Month: November 2020

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Somebody else

I think you’ve realized by now that I love writing about music as much as I love listening to music, and as I’m listening right now to Somebody Else by The 1975 at 1:45 pm during a busy Monday, my hand started itching to tell you about it.

So I heard you found somebody else
And at first I thought it was a lie
I took all my things that make sounds
The rest I can do without

Somebody Else – The 1975

This is my second favorite song of all time, after tghayarti. No matter how much I listen to it, or whatever mood I am in, it always hits hard; I can always feel Matt Healy swaggering on stage while singing apathetically to this enchantment.

I don’t want your body
But I hate to think about you with somebody else

He sings this effortlessly; how can he sing this so effortlessly and still makes me feel so much? I didn’t think Matty could sing something more beautiful than Me, Settle Down, or Robbers, but then he released this and four years later I’m still in awe.

Also, am I the only one who thinks that the album title is the most beautiful title anyone can think of? “I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful yet So Unaware of It” (stylized in sentence case). Honestly, how gorgeous?

I think I’ve heard this song throughout so many times, but I think the one time that struck me the most, and that I felt it the most, was a December evening back in 2016.

I used to work at the Beirut book fair every year at my dad’s book stand after college. That day, there was so much wind that I really didn’t make much effort walking as the sea breeze was moving me on my own (the book fair is very close to the sea).

The sun was setting, and I remember looking to my right and seeing a beautiful skyline of the mountains, with a very grey sky. I took a photo of it (featured image), and I listened to Somebody Else.

It was a perfect moment, a perfect sunset; it was a perfect 10 days. I was already feeling so much during that time, and I met so many wonderful people at the book fair, who became a family to me. We would all meet for coffee, and I was invited over for dinner (mainly shawarma) at their book stands every day, and I was always given the leftover chocolate and flowers after book signings. It rained a lot during the 10 days, and we were often stuck inside the bookfair for hours, which made us feel like we are distant from our actual lives.

We spent hours talking about our lives outside the book fair. They would listen to me studying for my “Introduction to Political Science” exam that I didn’t exactly do well in. We would gossip about customers and visit each other during busy hours to tell each other the funny stories of the people who bought the weirdest books.

We were a group of 7, who spent almost ten hours every day with each other for around three weeks, so it kind of got addictive, and I would, of course, get attached and fall into depression after the book fair ends.

That time when I was walking to the bookfair, that sunset, the night before, one of my colleagues at the book fair told me that he likes me, and made me a customized bracelet. I didn’t like him, but I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t; I was too content with where I was, and I liked his attention, so I just let him be.

At that moment, I thought of him, listening to Somebody Else, and it was ironic because I had another person in mind that I liked, but I wouldn’t have told him. It was a very short crush, and I realized later that that was my worst crush ever.

I thought of my bad habits, always leading people even if I don’t like them, for my own pleasure and need of attention. It was my expertise to get close to someone and then leave when I’m bored because I didn’t really want them in the first place.

Fast forward a few months, I learned my lesson quite painfully. But that December night, that sunset, that cold breeze, and that mountain skyline, I was still enjoying the feeling of being loved and not reciprocating anything in return.

That moment, I fell deeply in love with Somebody Else, and I haven’t recovered yet.

I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful – yet so unaware of it.
I like it when you sleep, for I can go outside alone amongst the due and feel at last and one with you.
I like it when you sleep, for it is where the worries meet with all desires complex and small that materialize upon your wall.
I like it when you sleep, for smoking is great, and I do a lot more without you awake.
I like it when you sleep, for the things missed too and to know I’m alive longer than you.
I like it when you sleep, for the infinite sadness of London and losses and a fold-out mattress.
I like it when you sleep, for the reasons I can’t, so I jealously squirm and count moles on your arms.
I like it when you sleep, forgive me, my dear, for all the cocaine has imprisoned me here.
I like it when you sleep, for I’m guilty of work and match of the day and the girls that twerk
I like it when you sleep, for my return after weeks is an incomplete feeling when you are not dreaming.
I like it when you sleep, for, during the day, your breath lacks character.
I like it when you sleep, for I swear I’ll protect her from the wheedling, redolent, saccharine nectar.
I like it when you sleep, for there are cracks in my ceiling that I know like the back of my heart – and to learn of your body in half of that manner was something desired from the start.
I like it when you sleep, forbidden I sit in my chair for a bit.
I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful – yet so unaware of it.

(this is not song lyrics, just some words spit out of Matty’s brain)

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Mr Sandman

I have a hard time juggling between not overworking myself and not procrastinating for 24 hours straight. How can people find common ground? When they’re productive and do something useful because they actually want to, like paint and compose music?

