The Moth and the Flame

The love of the moth for the deadly flame

Has long been pondered by many a man;

The moth ridiculed and mocked and scorned,

For the endless passion it has for its doom.

Never has anyone asked themselves...

What the silly moth might see when it stares

Deep into the heart of the shimmering flames;

That makes it crave their fiery embrace?

For though the flames burn hot and bright,

They keep many secrets of their own;

As dark as the dancing shadows they cast 

To warn the wise and lure the fool.

Though flames be pretty and warm and alive,

Cackling with untethered joy and zeal

Yet they consume all those who dare

Presume to think themselves their match.

And though the blaze may bear the moth none,

Of ill will or hate or spite or rage 

The flames will always ravage and raze

And the moth will always lose that game.

What makes you yearn for death, oh moth?

Do you truly hate yourself this much?

For you to choose to be enthralled

By what you know will bring your end?

I like to think that there is more

To this painful story than it may seem...

Could it be a tale of passion and love?

Could it be true that the moth knows more?

Perhaps the moth fully knows the risks

And made his peace with death and pain

For he well knows that without the flames,

Life would be too dark to live.

And before he burns; by God he’ll live...

The passion in his eyes as scorching hot

As the dazzling flames at which he stares

And where he knows his journey ends.

And while his fate he’s always known,

He also knows he’ll never doubt

Or have regrets about this flame;

The best mistake he’d ever make.

So save your tears for when he dies,

And let the moth enjoy the dance...

For though he ends his life ablaze,

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tired

I am very tired.

Tired of the same issues that have plagued me since I was little more than a toddler.

Tired of the constant battle with anxiety and depression and the insane lengths to which I go to deal with them in a borderline healthy way.

Tired of being in constant need of reassurances that -while genuine and heartfelt- ring hollow and sound increasingly impatient on their 375th recital.

Tired of being a burden to those around me- especially those I care about the most- who have to put up with these ever-present insecurities.

Tired of life on paper-thin ice; the structural integrity of which gives way under the slightest pressure from the most fleeting and insignificant of triggers; plunging me down into the bottomless icy depths of mania, anxiety and self-doubt... which I have experienced for every day of my life and yet will never grow accustomed to.

Tired of being the same old me, with the same issues and doubts and fears and insecurities and pain that I’ve always had; always shifting from one form to another but never going away completely.

Tired of being a negative influence on the lives of those I love... testing their patience and resolve and compassion for every single second of every single day until they finally have enough and decide to go away.

Tired of being so emotionally unstable and so full of self-loathing that I can still manage to shed tears on a sunlit beach on holiday with two of the people I care about the most in the world.

I wish I could make it stop. I wish there was a button I could press or a lever I could pull to shut down 90% of my brain so I can just live and enjoy my life as effortlessly as countless others seem to enjoy theirs.

I’m so very tired.

Tired of being me.

New Memories

Disclaimer: I write this knowing full well that I am voiding my earlier vow to stop using this blog as a platform to broadcast my innermost thoughts and feelings... however, what came to my mind this morning was an idea for a poem so bittersweet that it could be the crowning jewel of this blog, if written properly. I therefore choose to think of this not as a broken promise; but as a last hurrah.

We'll see how long this one lasts.

***********************

A wistful smile plays upon my lips,

As I sit down and reminisce

About ancient times, now long past...

With nary a chance of going back.

I wonder truly what I wouldn't pay,

For one more chat with my granddad...

Or one more leisurely childhood stroll

With my parents on our way to the zoo.

 Just one more night in our old house;

And maybe a steaming mug of hot tea,

With a black and white movie on an ancient TV

As we huddle beneath the sheets in a storm.

Or one more carefree day at the beach,

As dad and I try to build forts in the sand

Then my sister and I go for a quick splash

Our shrieks of joy too loud for my mom.

Perhaps just one more taste of school,

That eternal blight that children face...

But now it doesn't seem quite so bad;

To spend all day with friends I miss.

