ليه أنا بحبك؟

النهاردة وأنا سايق على كوبري أكتوبر بزحمته وحفره والعربية عمالة تتهبد وتترزع وكأني هنادي في فيلم دعاء الكروان راكبة الجمل وخالها هيقتلها ويتاوي عاره خدت بالي من إعلان قناة جديدة: mbc مصر. فجأة وبدون مبرر حسيت ببهجة شبه الإحساس اللي كنت بحسه ساعات وأنا صغير. سعادة فيها شيء من البلاهة واللي أنا متأكد منه إنها مالهاش مبرر. وايه يعني لما mbc تعمل قناة وتسميها مصر؟ خلاص يعني مشاكلنا هتتحل؟ ومرسي والإخوان والدستور والتأسيسية والنائب العام والفساد والرشاوي والتعليم والزحمة والغلا والبلطجية والزبالة والبنزين والسولار وقلة الأدب والفقر والشتا اللي مش راضي ييجي والناس اللي شمتانة في أمريكا ووجدي غنيم وألفاظه و....

لاقيت نفسي بدون أي مجهود بضحك ببلاهة وبصوت عالي وبقول لنفسي "أنا بحب مصرأوي" اللي ضحكني كذا حاجة منها إن لو كان في حد من سنتين بالظبط قاللي إن في يوم من الأيام هبقى سايق عربيتي في عز الضهر وفي عز الزحمة وبقول إني بحب مصر أكيد كنت هفشخه بالصوت والصورة. أنا اللي كان كرهي للبلد دي جزء من هويتي وكنت بعمل marketing campaign بنت لذين للكره ده. أنا اللي سافرت ولفيت وعشت في أوروبا. أنا اللي شايف كل الحاجات اللي تخلي الكره مبرر أكتر من الحب. أنا بقول إني بحب مصر وأوي كمان؟

أيوة أنا كل ده ومصر كل ده وبحبها ومش عارف ليه. أكيد مش عشان الحضارة والتاريخ ولا النيل ولا أهلها الطيبين ولا شبابها الجدعان ولا خفة الدم عشان كل ده مايفرقش معايا كتير. أكيد مش عشان المباني ولا التلوث والزبالة والحر والتراب والفساد والثورة اللي اتسرقت والحكومة الهزيلة والتدين الغبي والتعليم اللي قلته أحسن والزحمة والعشوائية لأني شفت أجمل وأرقى بلاد في العالم وحلمت إني أفضل هناك ومارجعش. أكيد مش عشان فيها أهلي وأصحابي وذكرياتي لأني مش بربط كل ده بالمكان. وأكيد مش تعلق عاطفي ولا انتماء لأني عمري ما حسيت إن مصر أمي ولأني من الكافرين بفكرة إننا عمرنا ما بنكره أهلنا. طب إيه؟ مش عارف ومش عايز أعرف.

طول عمري كنت بقول إن الحب الحقيقي هو لما تحب حد وأنت مش عارف بتحبه ليه يعني من غير ما يكون عندك أسباب وواحد اتنين تلاتة ومنطق وعقلانية للحب ده. وكمان لما تكون شايف كل عيوبه وبتضايق منها كمان بس برضه بتحبه بمنتهى الهبل. بتتخانق معاه وبتزعل منه بس برضه بتحبه وضعيف قدامه وقدام أقل حاجة يقولها أو يعملها حتى لو كانت نظرة ضعف واحتياج طلعت غصب عنه أو بحة في صوته وهو نفسه يقولك إنه آسف بس كرامته مكتفاه أو حتى ابتسامة نورت وشه وانت عارف ان الابتسامة دي مابتجيش غير معاك. لما يبقى بيزعلك وهو عارف ومتأكد انك هتسامحه وهيرجع يزعلك تاني بحاجة مختلفة وبرضه هتفشخه وترجع تسامحه ماهو لو انت ما استحملتوش مين هيستحمله؟ ساعتها تبقى بتحبه بجد.

وفي الآخر توصلت للنتيجة اللي بتقول إني بحب مصر بدون أسباب ومبررات و مش هحاول أدور على أسباب وألاقي مبررات وأخلي عقلي يتدخل. خليني أحبها لما أشوف آخرتها. 

