DAY 2 // HAYAT

The sum of formalities we tie ourselves into is just a sum of things to hang on to, some language in case we lost our spoken or written ones one day. All the thank yous, pleases, door holdings, these are a language of their own semantics cannot categorise, I call them a thread of human language, in fact I think they are the most humane ones, the most original and raw ones. Deprived from grammar rules, history and origins. Their origins are the first human, probably. Adam being too yearning for heavens and Eve trying to comfort him and the only way to do so is to pass her palm on his shoulder, asexual, missing any form of obligation for Adam to return when receiving, insignificant but significant at the same time. Something people who go on Oprah and write books about how to know the secret of a woman’s crossing her legs in front of you try to explain, the cheap books market holders. Body language, common language, whatever it is they call it. 

To wave is to want attention, to say hello, to prove you’re here. To nod is to say yes, to sex, to mass murder, to mass production of wide-screen televisions. 

I am crossed legs, frowning shouldered, blank faced now. It’s almost midnight and I am okay with living, I will go downstairs and chit chat with my parents whose bodies will be positioned in a way which they don’t position in front of everyone, for the parties to go on. I will say goodnight, leave a faint smile and squeeze my palm on the mug of tea I will take to my room with me. In a best-seller, I am barely mentioned, my understanding of this all doesn’t mean anything, unless I take it to a publisher to polish it and promote it to be the book of the books, the one which will get you company in bed, let you know when to tell your husband to stop stealing your money, tell you the secret of the secrets of why politicians always look down and then straight into the camera when deciding on a new war, because after knowing why and how we shake hands, rest our faces on our hands when being told we have six weeks to live, we would know things other don’t. Or maybe just be more careful next time we hold someone’s hand, maybe that would dodge us another pinch in the heart.  Be more careful to not huddle on our knees and kiss a stranger’s feet next time a stranger tells us what we write keeps them from tearing their wrists open, that would make us look to vulnerable, too out of place. Keep your shoulders proud for people to be more attracted to how you have your shit together through your spine, always smile, always position your body in a way to show that you’re playing the role and you’re okay with it, you’re having a good day, a good day.