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