الشماتة اختراع عربي

الشماتة في مفهومها البسيط هي الشعور بلذة وسعادة حين تصيب خصمك أو عدوك أو أي إنسان تكرهه مصيبة أو كارثة. في الأغلب تكون المصيبة قدرية يعني دون أن يكون لك يد في حدوثها كحادثة سير مثلا أو كارثة طبيعية  لأن لو كان لك يد في حدوثها ستكون تلك السعادة تشفي ولذة الانتقام وبالتالي فهي ليست شماتة. والشماتة غالبا شعور يصيب الضعفاء أو الغير قادرين على إلحاق الأذى بمن يكرهون ولهذا يسعدون حين تحدث المصيبة دون أن يكون لهم يد فيها فما أروع الأشياء الممتعة التي تأتي دون جهد. وطبعا بما أن الحادثة أو المصيبة قدرية فالله هو المسئول عنها. والله عادل فهو لا يلحق المصائب إلا بالكفار الذين يستحقونها.

 

دارت كل هذه الأفكار في رأسي المسكين وأنا أتصفح الفيسبوك لأجد الآلاف ممن ينفثون كلمات الشماتة والسعادة الكريهة بما يحدث لأمريكا من أضرار بسبب كارثة الإعصار ساندي. إعصار... كارثة طبيعية شهدت الأرض مثلها آلاف المرات. ولكن حين تصيب هذه الكارثة أمريكا رمز الظلم والكفر فالشماتة رد فعل طبيعي للشعوب المقهورة سواء كان هذا القهر مصدره الحكام الذين أصبحوا مثالا يدرس للحكام السيئين أو بسبب التشبث بطبقات واهية من التدين السطحي حيث فكرة الإله المنقم الجبار الذي سيتدخل في اللحظة الأخيرة لينقذ أتباعه المؤمنين من الكفار الفجار ويصيبهم بالفناء.

 

أخرجت غضبي وإحباطي في بضعة سطور على صفحتي قلت فيها: "

كالعادة ناس كتير شمتانة في اللي حصل لأمريكا وده بيؤكد عدة حاجات أهمها إن في ناس مصرة تتشبث بالكراهية بشكل مرعب. لفت نظري كذا حاجة منها كمية الآيات والأحاديث اللي بيستند ليها البعض عشان يبرر شماتته وطبعا المفروض إن اللي يقرا الكلام ده يفضل مؤمن بسماحة الإسلام وبروعة الرسول وبربنا الرحمن الرحيم. لفت نظري كمان أحد التعليقات اللي بيقارنوا بيها الإعصار وإن في أطفال وناس أبرياء ماتوا بعقاب ربنا لقوم لوط

 بتدمير القرية اللي كان فيها الناس دول وإن أكيد كان فيها نساء وأطفال مالهمش زنب بس دي حكمة ربنا وطبعا كل واحد بيتحول للمتحدث الرسمي عن ربنا والرسول والإسلام. ويبقى السؤال الأبدي: بذمتكوا لسة مستغربين ليه الناس بتلحد وليه في إسلاموفوبيا؟ كان نفسي سارتر يكون عايش في الأيام دي عشان يعيد صياغة مفهوم العبث والجحيم والغثيان والذباب و..... ويموت الكلام.... من الأفضل أن يموت الكلام ف"ما فائدة أن تكون نقطة من العسل في بحر من الذباب؟ سيفنى العسل ويبقى الذباب" ... ويبقى الذباب. "

 

طبعا هناك من اعترض على انتقادي للإسلام واعتبر ماقلت تشجيع للكفر والإلحاد. وهناك من أخذ عناء الرد ليدافع عن الإسلام ونبيه وإلهه بأسهل مقولة وهي أن الإسلام بريء من هؤلاء لأنهم مسيئين للإسلام ولا ينتموا إليه. وطبعا نلاحظ هنا النبرة التي تظهر دائما حين تظهر مثل هذه الأفعال وهي إبعاد التهمة عن الأديان واستخدام نفس الطريقة التي يسمح بها بعض البشر لأنفسهم أن يقرروا ما هو الإسلام ومن هم المسلمون ويتحدثوا عن الله والرسول وكأنهم يحملون توكيلا يجعلهم المتحدثين الرسميين باسمهما.

