Friday, 3 November 2017


You tell yourself you're going to do something different. You tell yourself you're going to buy the car, or get the grade, or impress the boss, or get a haircut. Stop. Do the thing. Don't keep waiting for someone to help you. If watching a movie makes you feel good, make time for it. Procrastination does not look like progress, and if something makes you feel good then it's progress. Of course, this could be the most hippy way of looking at the world but you don't have time to sit around and feel terrible about yourself. Stop labeling things as "procrastination" or "laziness". 

Some of the greatest lessons I've learnt were through cramming for an exam. Some of the greatest people I've meat were the ones outside the class that I skipped. Life is much too short to keep crying about the same wound. Just get up and live. This isn't an invitation for sloppiness. It is quite the opposite. This isn't encouragement to fail your tests or skip your responsibilities - this is your wake-up call, begging you to realize that if you're going to screw it up, at least make it count. Get up and live! Go somewhere you've never been before, meet people you've never known existed and eat food that you usually wouldn't. And live. Living is a luxury. 

Friday, 15 September 2017

Dear Owls, never.

Dear Owls,

There is nothing more confusing in the world to me than change. It rattles my bones and worries my spirit. Change is not my strong suit and it never will be. Edit: I'm trying to refrain from definitive words, so perhaps not never. I wish, now more than ever, that these letters to owls were real. That when I write, they reach somewhere. Instead, they spin into a whirlwind of internet archives. I wish these letters were real because writing them brings me so much comfort, it's surprising that I'm speaking only to myself. I forget how comforting it is to just vomit words onto my blog and call it a 'hobby'.

Confession: I want to publish a book someday. I want to write beautiful things and I want those beautiful things to help people who need to read beautiful things. You are so kind for reading my words, whomever you are. I say this now because perhaps now is when I  need to be heard the most. The most terrifying thing to writers is that their voice is sinking. It's scary to think that someday, nobody really cares about what you have to say. What would we write about then? And would it even matter? Well. The answer is yes. Writing, with or without an audience always matters but it's always nice to have you here.

When I first entered university, I didn't know what to expect. It felt like I was a little lemon. My memories are happy and fresh. I didn't know anybody. Everybody took me on a mental trip. All these people, and I could do whatever I wanted with my time. I wanted to dance about it. Let the liberty hold my arms like puppet strings, as I oblige to the movements. It was glorious. The second year, I was more cautious, with friends and decisions. My third year went to shit because of all the stress that sat on my heart. I put too much on my plate and it became effort to eat. Now... it's my fourth year. I have no idea what to expect really. It's my final year, and I'm hoping that I feel like a lemon again. Not sour, but refreshed. I miss feeling accomplished. I want to learn and do new things. There' s just never enough to do and so I find myself doing nothing; frankly, pure hypocrisy to all the planners/schedules I set out for myself.

Right now, I'm at a changing point. Like I said, I'm not too great when it comes to these things. I'm at a point in life where I don't know whether to let go of things that I've wanted or just keep fighting for it. But tell me, is there any good in fighting for something that doesn't belong to you anymore? My anxious heart just wants answers to these questions, simply to know. Had I known where I was ending up a few years from now, I would probably be much more at ease. I guess that's the point of life. Not knowing. I just had much more in mind for my last year. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I've done nothing. I just feel like there's something missing all the time. And this missing thing? I feel as though I'm never going to get it. Ok, maybe not never.

Yours with wishful thinking and a heavy heart,

Monday, 7 August 2017

Dear Owls, mentors

Dear Owls, 

I'm waiting for something to happen. However, I'm not even sure what I'm waiting for. So, my heart keeps pounding, expecting something to magically appear, expecting something to sidetrack me. I think, medically speaking, this is called anxiety. But in a less dramatic sense, I think it's just boredom. I'm tired of this routine, but at the same time- I'm trying to set a routine.

I read a quote today and I'd like to share it, because it hit home.

Perhaps the reason I can't break my nasty habits of being extremely inactive and overthinking about every possible thing is because I can't envision a better use for my time. What if I've taken a liking towards my sluggish obsessive behavior because it entails that I cannot fail, because I haven't tried? What a foolish life to follow.

One of my favorite vloggers on YouTube, Thomas Frank, (click the link, provided for your convenience) is also one of the most productive young adults of our time. I watch his videos some nights and wonder if I'll ever have the same motivation he does. Will I ever read as many books or create an 'Impossible list' like his.

This year, I've been stuck one idea, and it's gobbled my mind up silly - Who is my role model? I've met different people say their fashion role model was Kylie Jenner, or that their humanitarian role model was Sandra Bullock. So... who's mine? My whole life, I was afraid of copying others. Always worried that I wouldn't have individuality because I'd be following someone else's steps. But, recently, I list the greatest leaders in my head over and over thinking, even they had role models. It took me forever to look this up, but I really wanted to know which great people were mentored by other great people. For the longest while, I didn't know how to phrase that on Google! Alas, thanks to Technology, the list was found and I have never been happier.

What I found changed my perception greatly. One of my favorite inspirations mentored another worldwide inspiration. Maya Angelo, my favorite poet of yet mentored Oprah Winfrey. “She was there for me always, guiding me through some of the most important years of my life,” Winfrey said. “Mentors are important and I don’t think anybody makes it in the world without some form of mentorship,” she added. (Link to List)

My favorite Maya Angelo poem:

I wonder who my role model is. And I wonder if I'll ever be lucky enough to find a mentor that I can learn from. It took me 20 years to accept that it's okay to have a role model and mentor.. I wonder how long it will take for me to ask for one. I imagine that requires an insane amount of humbleness and courage. Not to mention, knowing what to ask a mentor for.

Yours with thoughts,


Ps: here's a link to other people's list of historic role models - for my reference and yours

Monday, 19 June 2017

Monday, 1 May 2017

Dear Owls, life (again)

Dear Owls, 


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, 

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,

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.


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,
Baby Yoshi Blinking