Our Power In Diversity

I knew then I had to have a house. A real house. One I could point to. But this isn’t it. The house on Mango Street isn’t it. For the time being, Mama says. Temporary, says Papa.

But I know how those things go. -The House On Mango Street

A burning sensation.

 “The sun looked like shining pearl eyes today,” I said. She replied with,” it must be a beautiful pair of earrings. Would you be able to get me one?” I laughed with nervousness and exclaimed, “anything for you, but your eyes look way more affectionate than the sun, the sun would burn my eyes from looking at them, and yours would cure them,” she blushes and gasps. I ask,” what’s wrong.” she says nothing much, I wish I was treated like this all the time, even when I was young it wasn’t easy.””I hate that I can’t show you my love in incense but rather you giving me all your trust, it feels unfair.” I profoundly say,” you’ve gone through more than me. I have been taught how to treat you right and with dignity, and after what you’ve been through you have all the right to make sure I am not a time waster-heartbreaker.” We then enjoyed a lunch in the lovely sun, and a lovely man came buy who knew any english and repeated the words

"إذا كان هناك نعمة بارك الله فيها"

(if there is any blessing that God bless) I gave him much of what I owed that day and let him eat with us. This man from what we understood said he is the garbage of this society and didn’t like that fact, but no one could truly help him, we replied with hand sign signaling no that isn’t true you are beautiful on the inside as in the outside, took him home gave him his private needs, some clothes a stay and a requested him for a job as he was surprisingly educated with an associates degree in business making it way easier for him to work, eventually doing so he thanked us and we never saw him again, but we all agreed to come back to this same place whatever that happens at the same day to check on each other.


 My mum, my sister are very lucky to be born into a country where education is never a problem or a gender related issues in the early 1900’s, and women where very simple and non demanding egypt. Very rich history of giving women rights and freedom. And an education where they could do what they wanna do. this freedom they are given isn’t the same for all of my family members men and women though so my fathers side is very weirdish and they all like to work hard rather than work smart, and both families are successful but you see the detrimental effects this has on both the the men and women of both families, one is complaining one does to much and does not take care of his family, the other thinks he does enough but not enough there is no inbetween an unrest gray area that only the kids can cover this void for the women, because they are engraved into their children, they love them above all else and nothing hinders their wavering love towards any of them. My father for example compared only cared about education when he was in high school, but began entrepreneuring from an early age finding products and selling products and helping his family, I just listen and admire the man he was, or my mother when she boasts to me as the older brother that she used to be the younger one and took care of her sister when she was just a child, or when her big bro’s work till midnight to help with the fathers death, what do they expect me a weak hearted human being do, become strong without the motive ,or do I Wait for a motive, or will this motive put me through mental disability than rigidness fear collapses my ideas and I crumble to crumbles.

Can’t Be Priced!

 I am who I am and I should be proud of it, many people through their conscience or the maternal wealth of other people enjoy embodying other counterparts to us in this life. The unfortunate thing is that when I am myself, it really shows the darkest of most people towards me, and this is for everyone. Because everyone is truly pure to the heart when given the opportunity to manifest their true selves. The true selves of people my father likes to say, is the best version of ourselves that will be judged by our holy God. For it is not us that make our best chances, but our father. Faking your own identity for someone else, whether you want to imitate or imitate to impress, represents the fatalities in today’s truth, no one can be themselves without being truly judged, if someone is judged for their belief, they are rather judged than reiterated, death threatened, than warned. We have become a freedom oppressive world, with little to none rationalism left, we are repeating history as it repeats itself in front of our great greats. We are returning to a middle aged historian world with 22nd century modernism. And who am I to judge, forgive me for I have sinned. However I will not lose my sanity for the worth of other people who abolish and abandon human price, priceless, but too many could be priced. I love everyone and everyone, and no one should ever not feel loved even if they can’t feel successful we teach, adapt, evolve, love. the life cycle of a human being.


 Why does my grandma not visit us much? Why does she not want to come to her daughter? Is she old? Vague? Can we not afford to keep her comfortable? Are we keeping her away from her daughter? My mom is in tears, she doesn’t want to know anything about anyone or anyone about her. She exclaims,” I don’t want any visitors, or sympathiques.” We keep her command a word of faith and I ask myself How would I feel if My Mum was to be dead or my father, how would I, this weak hearted person last. Can the pain be so grievous that I pass with them or just enough that I am left in ruins. I am weak hearted and numb minded. And I don’t enjoy these thoughts. I always thought they were a nuisance, but that would make me feel guilty that I thought of my parents death as false and that God would punish me by taking any of them or both of them away. This fear is very engraved into my mental illness and is a part of it. The bigger picture around it is that my father, my mother take care of me, who will look after them, if I am tired, If I am poor, If I am Ill. My Mother casually asks me If I am okay, I suck her in with a massive hug, and give her a kiss on the cheek. She tears up.

Dear Brother.

I like a brother, I really do like my brother, he is kind, affectionate, and manly around me and his beloved. He takes care of me, my brother, but when he gets sick, no one takes care of him. Poor brother, always having to put up with us. My brother really likes to chop wood, I asked him once, brother why do you like to chop wood. He answers with silence and chops more wood. An an hour passes by and we are having dinner, I ask him once more, this time he groans, takes a mouthful and leaves the table. I love my brother so I dodn’t ask him again. A few years pass by and he still chops wood, now i know he sells the wood to a local market. However how does that make him angry I don’t know.I investigate find out, he does it for us, and we don’t give him attention, he is so used to giving but not receiving, poor brother. I like a brother and I would really like one who

chops wood.

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