 

مع توالي التعليقات وردي على بعضها وبعد أن قمت بالبحث عن ترجمة لكلمة شماتة في بعض اللغات الغربية كالإنجليزية والألمانية والفرنسية توصلت إلى نتيجة أن هذه اللغات ليس لديها كلمة محددة للشماتة بل هناك كلمات مشابهة تدور حول السعادة الشريرة لو ترجمت حرفيا. الشماتة إذن لفظ عربي لا يوجد له ترجمة في أشهر اللغات الغربية. هل الشماتة اختراع عربي؟

 

طبعا هناك من سيقول أن هذا من روائع اللغة العربية الشهيرة بكثرة مترادفاتها وتنوع الفاظها وما إلى ذلك من تعظيم. أليست لغة الإسلام وكتابه ونبيه؟ أليست لغة أهل الجنة؟

 

ومع استحضار العظيم سارتر تحضرني أيضا رائعة ألبير كامو "الطاعون" حيث يصيب مدينة وهران بالجزائر (المحتلة من فرنسا في ذلك الوقت) وباء الطاعون ويحصد الأرواح فيستغل رجل الدين (المسيحي) هذا الحدث في دعوة الناس للعودة إلى "حظيرة" الله فما الطاعون إلا عقاب الله لأخطائهم. ولكن عندما يصيب الوباء طفل صغير لم يدخل بعد في منظومة الخطأ والعقاب الإلهي كما تصورها الأديان يصبح موقف رجل الدين مشكوكا فيه أما حين يصيب الطاعون رجل الدين نفسه تسقط المنظومة بالكامل.

 

أتوقف عن الكتابة وأعيد قراءة ما كتبت فتزداد رساخة مفهوم  عبثية الوجود كما صاغها سارتر ورفاقه. أقرر التوقف عن الكتابة وأنا أحسد الذبابة التي تستمتع بارتشاف بقايا القهوة التي تركها فمي على حافة الكوب. هل تعرف أني أراقبها؟ هل يهمها أن تعرف؟

 

 

 

أمل

هناك

عند نهاية الطريق

ينتظرن

يضاجعن الليل

يحبلن بالأمل

يلدن الألم دون ألم



Who Loves You More?

o        Her: She doesn't love you.
Him: What are you talking about?
Her: She doesn't love you like I do. I love you more.
Him: May be....
Her: I know I love you more than she loves you.
Him: But what makes you so sure, you haven't even met her!
Her: She's your wife!
Him: Of course she is, does that make her love me less?
Her: She's your wife. She has to love you!
Him: Yes, of course, and....?
Her: she doesn't have the choice; she loves you because she has to, because it's her job, because you gave her a house, a child, a life. She could see the sun light with you, she walks with you in front of everybody, she holds your hand in the street and she sleeps by your side at night. Your love doesn't bring her any pain, and she never keeps it hidden in the darkest place in her heart. She's your wife. She loves you and she knows you can't be someone else's.
Him: .......
Her: But I.... I love you because it is my choice, my decision. Nothing ties me to you but this love, pure and genuine, free from any pressure or obligation. I love you when I know that you will never be mine, that I can never be with you forever, I can't face the world with you and say "he is mine" I can't hold hands with you in the street, I can't ask you to spend one night with me, I keep and cherish those stolen moments we spend together, sitting in some unvisited Cafe or hiding in a remote motel for few hours. I chose to love you, with all the pain and agony this love brings me, with the turmoil of us. I love you like a curse that I don't and never will be free of. I love you when I know that if God is what they keep telling us about him, I will be doomed in hell because of nothing but this love. And still I chose to love you, without dreams or hopes, with moments of happiness dipped in pain and sorrow, with all this waiting and longing, hiding it like a candle, burning my heart but still insisting on keeping it. I don't love the life we have, I don't love anything you gave me and I don't love you because you are mine.... I just love you.

H     Him: can you just come back to bed?!

مدينة الحزن

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2yhoaGVQrSg

Letter From My Country

My Dear Son,

They say that a mother’s heart never stops loving its children, they speak of mothers who used to be children themselves and who have only some children, but no one thought of a mother that has been a mother since she was born, a mother who can never be anything else and who has millions and millions of children, a mother who is as ancient as the oldest parts of history, a mother whose children never stopped to impress the world and never will.

Yes, I am your mother that you haven’t chosen and I love you even when you did not, for a mother’s heart cannot host anything but love for her own children, and even when you kept convincing yourself that you hated me and I hated you back, I listened to you and swallowed the pain in my heart, and a mother’s heart is like an ocean that has no limits for swallowing pain from her children.

