Love?

“If you’re looking for the word that means caring about someone beyond all rationality and wanting them to have everything they want no matter how much it destroys you, it’s love. And when you love someone, you don’t stop–ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy. Even then. Especially then. You don’t give up, because if I could give up, if I could just take the whole world’s advice and move on and find someone else, that wouldn’t be love. That would be some other disposable thing that is not worth fighting for.”

–Ted Mosby

Sometimes I think about this, and I struggle to decide how I feel about it. Yes, love is something that’s too strong to easily overthrow, but I also think that there’s a fine line between love and obsession. I don’t believe that it’s impossible to let go. I don’t believe that true love is never broken. Things end, and that’s okay.

Morally Immoral and Selfishly Selfless

“It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.”
― Voltaire

Whenever someone talks about morals, this quote always comes to mind, for some reason. Right and wrong is always, always a matter of perspective. The same act can be considered either moral or immoral based only on who has committed it and who is deciphering it.

Yes, war is the most obvious example of that, but there are other things–lying, or stealing, hypocrisy, the list goes on.

When you lie for personal gain, it’s not okay. When you lie for a “greater good,” you’re a hero. When you steal to get rich, you’re the devil. When you steal to benefit others, it isn’t so bad. When you double-cross someone to serve your country, you are a patriot. When you double-cross someone because you want something for yourself, you are a filthy hypocrite.

I have a hard time with morals. I don’t think there’s a set list of what is right and what is wrong. I think that we sort of just have to do whatever clears our conscience, even if that thing would make someone else feel guilty.

Unpopular opinion: actions are sins if you feel awful after doing them, and not just because someone else faulted you for it.

Not that there aren’t exceptions. There are addendums to every rule. Some things are objectively wrong. Other things aren’t. Figuring out which ones are and which ones aren’t is supposedly what makes up the various personalized codes we live by, and that doesn’t always fit in a neat little box. Not everything is black or white. We swim around in a perpetually gray area almost all of the time.

Nothing ever really makes complete sense, and yet we are expected to make sense of everything. Otherwise, we’re in danger of engaging in socially frowned upon behaviors.

And I think all of us struggle with that, even if we don’t realize it.

So we should probably leave each other the hell alone until someone finds a body.

The Truth about Being Awful

For the majority of my life, I considered myself generally a nice person at heart. I’ve always done nice things for people, gone the extra mile to make others happy, been sort of a push over pretty frequently. I was no angel, but I was good. I was a good person with a bit of a dark side.

I was delusional. I am actually a shitty human being. I do and say shitty things, I make stupid mistakes, and I self-sabotage like it’s my job. Yes, I do many nice things, but those things do not overpower my crap-tastic tendencies. I am, by most definitions of the word, kind of an ass.

I’m not saying I’m evil, but saints and angels would laugh in my face if I tried to join their ranks.

And that was a really difficult realization to come to. It’s like going to bed thinking you’re a bad ass Snow White, and then waking up to a mirror telling you that you’re that bitch out here feeding people poisonous apples. It’s a depressing epiphany you can never quite stop thinking about.

But here’s the kicker, we crap-stormers are pretty much the majority. Only a select few of the world’s population are genuinely “good people.” Most of us are screw-ups who can’t stop pissing people off or putting every appendage we have in our gigantic mouths. We sometimes double-cross people, and sometimes we trip over our own egos. Sometimes we’re even more plastic than the face politicians put on in the morning before work.

And maybe it’s time to just be okay with that. It’s okay to be a sinner. It’s okay to mess up. It’s okay to make mistakes.

Yes, some mistakes are worse than others, and some mistakes are more intentional than we’d like to admit, but so what? Everyone has bouts of horrible misdeeds, and the sooner we learn to forgive ourselves for the egregiously awful predicaments we create, the easier our lives will be.

Life isn’t some Disney movie where the line between good and bad is clearcut and you’re either one or the other. The truth is, we switch sides. Every day, we switch sides. Sometimes we’re on the right side, and sometimes we end up on the left, where we willingly do some pretty bad things.

And that’s just what it means to be human. I am fine with engaging in suckfests that are spawned by my own hand. As long as I’m not wreaking havoc everywhere I turn, I think I’m okay.

And so is everyone else. Forgive yourself for that lowlife thing you did that one time years ago that people probably still fucking hate you for. Let it go.

Remember when we were younger, and we would watch Disney movies and root for the unlikely hero underdog fighting the evil overlord? Well, watch them again as an adult, and you’ll find yourself pretty much siding with Hades about how much of a little bitch Hercules is. Also, Zeus was a douche.

Anyway, we are awful meat suits, hear us roar.

Who Put the “Men” in Menstruation?

Say it with me, “Women menstruate. They have periods. They bleed from their vaginas, sometimes.”

