Anna Akana and Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine's Day. It's February the 14th and everyone is talking about love and how much they love their significant other and their previous experiences they had on this lovely day. Personally, I believe that this is way too commercialized and overrated and love should be shown everyday. However, its origin is very romantic and noble, and sometimes people showcase their love on this very day in the most creative of ways, and that's pretty cool.

It was apparently named after St. Valentine, a priest that would marry soldiers in private, after the Roman leader of the time banned marriage, due to his belief that single soldiers perform better. When the Roman leader found out, he placed him in prison, and St. Valentine, allegedly, fell in love with the jailer's daughter and wrote her a letter before his execution, signed "To my Valentine".

After Rome became a more Christian society, Valentine's Day became more popular to replace the Feast of Lupercalia (a Roman feast of fertility), as well as it being reported as the beginning of the bird mating season. However, then it was only letters, and then it evolved commercially as it became more global.

Yesterday however, was February 13, on a Friday. Yup! Yesterday was the Friday the 13th. Apparently this year we're having three Fridays the 13th, so be prepared. I wrote a poem I would like to share, for you to enjoy, and probably use the next time someone messes with you.

May all misfortune be lain upon you
And this unmerciful day take all rights and virtue
I hope thy days are colorless and bleak
Following this horrid day, Friday the Thirteenth
May the salt shakers around you spill
And the cracks on side walk cause you to take pills
May the black cats flood your streets
And infinite ladders tower over your sheets
May every devil spawn known to man haunt thy spirit
And the screams you release mute to those who can hear it
May every passing hour feel like a hell hole inescapable
And the fate you will be lead to remain undebatable
May all misfortune haunt you for the rest of your days
As all around you hell is raised

MWAHAHAHAHAHA! I'm evil...

Anyways! Now it's time for an update. A lot of things have happened since I last wrote a blog post. All of them very exciting. Firstly, I was part of the Frozen play, which may have been the first show in Amman to have seven nights fully sold out. It was tiring, long and so very fun. I met so many new amazing people, and being on stage is such a thrill, even if I was only a maid-that-turns-into-a-royal-due-to-clothes-transformation. It was very fun anyways, and everyone was very nice. If I wasn't in IB next year, I would probably audition again.

After Frozen finished, I didn't really do much. Finals happened, they sucked but I did okay on them. After that, I started working on my personal project, which is taking me FOREVER to finish even one piece. I WILL NOT GIVE UP THOUGH. My idea is to take recyclables and transform them into art, by making two-three paper mache sculptures and multiple crafts of smaller sizes. 

Another very exciting thing I would like to share was on my resolutions list last year. I placed a resolution to contact my favorite YouTubers via social media. Lately, I did and this happened:

THE NOTIFICATION AT THE TOP^^^

YES! Anna Akana, one of my favorite YouTubers favorited my tweet I sent to her for a SnapChat contest! It's exciting, ok?

That's all I have for now, but whenever exciting things are to happen, you shall be informed.

Goobye...for now.

-Yara

The Chronicles of Huge Eye - Chapter 4

Before you read this, read Jad's Chapter 3 blogpost first: 

throughmyseriouseyes.weebly.com

Enjoy! 

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Intertwined hands broke her fall. They were soft and merged together in a shape of a pentagon. She smiled as they tilted her to the side. She planted her naked feet in the soggy soil and took in the smell of fresh flowers. She started walking across the muddy path dividing the field of daisies from the field of black dahlias. As she reached the end of it, she took a swift left and raised the hem of her white dress off the floor as she started to run.

She ran with her arms widespread and her hair flying back. The wind slapped her face with great intensity and she welcomed it like a hug from a loved one. She ran and skipped and leaped and twirled. She was overcome with euphoria; blinded by elation.

In the distance, she saw a train come to a halt. She rushed towards it and climbed aboard. She headed towards the window seat and relaxed her head on the seat, her view fixed out of the window. She exhaled deeply in relief as the sights passed by her. She was alone on the moving vehicle, with only the driver at the very front.

Solitude in a land filled with all the views she wanted to see. For years she had drawn out the plans for this place. Every reflection, corner, curve had been perfectly planned and orchestrated over the course of many tiresome years.