Today was one of the laziest days ever, I almost napped 6 times during noon, and I spent a lot of time on my phone, and I really hate consuming so much screen time, so I’m not so proud of myself.

Is it just me who feels disgusted when I spend more than 4 hours of screen time? I literally feel so ashamed of myself, the same feeling I get when I overeat just because I can not because I’m hungry—the same feeling of shame and disgrace.

I try to convince myself that I also spent a lot of time today reading on my phone, but we all know it’s not an excuse. You could have started your application to Europe, nour, instead of spending an hour searching for furnished apartments rental in Amman.

Nonetheless, it was a good day. I’ve been getting so many sweet comments on this little messy blog this week, including two people who have been inspired to create a blog on their own, and it makes my heart very, very happy, so thank you, my lovelies, my heart sends you hugs and kisses 🙂

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make her the cutest that I’ve ever seen
Give her two lips like roses and clover
And tell her that her lonely nights are over

Mr. Sandman – SYML

Also, did you know that this song exists? Because, wow. I am so absolutely in love with everything about the song, from the lyrics to his voice to the rhythm to the slow piano playing in the background. If you’re feeling a little more cheerful, you can listen to the original song by The Chordettes, but for me, I heart SYML cover.

Also, I don’t know if you noticed, but I just discovered that I can change colors. That’s cool.

What else?

Well, I also discovered that my big sister reads my blog too, and she was shocked when I told her that all the photos I use here (except the el far3i photo and the Audrey Hepburn ones, of course) are taken by me, so for clarification, if anyone else thought that I Google the photos, I do not.

Also, the lockdown has been lifted, starting tomorrow, which means that some of my mental instability will also return, which I find strange because I have noticed that during lockdowns, the voices in my head kind of take a break, and then they return once everything is back to normal.

I think it started tonight, and I don’t want that. I found myself overthinking an absurd text, the person behind it, and whether I’m anticipating something that does not exist, but I’m back to my usual “nour” habits; put more into something that is not even there, and believe it.

I think I will try this time to change my ways. My supervisor won’t work from the office tomorrow and is letting me decide whether I want to work from the office or home. I’m going to choose office tomorrow, because I have so many tasks I need to focus on behind a desk, and because this is not the choice I would have chosen had I not decide to change my ways.

One of the main reasons I am happy that the lockdown is over is because I can return to my coffeeshops, back to drinking coffee as I walk long roads only because it’s cold and I want to enjoy every bit of the frisky wind. For that, I have decided that I will give myself a reason to live every week, starting this week.

The reasons to live aren’t going to be major, like saving a cat or eliminating hunger; they will be minor and simple chores that personally keep me going throughout the week without feeling like drowning myself under the shower.

This week, after finishing work, I will be visiting one coffeeshop and getting my favorite coffee from theirs to go. The coffeeshops in mind:

  • Concierge
  • Backburner
  • Starbucks (because Christmas cups and I’m very mainstream)
  • B Hive
  • The Daily Roast, or a random espresso place
  • 3ammo Abou Mohammad’s coffee, if I had anything to do near FoodBlessed office.
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I’m only writing this because I’m listening to a new song

And I like writing when I’m listening to new nice songs.

Hi there,

I’ve missed writing here. The more I hear that people I know are reading my blog, the more I get happy-you can keep the feedback coming; I love those! And at the same, it gets harder for me to write because I think to myself, what if I’m not good enough for them? What if they knew who I might be writing about sometimes?

I wish I can be as apathetic and not care, but sadly I do. I do care about your opinion of me; even if I have developed a certain ego for writing, I still get happy if you tell me that you like my blog.

Anyway.

I love rain; I love the cold. It’s too beautiful, and it feeds my soul with so much peace and happiness I cannot describe it; I’m so relieved summer is over, my mental health absolutely could not fathom another day of humidity and sun.

I find thunder and lightning and darkness extremely soul-nourishing. I keep telling people that the only reason I might consider living in London is because of its weather, and people usually weirdly look at me. “If anything, people leave London for its awful weather,” my British friend keeps telling me.

But with all its messiness, I love everything about this weather, even the parts when I’m soaking wet under the rain, and my feet are freezing because my socks are all wet, and I have a red runny nose because of the sharp breeze, I still choose this over one droplet of sweat any day of the week.

So I’m sorry for all you summer-lovers, but I’ve had enough of my seasonal affective disorder (SAD); I almost died from the pain (I wish I did instead of living through the struggle); it’s okay if you felt a little fussy, let my heart heal.

