Just Another Day

It's Eid today. It seems like it. But doesn't that mean celebrating the day? Then what am I doing here, writing?
It's Eid today. Shouldn't I be saying it with a joy in my voice? But believe me, I'm just saying it, coolly.
It's Eid today. Shouldn't I be flaunting off my shimmery Eid dress? Why am I tucked in my bed in my plain clothes, then?

Somewhere, while growing up, something must have gone wrong. Because when I was a kid, Eid really was something. Back then, I'd wear my shimmery dress weeks before Eid, kicking off a small Eid dress rehearsal of my own. I used to wait eagerly for it to come. I used to peek inside my shoe box one hundred times in a day, just to see my new flashy sandals lying there, smiling back at me. All I wanted was to fast forward the clocks to the big day - the Eid day, back when I was a child..

So where are all those feeling gone now? Is that what growing up means? Getting deprived of the real happiness? I want all of it to come back to me. I dropped it somewhere while climbing the ladder of ages. I haven't even replied to any of those Eid texts yet. I just don't feel like it and I'm hating it, having to feel this way.

I'm not sad, trust me I'm not. Frowning on the Eid day would be the very last thing I'd want to do. All I'm trying to find is the way to get back what I used to have. I don't want to spend it like just another day. I don't want to fake my feelings either by saying how excited I am for this day. The excitement is gone. It has vanished away. I'm missing my old days. I'm happy because I have a weighty reason for that: my family. My mommy, my daddy, my sisters. I joked with them this morning. In fact, we didn't have one serious talk since I've woken up. I hugged them. I ate vermicelli - the traditional Eid breakfast. Oh I don't like calling it vermicelli. It's sawayyan. It always has been. My mom has cooked smoked chicken and biryani for lunch, well that adds a dash of it being a special day. But now what? They're couched in front of the TV watching those cliche shows with celebrities laughing and dancing and telling the viewers how they spend their Eid day and I sneaked into my room because I don't want to hear their stories. I have my own story to tell. I don't care if anyone's interested in it or not. I'm glad I can give vent to my feelings.

It's Eid today. Is it really?

Cynicism

Fondness for a certain something dares us to dream and this is how it all starts. This venture of life; it all starts from dreaming. This little word holds the weight of an entire universe. Or maybe even more. It makes us invent our future and we credulously do as it tells us. It lures us and pleads us to hold on to it, and we dutifully take a blindfold and wrap it around our eyes and cover them to keep us from seeing anything else. Blinded by our dream, we kick away those far better opportunities that come in our way and hang on to that very specific dream that we grow up in hopes of achieving. We clench it in our fists. Clench it with such strength and vigor that the pressure starts turning our knuckles white. And our hands get so crammed with that intangible future plan we hold in them that it leaves not even a speck more space left for something else. Something that might be better than what we are holding in our fists. Something that might not necessarily require that much of strength and intensity to be held. Something that might provide a better prospect or a better possibility for future than the one we’re already tightly holding on to. But we don’t even consider accepting that something. We don’t want to consider accepting it. We don’t want to know what great progress might loom before our eyes if we accept that chance. Back in our heads, we realize that it’s quite a venture that we have embarked on by choosing what we fancy in lieu of choosing otherwise. But we kill the thought by not feeding it. We jerk any such notion before it wakes up to take any action. The opportunity comes after us, wants us to hear it, to permit it just once so that it could apprise us of what it wants to tell us and show us. But the peril of its unwanted intervention hastens our stride. It quickens its pace to keep up with us, to tell us it’s got better future in store for us. But we refuse to listen to it. We start taking even larger steps. Larger and quicker. We don’t want it to reach us. We want to outdistance it. We pace up to be unreachable from its vision. But it keeps following us. It keeps on trying to reach us, to tell us what we are going to miss out and to plead us to only consider its presence because soon after that we'd realize that it wasn't wrong all along. But we keep thinking it as a dream snatcher. We think it would mug away our dreams from us so we start running away from it. We run. We haste. We take long steps to leave it behind. Not only behind, far behind. So very far behind that, so that it can't even catch a glimpse of us or of our precious dream that we're still holding, rather clenching in our hands. We take care of our dream like we take care of precious jewels. We hold on to it like we hold on to the reins of a horse galloping at its maximum speed. We never let go of it because we think it's only a matter of time before we'd have it blooming in front our eyes. We reckon it as our best asset. Even though, all the way, it only turns out to be a liability, nothing more than a liability. We like how it feels like holding on to it. We keep our hopes high and wait for the right time and while we think about all this asset-liability theory of our dream, we don't forget to keep running. We run as if the world behind us is materializing to dust. So we run for our life and our dream. We run to the point where we finally see that we’ve lost opportunity and it’s nowhere to be seen now. So we finally halt. Tired and weary, we fall on our knees. Short of breath, we draw in long gasps, get in fresh air and make ourselves ready for what lies ahead, or rather what lies inside our fists. Anticipating the feeling of triumph, we take control, get ourselves together and finally open our clenched fists. We open them anticipating victory. We open them in prospect to see what has been there all along and what caused us to start this weary journey. Ecstatic, our heart beats with excitement. Gradually, we begin to uncurl our fingers to see our valuable dream lying inside. Something peeps from under our fingers as if anxious to come out. But as soon as we open up our fists, an arrogant man pops out and hit us right in the face. He tells us his name is reality. He, wearing stiff smug expressions, makes us realize how so very helpless we are in front of him. We ask him where did he come from and that where is our dream that we have been holding all along? Standing in front of us, it smoothes out the creases from its coat and raising its eyebrow, he throws his arrogant look upon us and his mocking silence answers our question. Terrified, we get up and do a pirouette to look around, to find something else other than arrogant cold reality. To find something we can hold on to. That opportunity! Yes, that concerned opportunity that’s been following us throughout this venture. We can hold on to that. We scrutinize the same path that we have come from to look out for opportunity  We call out its name only to receive a scathing silence in return. We cry out for its help, telling it we’re ready to take it, to accept it. We scream and tell it that it was right; this has been a scary venture. It’s now that we realize that we've come out so far. We realize that there’s no going back now. We realize that we’re lost in the labyrinth of life. Frustrated and defeated, we sink down on our knees with our face hanging down and our thoughts running savagely inside our mind. Reality then screams right in our face with two bright words that pierce into us – “FACE ME!” it says.

Helpless, we lift our head. Face it, embrace it and go on.