#and a few more months from getting bitches yeahhhhh

[moodr1ng]

less than 40 days until phalloplasty.. impatient ofc but also ik its gonna suck as all surgeries do lol..

[nehilistuniverse]

I DUNNO

How do I explain people that I actually do not know the reason why I can’t be strong in front of women sexually and give in to easy because my bitch ass was groomed by a bunch of females so I have no boundaries there and do the most hyper sexual things. 

I do have my suspensions on pride’s hypersexuality he talks like every person who ever got violated as a kid... 

Maybe I am assuming and wrong and men are naturally on that level but I do worry about him and envy but maybe it’s the hormones. 

I need to stop being so nosy and curios especially about an asshole that’s now had a whole ass funeral in my mind. Though death by infinite number of slaps but still. 

I NEED TO KNOWWWWWW 

I OVERTHINK A LOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

IMMA DIE OVERTHINKING 

BITCH GO STUDY

Naah me still more hyper sexual lmaoooooo I am just too good at controlling myself because I anyway fear men and don’t trust them because they aren’t worth the trust anyway. 

Yeahhhhh

I am running away aren’t I?

But the curiosity regarding these things is infinity I just need clarity and I won’t sleep properly until then because genuinely something funny is going on AND I NEED TO KNOW.

I am more of a go with the flow kind but I needddddd tooooo know or I am going to go bonkers. I swear I have not been able to study just because I have useless questions and I CAN’T CONCENTRATE I JUST CAN’T IT’S LIKE THAT ONE MANGA CHAPTER THAT I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR FROM THE PAST 6-7 YEARS

I HAVE NO PAITINCE I USED TO HAVE IT BUT I INVESTED IT ALL IN WAITING FOR MANGA RELEASE AND ONE THING I HAVE LEARNT FROM THAT IS NEVER WAIT FOR THEM FUCKING MANGA RELEASES THERE MIGHT NEVER BE ONE AND YOU WILL END UP MISSING OUT ON BETTER MANGAS.

IT REMINDS ME DID THEY EVER UPLOADED WALLFLOWER’S NEW CHAPTER BECAUSE I WILL REREAD IT IF NOT

FUCK REAL LIFE SUCKS ASS I WANT MY MANGAS BACK AND HOW DARE THEY STOP THEM FUCKING FREE SITES?! 

I AM LOSING MY MIND SLOWLY AND DESENTING INTO MADNESS I AM VERY CLOSE

naah I am just being overdramatic and writing just for the heck of it. Isn’t that what I always do? Write whatever I want just for the heck of it because I like how it makes me feel less useless and how I am able to communicate without hesitation. I do take it too far at times because I enjoy it a lot BUT

I am never making this my profession it’s my sanity. If it becomes the very thing I run away from again I will break someone’s neck.

I do not want to be dictated what I have to write and what I should do in order to come up with the idea and how I am supposed to research

and I very specifically remember asking manjhi’s writer his process for coming up with the character’s personality and the way he went into details. Bruh. Also what do you mean the whole story should come in that 4 page that’s your script and only that’s accepted.

I swear my college made me hate writing. It just did. Somehow it made me realize the moment this becomes my profession and I start  or go into technical writing or PR or anything of that kind I will lose my coping mechanism, my escape, my little heaven and I would not be able to forgive myself for that ever.

I am genuinely writing just for the heck of it and feels so free. I do imagine how beautiful and calming it must be typing on a typewriter. 

I will buy myself one. Some day I will. I do not know but after watching the little woman I suddenly started missing writing but I am scared. It’s like I am never able to figure out what I want my character’s personality to be like and how do I keep it consistent through out and how do I channelize different voices for different characters?      

And how does one do that? That too consistently because the only way to ever pull that off is to write consistently. Consistency suckssssssss. That’s one thing I genuinely want to learn. The art of being consistent without taking anyone’s help. 

I am genuinely tired. Imagine being sponsored by a company that sells typewriters. I remember how I used to be crazy about writing once upon a time and was so determined to make it my “profession” what a silly child I was. 

My dreams demand more and so does my family at least for now and I genuinely can’t write without having to suffer through the pain of a monotonous life because writing is essentially my escape. If it stops being that ever again I will lose it.

I mean I have seen how other writers live as book bloggers on youtube. The highly notorious “BookTube” is filled with those who can afford expensive books and the goddamned book shelves. Book heaven and almost all have those tiny what is that company’s name Branes and nobles? I guess? The have their tiny harry potter figurines. Also everyone just suggests expensive books. I though still adored illumine files. I am yet to read the other two books in the series. 

You know what I miss the most? Metro rides to my college. I genuinely miss being sleep deprived shaky and standing waiting for a seat to clear so I can sit. Even that used to be a game. Always stand near the pole in the middle so you can see in the front but also see the seats behind you in the reflection of the mirror. 

