ғeel free to call me. . .
Ramla Mubarak (Rah-mla, not R-aym-la), or Ram (Rah-m), when I'm close enough to you at heart.
υnless you're blind, you should see that I'm. . .
Female, thank you very much.
чou think I'm what age? No, I'm. .
Seventeen.
The υniverse welcomed me on. . .
January Sixteenth, 1994.
α lot of people say I'm. . .
I'm stuck up, and don't forget it. I guess in few words you could say I'm a coffe house-er. I could easily be associated with the college kids and interns that sit around on their laptops while sipping a non-fat chai latte taking up seats other customers want in every corner coffee shop, thinking they're above everyone else. Possibly they have real lives beyond their classes and bosses, but you have to get to know one of us before we simply tell you that seat is taken.
care to hear my story?
I grew up in Egypt. It was a small, quant house that I absolutely adored down to my last hair. My bedroom had little glow-in-the-dark stars over my ceiling, and when night came and I lay down in bed it felt like I was floating. I loved it so much. Of course, I cannot say that I "loved" sharing the room with my two siblings, a younger sister and an older brother. It was difficult at times, but we made it work.
About two years ago my father left us, and I cannot say we were too pleased. My brother was furious, actually. I could have taken it better had my mother not been pregnant at the time he left. He was a retched man, and between us, the scar going down my right arm was no accident. A drunk alcoholic, I doubt he even remembered my sister crying, my brother breaking half our dishes of pure anger, and my mother -- absent from the scene.
Yes, she was staying with our grandmother - peculiarly enough, her mother-in-law (who never cared for my father much either, for she had six other sons to love). I'll never forget sweeping up the broken clay and glass as my brother bandaged his bleeding left hand, calming our sister as best he could while calming himself.
Anyway.
Years later the riots had just started breaking out. Cyro and all that. Thankfully, the brother mentioned above had been sent to a military school. My mother figured it would help him work with his anger. What a clean ending for him if I do say. Not that he deserved it, for all the trouble he caused, times he yelled, bought the disgrace of a man his precious alcohol --
I'm going off topic again.
So, yeah, my mother miscarried (which, although sad, was probably for the best) and my sister stayed with her. Exactly one year before now I'd actually left on my own. I let them know, and all, in a note.
Because although I love floating in my sea of stars and darkness, I hated everything outside of that house.
Everyone.
Every place.
Want to hear the funniest part?
I could see the stars on my ceiling before I put them up.
I could see the scar on my arm before my father swung the broken wine bottle at it.
I could see the miscarriage messages when my mother announced she was expecting.
But everything still happened. Funny.
Now I'm here, simply because I had littlewhere else to go. That's how life works, I guess.
αbilities? Yeah, I have . . .
I'm a Seer; I see bits and pieces of what's to come. But, I have control over absolutely nothing -- I see what's coming, I can't morph it any more than the next man.
I aםore. . .
○ Cats, they're sacred, you know.
○ Pianos, I've played on since I was a little girl.
○ Men.
єveryone of these drive me mad. . .
○ Bad food. If you don't take the time to make it well why am I putting it in my mouth?
○ When men ask you to be their "girlfriend" without even a single date.
○ Water. It's disgusting and I would much rather by 85% anything else.
мy House, Dorm, and Homeroom are. . .
House: Wyvern
Dorm: She doesn't need one. I won't get to it anyway . . . xD;;
Homeroom: World Studies / Magical Creatures
чou see, I'm controlled by . . .
Arisee