Also, I realized this week that I had neglected a thing so dear to my heart; poetry. Poetry was an essential part of my life-reading and writing-and I cannot remember the reason why I haven’t been reading or writing for almost a year?

A dear friend reminded me of the beauty and the magic of good poetry, and I decided to return to my Sylvia Plath poetry book and discover the new poets and poems I was introduced to. (Thank you for reminding me; it’s reasons like this that I cherish you in my life)

Also (2), I was awakened today by these sweet messages, and it made me happy (like everything he usually does). I haven’t felt happy reading complimentary messages for years that I thought I don’t care anymore if somebody said anything, but lately, I’m retouched by so many neglected emotions. I am back to appreciating messages like these:

Thank you for the beautiful words, and even though you woke up hours after with an “I was quite intoxicated so more in tune with myself and my feelings” following message, I still value this.

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The story of a teacher caught sexually harassing his daughter during an online class

He just finished the online class he was teaching, feeling satisfied with what he has given to his students. It was a heavy session, he thought to himself, and his students seemed to be focused on the lesson, and it was tiring, yet still, it is much better to teach from home than from school, because at school, it would be much harder to see her.

He said his goodbyes to his students, threw a “see you later” smile, and gave them homework. Then, as he moved from the camera, feeling a certain lust, he knew so well where he could go to satisfy his lust. Ashamed of himself? Maybe, but his grown hunger for his daughter was stronger.

Little did he know that his desires for his daughter distracted him from turning off his camera and that the students were learning much more than he could have taught; they saw what it’s like to be tortured yet remain crippled.

This is not a story made out of fiction; this is a story that happened in Lebanon a few days ago. A teacher was caught sexually harassing his daughter on camera after forgetting to turn off his camera and after his students recorded everything and reported it.

He was arrested and is now away rotting seven stories underground- I hope. Imagine, imagine with me, that he did not forget to turn his camera off, and that no one saw what he does and did, and that he kept on harassing her for years to come.

He could have been my teacher, and I would see him every day and let him teach me whatever subject he teaches, and I would listen and study and ask him questions and wish he thinks I’m smart. I could be a student idolizing a teacher, and he could be at home kissing his daughter.

I’m sick to my guts. It could have been easily hidden, and it has been hidden for so long. Imagine the students were not brave enough to report him, were not mature enough to say anything; imagine the life of this little girl who is being exploited by the man who should protect her the most.

Imagine, try to imagine with me, how many girls, and boys, are suffering from the same indescribable cruelty, and in Lebanon only. Imagine that home is the most unsafe place to be in, yet they remain quiet. Imagine dying in pain every single day and still waking up in the morning.

Let us speak about sexual exploitation and abuse. Let us stand against the society that pushes us to stay quiet on sexual crimes, so we don’t scratch anyone’s “dignity.” Let us speak on their behalf and make sure they know that despite their pain, we can help.

We need to adapt more legislations and decrees that penalize sexual misconduct, whether at home, on the streets, at work, or online. Legislation criminalizing sexual harassment at home needs to be thorough and inclusive of all girls and boys living in Lebanon, including marginalized groups and LGBTI individuals.

Our courts need to adapt a PSEA policy that sides with survivors and protects them from abusers; even if/when the abusers are judges and lawyers themselves, the system needs to enforce prevention, protection, and penalization of legislators and society members in case of any breach.

Only when the system adopts women and girls’ rights to feel safe can we normalize ending SEA and gender-based violence within our communities and homes. Women and girls are the center of socio-economic growth in all societies; it is crucial to give them the safety needed to thrive and believe in equity and gender parity among all the sectors of their lives.

As a girl who was raised hearing that women’s image, reputation, and dignity can easily be demolished by a word or sexual innuendo or anything that has to do with sexual behavior and that a man is faultless and is raised to be a sinner, I believe that these critical injustices need to end now.

Raise your voice for women and girls to be seen as a vital part of our nations’ social development and not as sex objects. Raise your voice for thriving women and girls who can walk into any house, office, grocery shop, cafe, school, university, street, city, etc., and proudly say: “I feel safe here.”

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Things from my notes

I find things sometimes in my notes. This is one of the things:

Maybe if we stayed here for a little while

Nights upon us, and there is not one star in the hollow bleak sky

Yet you can’t seem to focus on anything but it, the sky, whether it shows signs of rain

Maybe if you looked at me the way you looked at the sky and pinpointed the constellations

Maybe if you looked me

And noticed

Maybe then I can say I am happy

Maybe if it weren’t you that made me laugh for two hours at nothing in particular

If it weren’t you who listened to the story of my life and smiled at the details

If it weren’t you who got me yogurt and told me it tastes like all the bad things in the world

Maybe then that I can I finally tell you that I’m happy

Maybe then that I can tell you you’re mine

But how can I when you’re not?

