Many sides of the same coin.

There are many different sides to everyone.
And in your interactions with certain people, for the most part they only get to see a limited number of sides to your personality.
Your teacher at school never really gets to see the party animal you become on the dance floor when your favorite song comes on.
You friends never get to see the work side of you.
And your co- workers, assuming you don’t dip your pen in the company pot, never get to see the romantic intimate side of you.

Just think isn’t it insane that I know Joe blow in only this light but that on a different day in a different circumstance. Joe blow becomes and is don Juan the foreign exchange student with the sexy accent?

You ever wonder about how many sides of you there are?

And how you are perhaps the sole person that sees all those sides leaving room for critique and self analysis. It’s the interaction between all these sides that is the key. You take that secret with you to the grave.

I may know Sarah as a class mate and a daughter because I’ve seen her interact with her family at study time but what am I to say about Sarah as a student beyond the scope of our class?

It’s especially interesting because it’s these little glimpses that people give us into their personalities that then form our entire perception of the person as a whole.

My mind almost wants to implode when I think about the number of assumptions people and I make about each other, the world and the circumstances in it every single day. So the key is be open minded. Allow for the possibility of an existence of ANY explanation.

The brain is however finite.. there is no such thing as infinite open mindedness. Does that then mean we’re destined to a life of false assumptions?
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**********************Sept 2nd***************************
The many sides of the same coin and then some.....

Further reflection and another first encounter.
I come home and reflect on the evening as I often do with everything in my world.
Sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing as way too much thinking for your own good.
Alas, I reach the conclusion that the exposition of self should be a delicate and intricate process. Something that we take for granted on a day to day basis.
Take for example the order in which you reveal the many sides of your personality.
Lets say in one encounter you first expose your insecurities and second a bit of humor followed by humility and then your confidence. What picture does the person you’ve just met create about you in their mind? It is human instinct to assume the person before them is on wobbly ground… uncertain of their goals in life… allowing the wind to take them where it may. A person with not a whole lot of caliber. A short sight on most of our parts. what is to be said of the courage of a person willing, on a first meeting, to expose a part of them very often mistaken for a weakness? What is to be said of the comfort level this person has with their insecurities? What is to be said about the nature of the interaction that is being had with the person in front of them? All questions we often forget to ask ourselves regarding our first impressions.

Now take another first encounter where you first expose your humor, confidence, humility and then your insecurities. This, in most circumstances is what keeps people coming back for more. Life is difficult on many levels, whether it be on a personal or professional level. And so to be around someone who is confident and exudes energy inevitably gives us that positive sense of well being as well and so we recreate the circumstance in which we find ourselves in their company. Now throw a little humility and insecurity into the mix and just like magic you become human the confidence and humor that previously might have had you up on a pedestal are now counteracted by these endearing human qualities. But again this too is often a short sight…what people often fail to see is that… there are definite walls being placed in this circumstance. There are things they have deemed too personal or private to share with a perfect stranger. There are issues with trust. Issues of self preservation from hurt.

But what is it about a specific person that unintentionally allows us to pick a specific order in which to unveil all that is ‘you’?
Why is it that meeting one person I can come off as the most arrogant person and to another the most humble? We must inevitably be affected or influenced by something.
What is that something? And wouldn’t understanding what that something was give us great negotiating and marketing power?

Helios

A theoretical silence is yearning to be realized and exercised in the real world as opposed to the letters, words and sentences it usually inhabits in books. The use of a Mantra to help keep the mind from doing what it does. Jumping from one thought to the next at a million miles per hour.
“Learn to become aware of your surroundings”
“Listen to the music that is the world that surrounds you”
Focused and with her eyes closed, she notices the inflow of air through her nose, down her neck into her chest. Paying special attention to that magnificent duality at the precise instance where an inhale becomes and IS an exhale.
Contradiction, not only the human condition but the world’s as well. “Sinners and a Saints. Bitches and lovers” She sinks heavier into her breath, continuing to occupy her mind with a mantra and allowing the body to further connect to the ground on which she sat.
The wind flirts with the leaves and they react with a shiver. The sound carries across the dark still water that faces her. A black glass mirror reflecting nothing. An abyss that is awakened by a wind that pretends to be a ballerina pitter pattering across it at full pointe. The small steps shatter the stillness and create reflections of an orange glow in the distance. A sunrise reversed. The sun replaced by the rising harvest moon. A warm orange hue resembling that of iron that is sculpted by a blacksmith stretches its arms across the lake and begins to grow from a distance. With every passing second the glow taking on a more definite unmistakably perfectly round shape. Helios must be confused. Leaving the sun behind and instead dragging the moon across the night sky.
There is a eerie tranquility here.
She comes back into consciousness and allows her mind to process the scene before her. There is slight surprise at the acknowledgement of momentary fear. A surge of thoughts brought on by a mind that is now unoccupied by the repetition of the mantra. “Is this what judgment day looks like? A darkness that is not light by a sun rising from the west? A defining silence that screams solitude, seclusion and exclusion?” The sound of an exhale snaps her mind back from the trenches of negativity and allows her to behold the beauty that is.
The moon.
The lake.
The night sky.
The mantra.
Sub7an allah… allahmduellah… walaho akbar.

Egyptians.. don't you know zem?