I saw you without you knowing, I saw you as a silent child, very unusual, very serious and very lonely. I saw how you grew up into a silent boy, always asking questions and thinking of unusual things and I knew that you won’t be just another one of my children; a mother knows the future of her children even before they see it themselves. I saw you as a brilliant child at school and I was proud of you, I saw you hiding in your room reading and writing, I kept all your secrets for a mother knows how to keep secrets. I was very happy when I saw my love in your heart, when you used to go secretly to the pyramids and spend hours alone admiring the achievements of your ancestors, and always linking all that glory to me. Nothing makes a mother happy like the gratitude of her children. I wanted to hold you when you made your love for me your first email, when you used your knowledge to tell your friends about how great my history was, about how much you love me, and how your only dream was to travel only to come back and make me a better place.

And you travelled, my dear son, but suddenly something changed in you, you started to love yourself more than you loved me, a mother’s heart can deal with anything, this is true, but from you, it was painful, and if countries could cry, you would have made me cry for years. I saw you when you had your shock after seeing how your brothers and sisters are treated in that hospital you worked in, you blamed the government and decided to do something about it, and you worked on medicines that will make sickness goes away. But something inside you changed, the world and its glory distracted you, your passion for knowledge, your ambitions and your perfectionist nature did not allow you to stay as you are, the young man living for the dream of living in a better place that he is part of making. I saw you on your way to Paris and I started to feel jealous from the way you were looking at the country from the air, I knew you will compare and you will start hating me, and nothing kills a mother like when her own children compare her to another, more beautiful and more elegant.

I saw you walking in the streets, admiring everything, wanting to kiss every place and wishing that you have thousands of eyes, I saw the way you enjoyed drinking water from the taps and calling my own river that is as eternal as the universe dirty and polluted, I saw you on the airport crying, not wanting to come back. I saw your face disgusted from my air that you breathed for years without complaining. I saw your heart tied to another place and I was jealous, yes my son mothers feel jealous but I couldn’t do anything about it. I saw you deciding to live there, spending all your money on trips, enjoying the beauty of nature and cold weather, always comparing and I always lose the comparison. I saw you writing that love letter to Europe, calling her your mother, giving her credit for anything good in you, I heard you declaring that the day you get another nationality you will celebrate burning your Egyptian one. I saw and heard and kept all the pain for me, deep inside my heart. I didn’t deny you my land even if you couldn’t stand walking on it, I didn’t deny you my water even when you called it dirty and polluted and I didn’t deny you my air even when you said it suffocated you. A mother can never deny her son anything he needs, even if he doesn’t know that he needs it.

I saw that black plant of hatred growing inside your heart, leaving no place for any love for me, I heard you declaring it everywhere and to everyone, threatening those who love me that they will be kicked out of your life, calling them blind and sick, and denying them the right of love that you got rid of. As if you wanted me to be abandoned and secluded, like an ugly weary tomb that no one even wants to burry a dead body in. I heard you when you said that you wished if you could be denied to enter my land again. You hated me my son and I was silent, I waited for a mother has nothing else to do when her children hate her.

I knew that your heart couldn’t make a difference between what I give you and what some of my children do, you were unable to separate and you held me responsible for everything bad you see, you never gave yourself a chance to think that I might not be responsible, as if you wanted to hate me, for you thought that a clear decision is better than a confused status, you were unable to host the feeling of loving me and hating what is happening on my land. And I was silent as I have always been, because I know that I will not stay as you saw me, I know my children more than you knew them and I was just waiting for them to come back to me. And they did my son, and you were not with them, you made fun of them, you said that you do want the change but you were not willing to be part of it, you said that I didn’t give you anything so why would you bother even with your emotions, but I knew that this will change.

But the change came, and you were not part of it as you wanted. It came one winter day when you were in another city far away from my land, enjoying a better weather and a cleaner air, sitting in a café with your friend and making fun of those naïve people who think that they can make a change with some demonstrations, describing them as pathetic and fishing for self appreciation when the real change needs a leader. You preferred to make it more impossible to keep me imprisoned in the image you have created for me in your mind and give yourself more fixed grounds for hating me. But the change came and came only from those young, naïve and pathetic sons and daughters of mine. For few days your mind wasn’t able to capture what happened. Until that Friday when you were enjoying the luxury of your 5 stars fancy hotel room overlooking the great sea. And when all my lands were isolated from internet and satellite, you far away had all the access. You saw my sons and daughters in the square, you saw the water thrown at them in the cold of the winter and they never retreated, you saw the gas and the gun shots, you saw the cars smashing their bodies and you saw the brave men and women dying for me, yes for me, for what you have never believed in.

