is waif
BACK TO SLEEP: HOW I BECAME A WAIF
When you are a broke, friendless person living in Morocco, your sources of enjoyment are quite limited. For instance, I didn’t go out for nearly three months and the closest thing that I did to see the daylight was go to the rooftop or look from the window. And I’m refusing to blame myself for my introversion because I tried the other day to go beyond my threshold and I ended up coming back with a blister on my both feet thanks to my lovely new shoes. Apparently, the universe wants me to be hidden, so basically my days are as monotonous as the movement of the drinking bird. The boredom and I are having such an interesting relationship.
With a lot of free time on my hands, my mind annoyingly got out of control. My thoughts started moving erratically from one corner to another. I found myself submerged in an amalgam of feelings and encumbered by this ambiguous, emotional burden. It’s like someone constantly tapping on your temple and you feel enraged and frustrated by it, yet at the same time you can’t stop it, even if your only desire is to put an end to it, but there’s a force that paralyzes you, firmly grasps your hands and it’s hard to get rid of it so you keep battling in hopes that something could happen and set you free from your own thoughts.
“The fact that the word waif, per se, has no proper definition and they created a meaning for it is amazing. That meaning made me feel ok. I don’t know if it’s cynical or stoic, but it made me gain some confidence.”
Being a slave to the latter introduced me to my sleepless nights, my secret-holders, the witnesses to my tears, when the remorse devoured me because I remembered something embarrassing I did four years ago or some absurd thought I said out loud to my philosophy teacher, when the fear haunts me because I’m doubting an irrevocable choice that I made or because I’m thinking about the possibility to face a perpetual failure that will lead me to disappoint my entourage, my parents, and eventually myself, or simply the possibility of dying one day without seeing and truly admiring this wide world. It’s frightening and exhausting in a very brutal way.
I considered having a full conversation about these nights with my parents and I did have one with my mom — my dad swings between France and Morocco so I don’t get to see him frequently. It was horrible, I’d rather speak to the cock that crows at four a.m from my neighbor’s rooftop than to my beloved mother. (There are four cocks in my neighborhood and trust me, I don’t know why either). My family doesn’t take these sort of things seriously so, carry on. Evidently the sleepless nights continued to happen so instead of smashing my head against the wall next to me, I read books and it cleared my mind. I would dive utterly in the book’s world until I notice a word, a sentence, or a complete scene that reminds me of what I would love to forget, and I passionately hate those moments because it arouses nothing else than the desire to smash my head again. As a clarification: I love reading books, but not during the nights before an important day when I have no choice other than to sleep.
And what is the ultimate distraction tool I had left? The internet — the rapier, the ocean that needs no introduction, It’s well known that once you’ve drowned in its vortex you will barely escape it. You simply find yourself compelled to use it. So as a human being living in the twenty- first century, I grab my laptop and surf the internet. On one of my nights I had a moment with the internet when you get completely lost amid videos, articles or sites. One thing led to another and I’m suddenly looking at a bunch of odd and beautiful photos and at the top of the page is written in big black letters: is waif. The title is pretty enticing; I think that’s why I clicked so fast on the link. However, my discovery begins after clicking on one of the photos. I usually don’t read magazines, I’m just not interested in the content they provide, but this one is totally unique. You witness an explosion of coolness at the two first pages and that explosion keeps getting bigger and bigger gradually as you read the rest of the magazine. It’s surprisingly cathartic! To find such refreshing content is unfortunately rare. Reading this honest, liberating, audacious, fun writing gave me comfort in my sleepless nights. I started reading it with no expectation, but once I found what I was craving, I was fulfilled with satisfaction. The authenticity nourishes the coolness of this magazine (e.g., they made earwigs sounds like they are the most impressive species of insects, and I’m the type of people who gets easily disgusted by an ant).
The fact that the word waif, per se, has no proper definition and they created a meaning for it is amazing. That meaning made me feel ok. I don’t know if it’s cynical or stoic, but it made me gain some confidence. It taught me that things sometimes just don’t matter. It taught me to loosen up and don’t take shit too seriously. It taught me acceptance, and I think this is the most important and difficult one, especially when it has to do with myself — what I say and do, how I look, my attitude, my personality. In this part of my acceptance, I’m not on the top of the hill yet, but I definitely surpassed the bottom.
Thus my sleepless nights still visit me occasionally. I would love to be able to appreciate or let things go from time to time, but I’m always in between and I’m not sure if I’ll get there, so I’ll wait and see the ultimate effect of being waif.