Women are always apologizing. We’e always hiding, always embarrassed by things we shouldn’t be embarrassed about. You can see us in droves on any given day, hiding tampons under other groceries like we’re looking to test whether last night’s cocaine fix is still swimming around inside us, awkwardly putting them on the checkout belt when the cashier is male, avoiding eye contact when he picks it up to scan it.

You can see us whispering requests for pads to each other when one of us is having an unexpected visit from that bitch Aunt Flo, handing them off to each other inconspicuously like an ’80s after school drug deal, hastily tripping all over ourselves to pick one up that may have fallen out of our bags in public.

Despite how melodramatic the picture I just painted was, my core point is true.

Yet somehow, buying toilet paper, a utensil that takes care of much grosser outputs from the human body than tampons do, isn’t embarrassing. Anyone can walk into a store and loudly inquire what aisle the TP hangs out in without a second thought, and there’s a very simple reason for that:

Only women experience menstruation. Men do not. This particular ordeal plagues only the female body. That is why it’s taboo. That is why expressing any indication that we may be on our periods is an uncomfortable conversation topic. That is why we are compelled to conceal the noble chain mail that protects our cute underwear from the red sea, as if they are scarlet letters.

The fact that a normal bodily function is a social unmentionable is outrageous, and it is just one of the many little things that show just how low on the totem pole women actually are in our society. Yes, many of us have reached a point where we no longer give a flying french fry about hiding our anti-pregnancy insurance policies, but many of us haven’t.

The sad thing is, so many of us don’t even seem to see why that’s a problem, and that is the result of systematic sexism and brainwashing that is rampant in our world.

I’m genuinely surprised you read this far.

Have a biscuit, Potter.

Things We’ve Lost in the Fire

Our country is divided–this is fact. The tension between the right and left has never been so intense. The differences between our ideas have always been drastic, but the fire that’s been ignited since 2016 is nowhere near stamped out.

And I have no intention of arguing either side. It doesn’t matter. I can respect any political opinion a person might have, but there is a caveat with that: every opinion is okay as long as the result of that opinion is oppressive to the free will of someone else.

Let me explain. You can believe that there are two genders. Fine. You can believe that homosexuality is a sin. Also fine. Have at it, but outlawing rights that do not affect your life is unacceptable. The definition of a fascist regime is the expulsion of the freedom to live however a person sees fit, even if it does not cause harm to the rest of the community.

Trying to equate the expression of one’s identity with a political opinion that, that identity is unnatural or a sin is illogical. We are who we are. That is exactly the same as saying that someone who identifies with a certain religion can be quieted because another person finds that religion sinful or unacceptable.

This country was built on freedom of religion, expression, and identity. Stifling someone’s freedom to express any part of who they are goes directly against everything it stands for.

Believe what you want. Trying to force left or right ideas on others is wrong. You’re just not allowed to purposely attack people for being who they are.

It really isn’t that difficult to understand.

Mr. Miss. Mrs. Madam’s Married to a Man

There are still many customs we liberals tend to take part in despite the blaring antiquated sexism that they carry. One said example is the shift of a woman’s title based on her marital status.

She’s still a virgin southern belle without a man waiting in the wings for her with his trust fund? Let’s call her Miss.
She’s thrown the bridal bouquet over her shoulder and hopped into a limo for a honeymoon in Prague? Add a Mrs. to her title and pencil in his last name.

Now let’s look at our better halves.
He’s a college freshman from the slums of Philly who can’t talk to girls without soiling himself? He’s a Mr.
He’s the CEO of a company with a harem in his back pocket? That man’s a Mr.
He’s twelve and handing out invitations to his elaborate Upper East Side birthday bash? The kid is…a Mr.

No matter what the marital status of a man is, his title does not change. He is his own person, whether he has found a life partner to wed or not. He is the dominant of the two. Why should anything about him change just because there’s a woman he has deigned to marry?

That would be blasphemy, dear.

Yes, one can use the argument that “Mrs.” is used when two women get married as well, but this new development does nothing to change history or fact. The Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) wasn’t even struck down until 2013. Aside from that, female same-sex marriages account for less that 2 percent of legal unholy unions in this country. The majority of our “Mrs.” population has found alleged true love in a man, thus subsequently changing their titles.

It’s ridiculous how even the most personal part of a woman’s identity, her damn name, is subjected to change according to a standard created by a delightful band of misogynists who don’t even realize that they’re misogynistic.

At least the last name change has become increasingly unpopular. More and more women are keeping their own surname after getting married. It’s the problematic nature of title change that seems so invisible that NASA’S satellite couldn’t pick it up if it was dancing on the moon.

How about we just do away with all titles? Aren’t they a tad bit pretentious anyway? Let’s just put “The” before all our names. It would be a total self-esteem booster.

