Slaves

“I didn't know I was a slave until I found out I couldn't do the things I wanted.”, Frederick Douglass

Sometimes we love or fear people and things to the extent that we let them control us and rule our lives. To a certain degree this might be acceptable because I think we should be living for others not only for ourselves, but at some point in time we should stop to think and re-evaluate because sometimes we forget ourselves and our rights to live our own life and enjoy it. We sometimes allow these things and beloved ones to drive us blindly… we help them abuse us… we enslave ourselves… and become Slaves with our own will… and we convince ourselves that this is the right thing to do. Now… it is time to wake up… to break the chains… to fight for freedom… it is time to say “NO”… it is time to make them hear it and accept it.

“The moment the slave resolves that he will no longer be a slave, his fetters fall. Freedom and slavery are mental states.”, Mahatma Gandhi

Mena Mostafa

Farid

"What small hands!! One day mine were that little and one day yours will be that big!" Despite his small size and his inability to participate in conversations, he grabbed the attention of the presence… he was the main topic of all discussions this day. He said nothing, but we were all listening to him. His eyes were inspecting each of us carefully, he then smiles nicely and moves his head to someone else with the same childish smile… When my turn came, I felt we were in some sort of a silent conversation with angel smiles and touching hands. I am not sure which couldn’t understand the other… could he understand us but we didn’t know, or was it us who couldn’t understand him. He was very powerful with his weakness, pure smile and thinking eyes. "God bless you my nephew, God bless you Farid"

Mena Mostafa

The Clown

Every day he paints his face with happy colors, dresses up with cheerful clothes to make them laugh, to make them forget about their sorrows for a while or maybe forever. His greatest achievement was to draw smiles on every lip, to make eyes sparkle with joy. His mission was never easy, but he never gave up… It was his life’s goal and his every day task, though… he never felt bored. He never gave himself the chance to control his life, he never owned it… it was other’s property, it was part of theirs. He didn’t know how to think about himself, he never knew whether he was happy or not, he didn’t have the time luxury to stop and think. Suddenly, he discovered he was The Clown, the unhappy clown who used to make everyone happy but himself!

Mena Mostafa

The Closed Page

Usually, when you read a book, you turn a page to read the next one. Sometimes, you may skip some pages to reach a specific page, then you might go back to the former to continue reading the normal sequence of events. This time, when I turned the page, I wasn’t sure I was ready to read the next one. For the first time in my life turning a page was so hard on me, and wasn’t an easy act to make, although it used to be very simple before. This page was really heavy, it almost weighted as much as the entire book… Yes, one page was worth the whole book… One page had it all… Between the lines, there were many hidden lines with deeper meanings… This page was filled with lines that can only be read with closed eyes… It needed profound thinking. Actually, I wasn’t sure whether I was reading or writing! This time… pages kept being turned one after another, it seemed that the previous page was closed, maybe forever; I really can’t turn it back… It is The Closed Page now… The next page is empty, or maybe it is me who still can’t read it!

Mena Mostafa

Three Ducks

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”, Anais Nin

Once upon a time, there were Three Ducks… Two young ducks, and an older one… They were friends, very close friends… They couldn’t pass a day without being together in a way or another… They were mysteriously tied to each other with a strange bond… They cared and loved each other very much… The young ducks helped the old one many times, they were always there when it needed them… and the three of them never failed one another… The old duck always felt grateful to the young ones… They helped it pass the hard times smoothly, they always stood by its side… The old duck always wished to see the young ones happy… It wanted them to be the best in the world… It wished it can make anything to help them… The old duck’s life earned its meaning by the presence of the two young ducks in it.

Mena Mostafa

The Prisoner

“Questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself”, Patrick McGoohan
He was locked in a cell… surrounded by bars… He couldn’t feel he was himself anymore… He couldn’t enjoy the taste of flying… He was carrying burdens… He could never touch the walls of the cell he was locked in… as they were just in his mind… He wasn’t sure he was free… and he wasn’t a prisoner too… He was struggling for freedom in a lost battle… His ideas and thoughts were struggling him… He fought daily to reach the… “nowhere” and to obtain the… “nothing”… He was always wondering to where he belonged… he was feeling he belonged to… the “nowhere”… He was looking for himself… He was searching for his lost soul… Behind the bars, he was there… and he didn’t dare to cross.
“Within yourself deliverance must be searched for, because each man makes his own prison”, Edwin Arnold
It is the free bird inside The Prisoner’s heart that will make him feel liberty.

