Day 25: my life in 25 days




I am in Bahrain for work.  The weather is bitter but I like it.  A self-confessed summer person, this is the time of the year when winter just opened its icy curtain, so, I am still enjoying it.  Come February, I don’t know.  I can be really grumpy with cold weather.  I still can’t figure out why I want to go to Canada in a year’s time.

I sit here, immersed in my own radical matters, scratching my neck for no reason.  Winter hives I guess.  Again!!!  It happens all the time during cold weather.  My summer skin exploding and rebelling against nature.  I may need to bring to light my hydrocortisone creams when I get back to Dubai.  Seeing myself M.C. Hammering my way to work would be calamitous.  Today, there is an Antarctica on my belly and a tiny Malta on my neck.  If I don’t cure this very soon, I can name countries in all of Europe all over my body.  Yes, it can get that bad.

My mood elevator is also incalculable.  I showered ferociously this morning, cussing over some event at work that made me furious two days back.  Most of the time, working with pinheads, advantageous as it may seem, can be terrorizing.  Specially if they that think they are the rightest person in the world when in fact, they are the greatest proxies of fear.  A part of me wants to tell them, “Accept the mistake motherfucker, you will be forgiven anyhow,”  and the other half of me wants to skin them alive!  Yet, I took it all on myself and wounded my scalp as I lathered up, digging into my head, bootlicked by my atheistic mouth, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck !!!”

And then The Crush sent me well-wishing messages from Dubai.  I reeked of vinegar towards my walk to Juffair street, feeling like somebody who will skydive in a few minutes and smiled my damndest until people started staring at me.  What a psycho.

Yesterday I was so drawn to the thought of airports being morgues.  There is just something unearthly about airports that makes me sad.  It does bring you to the sky after all and yet, it is also the paragon of farewells.  Who cares about being launched to the heavens if one has to say goodbye anyway?  It is almost like a funeral really only people are dressed in sneakers and the food is ghastly.



same day

My life in 25 days revolved around MY LIFE IN 50 DAYS.

It has been the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me in 4 years.  Sometime ago I decided to forget about writing for a while to deal with life and to obediently follow its requisites.  Of course, that turned out so well.  I was promoted 3 times in 5 years, I had a major relationship to boot and have seen places an average man my age have not.  I guess I was lucky.  But I believe deeply that I have abandoned the one thing that I loved the most:  writing.

As I have clearly emphasized 24 days ago, in Day 1:  Creative Suicide, this is now or never.  There is something eccentric about reuniting with an old habit.  There is something momentous about fornicating with a very old lover.  It completes the yearnings of my days, and as my new friend Archie have articulated it, I have brought meaning to my days and the days of the people who reads this.  An accomplishment that has reconstructed the way “we” look at our days.  Of course, a resonance in surpassing  a hectic schedule – a hard day at work – especially if I begin writing about it at night, painstakingly bringing magic to a sullen, even more to a wretched, day.  A time when inspiration, in all its glory, glorified the sanctum of my representations.  It actually varied everyday and I know you will agree with me when I say that we are all multifaceted.  As life clearly is.  Or maybe it is just me?

24 days ago, I did not have the inkling that it would all turn out to be like this.  That it would be magic in many proportions.  The way it should not be.  It all began as a therapy.  And then it became a league of its own.  I did not know how to feel.


I started with 9 readers a day.  Now,  I have an average of 90 – 120 views a day.

I am overwhelmed and a bit embarrassed.



It rained in Bahrain non-stop.  The icy air did not stop from blowing as well that my hair became a beehive of its own when I went out to do some shopping.  I thought about breezy Dubai and how it paled in comparison to this tiny island right now.  My hives are getting bigger by the second.  It was practically dark at 4 PM.

The workshop I conducted was a success.  It was actually fun.  Well, it is always fun to be looked upon and be silently judged for having a pudgy stomach, a free cast of a hair and maybe for having esoteric hand gestures born out of The Vampire Chronicles and acrobatic sex acts.

I miss Dubai.

I can’t wait to have my old life back.

Without the hives.


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