Hajj

It is done. I am going to Hajj. The Holy Pilgrimage Muslims make to Mecca. I will be one of Hujaaj 2007... A Pilgrimage. A spiritual rebirth of one's soul... a much needed one of my own.

To forget the nightmare and the harm done by a dark hearted man to many young Kuwaiti women on these Kuwaiti blogs - including myself. To atone for the repulsive lie that my unknowing, patient, gullible, and loving hand was sucked into and used by him without my knowledge to damage and destroy many. For the great wrongs and terrible things done to myself and other girls under a Desperate and Wandering Hunter's own mothers name... For the deception and darkness engendered and extrapolated from the goodness I intended and felt, the goodness I was asked and convinced to do by him and did in unknowing ignorant faith with all my heart for a bad human being.

I cling to this journey as a way to quiet my troubled heart and soul... I write this post now, on this sad and forlorn remnant of my old blog from almost exactly three years ago when I first discovered these blogs and became a Kuwaiti blogger. And this is almost certainly to be my last post ever, written to pray to forget and leave this behind me before I go...

To those bloggers that I must ask of them - I ask for your forgiveness. For not knowing. For my ignorance in this clever lie... For what has been done to you in this black deception that was done unto myself as well. Had I only listened when I was warned and not been so quick to defend his honor last year...

To the bloggers who have been there to show me great kindness and caring, both the ones I know in reality and the ones without faces I am privileged to know - the friends whose faces I may never know - but whose kind and pure hearts I already do, I am so grateful and cannot ever tell you how much...

To my very own Misguided Hunter of two years, whose prey I was but one among many:

In your exceptionally uncreative,  intellectually and imaginatively limited, copied and unoriginal, inane and boringly trite blog-prey-hunting tactic and tradition - This song is for you:

Evening on the Ground by Iron & Wine.

...And in your own timeless words: "Allah maa i6ig ib 3a9a...".  

May God help and forgive you...

Tiny baby tears
I will collect a million years
and you can blame me...
Blame me for the rocks, baby bones,
and broken lock on our garden -

Garden full of spiderbites and all your lovers...

Blame me.
I will wear it in the empty hollow part of my garden.

You will never make me learn
To lay beneath the Mountain
Because I will only lie
Down by the waterside at night

The Hunter

I should never have entered this blogging world.

Ever.

Posts and words. Lies and illusions of "Desperation...."

I have had only one recurring nightmare haunt me my whole life through, to this day, since I was in my early teenage years. In it, I tightly carry a child - sometimes a baby, sometimes a toddler that clings to me as tightly and desperately as I cling to her. We are running from a monster. This gigantic, supernatural, Grendelian monster whose dark force so overwhelms, that his presence is sensed prior to his arrival. He wants the child. He wants to eat us both, to consume and feed upon our flesh and what lies protected and sacred within us, the guardian and the helpless one, the warrior and victim. I jump and run from the rooftops and windows of tall buildings, seeking shelter by hiding in secret, cloistered internal rooms within them, hiding amidst madness and chaos as people around me run in panic from the monster too. They do not know, but he does not want nor comes for any of them; he comes for me. Me and the baby in my arms, the child clinging too tightly to my neck. A feverish prayer drowns all sound in my head, a repeating mantra that is my talisman against the Hunters evil. It is "Please God, save us. Help me save the baby..."

I should have never. Not ever. Not blogged even for one second. Even with all the good I have seen from others in this Kuwaiti blogger world. But even that good could not ever be enough in the face of this One, the Desperate and Wandering Hunter who found me...

The Misguided Hunter who kept me so close to him for two years...

Of this I am sure with every electrical impulse surging through every nerve cell of the grey matter encased in my skull. With every myocyte synchronous and echoing with every beat of my heart, every osteocyte of every bone in my body. It is a thought that fills every pore and crevice of my skin, resonating in every molecule of every breath that enters and exits my lungs. The darkest, strangest, most disturbing, dirty and deceptive path of my time on this earth. The most horrifying lie to be sucked into by one so clever. It is not my life that has been altered, but something deeper on the inside of my soul. Not even being witness to my father's long and painful descent to death from cancer, nor the loss of the one person I loved and had tried to build my life with since I was a very young woman - the man I now know loved me back with all that he was in his own way, had this power to ream and alter so darkly. It was the blackest lie, the darkest plan, the cleverest of deceptions, the most twisted, psychologically perfect and expertly executed professional hunt for the feed of a predator in his own private Kuwaiti blog hunting ground of women...

Predator.

He carefully studied us over time and the Hunter knew how and where we were weakest, with all and each one of us at the same time...

And I was not alone. Not remotely alone. All of us - and there were many - we were unknowingly all together in this, all his prey together at the same time.  The same time. We fell into the Hunters trap. He used the exact and same technique on each of us. The same words. The same, repeatedly used weapons he expertly knew would make each of us fall.  He fed on our flesh and our souls, what we are and what we were.

My monster really did come to hunt us, the young baby girls and I.

Blogging. One blog. All of us.

Hunted.

We fell together. We are and were his Prey.

I could not save any of them from Him. I could not even save myself...

Baba (Daddy)

يَا أَيَّتُهَا النَّفْسُ الْمُطْمَئِنَّةُ {27} ارْجِعِي إِلَى رَبِّكِ رَاضِيَةً مَّرْضِيَّةً {28} فَادْخُلِي فِي عِبَادِي {29} وَادْخُلِي جَنَّتِي {30}‏


Sleep now, Yubah. Rest.

Free now, from your broken and cancerous body.

We love you.

Once...

Once upon a time, this was the blog of a girl who woke up and had to face the fact that she was now a woman. It was a place where many of her childhood memories of growing up in Kuwait and the US were remembered.

I miss it. I miss this blog. I wish I had not deleted it. Writing something here now feels as if I'm sitting on my heels hugging myself in a corner of my childhood bedroom, gazing round it's walls and wondering how to reconcile that this place was once a part of me. Wondering how it was that when I spent time growing up here, I became not someone else but more of myself.

I get weary of my heartache now, so weary of enduring. Weary of my own personality. Weary of how God made me. Weary of being myself. So many things seem to repeat for me... Perhaps I am the one who has repeated them. And I am just tired now. I am scared of myself..but now I am mostly scared...

It is difficult for me to ask for anything that might give me a moment's worth of happiness from those I love. I never do. And they never give it. I am wasting and have wasted much time. I am not sure that much of it is left for me.

So much may soon be lost. And I am so tired of wrecked things. I have never known how to stop those I let in and truly love from taking bits of me they take without asking - and even when it is offered from me willingly with great love - how to stop them from taking more than is their share or is kind. There are many things I wish I could stop thinking about, but I cannot. I think that I have never, ever, been really loved.

Writing here feels like I am drawing graffiti on my bedroom walls. I am grateful I kept this space after I deleted all my original posts, my old blog. Because I am desperately in need of my own tiny secret spaces right now. Space away from all this other loud and silent desperation surrounding me.