Mena Mostafa

A Year Ago

“Smile… Tomorrow will be worse!”, clipped from Murphy's laws.
Some of the memories just started coming back to my mind… This was a time ago, a year, two, three, or maybe ten years ago… the number doesn’t matter, it doesn’t make a difference… it is not the main point… Anyways, I remembered, and by the way remembering is a very exhausting operation on my brain, I remembered that I was sitting, standing, chatting, talking on the phone, eating, sleeping, crying and laughing… I remembered that I gained something, lost another, learned new stuff and helped someone… New babies were born, old people died, new friends came and old ones left… It is a chain of some repeated events, some make me content, others make me not… This was yesterday, last month, or A Year Ago… What about the same time tomorrow, the day after, or next year… Where will I be? What will I do? How will I feel?

Mena Mostafa

Beauty and the Beast

What is the type of spell that was thrown over us? What is the curse that turned us to what we are now? Did we do this to ourselves or were we enchanted by a fairy?! Where did the meanings of purity, love, trust, care, respect, justice and humanity go? Did they leave us? Or did we abandon them? Did they lose their hope in us? Or did we ignore and forget them? Life became very materialistic and we just followed… we followed without breaking to breath the clean air of the forgotten virtues, without stopping to re-think, to re-evaluate… Where are we heading now? Does this destination deserve the troubles we put ourselves in? Does it merit sacrificing every dear we have?
I wish we were living in a fairy world like the one of “Beauty and the Beast”… Can the remnants of the lost beauty change the beasts we became? Can it revive our dead hearts? Can we have its same ending?

Mena Mostafa

The Dream

Many events… like watching a movie… a long one… in a very short but slow duration… and I was… The Heroine. Too many people… too much faces… many scenes… lots of scenarios… different dialogues… and I was in the middle… I was living in The Dream, or in what seemed to be a dream… an endless one… I wake up every day to find myself still in the middle… still dreaming… or still living The Dream. Sometimes, I think that it can’t be real, but I know for sure it is. Sometimes I feel like flying… other times like drowning… New characters every day… new reactions… new lessons… new feelings… and finally a different or maybe a new… “me”… or The Dream “me” in a world of real illusions…
The best thing in dreams is that they last for one day or one night, and then end as if they never existed… Unfortunately, I am awake… awake in The Dream!! Can you interpret it?!

Mena Mostafa

Ping Pong

“Tic… Toc”… “Tic… Toc”…The small ball was bouncing over the tiny net between the two players on the different sides of the table… the life’s table… Players change every while… The ball too… and sometimes the table itself changes… But the game remains the same… Rules stay unchanged… sometimes manipulated… or bypassed… sometimes players switch places… while the game continues… Words and feelings keep crossing the table between players, actions keep being exchanged… the ball which is thrown today will return tomorrow carrying replies and reactions to the hit it received from the other side of the table… from the opponent player… Sometimes a group of players consist a team… sometimes each plays alone… But always, there is someone on the other side… someone to throw and someone to reply back... Life never gives without taking. You have to give in order to take… don’t expect to receive without giving… Life is a Ping Pong game.

Mena Mostafa

The Storm

It was quite, very quite and tranquil… all thoughts were resting… all feelings were sleeping… calmness was controlling… and peace was governing everything… Suddenly, the scene changed… everything turned up-side-down… because it woke up… The Storm roused … The fight between thoughts and feelings began… the struggle between the mind and the heart started... and I… was watching… in the middle of this, I was observing… I didn’t know which side to take… I didn’t know which was the shield that will protect me… I didn’t know where the shelter was… It was hard to identify… and difficult to decide… specially that it became dark and gloomy… I wasn’t sure I can see well any more… Voices of the heart became louder… and calls of the mind became lower, they can be barely heard… I closed my eyes… and my feet followed my heart… Light started to be felt again… I opened my eyes… Then quietness and silence dominated again.