As the train moved along the track, she smelled a peculiar, sharp smell. It was a distinct metallic smell, but she ignored it as the smell of the flowers overshadowed it. However, as the vehicle continued its path it kept coming back to her attention. She walked to the railroad engineer's cabin, knocked twice, then opened the door. While she was opening it, several bodies fell out of the cabin, many more falling behind her. She backed away in shock as the bodies continued to fall at her feet. They were presumably endless in supply.

Scared, she searched to find a way to exit the train, but the entrance she had come in through was blocked by the pile of humans drenched in blood. She then thought of hiding under the chairs, until the bodies stopped flowing out of the engineer's cabin, but she heard a whimper from the direction of the bodies. The one closest to her looked up at her and whispered:

"Tristan, 2015."

Confused, she scratched her head at the mention of the boy's name.

Was he coming to the Land of Huge Eye? Did he know about this land in anyway? Was he already here?

After what seemed like forever, she had managed to push through the sea of bodies to get to the door and jumped off the train with fright. After a while, she had become accustomed to the bodies, but what scared her was their constant supply, the blood they were drenched in, and the mention of Tristan's name.

She walked, with remorse, on the flower fields, since the track was now fully occupied by the train. She strolled along thinking what could have caused such an occurrence. As she thought about it, she saw a blood stain on her dress. She grunted with frustration as she realized more and more of the stains on the white fabric.

Joan turned and started running back to the place she first arrived to. She remembered drawing a stream there, so she could then...A possible answer suddenly came to her along with feelings of vulnerability and blame towards herself. Could she have been so foolish?

She ran faster to her initial spot, where her sketchbook lay on the muddy land. She started sprinting at the instant she saw its faint shape in the ground. She picked it up quickly and flicked through the pages. At first, Joan searched the pages vigorously, but as she viewed more of it, her fingers moved slower, eventually coming to a halt.

She collapsed to the floor; stunned.

This was her chance at being free, but she missed out on that because she left her sketchbook with Tristan. Hours, days, years spent sketching out this magnificent land in invisible ink...wasted because she had instead grabbed her Art sketchbook, instead of her planning one.

As she began to rock herself back and forth, she pieced it all together. Tristan must have found her backpack containing the sketchbook and presumed it was empty. He must have drawn out the gorey, violent scene on the pages already filled with the invisible sketches Joan had drawn before. It was reasonable, especially knowing that his artwork was very dark, very detailed and very bloody.

Joan enjoyed sketching out scary scenes, but this was her world. She wanted to live in a world of tranquility, where she could be one with nature, where everything was black and white and went according to her plans. She meant for no interference from the Universe, but instead, she got the interference of a dark Tristan.

She lay on the floor for several hours after that. The stains had become permanent, now matched with mud splots.

She was dumb, foolish, ignorant and beyond the limits of negligence. She had one thing to do, and she couldn't do it. She had one sketchbook to carry with her, and she couldn't do that. She could have brought both of them, but no; she couldn't do that either.

Apparently, she was incapable of doing anything at the time, but now she had to think of something she could do to bring Tristan's attention to his actions. She had to find a way to communicate with him, and show him his impact on the Land of Huge Eye, and there was one person she knew could help her.

**********

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! This is so long overdue, it's disgusting. I really hope you liked it, the thought finally came to me after many weeks of writer's block, void of inspiration or motivation. However, it seems that today I have found both in such capacity as to write this belated chapter. A lot of new things and updates have happened in my life, and I plan on sharing them with you all very soon in an upcoming blog post. I will not set a specific date, since I don't really stick with those, but I will try my best to have one up by sometime next week.

Have a great day!

-Yara :)

Chapter 2 - The Chronicles of Huge Eye

BEFORE READ THIS CHAPTER, MAKE SURE YOU READ CHAPTER ONE ON JAD'S BLOG.

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As she fell down the black abyss, she realized why the volunteers at the foster home worried about her. As the people of Huge Eye stood on the walls of the pit, reenacting the scenes from her drawings and paintings, she was terrified. She kept her eyes closed, and distracted herself from the gory images by playing over the events that lead her to the situation at hand. 

Like most peculiar people, the early stages of her life were…abnormal, to say the least. Her mother passed away during labor, which made Joan’s birth, practically, a miracle. However, her father could not appreciate this miracle daughter of his. His love towards Joan’s mother was too strong, that he couldn’t handle it anymore and committed suicide one week after Joan’s miraculous arrival.