The Hend Salah.

I like it.

Dig Two Graves: My Debut Novel

I am officially a published author! Check out my debut novel: Dig Two Graves.

Jezebel is a court-appointed psychologist who runs an underground female trafficking empire. To justify her actions, her victims are solely those whom she deems immoral. Now, she is being framed for a crime she had only intended to commit. A detective has placed a target on her back, and her time to catch her predator is quickly running out.

This novel centers around an “anti-heroin,” who works in a business generally operated by males. The book creates a moral paradox to challenge the concrete conceptions of good versus evil. It is a psychological thriller that explores the effects of fictional representations we use to replace painful realities in our mind’s psyche.

Click the photo below to find out more and order!

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The Parent, The Child, and The Depressing Disconnecting Difficulties

The bond between parent and child is incredibly fragile. A truck load of people think that it’s a relationship that’s difficult to break, but it really isn’t. It’s not difficult at all. It just takes the right combination of words and a faint whisper of condescension on either part to burn it to bits. This becomes even more likely when they differ about issues they feel strongly about.

You shouldn’t assume that your baby cake will turn out like you or think like you simply because you raised them. You shouldn’t assume that your parent will understand your point of view just because you think it’s right.

Throw in a little doubt about the authenticity of one side’s depression and you’ve got yourself a cage match ending in a lifelong fall out.

The key to preserving that relationship is accepting that people are different. Some of us are hyper religious and some of us aren’t. Some of us are logical and some of us are creative or abstract. Our opinions will sometimes contradict each other. Our politics can be worlds apart. As long as no one is disrespecting another person’s existence, no one has the right to be angry.

So message here is: fix it before you can’t.

Outrageous Opinions of Old: Of Race and Privilege

I am not a writer for social justice. I do not fight the denigration of basic moral codes and I do not work to eliminate complacency. I do not incite political action.

Most of all, I do not blame any person for the actions of their race, and I do not at all hate white people or even the WASP elite.

But I feel compelled to discuss the ridiculous reality that there are people who actually believe that racism is rare or nonexistent.

I realize that extreme sensitivity toward each other must die if we ever hope to achieve peace, but do not be so condescending as to claim that privilege does not exist–that people are not significantly treated differently based on the color of their skin and the nature of their beliefs. The content of their character is often overlooked.

I am the first to point out that I have privileges that many others do not. I come from an extremely rich family. I am very, very fair. If I am not wearing a headscarf, I pass easily as just another white girl. Unlike my brother, I have the option of stepping out of my other-worldly celestial stereotype almost flawlessly.

But I do not. I wear my scarf like he wears his skin. Blacks, Arabs, Muslims, Hispanics, South Asians, and many others, we are marginalized groups, and we are judged so harshly when we point out someone’s actions as “racist.” We are too sensitive. We are looking for a fight. We just hate white people.

Nothing grinds my gears more than the constant claim that we are compulsively assuming that all acts of unkindness are acts of racism. Not everyone who does bad things is racist.

To this, I will concede. That is true. Not everyone who does bad things is racist, but please do not spout your bullshit bigoted holier-than-thou god-complex-induced spiel depicting this situation as a mass of angry people victimizing themselves.

If you have never been pulled over without cause, if you have never been searched multiple times at an airport because of your skin color or clothes, if you have never been afraid of a police officer, if you have never been watched in a convenience store, if you have never lost out on a job you deserved because of your name, you cannot begin to understand what it means to constantly try to discern a friend from a foe. Almost all the racists have two faces. Just ask Hamlet. They’ve been given a face and they make themselves another. I plot twist the meanings. It’s still there.

And for all the people in the back nodding indignantly as I write this, I have a criticism for you, too.

There is nothing more counterproductive, insulting and bigoted than trying to compare the severity of your consequential pain created by a racist society to others. It does not make you better, to be more marginalized. It does not make you more rightfully indignant, to believe that other people’s socially ignited upset is collateral damage in a system specifically geared to destroy your group above all else.

It does not make you cooler to be hurt the most.

And for all others, if you truly believe that there is no white privilege, no systematic adulation toward white men regardless of their icky mistakes, then consider this:

This U S of A was built on the death and enslavement of those who already populated it, and the very people who caused and perpetuated this genocide have had their faces carved into a stolen land. They are celebrated for the success of outrageous agendas. We have a real-life example of how we justify the means so long as we enjoy the ends; We still until this very day celebrate the voyage of a man who did nothing but murder droves of people whose only crime was to show kindness to a bloodthirsty warmonger.

Let me sell you on Columbus Day, where the weekend never ends, there are no Miserable Mondays, and friendly all-inclusive neighborhood cook outs are hosted to mask the unpleasant underlying white guilt.

Batteries not included.