Mena Mostafa

The Rock

Hard… mysterious… closed… sharp… lonely… and silent… enduring rain… wind… coldness… heat… changes… and kicks… it always tolerates, and lets pass… it forgets and stands as usual… but its shape and surface form changed… Events left their traces engraved on the solid rock… or The Rock which is perceived to be solid… With each kick, The Rock loses a part of itself, changes its shape to adapt to changes or to fit in the new place it reached… With every kick, The Rock might break into smaller rocks… but it becomes… harder… it becomes… The Rock… It is difficult to explore it… we can never see it from inside… as if we do, there will be no rock… but I know that deep deep inside… the real softness resides… resides shielded by the hard exterior protecting the weak softness that can’t face the world… the pitiless cruel world.
Sometimes I wish I were The Rock you think I am… but I am not!

Mena Mostafa

The Door

I’ve been in this place before… I was walking in the same corridor… the corridor ending with The Door… The Door I was heading to… This time, something was different, maybe the form of The Door, maybe its color… maybe it’s just the elapsed time, it’s been a while since I was here… since I saw it… or maybe it was me… or my look… I don’t know. I used to be happy when approaching The Door… this time I am not, rather… I feel anxiety… The corridor looked longer… it looked endless… or maybe my steps were not fast as usual… maybe they were scared… scared of the unknown… of what’s behind The Door… This time I feel like a stranger… I am not sure to where I belong… to what’s behind The Door… or to where I am coming from… I am trying not to look back… The Door is approaching… I am almost there.

Mena Mostafa

Relativity Theory

Can you see with my eyes? Can I see with yours? Can you see what I see? Can you feel what I feel? I doubt... You are not me… We are not the same… Our eyes are different… so are our understanding, feelings judgments and decisions. You might hate what I like… You might disagree with what I want… For some, losing what is worth in the eyes of others is simple… For some, what is worth having might be valueless to others. We might regret today’s decisions tomorrow… but today, they were the best to make… Decisions are relative to our views… our views change every while, as we ourselves do not stay the same. The side of the coin facing me is different than the side facing you… Both sides are true, both of us are right… It is just the different views. Different views control our decisions… Maybe tomorrow I will see your side of the coin, and maybe you will see mine. It is the difference that gives life its taste… It is the difference that gives life its sense … Nothing is absolute… Life is based on Relativity Theory.

Mena Mostafa

The Ring

My eyes were following the hands of the clock moving slowly, so slowly… I was counting seconds… thousands of seconds… 3 days passed now… it is not a long duration to wait, but… the number of seconds is scaring. I almost studied the shape of every key and the form of every number on each of the keys… I can close my eyes and still see the small keypad… I memorized it while waiting for The Ring… the phone ring of the call… the call that was occupying my thinking lately… I am not sure how long this thought has been dominating my mind, but I know the number of seconds I was waiting, and I am still counting… Finally… a ring…“Hello…”… this is not The Ring I was expecting… Counting continues and… I am still waiting!!

Mena Mostafa

Intersection

Each in his own path, his individual line, his personal life… sometimes paths are parallel, we exist but we never meet… sometimes paths intersect, and we meet… Every day we might meet new people or might know or understand people we met previously… some of them become friends, some become enemies, some keep moving between the relations’ boundaries. Some of them are unforgotten and some can never be remembered. Some influence us, and some just pass without being noticed. Our lives’ Intersection was when we first met. Maybe I can’t remember this moment, but surely I can’t forget your fingerprints in my life. Maybe the thing we will remember more is when time comes to break us apart… this is life, we assemble to separate. Ever thought about self Intersection?!

Mena Mostafa

Game Over

Exhausted… tired and… desperate, the small Rabbit kept running from his hunter. There was a small spark of hope is his tiny little heart to escape and defeat his heartless hunter, the hunter he always trusted. Rabbit told himself “Your carrots can no more attract me, and your bullets will not hurt me. I am weak but I am determined and above all… I am not afraid”… The pursuit continued and Rabbit became more and more strong with his faith and his will to straighten things. It was confidence and will that gave Rabbit his toughness. Now, Exhausted… tired and… desperate, the poor hunter is regretting every second he wasted in this pursue without trying to take the advantage of having Rabbit as a friend … The pathetic hunter could think about nothing… wish nothing but to reach the end of the chase… to reach the sign… the “Game Over” sign.