Obviously, her life was not destined to be ordinary, or cheerful for that matter, from the start. As if sensing this unusual beginning to her life, Joan kept to herself. She took to corners at all times and would read all of the books available to the orphan children at The Sunshine Home for Orphan Children. She would participate in the mandatory events, eat her meals with the other kids and make socially obligatory conversations.

This persisted until the age of five, when an artistic couple named the Mayhems came to the orphanage and gave the children an art class. As soon as Joan placed the black marker on her paper, she could feel its calling. It almost yelled out to her:

“Joan. Join. JOan. JOin. JOAn. JOIn. JOAN. JOIN. JOOOOAAAN. JOOOOIIIN.”

And to its calling, she responded. At the end of the class, she went to Mrs. Mayhem and asked her if she could come here every single week, because she wanted to learn as much as she could from the talented duo. Mrs. Mayhem laughed and promised she would, and Mrs. Mayhem was a woman of her word.

At the age of eight, Joan could draw human faces to the exact detail. She drew still-life with ease and repainted artistic works of the likes of Van Gogh and Picasso in a matter of hours. Over the three years of working with Joan, the Mayhems attempted to adopt her five times. All five times were denied. Although popular in the artistic realm, the Mayhems could not generate a “realistic lifestyle environment” for little Joan.

This led to bouts of depression from Mrs. Mayhem every time she saw Joan, along with teary fits from Mr. Mayhem. The art classes finally ceased on Joan’s ninth birthday, declaring another unfortunate event associated with her birth. 

After that event, a switch turned on. With the Mayhems, she would paint life and celebrate its attributes. Without them, she would paint death, and glorify its dark themes. The volunteers gave her mandatory therapy lessons after seeing her drawings. As one volunteer said:

“This would be dark if drawn by anyone, let alone a nine-year old girl. She needs real therapeutic attention.” 

She would spend the weekly hour of “therapeutic attention” staring menacingly at the psychiatrist and answering all her questions with growls, until Joan finally forced her to burst into tears and demand that she be removed from treating “that sick little girl.”

However, the Home was not one to give up. As a replacement, they brought in Mr. Chilling. His name seemed very fitting, for chilling was what he was. He was very tall, with very, very neat hair combed to the right. He had two different colored eyes, one was green, and the other was blue. He always wore the same brown suit, with a plain white shirt. He walked with confidence that bordered on the lines of arrogance. His hand firmly grasped his suitcase at all times. If possible, he would avoid talking to anyone at the orphanage and head straight to the therapy room.

In their first session, Joan repeated what she did with the former psychiatrist. She stared menacingly at him, or at least attempted to; for his eyes made the task difficult. It was obvious Mr. Chilling would have none of that. He stared right back at her. Every time she would growl, he would growl louder, causing her to double back with shock. Eventually, she gave up, crossed her arms and grunted.

“Ask me your stupid questions,” she said with scorn and defeat.

“Firstly, thinking of something as stupid before knowing what it is, is stupid,” he said, with a chillingly smug look on his face, “And secondly, I don’t want to ask you a question.” 

With her interest peaked, she met his eyes with confusion and wonder.

“Well,” she replied, trying to imitate the smugness he displayed, “What are you going to do then?”

“Well my dear, I would like to read you an excerpt from a particular favorite book of mine.”

He pulled out a book from his briefcase and flipped through the pages with haste.

 “I shall read to you a poem. It’s entitled The Huge Pupil.”

He read the poem with a steady, cold voice, and Joan gripped onto every word with silent admiration. When he finished reading, he looked up at her with a proud grin, seeing its heavy effect on her.

“Is this…” Joan began, but wouldn’t continue, fearing she would be deemed stupid herself.

 

“Continue dearest,” Mr. Chilling said to her.

“Is this a true story?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“However…”

“Yes?”

“It could be.”

 

……

 Hope you like it...I am filled with anxiety and my nerve cells are freaking out. If you can comment below, I would love to know what you think of it.

