I wish I had my Sketchpad

People never cease to fascinate me. Observing them has always been a hobby of mine. I remember, I'd sit on the college stairs with my friend, and just observe every person that goes by. We'd check out the way they talk, walk, dress and act. We'd do that for hours.

We were sometimes assigned certain projects at college. One of them would be to go sit at a local crowded cafe, and take a hundred sketches of different people. Of course a sketch should take no longer than a minute, because if you take longer than that to draw an unsuspecting person, your subject tends to change position before you have a chance to finish your sketch. The result would be a series of incomplete scribbles in the shapes of random human figures. But the good side of it is this: it teaches you to be more observant. It teaches you how to grasp the one thing that makes a person special. The sketches would be very brief, yes. But they would also be very striking. The personality of the subject would just jump out of the page at you. It could be the way they tied their scarf around their neck. Or the way the stood for less than a minute, you catching that moment so quickly on paper. It could be a sketch of a person bending over to tie their shoes, or that of a mother holding a little kid's hand while they wait to cross the street. Sometimes what makes a person special is the shape of their glasses. Sometimes its the enormously high pony tail swinging behind a girl's head.

If you're lucky however, you would manage to find a subject that rarely moved. It could be that of a person reading a book, or an old man that would just be sitting on a bus stop for hours, or a tired little girl who fell asleep in her chair at a restaurant. When you get lucky, your sketches are no longer just a moment caught on paper. You have more time to fill in more details. It turns into a painting. However, If you get that chance, you should always be prepared. An artist should always be ready, because these moments happen once in a lifetime.

I've been sitting at a coffee place for hours now. There were a lot of moments to catch, but I didn't have my sketchpad.

Teachers are mean.

Today was my first "official" school day. I had different plans for that day, but apparently, with these things, you can never be sure. My day started out bad when the bus driver forgot to pick me up and I had to show up forty-five minutes late for class. I texted my supervisor to find me a substitute because I couldn't make it.

My problem did not end here, in fact, this was the beginning of a very eventful day. I tried to brush the bus incident off and forced my face to smile. Eventually, I got sucked into work and forgot about it all.

Break duty was assigned to me on Sundays. "Beside the Glass Door" was the location. I asked my teacher friends what I was supposed to do, and they told me not to let anyone come back in, once they go out, until the bell rings. So, thinking that this would be easy. I headed for the glass door.

Standing guard, no one was allowed to pass by me. I kept a straight face. Tried to look scary.

Random children started running up to me.

"Miss, I forgot my sandwich, can I go get it?"

"Nope, Sorry"

"Please, miss" (Puppy eyes)

"No."

That was the most heartbreaking thing I had to do today, imagine a cute six year old girl in pigtails and huge brown eyes. Yes, torture.

Other kids came over:

"Miss, can I go put this in my bag?"

"Miss, I forgot my money, can I go get it?"

"Miss, can I go to the nurse, my tummy hurts"

It was becoming more and more difficult not letting the kids through, I looked at the watch, ten more minutes of torture to go.

"Miss, can you please open this for me" (Fruit juice can)

"Yes"

(Thank god, something I actually was allowed to do).

Once tiny girl actually managed to quickly maneuver her way back inside. I ran after her, grabbed her by the arm and got her back outside. As much as I feel sorry for them, I hate it when they think they can make a fool out of me.

I was beginning to consider letting some of the younger kids through. They looked like they desperately needed to use the rest room. I questioned the school rules. What's the point of break time if you can't use the rest room? One girl came to me with her legs tightly squeezed together and asked to go to the restroom. The bell that announces the end of break time rang, and I was spared the answer.

A few minutes later I had a class to go to, I grabbed my things and entered the class. It was right after the German class.

"The German Teacher"

(I'll blog about her someday, when I gather more information).

The German teacher yells, keeps a stern look on her face, is always prepared, but her class is still never in order. The last time the kids had German, there were tissues all over the floor, the trays were knocked over, and the colors were scattered everywhere.

So this was the condition my class was in. I decided to go back to the "Classroom Rules Chart" and explained it again. This time, however, I didn't do it in a fun, sweet, manner. No. I did metamorphosis, and changed into a troll. The children stared back at me in horror. But my point was through. I gave them sixty seconds to clean up the mess. The class was clean in forty. They were back at their desks, and I changed back into me again.

I began Math class, and I wanted to make learning fun for them. I explained the lesson, split them into teams, and then introduced a game. I spent so much time focused with them on playing the game, I forgot to give out classwork. There lies my first mistake.

When I left the class, I remembered I forgot to assign the homework. There lies my second mistake.

A couple hours later, I managed to mess up several other things. The bus incident started to look amusing. I started to panic. School was out and I forgot to do a lot of stuff. Sheets were missing, Copybooks, Parents started sending notes before the kids even got home. I stopped counting the mistakes.

Conclusion is this: I had a crappy day at work. But I had a fun time with the kids.

This is Going to be a Special Post.

Doesn't expect to read anything out of the ordinary. I don't have to explain why this is going to be a special post. Because feeling special differs from one person to the next. What you might see as ordinary, I could see as special.