Mena Mostafa

Tomato

“The door opened… A sudden light blurred my sight… I think it is my turn… I’ve been here for three days now… A nice small, but firm, hand grabbed me into a new transportation means… I was put in… a plate … I took a nice shower… Then I suddenly noticed that there were many little reds like me; just like the ones who were accompanying me in the cold dark room I just left. They were all waiting silently for their turn in the queue. Some of them were meant to be soup, some to be sauce or ketchup, some to participate in different types of salads. We were all giving up, as we knew that this is our destiny… Although we are very friendly and that we share in many kinds of cooking, our lives were meant to end in minutes, we were to be slaughtered shortly. I am not sure yet what I am meant for, I am a Tomato like any other, a knife is app… approa…”

Moral, tomatoes should be respected as they offer their lives to give taste to other types of foods!

I sometimes wonder if I am a Tomato and I am not conscious!!

Mena Mostafa

Who Are We?

“The fear of being deceived is the vulgar version of the quest for Truth”, Emile M. Cioran.

Why do we disguise with words? Why do we say things we don’t really mean? Why do we enjoy fooling others? Why do we say things and act contrarily? Can we be categorized into two types? Black and White? Talkers and Listeners? Deceivers and Believers? Why are bad intentions cloaked with good ones? Why is it difficult to respect the White in the world of Black? Why do Listeners get tricked by Talkers? Why are Believers betrayed by Deceivers? Why aren’t we whom we really are? Why should the truth be covered? Why should reality be denied? Why should we wonder about our identity? Why should we always question… Who are you...? Who am I...? Who Are We?

Mena Mostafa

“The End”

“The End”… the author typed these six letters to denote the closure of the last chapter of his new novel. Familiar, isn’t it? How often do you hear these six letters? How much do you or do others use them? We use them to express “The End” of a movie, a story, a project, a plight, a problem, a program, a road, a relation, a day, a picnic, a dream… then we re-use them in other similar situations to start new ones, and terminate them by these six letters, forming the known expression “The End”. Why do we use this word to express such a meaning? “The End” is a recurring event giving birth to other new event called starts, even the end of a life is a start of a new one. “The End” is the start. “The End”… a misused word in a mis-lived world! Do you have suggestions for a replacement?

Mena Mostafa

Memory

“Memory, all alone in the moonlight
I can dream of the old days
Life was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again”
Those were the sad words of the tranquil old song running in the old bus’ cassette during my Memory trip to the past. The words that drew it all back to me. The words that reminded me of the days I miss. Every passing second is a Memory, I can’t count or remember the passed seconds. I am not sure how life should be measured, with the number of happy seconds, or the number of unforgettable memories? I decided not to count… decided to ignore every Memory… decided not to record anything and not to remember anything. Passed time cannot be lived again, not even in memories, all what memories do is to make us miss the days, miss the past, the past that will never come back. So… I decided just to live the minute without looking back, I decided to forget… I decided to live without a Memory.

Mena Mostafa

The Place

Step after the other… Looking at my moving feet… I am walking… circulating in The Place… The Place where I used to be… Everything has changed… well, not really changed, but not the same, floor and walls are the same, colors are the same, odors are the same, but… The Place is different… people I used to see are absent, laughs I used to hear disappeared… warmth I used to feel is cold… The spirit was missing… We are here, but we are not together, I can’t feel your presence, neither you can feel mine, we can see each other, but we can hardly notice ourselves, we can hear, but we do not listen… The Place became stony, we became stony… The Place lost its taste, it lost its colors. The Place is full with its emptiness.
The Place is You, The Place is Me, The Place is Us… And we are not the same anymore, we are strangers in The Place… The dead place.