Magazine, Short Story, Camp and Chapter 2

The flying elephant held onto the bundle ever so tightly. She flew quickly, searching for a home for her child. As she flew, she spotted a room with all the lights turned off. She flew to that window with speedy hesitance. Her size made the task of remaining silent quite difficult,  but Mrs. Grey was not one to quit, especially when facing such dire matters. After twenty minutes of quiet struggle, she had managed to open the window, put little Timothy onto the yellow couch and close the window once more, but not before looking one last time at Timothy's white face. As she increased the distance between herself and her son, tears streamed down her wrinkled face. Little Timothy, who was asleep this whole time, sensed his mother's absence. Without him realizing it, his body began to feel hollow, and slowly he fell to an eternal slumber.  The next day the girl woke up to see a fluffy white blanket placed on her couch. Thinking it was her mom's doing, she wrapped herself with the cover and felt instantaneous love and warmth. She would never know it was not only a blanket, but little Timothy, transmitting the warmth and love he had once received, one that he'll hold with him forever.

 ...................

I couldn't go to sleep and I realized my blanket looked like an elephant, so I wrote that little short story about the warmest blanket in the world. It's my favorite and I would wear it forever if I could.

A lot of exciting news, the first of which is the publishing of the school magazine, The Eagle: http://madmagz.com/magazine/377013 which you can read there. They spelled my name wrong, but that's okay, because the editor is super sweet and it shows she put a lot of effort into the project. So please read it my dears. 

Another exciting piece of news is that we're extending the deadline for the story. Instead of Tuesday, it will be Sunday, so we can have the weekend to write it.

So, we went to the camp this weekend, and it was splendid! We went to Wadi Rum, and although we went to the same places as last year, I had a great amount of fun. The first day we walked through a path in Little Petra to get to . Then they gave us food and tea, which is like a little piece of heaven. 

Side note: Tea tastes so much better after hours of walking and hiking.

Other stuff happened, like singing in the middle of the desert as we were going back to the camp, and at night the stars were ever so clear. They all shined so bright, they looked absolutely gorgeous and I want to go up to the stars so badly. It's a true shame we have so much light pollution in Amman... I may write a blog post about that actually.

A couple of friends and I were such rebels that we "disturbed" some of the other girls, although it was only 12 AM, so they forced us to sleep at a criminally early time, which I am now thankful for, because the next day was super exhausting. We woke up at 6 then had breakfast. After that, we took an hour to get to Wadi Rum from Little Petra, and when we got there we did some hiking until we got to a waterfall-ish thing. We all soaked ourselves with its meager drops of water then one of the Captains gave us a demonstration on how we can tell if a plant is poisonous or not.

That was all to waste time until the other group finished their turn doing some form of mountain climbing, but downwards. I think I may have a picture below, because that sentence makes no sense. Anyway, from that exercise I got three bruises on my right thigh, because I kind of lost control, but then I did it so well, so it kind of evens out.

Went down the mountain to the bus again, to get to the next camp site, which had the most beautiful bathrooms I've ever seen in a camp. They kind of gave us a break here. We ate lunch and put our things in the tents and then they held a dance party. An organized fake wedding occurred and we danced around them and clapped for them, and we met an girl our age from India, who was traveling to Jordan with her family, and she taught us Indian dance moves. To add to that, I convinced two of my friends to dance, so that was amazing. Yay! VICTORY!

After that, we went on a walk in the desert, and three of my friends and I got seperated from the groups, so we were stuck in between the two walking groups, the guys behind us, and the girls in front of us, and all we could see was their flashlights. However, it was super fun, because we just talked and the stars were so beautiful. We finally reached a certain spot and an astronomy professor gave us a presentation about the stars, that was drowned out by the wind and the whispers of freezing students. They then gave us tea, also known as one of God's blessings. While we drank our tea they lit up two lanterns and set them loose in the sky, and they looked gorgeous with the stars as their backdrop. When we finally got to our tents, my tent-mates and I went to sleep so quickly, while the others played cards until 2 AM and got sick.

The next day we got onto the bus and came to Amman, where I showered, ate, then slept for thirteen hours. 

Visual evidence of the trip:

 

Me being amazing-Photograph taken by Nael 

Shunnar, 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope you liked this post! Until my next time...

-Yara:)

P.S: Nael is an amazing photographer, if you are friends with him on Facebook check out his entire album of this camp...He's so genuinely talented.

The Chronicles of Huge Eye - Prologue

Joan woke up with the sound of the alarm echoing in her nearly empty room. As she climbed out of the covers stapled to the old mattress, she thought only one thought: "Today's the day."

