Concrete Jungle where Dreams are Made Of.

I want to go to New York. It's where I'd rather be. Just being there, doing absolutely nothing, and walking to nowhere in particular would put the goofiest smile on my face. The people, the skyscrapers, the hot dog vendors, and the ticket sellers. The scent of the sewers and the car smoke permeating the air, broken only by fleeting smells of salted pretzels, coffee, and sometimes even Chinese food. And in the wee hours of the morning when I can't sleep, I'll go up to our roof and listen to the sounds of the city. What was so poetic in my dreaming head will give life to nothing more than garrish sirens and aggressive car honks. And the stars I imagined to be canopied above me will dim in the wake of the city lights leaving nothing but the moon. Much like the myth of the city, only one will really shine. But the wind will carry the sounds back and forth and the night will blanket me in understanding. And though it'll amount to nothing I thought it would, it'll be the fabled Big Apple, the Grecian mecca of its time, a city with skyscrapers towering to remind us of our true size and alive enough to show us that it doesn't really matter.

The Butterfly Effect.

The flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil can set off a storm in Texas. Isn't that amazing? Physicists call this theory "The Butterfly Effect". The breeze produced by a butterfly's wings could set of a series of reverberations that over time have a tremendous affect on weather patterns thousands of miles away. Imagine the effect of millions of butterflies.

Now bloggers and readers alike, if a butterfly can cause a storm thousands of miles away.
Imagine what impact we as a people can have United.

One Love. One Heart. One Voice.
Peace. x

Who.. Are You?

I used to do this thing when I was a kid, where I would just lie in bed, lift my hand up high and just stare at it for hours and hours. Partly because I had nothing better to do, but mostly just so I can think about it; how am I here, or if any of this was real. I'd focus really hard hard and wonder how on earth I was breathing, and where I am and I'd imagine myself watching me from space, the black nothingness and stars so bright, and say, hey, look at that, it's me: the speck. Is this a dream, and if so, whose is it? And if it isn't, then how is this happening? I would see all of this in my hand, for hours and hours, lost in thought, only a hand, I told myself- but what is a hand, really? And then I'd start repeating the word over and over again till it lost all meaning, and only after I broke that barrier that was my current understanding was I free to ponder, with no belief holding me back, what everything the world taught me was really me.

Someone made this, I repeated over and over, in my head, and out loud, it explained everything. And as a kid, I was told as much, but I was also told never to question it. God, that is. So I left it alone, but everything else was fair game, and the game always lead me to the same conclusion, which was god. And then I found myself questioning my inability to question god. I mean, if I believed in him wholeheartedly, why wasn't I allowed to just delve into that part of me that yearns to know, because it wasn't just curiosity, it was almost paralyzing, it was the reason I stared at my hand all day, and it's why I could do just that for so long, because I was told not to cross the line that was questioning god's existence, and so I stayed in mind limbo. Neither thinking or not thinking about, just lying on my bed, all day, and staring.

Fairy tales.

What about them?

They say they’re overrated, and they’re nothing but lies. This and that, and in a five worded summary, just plain ridiculous at times. But in reality, they really aren’t that far from the truth. Because however different the circumstances, by in large, the subtext applies to every aspect of our lives. Whether it be taken from a real life incident and tweaked for the minds of the young with unicorns and pixie dust or if it was just a subconscious thing. Simply, all fairytales are nothing but analogies to far greater simple tragedies in life.

But of course, we knew as much, because after all, we write what we know.

Take any Disney movie, strip it down to a basic idea, and there’s the spark that started it all. For example, Aladdin; a story about a girl and a boy, both wanting more out of life, both trapped by social status, and controlled by money- or lack thereof, and both outcasts on opposite sides of the social spectrum. On one hand, you have society questioning the worth of the poor, and on the other, we have them questioning why money would make anyone miserable. Because from their perspective, money is everything, and if you have it, why are you complaining. But it wasn’t that Jasmine wanted more, it was just that she wanted something different, and she was condemned for that. As is the case for Aladdin: when you don’t have the money, you spend your entire life striving to be noticed, as both a human being and a respectable young man.

A not so Disney reference to elaborate on this would be Wuthering Heights. If you’ve ever read it then kudos, but if you haven’t, then basically the character of Heathcliff was taken in by a rich family, he was treated poorly by the older brother and everyone ridiculed him and blah blah blah. But after a few years, he runs away, only to return later on as a successful yet mysterious business man with money coming out of his hands, feet and kisses. And suddenly, he was accepted by society. Moral of the story, money money money.

Another example is Beauty and the Beast, and this specifically applies to the female youth of Saudi Arabia. Stripped down, this is a story about a beautiful girl being ridiculed for wanting an education instead of a marriage. “Why would you want knowledge when you can easily seduce any suitor you please and have him give you the world?” said the poor ignorant soul. That’s what they whisper when a girl is lucky enough to get what she wants; when she’s lucky enough to leave this place. Moral of this story, beauty is a substitute for education. And if you’re one of those few who look past that, and if you’re in the even fewer who are denied that, then I’m sorry for your life.

Ignorance is what binds us to our shiny strappy heals and away from any window, razor, or prescription pill bottle, and anything else just shows you how strong you really are.

Rapunzel, also in Saudi Arabia. Basically, she’s a girl trapped in her house, given everything she wants and whatever she needs, told it was all done for her protection. The world cannot be trusted, they say. You’re constantly being told that you’re special, and then on one fine April morning, you realize that it’s nothing but a lie; a lie to keep you sedated and away from thought, because thought is always suspect, thought is not to be trusted, and thought leads to things like the truth, which is bad, very very bad.

So, it begs the question, where exactly is the lies, the fiction, and the silliness? People only see what they see. There isn't more to any story, there is no other side.

Ponderings.

We judge to cover up our own insecurities
I can see right through your words
Beyond the superficial and straight to your fears
So intangible yet so visible
Those walls are useless against these eyes
Because i refuse to judge
So i became perhaps not pure like white
But crystal clear

We smile about the past when we are seeking escape from the present
We smile about the future when we believe in the present
We smile about the present when the rest is forgotten
There is no past present or future
The past is gone
The present is past
The future is present

True emotional joy becomes physical
Happiness comes and a smile is formed
Hate comes and a war is begun
The world appears only in the way we choose to view it
It can be the world of love or the world of hate
Or it can be grey
Grey skies, grey days, grey nights
Money may not be everything
But at least you can afford to add some colour to your life

Life doesn’t make sense
That is the only way for it to make sense
There is no logical explanation for everything
The sooner this is realised the better
Someone once said,” My concern is not that you have failed
But rather whether you are content with your failure”
But what happens when you become satisfied with failure?
When that which you most feared becomes your only companion?
Will failure treat you right?