Mena Mostafa

The Trip (3)

Please read “The Trip (1)” & “The Trip (2)” first

The same noise… the many voices, and the cries… some emotions and… a smile. Many eyes looking at, and many faces staring at… me. Some of the eyes and some the faces didn’t change… Yes, the scene is the same, with some differences… Many murmurs… emotions are now expressed in whispers with some silent tears. I can hear some steps, many steps… A movement, everyone is moving… except… me … “We will miss her”… “She will leave a space”…

The voices and the faces were there from the beginning, it was the film strip of my life being reviewed in my memory. Flashes of many events, memories, emotions and voices… The voices which are fading out now… and the emotions which can’t be felt any more… My name does no more exist… as I, myself do no more exist in this world! Only the cold smile on my face is still here.

Is this is the end of The Trip… my life trip… or the start of the real trip… The Trip I should have prepared for a while ago…

Mena Mostafa

The Trip (2)

Please read “The Trip (1)” first

It’s still very noisy… lots of voices, many voices, almost the same voices… the cries and the laughs… in addition to… emotions… emotions transferred through the voices…
Emotions joined The Trip… I am now accompanied by a name, voices and emotions… Emotions of happiness, grief, satisfaction, pain, joy, angriness, love, hate, faith, doubt, contentment, sorrow, acceptance, regret… and other countless emotions… Weird creatures we are! How can we contain, feel and express such emotions!
This time, voices were expressing happiness… my happiness and theirs for the first success in my life… More voices, listen carefully… It’s sadness, sadness for my failure…
A series of success and failure events running after each other, and not giving me or them the time to breathe… This is life… my life intersecting theirs and accompanied by… more voices, and… The Trip continues…

To be continued…

Mena Mostafa

The Trip (1)

It’s very noisy… lots of voices, many voices… cries… No, not cries, only one cry and laughs, many laughs and a smile or two. Many eyes looking at it… many faces staring at it, and… two faces looking at it and at each other and smiling with happiness.
“It’s very nice”… “Oh my God! I can’t believe it, after all these months!”… “Congratulations”… “Let’s name it…”
All these eyes and faces were looking and staring at… me. “Menna”…
Yes… I was born. “What a little name for a little creature! This is my name, the only thing accompanying me as long as I exist. Anyways, it is nice and simple, I like it… Menna” I am now accompanied by the name and… the voices, the many voices, mine and theirs… Seems this how creatures communicate in this world. I was the only cry at this time, and they were the many laughs for the first baby in this family’s new generation.
The Trip started… The Trip with the name and… the voices…

To be continued…

Mena Mostafa

Green Heads

“Hi!” a light blue square popped up at the bottom of my screen… a cold small square with a word or two. Clicked the small square to start exchanging other icy words with a larger blue square.

People became images in the corner of the large blue square… feelings turned into dummy smilies drawn on the squares. Tens of squares open… hundreds of words exchanged… and millions of feelings lost… and lost their meanings… lost their warmth. Distances were shortened and… gaps became deeper... humanity was digitized.

All screens are the same and… you are nothing more than a large blue square on my screen… you are nothing more than one of the Green Heads in my contact list.

Mena Mostafa

Waiting…

Passed the door… stood up watching… watching people… travelers arriving and leaving… continuous motion and… I stand still, just watching. I am not sure whether my train is late or it is me who arrived before time. Have I just passed the door of an arriving train, or passed the station door to take a train, but… I am here.

A whistle… a train… is this my train? My legs don’t move, can’t move… Should I be there? A second whistle… “Wait…”, my screaming voice was lost in the crowd… and the train left… left without me.

When will the next train arrive? How will it look like? Will it have a place for me? Should I wait for it? Should I be on its board? Or should I leave the station? What is behind the gates?

I am tired… tired of thinking… of dreaming… of waiting… Waiting for the next train… the train which may never come… Waiting for my dreams to come true… Waiting for tomorrow to wait for the day after…

Mena Mostafa

Pieces of Me

“Yes”… “No”, “Right”… “Wrong”. Words, just words… Meanings are missing… are lost. Directions are meaningless. I wanted the white… and I chose the black. I worship home… and I stay away. My body is here… and my soul is there. Driven by my interest, obligated by my will, imprisoned by my choice… tortured by my heart… I can’t escape.