I cried with you my dear son, your throbbing heart beats were shaking me like an earthquake. Your tears were more precious than the waters of my magical river. Your face pressed against the window looking at the sea that separated you from me made me young again, for the happiness I felt when I had you back was long waited for. I cried with you my dear son, I felt your turmoil when you were locked in your hotel room, unable to come back to me, I felt how scared you were that your wish had come true finally but in the wrong time, for that was the only time you really wanted to come back to me. For the first time I heard you saying “my country” for the first time you said “Egyptian” whenever you were asked about your nationality and for the first time you were proud that you belonged to me.

And now you are back my dearest son, back into my land, inside my heart and I forgive you. My happiness with your return left me no place to feel anything else. For I am a mother and I will always love and forgive you like mothers do. No matter where you go and what you do or say, I know that you will always come back to me and snuggle in my arms, for this is the only place that will give you a home.

Yours,

Masr

Without Permission

The past haunts her like wind, bringing back memories that come to her door and force it open. They enter without permission, and once the door is open she can never close it again... And the wind keeps blowing.

The Unexpected Visitor

And if at any time death knocks on our door, I will be the one who meets him first.(Inspired by Ancient Indian marriage rituals)

Author Unknown

In your eyes I found the story of my life, written by an unknown author.

دفء الأماكن

سأتدفأ بك حين يأتي الشتاء وإن لم تكن معي. سألملم الذكريات وحرارة لقاءاتنا. سأجمع صوتك وأشياءا صغيرة تركتها بداخلي دون أن تدري. سأطوف بأركان البيت لأجمع بقاياك، سجائر محترقة مازالت تحمل آثار شفتيك، شعرات سوداء تساقطت منك دون أن تشعر، أشياءا مازالت تحتضن رائحتك. سأجمع كل هذه الأشياء وأصنع منها مدفأة صغيرة لن يراها غيري. سأسترجع صوتك وسأطيل الحديثمع الجدران الصامتة التي لا تكف عن السؤال عنك.

وعندما يأتي الليل سألف وشاحك البني حول عنقي وأخرج لأسير في تلك الشوارع الهادئة التي تحبها. سأضع نظارتك التي نسيتها عندي وأنظر إلى العالم لعلي أرى الأشياء كما تراها فأصير أقرب إليك. سأطوف بعيني أجمع آثارك حتى في الظلام. سأطيل الوقوف أمام واجهات البنايات التي تحبها، سأنسج سيناريوهات للقاءاتنا القادمة وسأدون أفكارا وأشياءا سأهديها إليك. سيظنونني تائهة لا أعرف أين أنا، لكنهم لا يعرفون أنني في رحلة معك. سيتعجبون كيف لا أشعر بالبرد، وكيف لا أرتجف حين تهب الرياح، ولماذا لا تبللني الأمطار. سأذهب إلى ذلك المقهى الهادئ الذي تحبه، ستحجبني الإضاءة الخافتة عن أعينهم ونظراتهم المتسائلة عن سر وحدتي وتلك الابتسامة على وجهي . سأطلب قهوتك كما تحبها وأقربها إلى أنفي ثم أغمض عيني وأستنشق رائحتها مثلما تفعل، ستتسع ابتسامتي حين أستمع إلى أغنياتك المفضلة والتي لا يعرف أحد سر حبك لها مثلما أعرف. سأسترجع بريق عينيك حين تحدثني عن تناغم الأصوات وتداخل الإيقاعات وكل تلك الأشياء التي لم أعرفها من قبل.

وحين أعود إلى بيتي سأجد الكثير لأرويه له عن يومي وعنك وسأتبادل معه الخطط والمفاجآت التي سأعدها لك. سأشعل تلك المدفأة الصغيرة التي صنعتها وسأجلس في مقعدك، سألتف بوشاحك وألملم أطراف ثوبي حتى يغلبني النوم.

سأرحل الآن لألملم دفئك من الأماكن. فلن يدفئني غيرك حين يأتي الشتاء.

One Hundred Things That Annoy Me

In Random Order:

1- Summer.

2- Liars.

3- Melted cheese, any type, shape or form.

4- Tea with sugar.

5-Noise.

6- Closed places. I'm calustrophobic.

7- Loud music.

8- Underground trains.

9- Crowded places.

10- Deserts.

11- Too much light.