How can I talk about you to my friends and let them share you with me?

Is it not sharing you with the sky you so dearly, not enough?

How can I simply tell them;

“Here he is, the almighty, smiling at me and making me happy”

They might want you to smile at them the way you smile at me

And that would kill me.

(I wonder how accurate this might still be)

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I’ve been skipping therapy.

I know I shouldn’t. I know that therapy isn’t for sad days and it’s the road to treatment, but I’ve been preferring the delusions of normality than having to revisit melancholy and feel sad and lonely again. I’m doing okay, let me stay okay for a while.

I tried something today. I did exactly what I usually do, or did before last week; I woke up with the same mentality, dressed up with the same mentality, took a taxi to work, renewed my work ID, sat at the same desk I’ve been sitting on for the past 6 months. I drank the same coffee and spoke out in the PSEA training and did the usual tasks and saw and jokes with the usual people, and it felt different.

Because the thing is, they are the same events, but I have a different mentality. I don’t see them behind the darkness; I didn’t feel like I’ve been carrying blazing coals on my chest all day, I didn’t feel the tremendous relief of freedom as I left work. Today, it was a typical day with a different feeling, a feeling of tranquil bliss.

I don’t know the reason behind the sudden change, or maybe I do, and I don’t want to admit it, but I know there’s something different; I know I’m different. And I’ve been skipping therapy.

I love my therapist and therapy, but they remind me of awful-and very recent times; they remind me of my weakness and my lowest moments and things I wouldn’t have confessed had I was as mentally stable as I am right now. And I’ve been skipping.

I’m going back next Monday, I promise. I know better than to neglect my mental health. I also have the exercises my counselor gave me, so I also need to go back to those, but for now, I actually don’t feel like an abomination; for now, let me be.

I keep wondering if it’s because of the many rests I’ve been taking lately that I am what I am now, that nothing-and no one-changed except that I’ve been acting like a normal human being and slacking.

I wonder if this is what I am now, or if all of this is just a temporary bliss, and I’ll be back to weeping in no time. But for now, I’m not even anxious about tomorrow! I’m living in ignorance, with my demons sleeping aside, and I’m still awake.

I’ve been skipping therapy, for my own sake, for my own state of stability and ignorance. I need to not be, just for now, just for a little more.

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It’s been a weird week.

I don’t think I can write about it yet, as I’m still in it, but I probably will tomorrow, or the day after, if I could understand it at least. Right now, I’m looking at a very pink sky, with parallel clouds that look like rays of sunshine.

Diana is cooking mjadra, and I can smell the onions being cooked, and I can hear Tarek mumbling alongside a song he doesn’t know. Right now, I’m contemplating between the feeling of content and the feeling of being soaking wet and sitting next to a fireplace.

It felt very bizarre, but I happened to have found Wonderful Life by Black this week, and it’s been on repeat ever since. I think I know it from before, but it never struck me as I never felt it as much as I do right now, sitting here, rocking the balcony swing, healthy and safe.

I hope you’re okay.

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I’m changing

The past week, I think I was floating. I’m not sure I can describe exactly what happened or what I’m feeling, which is why I couldn’t write all week, but it seems so odd that I need to put it out here somewhere.

I’m not sure if it’s because I took a week off the week before for the first time in forever, and it let me breathe and recharge and give the chemicals in my brain a chance to rest, or if I’m finally taking that step forward and getting closer to healing.

Everything and everyone’s still in their place; they’re still the same; I’m just seeing them differently. I am noticing people more than before, I’m seeing a certain somebody in a different light, and even though I absolutely do not want this, it’s still a nice feeling.

I’m slowly returning to preferring being alone with people, which means the voices aren’t as loud anymore, and I can now go back again to spending time alone without being scared of suffocating. I’m going back to relying less on people for comfort and relying more on my safe alone time.

I’m trying so hard to stay calm and not get agitated as easily, and I’m failing badly so many times, but I’m also succeeding a lot, and it makes me happy. Little progress, one at a time. I’m reappreciating the smalls things. I’m feeling a nice little shade of white, clarity, purity.

I mean, it’s about time, right? I’ve been in therapy for six months, with the first three months in extensive therapy, and I had my first psychological counseling session last week at work; I’m writing this blog and sharing it, spending more time with family and friends, working out my issues, reorganizing my life. I am trying so hard. So. Hard.

I’ve even regained weight, and a lot are complimenting me for it, that now I look much prettier than before. But this might also have to do with the fact that it’s colder and that my summer seasonal depression is slowly fading; I’m always more glowing during winter.