I'm having one of the greatest weeks in a very long time. I can't remember when was the last time I felt so happy. My life has finally taken a different turn. My Ramadan prayers have been answered.

I will now just thoroughly enjoy the blessing that Allah has given me. I will savor every moment. I'm going to let my emotions flood over my soul, washing it. I am the curly headed sixteen year old again.

This last week, my cheeks have become more flushed and my smiles were seen more often. I discovered a new thing about myself. The pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly. My life made sense. I combined all the horrible experiences of my life. The result was not one giant pile of shit. No, it was a meadow with flowers, birds and lots of laughing children running around.

Conclusion is this: Bad experiences could turn you into a horrible bitter person, or turn you into a happier being. I'm glad Allah did what He did. I'm glad I'm what I am now. I'm glad that when I feel the sunshine on my skin, I actually feel ticklish. I've turned into the happier being.

My Sad Oil Painting Experience

I haven't held a brush in five years. I forgot what turpentine smelt like. I forgot how we arranged colors on an artist's palette. However, I was still rather considered a "practicing" artist because my work is still somehow related to my education. I still draw occasionally and do the occasional design. I still read up on art and check out tutorials often. If I'm not painting now, that shouldn't mean that I should stop educating myself about it.

So there lies my mistake. Ever since I graduated I've been giving myself that excuse of I don't really have to paint to work on my skills, I can always just read up on art instead. Deep down I knew that something was wrong.

I'm not going to talk about what suddenly went wrong with my life, or how I suddenly realized I forgot how to paint. The longer I kept away from my canvas, the more difficult it was to get back to it. Like when you haven't talked to a friend in a very long time, when you call them up, you just don't know what to say, and it gets awkward.

I started buying fresh supplies often. I'd arrange them in a box and put them next to my canvas to give it company. Just to make up for the time I spent away.

Last time I looked, my colors had all dried up, and my canvas was still empty. That made my canvas sad, and made me sadder. I decided to just put everything out of sight so I won't have to deal with the guilt of my sad canvas's face looking up at me.

When people think of me as an artist I feel like a hypocrite, because artists paint, and I had abandoned that a long time ago. The only evidence of my past painting experiences were a few paintings hung up against the walls in our flat. That I wasn't even proud of.

So when one of my good friends took a drawing course, came over one day, and insisted that I show her how to oil paint, she really needed me to help her out and was really excited about it, I couldn't turn her down. Out came my dried up supplies, never used palette and brushes, and the white sad face of my canvas. I arranged everything for my friend and laid out some still life for her.

"yalla, paint."

"Show me how"

"At college they didn't show us how, they just told us to paint"

"I don't know how to paint, you have to show me"

At this point I felt bad for her. Her optimism and enthusiasm was too great, If I couldn't help myself with this, I should at least help her. So I grabbed a medium sized brush, dipped it in turpentine and started painting. We took turns painting. Neither of us had fun really. She was too scared, and I was too sorry for myself. I forgot how it was done.

So the result of my sad oil painting experience was this painting that you see. Ugly colors and incomplete objects. But at least my canvas isn't sad anymore.

My Sister Went to Dubai Carrying Six Kilos of Kahk..

....and came back carrying six boxes of Krispy Kremes.

She was gone to visit my newly married sister. We couldn't let her spent Eid all by herself in a different country... So off my younger sister went.

The Krispy Kremes where great. I wolfed down three pieces in less than fifteen minutes. Now I feel icky and bloated. In my defense, I really wanted to try them all and decide on a favorite. My mom just gave me a look and shook her head when I told her what I wanted to do. She took the boxes away and hid them.

So, because Dubai is the city of shopping, my sis came back with a bunch of really good things to wear. Out of all the things she got me, my favorite was a long flowy top that has mushroom houses, leprechauns and other creatures printed all over. I'm going to be wearing it tomorrow on my first day at work (After Eid vacation).

I've been reciting too many nursery rhymes in my head, I don't know if its because of the mushroom top. This I am thinking of now:

To bed, to bed
Says Sleepy Head
Lets stay a while, says Slow
Put on the pan, Says Greedy Nan,
Let's sup before we go.

The Sun Has Come Out.

Thank God I have gotten out of my dark gloomy state. I wish I knew what causes it. Must be a bunch of little things all bundled up together. Add hormones. There, you've got it.

When I'm in one of those depressed states it feels like the end of the world for me, but then one morning I wake up and I don't feel so bad anymore. I look at the sun and it still shines. Imagine waking up one day to a morning with no sun.

So yes, I am addicted to sunshine. It does affect my mood greatly. I've read somewhere about endorphins being released with sun exposure. I think that's kinda true. I love most when I shower and instead of towel drying my hair, I go out in the balcony and let the sun do it for me. Takes some of the pressure off.

Work starts next sunday, I wish I'd done more on my staycation.

Watch out! Mood Swing!

If I had a special power I would want to be invisible. Then see what people would do when they realize I no longer exist.

I wish my mood swings could be treated.