Friends I'd made, with no other choice,

Who'd helped me through some terrible times...

And friends who'd since become like family;

But whom I sadly never see anymore.

The childhood fights and teenage angst;

The tears shed in bouts of pain and rage...

I'd do it all again, if it would give us chance

To be stupid, happy kids together again. 

Or perhaps I thirst for times of rebellion,

When we dared think we had a good chance

To finally make something of a once great land;

To raise our heads once more in pride...

Before it all came crashing down,

And all our hopes and dreams with it...

Slogans turned to cruel jokes by fate

Faces once more stamped on by the boot.

Then one by one, our peers and friends...

Were either killed or jailed or had to flee

And we were left with ashes of dreams

As ghosts of their memories roamed our streets.

Or is it a more recent flame that I crave?

A blaze to consume all other flames...

The embers of which will continue to glow

In my heart forever; till the day I die.

Just give one more day with her

To tell her how much she'd meant to me;

And how I've loved no one else the same way;

And how sorry I am that it had to end.

Just one more chance to make it right

But life doesn't quite work out this way...

We've both moved on, to better things

This wish will never come to be.

Just one more, one more, ONE MORE...

Too many priceless moments; gone.

If I sit here and write them all;

I'd still be writing on my deathbed.

Truth be told; I am frankly spent.

I simply have no more room in my heart

For the pain and torture that is nostalgia;

The unbearable longing to days of yore.

I've had enough; I don't want any more

Wretched echoes of the past to keep me up...

For there is only one thing I can say with certainty;

That I am afraid of making new memories.

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.

A Letter From Your Dad

Dear son(s)/daughter(s)/both,

I hope you're doing well.

I am writing this all the way back in November 2018 because I already know -God knows how many years in advance- that I will screw up... and this is my attempt to preemptively apologize, and to make you see why I am the way that I am. I guess it won't be worth pulling this one out until I've really messed things up, because it's not like I can use it as a carte blanche to justify all of my mistakes... so I hope future me is wise enough to know when to go for this nuclear option.

Kids, your dad is only human.

I remember when I was in your shoes that it was very easy to blame everything on my own parents. In fact, turning 13 was the cue for me to declare holy war on your grandparents, and to officially hang all of my disappointments and failures on their shoulders. I blamed them for my psychological health; for my lack of direction in life; for their weighty expectations of me; for my terrible social life and for my disastrous love life. Everything was their fault; everything was their mistake; and I shared none of the blame because everything I did was a direct result of their mediocre parenting and misguided efforts to steer my life in the direction they saw as best.

Sometimes I was right.

Like all parents, my parents wanted to see their son become more successful than they ever were; and were always pushing me to improve in ways they wished they had when they'd been my own age... be it academically, spiritually, socially or professionally. In so doing, they felt that the best way to help me was to sometimes be overly critical of me and to "protect me from myself"; occasionally making narrow-minded attempts to control my life as crown regents until such time that I was deemed to have "come of age" and matured enough to seize control of the metaphorical throne- aka, my life. In a way, I was right to blame them; teenage years are when our first seeds of individuality are sown... and while a parent's attempts to force a teenager into following their own way of life can be well intentioned; it can only ever see limited success. Yes, a parent should be firm and put their foot down when necessary; however, in a lot of cases, they should only advise and allow their children to make their own mistakes... because that is how we learn, and how we grow as people. My own parents forgot that, sometimes.

But you know what? I was actually a lot harder on them than they were on me.

Children tend to have this narcissistic, self-centered world view wherein they are the center of the universe; parents exist only to help them realize their full potential, and when they fail they get all the blame... because parenting is their job. They signed up for it; you didn't ask to be born!