The being the first one to be able to grab that seat, taking out your earphones turning the music on loud and taking out a book from your bag so you can hide your face and forget about the crowd. I miss the yellow light.

I miss metro so much. It used to be my second home. My ticket to freedom. I remember coming home late at 8 and running from the metro station till the gate to my “campus” 

There was a distance of 1 km approx.? I remember freaking out only to find out that my parents were out shopping. I don’t think they know the amount of times I have reached home by 8-8:30 

You see my parents are strict and will never let me be out when it has started to get dark. I miss my freedom.

I don’t want to go out and explore the society there way too many people always walking at any given time. I miss empty streets. I miss being forced to walk for 3-4 kms just to save money by kushal. I miss how he used to act like my big brother in this awful place where I was left to fend for myself.

I even miss that one birthday I missed. I was not awake on my 19th birthday xD I technically was. Actually it was supposed to be my first birthday so I had spent the whole night before planning but suddenly there was this message to submit fees at my college. So I went to my college with a poorly made check. Mind you my college is 30 kms away from the place where I used to live. It took me 45 mins to reach my college. I went there with no cheque book. They straight up refused to take it so I had to travel back and get my cheque book xD I did the whole thing and bought myself a bottle of milkshake. 

I went back to hostel and asked this “Friend” of mine to wake me up after this time in case I don’t come out because I really want to celebrate my birthday. Technically either the friend group or your floor mates are supposed to make you cut cake at 12 but I didn’t realize this back then and this bitch she knew but didn’t care she was using me as a person she could cry to. She didn’t care at all this selfish prick that I used to call my “friend” she made me feel so alone and then she also didn’t wake me up. I woke up and cried so much I had even missed dinner. I took warden’s permission watched some animated movie made myself Maggie (it has always been my comfort food) and just cried myself to sleep.

I sometimes do wish somebody out there cared because all my life I have met selfish people who would rather use me. I keep meeting them and I have learnt to never give such kind a second chance and even if I do I only feel hate. I still hate that person. I hate each and every selfish person out there. There is a difference between being someone who loves themselves and someone who is way up their butt. I know people who love themselves. I adore them.

Where as selfish people have no place in my life. It’s the stupidest thing but I genuinely do not know how to forgive someone. I mean it took me years to forgive my own parents and they care. Once I get resentment in my heart I don’t care how much I care about you or love you I will harm you. I will make sure you go insane slowly and surely with more hurt you place upon my shoulder.

I sometimes do think I made my parents life a living hell for a few years. On the daily I used to make them count all the horrible things they have done. Each and every day and it went on for years. I am a little cracked in that department. I hold on too tight and no one can make me let go of it. I will end up hurting you again and again and again for years before I actually get the proof you are no longer a threat to my mental health and you are no longer selfish.

I have handled way too much in my life but disrespect and selfish behavior is one thing I can no longer tolerate and the fact I did try to tolerate it just because I needed answers is so damn crazy to me.

The fact it even induced flashbacks/nightmares from my past. It’s so fucked up that I was trying to look for some kind of clarity. Some kind of closure and honest to god I still want it because I really want to know and I do not know how to stop my overthinking. I genuinely do not know. It’s almost like somebody has power to my mind and I do not like it or the person. I am officially at my breaking point and hate the guts of the person. HOW LOW CAN ONE STOOP?

What did I ever do to deserve this? I want the answers so badly. I need clarity. It’s not a want it’s a need and I want it on text. So I can remember and put things together. I just want that. 6 Fucking months.

Just to get my answers. I got so involved that I actually tried to chase a dude I knew was emotionally unavailable. I even tried to befriend. I literally reached my limit. I have always been in it for the answers. The fact I have to make peace with the fact I might not get them until maybe years later sucksssss. I dunno from where to where I went but this is just me ranting it all out and taking all of my frustration out and reminding myself. I will keep reminding myself of the hurt and the pain we went through just so we don’t repeat the cycle ever again with someone else. 

This was an experience but never again. The fact I got so involved that I had even started to give life advice lmao. We could have been awesome ass friends. It’s shitty how it had to come to this point that now I actually hate him and don’t ever even by mistake want to cross paths with him, don’t want to see his face or anything. 

Not even the online presences I don’t even want that in my life. I just want freedom from this pain. It’s way too painful. I have went through way too much bullshit that I didn’t even deserve and I have never stooped so low for anyone. I genuinely feel like I betrayed myself aging and again and again on repeat just for the tiny clarity.                          

