Swan Song

Confession: Every now and then I like to go through my older blog posts; to get some sense of perspective and perhaps re-live particular moments in my life... and I'll admit, to make some edits here and there; mostly corrections to the typos and the woeful grammar and punctuation I'd used in some of my earlier posts, but also to occasionally add a phrase or change a word that would -at least in my view- add a different dimension to the story I'd been attempting to weave. I've never changed anything pivotal in any of my past narratives- as I believe that is nothing short of historical manipulation/negationism- but my reasoning is that the odd bit of slight beautification here or there wouldn't compromise my integrity as a writer/chronicler of my own life.

Back to my main point; for any gamers reading this, I like to compare going through older blog posts to re-spawning at a video game checkpoint -for any non-gamers here; a checkpoint is the point at which the game saves your progress so you can reload your save file later without losing too much time replaying the parts you've already completed... so in effect, it is saving the game at every significant milestone; which is more or less what I've always tried to do with my writing. As I've hinted in a past blog post- the title of which currently escapes me- this very specific brand of escapism essentially allows me to time travel back to who I'd been at the time I'd written a particular blog post, and that generally enables me to see things much more clearly and learn more about who I am now, who I was then and how much I've evolved in between. 

For that reason, this blog has been invaluable to me; I can basically trace my character development from my teen years all the way until my twenty seventh birthday. It can sometimes be a curse; being able to go back in time to a particularly cringe-worthy period of my life, but mostly this blog has been an excellent tool to catalog and track my growth over the years. 

Besides, I cannot overstate how big a confidence boost a particularly well-received blog post can give me, or how giddy a mood it can put me in... and yet, even the less popular posts give me a profound sense of release; the relief that can only come from venting out your worries and deepest fears to the world -which is somehow simultaneously an intimate yet impersonal act- is practically unparalleled for me. This blog has therefore not only been a way for me to get the acknowledgment I so desperately crave; but also a crucial tool for my very survival- a beautiful yet dangerous tool to be almost wholly dependent on for emotional support.

And now is the time to retire it.

It has been slightly more than eight years... eight whole years of ups and downs and pain and worries and fears and hopes and dreams and failures and successes and love and hate and, in a word, life... and while I cannot deny how big a part this blog has played in shaping who I am as a person and how I view myself, it is fast becoming clear to me that its time is long gone. Heading into my thirties as a young professional, I can no longer afford to post intimate details of my life online for the whole world to see; for I've realized that in the act of avoiding vulnerability with those closest to me, I've instead opted for vulnerability with some of those furthest away from me- many of whom may wish me harm or misfortune, and that is the exact type of people one generally avoids baring their soul to. This blog is therefore unfortunately not only my greatest source of pride, but also my Achilles' heel.

Not only that, but I've also realized that in the act of succumbing to the quick fixes of blog posts rather than putting what little talent I have into writing a single, cohesive narrative- with the view of possibly publishing a novel some day- I've been regularly draining my creative juices (masturbation euphemism not intended) with relatively limited and rapidly diminishing returns, instead of pouring them into my ever-illusive magnum opus. 

I've been seeing the signs everywhere over the past few weeks; little hints here and there that it maybe time to draw the curtains on an ambitious yet stagnating dream of mine, which I've somehow managed to keep alive for more than eight years- much longer than any of my relationships and some of my friendships... and thus, I see no more fitting conclusion to this chapter of my life than calling it quits on my 100th published blog post, in the final days of the year 2018. Few people reading this will realize how devastating this is to me -and how unthinkable it would have been only a few short weeks ago, given how I view my writing (and by extension, my blog) as an integral, core aspect of my identity and how I choose to define myself- but I saw no other way; it had to be done.

To everyone who has followed my writing up until this point; I cannot possibly thank you enough for the love and support you have shown me over the years. I truly love and appreciate you all individually; and it is no exaggeration that at times, your kind words and encouragement were all that kept me writing- and that the thought of disappointing you is what makes writing this particular post all the more painful to me... however, a good writer doesn't drag things out; a good writer knows not to overstay their welcome; a good writer appreciates a tidy, dignified ending- and a good writer is what you've all made me believe I am, or am at least capable of being.

I dedicate this final post- and this entire blog- to those few of you who've made me feel like a celebrity, time and time again; for this blog is more the product of your work than it is of mine.

I am not going to delete any of the posts; this blog is only retired in the sense that I will likely not be adding any more content. Only time will tell if I am strong enough to keep this vow -for I do see myself possibly making more posts in the future in moments of weakness- so I will not be making any sweeping, irreversible claims that this blog is indefinitely dead... but what I can possibly promise with a much higher degree of confidence is that I will at least no longer be sharing links on my social media accounts; be it Facebook or Twitter. You're all, however, always welcome to follow the blog itself or check it periodically in the future for new content- and of course, you're always welcome to shoot me a note just to chat.

Even though I have a flair for the dramatic, I am -as discussed- very decidedly not going to end this with too much finality; if only to give myself some possible wriggle room to pull off an Arthur Conan Doyle some time in the future...

For now, I will instead leave you with a very simple and heartfelt "farewell"... or perhaps an "until we meet again".

With all the love in the world,

Mahmoud Bondok.

Twenty Seven

9,834 days on Earth.

9,833 nights... some of them happy; others miserable. Some of them exhausted; others sleepless. Some of them relaxed; others stressed... and most of them anxious.

As I sat down to write this post, I had to think back on the featureless blob of intertwined memories and feelings that is my life in hindsight; perched as I am now atop the ivory tower of my third decade... and I have to say, I wasn't too impressed.