Granted, that is correct... however, what you often tend to forget is that a lot of parents truly have no idea what they're doing. They don't have a "how to" parenting manual that is issued to every parent when they birth a child; they're simply doing their absolute best and hoping to give you a decent head-start in life... but in reality, they're very flawed, conflicted human beings who are mostly just winging it and hoping they don't mess up their kids too much; often simply mirroring the outdated parenting techniques their own parents had used on them. They're struggling -through inhumane amounts of stress -to keep their marriages functional; keep food on the table; maintain some semblance of a social life and stay sane enough to be well-rounded parents to their offspring, and a lot of people fail at striking that balance. That is not to say that parents are allowed to screw up; rather, it's an invitation for you to open your heart and accept that your parents are not all-knowing creatures of pure light. They have their flaws; their secrets; their insecurities and their quirks. They are not perfect, but at the end of the day they always mean well and they always have your best interests at heart... whatever they do, they do for you.

Which brings me to now.

I cannot begin to guess what I screwed up, this time- and there is no way for me to write this post 20 billion times to address every possible wrong choice or error in judgement that I could have made. What I can do, instead, is help you hate me for a while; because I know that sometimes, all you need -as a rebellious teen who's still unsure of their place in life and yearning for freedom and self-actualization- is a good old-fashioned parent roast.

I will be the first to admit that I am a supremely messed up individual; I am short-tempered, and I'm sure I've lost my temper with you more times than you can count. I am non-confrontational; and I'm sure you've seen the full spectrum of my passive aggressiveness. I am anti-social; and I'm sure that that has affected you in some way. I am stubborn, and I know that the "my way or the highway" attitude I sometimes have is just about the worst attitude you could possibly have with a teenager. I am possessive and controlling and overprotective, which I am sure infuriates you to no end and triggers your rebellious nature. I have severe trust issues and I am 100% certain that you've already seen that in some capacity. I am lazy and sometimes self-absorbed- though I truly wish I will have grown out of that by the time you were born. I am extremely introverted; and at this point in time, I have no idea what implications that might have had on my relationship with you. And most of all, I'm extremely insecure and terrified that I will turn out to be exactly as bad a father to you as I have always feared I would be.

This letter is my way of acknowledging all of these thoughts, which I know you will have had at some point. For my part, I fully admit to my flaws and take responsibility for whatever mistakes I might have made; even if I am too proud to apologize to you or admit fault. I know I can be a difficult person to live with, and that you didn't ask to be my son(s)/daughter(s).

But I have something to ask of you, as well.

I need you to know that whatever I did was not malicious power play designed to manipulate you or nullify your personality. For all my flaws, I am not manipulative. What I am is brutally honest, and so you can believe me when I say that as much as you want to hate me right now, you don't. Take it from a formerly rebellious teen; eventually, you will grow up... and the older you get, the more you will realize the method in my madness. Slowly, you will begin to understand and then to relate to my decision-making... for that is the cycle we must all go through; we idolize our parents as children; hate them as teens; grow uncertain about their places in our lives in our early adulthood; then by our late 20s we understand and accept them for who they are.

Don't victimize yourself, and understand that we're a team. I want you to be the best you that you can be, and while I'm sure I sometimes make questionable decisions, I want you to know that I'm doing my best, and that I will always welcome your opinion and honest feedback. I would always much rather have a candid face-to-face discussion with you than live blissfully unaware of the festering resentment brewing in your heart. I don't ever want to be the stereotypical aloof, emotionally distant father to you... I want to be your friend and advisor; the person you turn to and not the person you hide from.

I don't know at what age you will read this, if indeed you ever will... for I am currently not at all certain that I will ever want to be a father -I understand the weight of the responsibility and do not at all take it lightly, and therefore you can rest assured that if you exist, then I have given it significant prior thought and preparation before deciding that I was ready- but in any case, know that you are the most important person(s) in my life and that your birth was the most life-changing event that will likely ever happen to me. I love you, unconditionally... even if you're pretending -or perhaps trying- to hate me right now.

Please find it in your heart to understand; to accept; and to forgive a struggling parent who may have made mistakes, but is still really trying.

Yours, now and forever,
Dad