This thought was repeated over and over in her head. As she brushed her teeth, she thought of it. As she combed her long, wavy brown hair, she thought of it. As she placed the sole item in her room - the mattress - near the dumpster, she thought of it. As she walked outside to get on the bus, she thought of it.

There was a single instance when she ceased to repeat that thought in her mind. That single instance was the pulling at her earphones. She turned around to see the owner of the chubby hand, only to find him laughing with his friends about his silly little trick. She grabbed the hand by the wrist with her double-jointed fingers and twisted it backwards, causing the boy to yelp in pain. She glared at the boys with him with piercing purple eyes, daring them to respond to her action. No one did. 

Her train of thought continued peacefully, while an Arctic Monkeys song repeated over and over. She closed her eyes and smiled calmly. 

"Just seven hours my dear," she whispered to herself, "and then all of this will go away."

The bus came to a sudden halt, pushing her body forward, hitting the seat in front of her. Anger filled her instantaneously, but she breathed slowly, putting a halt to the rush of external thoughts that clouded her serenity and focus.

The first four periods went on for what seemed like centuries, and the lunch period seemed to be the darkest of hells, as Mrs. Trac forced her to go to the cafeteria instead of the bleachers. All around her, the voices of stressed, hyper and angsty teenagers flooded her thoughts, blocking her focus on the main issue.

Finally, it was an art lesson. She knew sweet Mr. Harrison would let her stay for the lesson following the art, and if he was in a good mood, maybe even two lessons. She took her sketch book to the corner near the window and sketched with vigorousity, almost ripping the page with her deep lines. Mr. Harrison looked over worriedly, but he kept her to her thoughts, which was a good thing, for if he was to see what she was drawing, the whole plan would have been spoiled. 

Finally, the last lesson came. Mr. Harrison did indeed let her stay for two extra lessons, which was what she needed to clear her mind for what was to come. Unlike other times, she took the sketch book with her, insisting it was because of her strong desire to finish it over the weekend.

In biology, the teacher droned on and on about neurons and dendrites, many topics they've covered before. As the some of the students around her dozed off, Joan took out the sketchbook and started sketching once more. However, her detachment from the lecture caused Ms. Green to snatch the book out of her hand, ripping the page into two, due to Joan's thick, forced lines. 

"You can have this back at the end of the lesson," the slim witch bellowed loudly, waking up all of those who fell asleep, "for now, I recommend you take out your biology notebook, and take notes, not draw scribbles."

Her cheeks turned red, but not because of embarrassment, because of fury. In fact, her entire face became a red color. Her blood was boiling and her heart was beating fast. 

"What if she opens it?" She pondered internally with understandable panic, "What if she already saw it?"

She clenched her fists, drawing slight amounts of blood from her palms and slowed her breathing once more. 

"It's going to be fine. She didn't open it," she mumbled to herself, desperately trying to restore her initial feeling of calm, "and she won't."

She looked at her watch and sighed with relief.

Fifteen minutes.

The bell rang, and it was as if her heart beat increased with every ring. She hastily packed her things, and walked to Ms. Green, to retrieve her note book.

"I understand you're not interested in my class Joan, but must you always take out this forsaken notebook and scribble like a mad man," she sighed with exhaustion, "or in this case a mad lady."

"I apologize Ms. Green, I promise, it won't happen again."

As she took the sketch book, she knew it wouldn't, because tomorrow, she wouldn't be here. She would be over there; over there where she really belongs.

She ran up the stairs, until she reached the roof. Panting heavily, she pushed the door open and glanced outside. She laid her backpack in one of the corners and took out her sketch book. As she stood on the ledge, she breathed once more. She could hear the gasps of the students below, she even saw a couple taking out their phones, planning to document a suicide at their school. Little did they know, they'd be documenting so much more.

She could hear faint voices. This was her only chance. With no hesitation, she leaped off the roof, perfectly diving into thin air. Many of the onlookers looked away as she came closer to the floor. Expecting to hear a splat, some closed their ears, but no sound came. A black void appeared out of no where and swallowed her up. She had simply disappeared, for Joan was no where to be found. 

She had vanished, once and for all, into the land of the Huge Eye.

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Hey! Sorry this was later than I promised, was preoccupied with many other things. I really hope you like it and remember to check out throughmyseriouseyes.weebly.com next week to read the first chapter.  Super excited to see how Jad will respond to this, and also excited to see what you think, so leave a comment. 

-Yara :)