It's not fair to compare oneself to the overachievers of yore; the times when a 25 year old could somehow find the brainpower to master three or four completely unrelated branches of science or mathematics and yet still have enough time left in the day to create inventions that can shape worlds; or cure diseases previously thought incurable; or develop philosophical arguments the ramifications of which humanity still grapples with, hundreds of years later. These people -to varying degrees of success- have influenced humanity in ways that simply cannot be measured. The world without their contributions would be unfathomably different; possibly functional but more likely dark and backwards and crude... and thus, they have earned the right to have entire chapters dedicated to them in the annals of history. There is a very good reason why we are still taught about Leonardo Da Vinci and Archimedes and Socrates, hundreds or thousands of years after their deaths.

However, mindful though I am that these comparisons are unflattering at best and completely demotivating and depressing at worst, I still can't help but wonder what has been the point of all this.

For every Leonardo Da Vinci, there are untold billions of -arguably successful- people who have completely faded from history, together with their loves and struggles and pain and triumphs and families.

Twenty seven years of age is hardly the twilight of my life- at least not unless I die unexpectedly at thirty five- and yet I find myself pondering my legacy... or lack thereof. If I were to pass on tomorrow, who -if any- would still speak my name fondly or in awe in a hundred years' time?

The answer is: no one.

Now, please don't misread my tone... this is not an emotional cry for help from someone who hasn't achieved quite as much in his life as he would have wanted to; but rather a weary, resigned acknowledgement of the human condition that we all do our best to ignore- which is that only a very lucky select few of us get to have a legacy... and I don't mean necessarily with respect to a gargantuan, dark, uncaring universe -to which not even the brightest optimist can claim that we are anything but temporary, insignificant blips- but even as compared to other humans who have lived and died on this speck of dust we call Earth.

For the sake of context, let me take a step back and explain where this is coming from; ever since I was subjected to a traumatic event roughly two years ago -the nature of which some of you may have cleverly surmised from the numerous blogposts in which I pretty much flat out explained it- I have found myself turning more and more cynical and nihilistic as the days went by. At the peak of my depression, I was known to claim that nothing mattered; that life was pointless and that in the grand scheme of things, our individual lives are laughably inconsequential. It may have been an attempt to put my woes into perspective... to tell myself that if all our lives were insignificant with respect to the universe; then perhaps the pain I'd been going through simply did not matter, either.

But what I hadn't considered is that when you start believing that nothing matters, everything starts actually not mattering to you. Human contact; friendships; relationships; work- there is no point to any of it... and that is not a healthy viewpoint for a young man during his peak years.

It took me quite a bit of time to bury that belief -yes, bury; because I still believe it on some level- but the healthy compromise I have reached with my dark alter ego is that we can make our lives matter as long as we're a positive impact on our families; our friends; our communities or our countries. True, tales of my mundane daily routines will never be told on planet Mekalurku in the Pelangau galaxy, 10 billion light years away from Earth; but maybe I'm fine with that. Maybe I'm fine with just being a positive influence on the people in my life.

Perhaps, I reasoned, that could be enough.

But what if it's not enough? Or worse still; what if I'm actually not a positive impact on the people in my life?

That is where I am at, today. The reason for my melancholy isn't that I'm one year closer to my grave; it is that I'm one year closer to my grave with no achievements to speak of- at least in my own eyes. When I ask myself a simple question; have you done something to be remembered for, one hundred years from now? The simple answer is an undisputed "no"... and the saddest part is that there is very little I can do to change that. Apart from maintaining a blog that is little more than an online published diary, that is.

Due to the cyclical nature of one's birthday -which can usually be expected once a year at about the same time- I am always forced into this particular realization every year... and every birthday, I choose the figurative blue pill and go back to the dull mediocrity of human existence; in the hope that maybe by next year, I will have made some kind of impact on the world.

But as previously discussed; that will likely never happen... and I hope to come to terms with that, some day.

Anyway, enough talk about my existential dread. Time for some cake and my yearly dose of the blue pill... and no, not that one.

My Baby Sister

He remembered years ago
back when he was little;
how much he had despised
that drooling little parasite.

She'd come into his world,
all puffy-cheeked and swollen,
but she couldn't fool him;
he saw right through her act.

Her cuteness was a facade;
for she was but a leech...
who hogged all the attention;
and stole all of his toys.

She giggled and laughed and hugged,
to win the adults' trust;
and when the time was ripe;
she bound them to her service.

They lived in mortal terror
of hearing a shriek of anguish...
she had them under her spell,
and used it to her advantage.

He remembered being in awe,
of her dark, powerful magic;
if she could do that to adults...
what could she do to him?

He tried to fight back,
to make the adults see;
He'd jab her with sticks,
and push her off her bed

He'd throw her toys away,
and hit her on her head;
he'd break vases and plates,
and blame her instead.

But every time that happened
they'd rush to her aid...
he simply could not win;
resistance was in vain.

For years, that's how he lived,
in a constant state of war;
he would never give up.
he couldn't let her win.

Until one day it stopped;
he had no hate for her...
they weren't exactly friends,
yet she wasn't his mortal foe.

And then before he knew it,
he was her best friend...
she'd come to him for help;
she'd seek out his advice.

He'd help her cram for tests,
and be there when she cried;
and when she had her nightmares,
he'd hold her through the night.

And as they grew older,
he hardly seemed to notice;
how much she'd grown on him;
how much he'd valued her.

For she was now his soulmate,
his backbone and his friend;
his favorite thing to go home to,
His pride and joy in life.

A single solitary tear
presently rolled down his face
as he hugged his little girl;
All grown up at her wedding

As it turned out,
he was right to fear her magic...
For despite his best efforts;
he'd never stood a chance.