12- When someone interrupts me in any way or means.

13- Surprises. Yes, even good ones. Especially birthday parties!

14- Expectations, especially from people who know me very well.

15- Dust.

16- The marks that glasses or cups leave on a table.

17- Stopped clocks or watches.

18- Any inclination no matter how tiny it is in paintinges that are hung on the wall.

19- Red color. Yes, I might have been a bull in another life.

20- The Sun.

21- Sand.

22- People with bad memory.

23- People who thinks they know-it-all.

24- Religious people who follow without thinking, even in the basics of the basics.

25- Being preached, especially when it comes to religion, maturity or wisdom.

26- Being told what to do.

27- Politics.

28- Football, especially seeing its effect on people.

29- The way religion is used to manipulate people.

30- Jokes, and anything labelled as "comedy".

31- Metal, heavy metal, country, rock and roll music.

32-Greeting on face book, just pick up the phone and dial my number and say whatever you want to say.

33- Indirect messages, hints, signals...etc. Come on, be blunt and look me in the face, say whatever you want to say.

34- Over nice people.

35- People who are friendly to me when we have just met. Yes, the colder you are the better for me.

36- Being touched by people I don't know.

37- When people I don't like try to kiss me.

38- Bad breath.

39- Cigarettes smoke.

33- Pollution, air that smells of something. Air, should be odourless.

34- Stuffy places, I love air, fresh air.

35- Stand up comedies.

36- White light at home.

37- Stick incense.

38- Beggars.

39- Seeking attention in any way.

40- Speaking in public.

41- Being the center of attention.

42- Being judged by people who have no idea about me.

43- Power, and those who love it or reach for it.

44- The smell left in your hands after eating tangerine. It makes me throw up.

45- Police officers, just seing their uniform gets on my nerves.

46- When anything I'm watching or listening to gets interrupted.

47- Public transportations.

48- When people I love and care for forget my birthday.

49- When people who love someone expect that this person has to be loved by every single human being.

50-Not admitting mistakes.

51- Artichokes.

52- Mushrooms.

53- Plastic plants or flowers.

54- Writing on walls.

55- When people send messages to others through their facebook or BBM status.

56- Spelling and grammar mistakes.

57- When people expect that their effort to do something big should be appreciated even if they end up ruining the whole thing. No, I appreciate small effort done to have a full small thing, but not the other way round.

58- When people try to break the ice with me when I'm not ready, what's wrong with ice anyway?

59-The word sorry. Yes, especially when people think that it will erase whatever they did! Actions "might" be erased by actions only, not by a 5-letters-word.

60-Insulting my intelligence.

61-Telling me "you should love this or that", I'm sorry but the two words never go together!

62- Dealing with people as Gods, even prophets made mistakes, so please....

63-Spreading information without making sure of its sources.

64- Judging girls based on how they dress up.

65- Face covered women.

66- Any single word said to under estimate women.

67- Songs that don't rhyme.

68- Too crowded computer desktops.

69- Untidy rooms or places.

70- Disorder in any way.

71- Traffic.

72- Car horns.

73- When I cancel a call and the caller keeps dialling again and again.

74- When people keep pressing the elevator button even when its light is on, as if they will get it faster!

75- When people share personal things about them with me when we just met.

76-People who beg for sympathy, I get extremely cold and cruel.

77- Expecting me to pass things up, because we are close. It doesn't work like that with me, the closer we are, the harsher I am in my reactions.

78- People who keep repeating their mistakes.

79- People who are not punctual, by the minute. And I never accept excuses.

80- Asking me why I don't like something. I just don't.

81- Body smells.

82- People getting too close to me when we are talking.

83- Having to repeat what I just said.

84- Talk shows.

85- Abdelhalim Hafez.

86- Being expected to love everyone and anyone. I'm not Jesus and I'm not planning to be.

87- Curiosity.

88- Huge places or apartments. I prefer tiny small flats.

89- Anonymous messages. Just say who you are.

90- My Car.

91- People who love to victimize themselves.

92- Emotional black mailing, just seeing it.

93- Jumping into conclusions.

94- Too optimistic people.

95- Too pessimistic people.

96- Trying to get me out of my down moods. I love them.

97- Physical violence, even the simplest forms of it.

98- Horror movies, the bloody type.

99- Parties and social gatherings.

100- Reading this list and asking me "Really, so you don't get annoyed from this or that". No, I don't. If I were, they would have been in the list :)