joked. We compared colors, hair. We joked. For about half an hour, we were young again and whole again and safe again. For about half an hour, we were they way we should've been always. For about half an hour, our smiles were sincere, unreserved. Yet even in that short amount of time, you could tell that there was something behind the smiles. We all knew that it wouldn't always be this way, and that it likely wouldn't be this way again anytime soon. We all knew it and laughed and smiled, enjoying the moment even further.

For half an hour on Thursday night, I had my family again. For half an hour, I loved my brothers once more. For half an hour, the past didn't matter and the future was no bother. For half an hour, we all smiled at the same time. For thirty minutes, happiness filled the house.

For half an hour on Thursday night, I sat on Adam's bed, I laughed at Ali's jokes, and I giggled at Abdullah's mannerisms. I almost forgot the past and cared not about the future. I almost felt completely at ease.

2. I lied to my friend today. I didn't really lie, but I didn't really tell her the truth. She asked a question and I don't really like the answer, so I didn't tell her everything. I can't. I have fought the truth with my mind and body. I actually use all my strength to do what's right. Every ounce of energy I can, I put into fighting it off. I think I'm finally winning, but I can't tell that to my friend.

Kamlah is...

confused.

. No, not confused.

unsure.

. Maybe, maybe not.

oblivious.

. I don't think I can really say that I am oblivious.

hurt.

. Well, not really.

damaged.

. One could definitely say so.

upset.

. Not really upset, per se, but not truly contented by a lot of things.

sad.

. Actually, I am not sad. I am not ecstatic, but I am not sad.

alive.

. Can't argue with that one.

hot.

. Both senses of the word. :)

lazy.

. Nothing like typing on my laptop while lying in bed to prove this one.

going running.

. Will continue this later.

Ropes Course Facilitator Training 2008

I climbed up the pole the first day. I shimmied across the tight rope, keeping my balance with the other belay cable. I stood on the platform, albeit with shaking knees, and flew down the zipline with a short release of energy in the form of a scream. On the first day, I trusted my belay team. On that first day, I surpassed my own expectation. The first day made me proud, though I was still a little scared.

I climbed up the pole on the second day. I tried to set up the dynamic pulley. I tried, but I let myself come down after reaching the other log. I didn't push myself. I was not happy with myself, but I didn't go on. On the second day, fear won. On the second day, when I had to trust only myself and my equipment, I couldn't do it.

I climbed up the pole on the third day. I actually climbed the pole without a belay team. I climbed the pole and maneuvered my way onto the platform (the hardest part actually). I walked across the bridge with strong confidence in my steps ("It's like being on the ground," I told myself over and over before climbing). On the third day, I was fully confident in my body and my equipment. I surprised myself. I never knew my body was that strong. I was able to climb onto that platform holding myself up with my body parts in awkward positions: one leg sideways, one hand gripping whatever it could, my body twisting unusually. On the third day I truly pushed myself to set up that zip line. On the third day, I trusted myself and I won.

I was able to look down. I was able to talk to the person on the platform and the people on the ground. I could look down without fear. I could suspend myself with my quick lock carabiner grip and let go of both hands to secure the pulley. I could climb and set up. I could swing and rest and talk and laugh and look.

After three days on the course, I now feel more confident. My philosophy on pain (and dentists in particular) seems to work for heights as well: I won't remember the pain (or the fear) tomorrow, so don't worry about it now or ever.

I can't really remember all the feelings I had when I reached the top of the pole, but I know that pride is an amazing feeling and fear can be managed. I know that enjoying a moment is more fun the fearing it. I know that climbing is something I just might want to pick up.

Bitter

Thirty five feet off the ground,
feet dangling,
adreneline pumping,
heart pounding,
it doesn't really matter.

Thirty five feet off the ground,
wind blowing,
pole shaking,
carabiners locking,
it doesn't seem to be an issue.

Thirty five feet off the ground,
leg muscles working,
arm muscles hurting,
mental muscles racing,
it doesn't really bother me any more.

Say "professional" to me,
or simply in my presence again,
then I'll have to hit you.

Awake
Because I don’t believe in love
Or happy endings
Or prince charming

Awake
Because I secretly hope for the
Pot of gold
At the end of the rainbow

Awake
Because I am fighting the feeling
Inside of me
Of despair and longing

Awake
Because I know what is wrong
And why I feel it
And what to do about it

Awake
Because I am afraid of what I
Should do and what
I will and won’t

Awake
Because I can’t believe in it
And hate that it is
Not for me

Awake
Because I want but
I don’t know
What it is exactly

Awake
Because I cannot sleep
For it will erase
For it will soothe

Awake
Because I don’t believe
In love
In hope

Awake
Because I know what will come
In my dreams
In the fantasy

Awake
Because then I can fight the phantom
With my reason
With my hands

Awake
Because I can’t stop thinking
About everything I
Choose to ignore

Awake
Because I don’t believe
In love
In happiness

Awake
Because I have to keep
Convincing myself
Telling myself

Awake
Because I’m still cold
And alone
And tearless

Awake
Because I’m dead on the inside
But not yet dead
On the outside

Awake
Because my heart keeps beating
And my brain
Keeps deleting

Awake
Because I cannot leave
My room, my head
My life

Awake
Because I know what I want to do
To see
To be

Awake
Because I know nothing
About life
About love

Awake
Because I am scared
Of falling
Of hoping

Awake
Because I am a girl
In a predicament
In a story

Awake
Because I cannot sleep
In this body
In this world

Awake
Because I do not believe
In love
In hope

Awake
Because I do not believe
In you
In me

Awake
Because I do believe
In darkness
In light

Awake
Because I cannot sleep
And dream
And pray

Awake
Because I can see
The end
And I don’t like it

Awake
Because if I sleep
I’ll just have to
Wake up anyway

Awake
Because I want
To love him
But hate him

Awake
Because I want to dream
But know what
Life really is

Awake
Because I don’t know
How to love
How to care

Awake
Because I cannot cry
And it would be
Better to die

Awake
Because I cannot feel
Inside and I wonder
If I ever did

Awake
Because my eyes keep
Looking inward and
Fear what they see

Awake
Because I am empty
And the echo
Is loud

Awake
Because the warmth of
Fingertips nearly
Revived me

Awake
Because I lie
And know
Only lies

Awake
Because of everything
He said
He did

Awake
Because of everything
She never said
She never did

Awake
Because my eyes
Won’t close
Tightly

Awake
Because I’d rather
Go out during
Daylight

Awake
Because I’m scared
And won’t
Admit it