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Roommate From Hijab Hell

I’m awakened from a deep sleep, exhausted and butt naked—a necessary protective measure against the heat in my un-airconditioned, poorly circulated room at the hotel I work at in Amman. One series of knocks wakes me up but I hesitate to get out of bed though I’m now awake yet disoriented. I reach for my phone to check the time, waiting for another knock to be sure it’s a knock at my door which woke me. “It’s 2:45… am or pm?” A good question considering I’ve certainly proven capable of sleeping twelve hours straight. “Did I miss work?” I think to myself through squinted eyes.

Another loud knock at the door, “Alicia?” It’s the voice of the receptionist. Okay Alicia, you’re naked. It’s the middle of the night. Do something. Brain, please function.

I wrap myself up in the thin, cheap white sheet untucked from my bed. I crack open the door and peak my red, dry eyes in the opening to see the receptionist standing with an older woman in black abaya and hijab. He asks, “Can she stay with you?” I’m thinking, yeahhhhh… as if I have a choice? It’s a hotel and if she pays, she stays. The decision isn’t mine to make.

I’ve been spoiled. Though I have currently been living in a four person female dorm room for a month, the only other person I’ve shared it with, besides the two nights a German traveler was here, was with was a fellow worker and good friend—Adelaide. But Adelaide has been gone for a week and I’ve become comfortably accustom to having my own private room, evidenced by the fact that I can comfortably sleep naked without the fear of bombardment.

I’m rather disheveled and my mind isn’t functioning even close to optimally because of being abruptly woken up compiled by the lack of sleep from the past few nights. I hear myself asking out loud what time it is, though I already know and I answer the receptionist, “Yeah, I guess. Give me five minutes.” My clothes are strewn about on the two empty beds so I shut the door and cleanup a little. I return and in comes this wide awake woman with no luggage, only a purse. Before I close the door, the receptionist warns me, “Be careful. She’s acting strange. She’s an odd woman so look out.” I ask why he would let her in my room at this time if she’s so odd and he explains, “She cried. She only had 5 dinar, she’s old and she refused to leave the lobby. Just wake her up when you get up for work.”

WHAT?! What do you mean be careful? How am I supposed to sleep with a warning like this? Is she going to stab me? Steal my stuff? Go on a rampage? Cut off my hair? Poison my toothbrush? And what did she do to make him call her strange? Listening to your own paranoid mind churn is a funny thing. My room has been forcefully invaded by a stranger who has come with a warning label and my body is now pumping with adrenaline; there will be no sleep for me.

The woman who doesn’t speak English immediately tries to become my friend and I watch her perform for me, unimpressed. I know right away that she’s overcompensating and attempting to build trust for something but I’m nice at first. She manically reenacts the receptionist knocking and her entering; I think she’s implying that he wanted to enter without knocking but she “protected” me. She’s rather animated—leaving the room and using her full voice and body to show me the story in an attempt to form some womanly bond. She’s smiley and I’m so uneasy at how to handle all of this. At this point it’s 3am. Woman! Don’t you want to sleep? She prowls the room and opens a random drawer (red flag) and walks over to my makeup to touch it. She has no sense of personal space and apparently no awareness of the time or the disruption she’s caused me. She comes back and sits on the bed next to me; it’s only a foot away. She just sits on the edge and stares at me, smiling. Without hijab she looks even older, she’s badly balding and wrinkly in the unflattering florescent light. She’s already pissing me off but my face is a pro at hiding my real emotions.

She eventually takes a shower in the room’s bathroom. A long, long shower. I feel as if she’s banking on me falling asleep but I cannot because she makes me so uncomfortable and I’m in this heightened fight or flight state. I decide to take my laptop and tablet to the receptionist desk for safety. I glare at the receptionist for letting her in my room, telling him she’s still not asleep. When I return she’s still showering and eventually she comes out; the light is still on and it seems clear she’s either a completely unabashedly rude woman or she’s up to no good. I like to keep the faith and see the best in people so I imagine her to be a beggar who saved up enough for a hot shower and a bed for a night. Ha.

But there she is, clean and safe and she still will not sleep. I’m curled up in the fetal position on my bed; I’ve already hidden my small purse behind the curtains. She sits on the bed next to me again– watching me. I do not trust this woman. She makes a “hmph” noise occasionally as if she’s perfectly content to be awake all night. And she keeps sniffing her underwear to buy herself time and still will not turn the lights off though I motion at them over and over. Then she tries to be all cute and throws away an empty water bottle of mine like she’s cleaning. She looks at me as if she wants me to applaud her action.

Randomly she points to herself and says “old” and points to me and says “young”. I only see this as a way to garner sympathy for a future act of injustice she will commit. I’m no fool but my patience certainly lasts too long at times to my own detriment in hindsight. When I demand she sleeps by pointing at the lights and the time on my phone, she goes to the bathroom again. When she returns she starts rambling on in Arabic in her see-through pink tie-dyed short dress about something and I get up to turn off the lights myself, ignoring her. I can no longer stand to see her stupid grin. I tried to be nice. Finally she lays down and I pretend to sleep—with one eye open of course. From the way she lays there on her back and doesn’t get under the covers but instead wraps herself shabbily in a nearby blanket, I know that her intent is not to sleep. But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Ha.

