Monday, 1 May 2017

Dear Owls, life (again)

Dear Owls, 


Life. 
Life. 
Life. 

What a way to break a writer's block, huh? 

Just, life. 
More than ever, I think I just want to invent a supersonic time machine. I'm tired of the now, I'm tired of the things that are happening. I want to go back in time, when things were so different. When all I had to worry about was where my uniform for school was placed. What time the morning bus would be at my home; the excitement, when the bus drivers calls saying he'd be 10 mins late- just enough time to toss in some cereal and milk. 
Breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

I was the most important meal of the day. I would eat my insecurities away, one flaw at a time. I was never the subject of concern. I miss the past. I was okay. It's not that I'm not okay now, it's just that I miss it, the comfort of the "good old days". I miss the innocence I saw in the world. I miss being myself in a crowd of people. I miss not caring. 

So, I guess some things never change. Here I am once more, trying to make sense of life on my blog. When will I ever learn? It's finals week and everybody is so cheerful. I wonder, when I look around, if anybody knows we're one step closer to graduating. One step closer to becoming adults. One step closer to being rejected at a job. I wonder if I'm the only depressing dingus in the room.

Yours with a sour aftertaste from a spoon of life, 
Me. 

Saturday, 18 March 2017

Dear Owls, flying horses.

Dear Owls, 


"Someone used to write this way about you" he told me, with confidence in his eyes. "How could you settle for less, when you know if you only commanded, you would have the world at your fingertips?" 

I miss writing stories. I miss living in a parallel universe some days, where my life wasn't as important for a little while. I miss writing on the blog too. This place was where I'd go to rest my mind, to free my demons (and my angels, if I had any left). These days, I wouldn't know what to write about. I wish I had written more when I was younger, I wish I would have just kept writing, like I wanted to. I remember days where I was worried I would get carried away with the story line, days where I wouldn't start a new story because I was always so worried that I would continue starting things I don't finish. But that wasn't true, I always somewhat knew what I wanted to write about, and my stories really weren't half bad, given I was only a kid (this was 2 years ago, minor lol)

"Then where's the challenge?" she smirked, "What's the point of going after something you know wouldn't require any effort to get?" Her eyes mirrored the sunset that slowly sunk into the emptiness. It was an odd feeling she gave people; like she could drown the universe if she was unhappy with it. Almost as if she fed on adventures, and seeing her hungry was the last thing anyone wanted.

I miss talking to people who made me feel smarter. Not with what they say, rather with how they react to what I say (which may come off as extremely egotistic, but it is, nonetheless, the truth). I love speaking to high-school students because they make you feel like everything you say is gold.
I miss feeling like gold. 
Like, nothing in the world was worth my sadness to begin with.

I hate that nobody really listens to anyone these days. I hate that talking isn't as important as, let's say, dating. Everybody has this agenda. It's getting so exhausting. What happened to meaningful conversations and being there for other people in need? It's come to a point where, if someone gave the biggest cry for help or attention, people would rather spend their time gossiping about that person instead of giving them a hand. Needless to say, some people take "attention seeking" to the next level, but there is always room for humanity.

I miss writing stories because for just a little while, I don't have to worry about this world. Just for a little while, I'm a princess fighting soldiers from the second world war- and my horse suddenly swallowed a plant that could make him fly. My horse can fly... and I am on the top of the world.

Love always,
me. 

Friday, 27 January 2017

Dear owls, clarity.

Dear Owls, 



Oh, it hurt. More than any kind of pain I felt. A silent pain, with no cure. It hurt like a drug, infusing my system with venom that I could not get out. It was spreading inside me so fast, I couldn't stop it because I didn't know the source of it. I ran so fast, I jumped, I was on a different kind of high. I didn't understand myself. I couldn't keep up with my own thoughts, feelings. It was the weirdest situation I was ever put in. And here I am, blogging once more about the mountains that come my way, hoping I could later understand the bliss of not going through this much.

"That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt," - John Green

Last night, I was splashed with a bucket of clarity, but now I am suffering the cost of the frostbite afterwards. Where are thoughts born? Why are we always putting ourselves in situations that hurt? Where is the growth that happens from all this? All I feel is a fall. Just falling. Slipping. It's better than before, for sure. To tell you about what's happening now, I'd have to explain to you what happened before. It started off with one negative thought, a bitter emotion of some sort. I was offered an opportunity that I couldn't take (simple because of the people around me) and so I had to turn it down. The problem, however, didn't stop there. It escalated, developed into something much stronger; fury. I was furious at the world. At the wind. At water. At anything that had a label (so half the relationships at our university didn't count- minor lol)

So, how does this story end? It doesn't I'm still feeling confused. But, I gained some clarity along the way. Talking to people, the ones you trust, it helps. It's good to ask questions when you think you've figured out all the answers; odds are, there's always something you've missed out.

I sit here now wondering how amazing things would have been if I could gulp up a glass of clarity. Just chug it down until I can't chug anymore. Here's to more understanding. To more people in my life, that remind me of my roots, my beliefs and myself. The real me. The one that doesn't worry about the fear she gets before she asks a stupid question.

Yours,
Me.

Thursday, 12 January 2017

Dear Owls, lost but home.