*me to me* see? I don’t only post sadness. I can appreciate the nice times too. *smiles awkwardly to myself*

For now, pray with me that our week turns out to be wonderful. After today’s major anxieties, please, please please let it be a peaceful and happy week for all of us.

Also, I just discovered this little peaceful song. It’s a cover for a famous cultural Algerian song, so you can listen to both, if you want. 🙂

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Anxiety dears

Leave. Don’t stay in your place and contemplate all the possible ways your bed can comfort you to death. You need to leave and be with people.

I know this is not what you want, what it’s telling you. I know it’s telling you that being with people is the worst thing you can do; it’s telling you that you are the safest if you stayed alone, in your bed, chair, in your place where no one can alleviate your fear and what it makes you feel.

This is not true.

When you’re alone, it’s where it can shine bright. Just like fungus, it needs darkness to grow and cling to your skin. It’s when you’re all alone that it’s the strongest; it can convince you that you’re the reason the world is so ugly and that it’s all your fault, everything’s all your fault. It can convince you that the minor setback you had is the biggest mistake in the world. It’ll feed on your fear, on your loneliness, on the fact that no one can help, no one is here to save you.

So leave. Get out of your bed, be with people. They can never hurt you the way it can; they can never do to you what it’s doing to you when you’re all alone drowning in your thoughts.

Be with people. Drink coffee with your mum and listen to her complain about your sister coming home late. Annoy your sister while she studies and talks to her about nonsense and listen to her complain about your mother complaining about her coming home late.

Or talk to her, if she understands, tell her how you’re feeling and what’s troubling you; it’s always best to let someone walk you through the problem, tell you that it’s not as big as you think it is. Let her tell you that it’ll be alright; let her give you solutions and reasons why you shouldn’t worry. Talk, acknowledge, feel the safety of the people around you.

Whatever you do, don’t stay in your place, don’t stay alone. Be with people, whoever they are. It can be the friends you love but didn’t have the energy to see, or the family gathering you were trying to avoid. Anything that makes you leave your bed. Anything but staying alone.

I don’t have great advice on anxiety, as I still can’t find my way out myself, but one thing I am more than sure of is that it is much more vicious when I’m alone. It feeds on my insecurities, and convinces me of the worst, and makes me believe that I should not leave my bed because leaving is unsafe, and that leaving would only make me feel weak and exposed. But it never is; being with people is always the better option, always better than staying alone. I promise.

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This time last year

This time last year, I was working at a shelter for kids from abused and traumatic backgrounds. This time last year, I was living through so much uncertainty that I cried in front of my supervisor. This time last year, I was still the happiest I could ever be.

But we’ll get to that later.

The kids at the Home, my kids, they are the most wonderful creatures in the world. They are God’s gift to the world, to me. There are no words I can use to describe how much I love them; I wouldn’t love my own children as much as I love them.

I was visiting today, and I saw one of the girls (we’ll call her Grapes) upset and angry. She wasn’t breaking anything or hitting other girls, the way she used to do whenever she was upset; she just stood near the door.

I sat next to her on the floor and asked her to sit next to me. After a few attempts, she sat next to me, and that’s when she started crying. She cried her eyes out, desperately pleading, desperately trying to ease the pain away.

Grapes did nothing wrong but be a child in a world so cruel. She has the eyes of an angel and the smile of a goddess, yet she was used and abused by her father in the most vicious way possible. She was left neglected, unattended, uncared for, for so many years inside and outside the Home. And she did nothing wrong but exist.

I’m not sure how many years she’s been living at the Home, but Grapes lives in a shelter all alone. She does not have many visitors, and she can’t get out and live outside the Home because she’s 12, and life outside is so scary for her with real monsters and terrifying family.

How awful is that? My heart breaks for her, for all of my beautiful kids stuck at the Home because all they did wrong is be children.

I’m not sure I’m ready to open up about the Home, my time there, my people, and the children who shaped the person I am today. I have endless stories, beautiful and sad ones, but I guess it’s still too heavy for me to reminisce, to share.

I guess I’m still trying to recover from all of it, from the fact that I left my kids, who I promised myself never to leave, like everything and everybody else in their lives. I guess I’m still not ready to talk about the life and soul that I was forced to leave behind.

But I’m here for you, my little Grapes, I always am. I may not always be able to hug you while you cry like today, but I’m always thinking of you, and I love you because you’re so lovable, and you deserve to be loved. God, you are so loved. I wish our kids can realize how loved they are by so many people who worked for them, including myself.

You are so loved. You so are.