My intuition is proven right once again—this happens a lot when traveling—and after five minutes she sits up in bed speaking about something and goes to turn the light on. I’m really in awe. She begins to point to the television repetitively. I hand her the remote; she repulses me but I’m telling myself to continue being patient, she’s old and maybe she’s picky about how she likes to sleep. Ha. I turn it on; it’s the Mecca channel– my favorite– it’s hypnotic and the Quran is beautiful when being sung in Arabic. She wants the “Hindi” channel and tries for a few minutes to find it. At this point almost an hour has passed and I’m so done with her.

I pickup my phone and point over and over to the time. I say, “Halas! Enough! Look at the time!”, I motion in the universal language of charades for her to sleep. My increasing frustration transmits. And I recognize that no one shows up to a hotel crying for a room at 3am to repetitively avoid sleeping. She won’t turn off the lights though I keep asking and at that point I storm out angrily; I’m going to have the receptionist kick her out. She rushes to the bathroom and slams the door. I go to the receptionist and he agrees and heads to my room; I’m so angry that I take the elevator to the rooftop to make tea. I cannot be around her and must remove myself from the situation. I need peace and a view for my boiling blood; though I’d be more humored if it weren’t 4am and I didn’t have to work in two hours.

The phone in the kitchen rings. The receptionist wants me to come downstairs to check her bag to see if she’s stolen anything. Uhhhh do I have to? I usually go such lengths to avoid conflict and this one is being presented to me on a platter I must take. I go to my room first and see that she didn’t find my small purse but only my big, empty one with my passport. I see my shoes and other bags are all in different places. She was ransacking my stuff and apparently wouldn’t let the receptionist enter right away blaming her “modesty”. I exit the elevator and there she is, back in hijab leaning on the lobby desk and the receptionist is going through her purse. She has multiple passports and he reads some of the many notes she has in her bag. For some reason she utters the words “American boys”. She’s still trying to be charming towards me I think. She then points to her lips, drowned in red, and the receptionist tells me that she says the only thing she took and used was my lipstick. Ew.

But her irritation quickly spills over at the violation of him going through her stuff and she randomly explodes with an irrational, intense anger all aimed at me. This woman is seething and it’s in this anger and hatred that I see how absolutely insane she is. She’s batshit crazy. She’s screaming insults at me back and forth between Arabic and Hebrew and English and I feel as if she’s casting a curse on me from the way she’s using her hands. The witch. I start laughing at her when she curses in English because she’s getting in my face screaming “duck” and “donkey” over and over. She’s fully committed to naming these farm animals as if she’s a child who just learned “Old McDonald Had a Farm” for the first time. Apparently, calling people animal names is very offensive in Arabic. The offensive nature was definitely lost on me because I impulsively start to “quack” at her and make the animal noises while giggling as she’s screaming. I whip out my phone to record a snapchat for the beautiful memory. Simply for posterity. She’s furious at this point.

Bitch. Pig. I found out she was saying these things when my friends laugh hysterically while translating the mini-video for me later. I think the fact I was unaffected began to piss her off more. She reaches down to her foot and removes her shoe and raises it to strike me. Okay granny. I don’t want to have to whip out these ballet inspired self-defense moves on a woman almost thrice my age, but I will if I have to. I flip 180 and suddenly hear myself calling her a myriad of nasty words which is so unlike me. I’ve absorbed her anger; I felt threatened. She is in my face with her hand raised and she’s screaming, surely waking up the guests. I hear the word “haram” and she lunges over and grabs my butt. A big beautiful handful, enough to leave a red mark that I discover later—something I would love under different circumstances. She then tries to pull down my ankle length skirt. I’m grateful she’s unsuccessful because not wearing underwear is kind of my thing when traveling. The less dirty laundry, the better. At this point the receptionist has called the police (it’s Jordan, they never come) and has gotten out the big black cane from behind the desk to threaten her with like she’s some stray animal who wandered inside and needs to return to the streets. He suggests I leave and I do, gladly. I head back up to the sixth floor and still hear her nasty voice echoing up the hotel walls. I thought how unsurprised I’d be if she hopped on a broomstick hidden under her abaya and flew to the sixth floor to continue harassing me through that thin-lipped mouth which is wearing my red lipstick. Gosh, it’s 4am and I already need a drink. A shot. Actually, make it three. Back to back, no chaser.

I’m not sure how or why these kinds of situations find me, but they do. Even when I’m peacefully asleep and locked in a room. They always find me.