Paths, choices, decisions, consequences. I know what I like… I do what I detest. I sleep with a wakeful mind and open eyes. I am torn apart between my choices and my will. I suffer of choosing and doing the “right” and I can’t do otherwise. If I were to judge my choices, I would condemn them… of being right. I am broken… dispersed. I am… Pieces of Me.

Mena Mostafa

What Time Is It?

Day and night… black and white… Time passes, everything just… changes… places, colors, scents, you… and me… Second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour… and change after change… The difference… I can see, I can feel… though I don’t understand.

Time sculpts changes over us. We grow, distances grow, gaps grow and… time advances. Impossible to roll back… to go back… useless to look back.

Timeless… can’t find my way in time… lost in time… If I break the watch, will I get out, understand or keep wondering… “What time is it?”

Mena Mostafa

The Mask

Ever laughed while crying? Ever lived while dying? Ever been lonely while others around? Ever felt the slowness of the time passing rapidly?

Is the surface shielding the depth or is it hiding it? When I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself, is it my real self or The Mask covering it? My self is always hiding behind its outer mask. I can’t see it… and I can’t remove The Mask. I want to reach deep inside… I want to talk to it… to understand. I am someone else, someone I don’t know, someone I don’t like … I miss myself, the self I can’t find… the self I need. I hate the face you see… I hate The Mask you talk to… I want you to talk to me, the real me. Can you hear me… or The Mask is also hiding my voice, my real voice. I want to tear The Mask… I want to be my real self.

Mena Mostafa

The Hands...

Walking slowly in the twilight, city lights like small far away candles of hope… Still have to go all the way down the mountain… the mountain of thoughts… the unclear struggling thoughts. A shadow of hands, your open hands of help and support. I can’t see your face, I can’t seize your hands, but I know you are here for me. I am following the direction of The Hands. Lights approach, shadows start becoming clearer… Still following, but not yet there. It takes time to get down… to pass over the waves of painful thoughts and feelings. But I will keep following you.
Thank you for your presence, thank you for your care. “You gave me faith ‘coz you believed”.

Mena Mostafa

In The Box…

It is dark, very dark, I can’t see, but still I can touch. It is cold, so cold, seems it is a wall, yes it is. A high wall, I can’t reach the top with my hands, still touching, still feeling the coldness, another wall… other walls. Surrounded by walls, high walls from all sides. Locked up, locked up… in a box… In The Box.

I close my eyes, still dark, still can’t see. Wait… I can hear… voices, far away voices. Approaching… “You are not alone”. Sparks of light… dust… walls are dusty. “Polish, remove the dust”. It isn’t really dark, it is the dust over… the glass walls… I can see throughout the glass, I can see my life throughout the walls, the past is behind, it is clear, the future is somewhere there, it is approaching… very fast, but still distant… and… no details … I need to have a clear sight… “Smash the glass, break the walls”…”Get me out of the box”

Mena Mostafa

Show Me The Way…

Not in the dark, but not in the light… I feel lost, but I know where I stand. What does “lost” mean? Is it not knowing where we are, where we were or where we will be? Don’t know, I just feel it. I can see something in the future, but it is not clear. I lack the courage of waiting with patience. Never felt so weak, never been so scared. I want to run to the nowhere just to run, to hide or maybe to stop feeling, to stop thinking, to stop running and to stop hiding. I need to change the path, I have to change the route, I really need someone to tell me why, to show me how, I need someone to show me the way, the way to the unknown, the way to the other side of the world... Yes, I need you to "Show me the way to the tunnel that leads to the other side of the world"

Mena Mostafa

Why The Planet Inside?

Many of us try to explore the universe and know more about the surrounding world. While a minority tries to explore their internal worlds. Each and every one of us has some unknown sides inside himself, his inner world, his Planet Inside. The Planet Inside is as huge as the universe around us. At some point in time we think that we should start exploring our Planet Inside. This blog is a self exploration to help myself understand its Planet Inside and is an exposure of myself to the outside world. I hope I can find the link between both universes by listening to the voice of my words and your words, I wish we can hear each other.

Mena Mostafa