I'm lost in my thoughts and browsing through the mall because it's too sticky outside. I tend to zone out as I ponder all. I reflect on certain situations, how people react or their facial expressions, and think about my interaction with the world and finally draw conclusions. A process that generally detaches me from everything. Sound, surroundings and people. It could be a hustling bustling bazaar that I'm walking through and as long as I'm thinking I'm in my own world. So there I am on the escalator staring off into never never land immersed in thought. When, much like in Hollywood movies, all is silent except for the sound of my resonating thoughts . This is interrupted however, by an insistent sound that triggers the return to reality. I unconsciously resist. It was just like an alarm clock that interrupts your sleep and for a few minutes you're not really sure if you're hearing it buzz or if that's simply a part of the dream. You try to focus and regroup on what you were doing but this buzzing in the background won't let you do it in peace. You drift further and further away from the bubble that is your dream and slowly become aware of your surroundings. I hear a sound of a boy who is approximately 10 years old. His voice isn't very distinctive except for the fact that he has this whininess to him. I listen for a pause in the beeping that is his voice but there is none. I listen for what may be genuine anguish but there is none of that either. He's whining the way a baby does not because it's hungry, hurt nor needs a diaper change. He's whining the way he has learnt to get attention. Its an obnoxious "look at me otherwise I'm going to fill your air with noise pollution that's going to make you wish the world would cave in on you just to make me stop". He had often tested his limits and on this glorious occasion decided to push them right to the limit. Use and abuse the everyone's affection. All these observations and thought transgresses mind you, before I can even see the boy. It is only after I have noticed the intonation in his voice, the constant rhythm of repetition and the fact that he does not stop for air that the word he is repeating finally registers with me. He's calling his mother but is stressing on different letters in the word than most Canadian kids do. He doesn't pronounce the umm in the middle of the word mummy the way someone who was pondering something would while scratching his head. The u sounds more like an a. He pronounces it much like a southerner would pronounce the world Maa. Very slowly and drawn out specifically at the A followed by a quick me. Maaaame. And so he goes Mami mami mami mami mami mami. I held my breath as I ascended towards the voice and counted a total of 17 consecutive mamis. I think it was right at the 9th consecutive mami that I decided with conviction: This kid IS Egyptian!" The lamada, the persistence, the way he's been taught to say the word mummy in a supposedly "chic" way. And surely enough as I start to see what appear to be his feet clad with fancy nikes and a loose pair of fitting jeans topped with a bright typically red Benetton polo style t-shirt my suspicions are confirmed. He's got that bronzed skin tone, the wonderfully fuzzy Egyptian hair that's gone a little lighter from hanging out in the sun as he played soccer with the neighbors, and the sweat that is dripping profusely from his pudgy face. His mother is comfortably plopped on some lawn furniture that's on sale, conveniently placed between the outdoor gardening section and the toy section. She is oblivious to the fact that her son is developing bronchitis as he incessantly repeats the word mami to her without a breath. She sits the way I imagine she would if that piece of furniture was placed in her own living room at home. I kept waiting for the shaghala to walk in with the Turkish coffee and the tall glass of water on a tray. At which point she'd make some remark about not ever wanting her to bring coffee out if the bottom of the water glass was going to leave a ring on the tray. She'd look over at her friend and say something belittling of the poor woman then proceed to offer her friend the coffee like she'd slaved over it for hours. In the distance I hear another repetition only in a higher pitch. I think "OH NO! There can't possibly be two of them?!" I frantically scan the area with my eyes hoping I'm imagining it but to my bad luck… My eyes and ears come to agreement as I zero in on the noise and there it is… The other half of the family. Another boy, relatively the same age as the first. I'm thinking 3 months apart because the newly wed couple didn't really manage to get much baby making practice in sans the baby and couldn't possibly fathom the idea of another pregnancy so quick after the first. That or there was no time to dilly dally with contraception… we are a horny population afterall! Regardless, the second boy is dressed identically like the first with the exception of a blue bennton polo shirt. And of course the variation in his song. The word Paaapi. There was no doubt that these two were brothers.. they looked the same… they were dressed the same… they spoke the same… they refused to breath the same and both their parents had that glazed look and smile on their faces just the same. The kind where they smile on the outside but repeat "think happy thoughts… think happy thoughts… think happy thoughts" on the inside just to keep from killing themselves and ironically being a living testimony to the wonder that is genetic inheritance. They are after all their children! I see this scene and automatically without thinking take a left turn… exactly the way they'd taught us to march as cadets in middle school on Sundays. I get on the escalator going down in shock and disbelief. I exhale and repeat… also without a breath as I descent further and further away from the sound. "astaghfar allah al 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab, astaghfar allah il 3azeem ya rab and allahdmeullah, allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah allahdmeullah." I shudder with goose bumps at the idea of having children that create that much noise and want to expel the thought of possibly being punished on earth with such children for any sins I may have committed and immediately thank god for the fact that I don't have to take them home with me the way the poor parents do. That unlike them I could step onto an escalator going in the other direction and shake the thought of them off. I do suppose it is the parents fault after all for allowing that sort of behavior and would like to think that if I were to ever have children their up brining would vary greatly. But….I catch myself laughing when I realize I just finished doing the exact same thing the children had done except internally. I laugh even harder at the thought that I too was once upon a type a similar Egyptian kid!