Dear Owls,


I'm losing my mind over a world that offers me nothing but more questions to a question. I'm drunk on ideas, drunk on possibilities and drunk on nothing but reckless thoughts that will get me nowhere. What do they call a place for people like us? Daydreamers, locked inside the prison of their mind, forever questioning everything that comes to them. Or doesn't come to them.

I'm too much of an Arab in Dubai and too much of a Westerner in my hometown. I'm too loud, too opinionated but too quiet and fragile voiced. I'm too much of something but also too much of something else at the same time. I'm too religious, but too open minded. I'm too much but not enough. And where do they put people like me? Where do they store us when they need us? And where can I find more of me? More of confusion. Because, ironically, two confused people clear each other's vision. It is a sanity pill finding someone who is as confused, as dazed as I am. I am lost in my mind. Lost between wanting to know more and never wanting to reach the finish line.

And here I am, years later, asking the same question: what is life? 

Sometimes, I lose myself to the thoughts of "could've been", "should've been" and never really being. The reason I haven't written for so long, was because I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing. So afraid of just blogging again. I sometimes forget that I started this blog to clear my mind, to remember that thoughts can be put into words if pinpointed. There is something so gorgeous about this world, a screen that everyone's eyes glistens to, except mine. Not that I don't find anything beautiful, rather I don't know where the magic happens. 

To my dear owls, I'm torn between the many realities I have set out for myself. I'm going on mini adventures in my brain and none of them are taking me to a destination. And so, I sit here in the comfort of my bedroom, the mountains, the middle of the ocean... lost. And yet so at home.

Yours always,
Me. 

Monday, 22 August 2016

Dear Owls, whibley whobley.

Dear Owls,

Everybody gets lost sometimes, everybody goes through a major shift of events, negative thoughts and just plain confusion. My mistake, now and always, has been that I hold myself accountable for these emotions. I think thoughts must be perfect and emotions should remain stable at all times. It's okay to have a shift of perspective every now and then.

Today, I learn that confusion can be hilarious. I learn that past mistakes become choices. I learn that the world is just a big jumble of a whibley whobly mess. And it's fantastic that way.

Me.

Monday, 15 August 2016

Dear Owls, this summer.


This summer, I needed an adventure. And so, here I am... Away from the closest people to me for over a month for the first time ever.

Each summer I take with me something new, this time I learn that experiences come in pairs; the good and the bad.

I needed to feel alive again and so, I decided to do what scares me. I went hiking with the craziest people I know (Nesma and Sarah) and jumped from mountains into cold waters. I pretended not to care when I fell and cut my knee. I swam with frogs. I meditated on a roof till sunrise. I was around lizards, snakes and things I have no name for. It’s times like these, I realize that life is so short and we are so short tempered. This summer, I learn to love my hometown all over again. I went to historic sites, places that our ancestors walked on. I fell there too, because I’m that clumsy. I saw the best and worst. I can safely say, this summer has been an absolute dream.

This summer, I learn that people won’t always be nice, but you need to learn how to trust sometimes. This summer, Jordan taught me how to get ready in less than 5 minutes, because no outing is planned and I have OCD. Correction, had* OCD. I learn that sometimes the ugliest stores are the ones you can find the most beautiful bracelets in. And the ugliest places have the most beautiful views. And the ugliest people… you know where I’m going with this.

This summer, I meet my family again. I laugh at jokes I can finally understand. I tell stories because I am now old enough to capture their attention. This summer, I catch myself missing the ones we lost. It is the first summer I am in Jordan without both my grandfathers and they left a huge emptiness behind. Their memory remains in photos and their favorite places to sit at gatherings. This summer, I understand death for the first time and yet I am even more confused.

This summer, I spoke to God in a different language. I learn that Ramadan is about giving and peace. Although 3azayem (gatherings) make it seem warlike, it is actually a very peaceful month (for those who do not have to cook). I took the time to reconnect with things that I lost down the road; childish ideas, faith in happy endings, and trust that Allah does actually catch you when you’re falling. And this summer, I fell a lot. (twice down the stairs, thank you)

I travelled across Jordan, and for the first time in my life, I went on an 8-hour car ride with nothing but an IPod and good company. I sang my heart out in an Open Mic to strangers who soon became friends. Bad events soon became hilarious stories to tell. Dropping my phone into its death slowly became a blessing. Screens have a very interesting way of blocking experiences that could take your breath away. This summer took my breath away so many times. Literally. I almost got killed 3 times by cars (or drivers) that have no chill.

Despite my scary adventures, the bravest thing I did was leaving behind my brothers. My parents had a bet that I wouldn’t last two months, and for the first few days, I was fine- but somewhere along the road, I genuinely thought they would win their bet. I can’t wait to go back and share all the stories with them; turning each disaster into a hysterical bedtime story. Each memory into a tale, where I am the heroin- except in these stories, my brothers are right by my side. This way, I know that this summer is never forgotten.

And next summer… I hope is a whole other adventure.

Love,
Me.

Sunday, 10 July 2016

Certain Things || Poem

"I miss certain things,
Like the way her eyes
Smiled with her laugh.
The way she loved, 
without looking 
At my face.

I miss certain things
About the way she moved,
Like she could push
Volcanoes in her way.
The way she talked 
Like she could 
Blind a man.

I miss certain things.
Things I never got to see.
Things I only heard about
From others who have
tasted her nectar.

I miss her.
And she doesn't even know
My name."

(Excerpt from a book | Scenario: The idiot fell in love)


Baby Yoshi Blinking