Month: February 2021

Posted on

hey

i know you’re not okay now, and i know we’re going through very difficult time, and i know what i am going through is maybe a very small percentage of your pain, but i’m here for you, there’s nothing that i won’t do to see you well again.

i know you’re scared, even though you don’t show it. i know all of this is scaring you, and even creating anxiety. the doctor told us that a certain thing in your tests were high wich is most likely due to you being scared, why don’t you tell me that you’re scared?

i saw that look in your eyes on monday, i know that anxious look, i saw how you reacted at 1am in that ugly sad emergency room, as if the wall was closing in on you; you were panicking and i could see it. and i am so lucky to have been there with you, i am so lucky to have you in my life.

this will pass, i promise. it won’t be the end, i need you to promise me it won’t be the end. i need you to pull through, i need you to fight harder, because i cannot bear the idea of losing you. i’m so weak, and i can’t do it on my own. there’s still so much i want to learn from you, so much i want to hear, there’s so much i still want of you and i am too weak to lose you.

stay here, don’t leave me. stay here for a couple of decades more, stay here next to me as if there is nothing better to do than hold my hands and offer me oranges. stay here because everything i do and everything i’ve done is revolved around you and if i lose you the earth will stop spinning around me.

i promise i’ll behave. i’ll be good. i’ll listen to everything you want to tell me, even all the things i don’t like to hear. i’ll try to eat healthier, i’ll reduce my caffeine consumption. i promise i’ll stop doing all the things you don’t like.

i promise to stop wearing your sweaters, or at least put them back in your closet when i’m done. i offered you one of my sweaters, which would look great on you, but you wouldn’t take it. so really, it’s not my fault that you didn’t accept kind favors.

what do you want from me? please let me know. tell me how i can help ease the pain, tell me what i can do to take all your sickness away. i swear i’ll do it, i’ll do everything to stop the sadness in your eyes and the fatigue in your bones. i’ll do whatever to crush the thing that is crushing you.

i look at people who have lost a family members and years later are smiling and doing well. how do they do it? how can the sun shine in the morning? i don’t know how people do it, but i can’t. i’m not strong, i’m very weak.

i promise to be better. i promise to be everything you ever want me to be. i promise. but please, please, please, come back to me. please feel better. please defeat this and come back to me healthy and so almighty.

i love you, please stay with me now and for infinity. please

Posted on

I hope to lose myself for good

sometimes ignorance

rings true

but hope is not in

what I know

it’s not in me..me

it’s in You, it’s in You

You by Switchfoot

When did we become so grownup? So old and responsible?

When did we become so grown up that we started being responsible for our own life, and the lives of others? When did we start taking care of my parents, when all we ever knew was them taking care of us?

How did we grow so old in a heartbeat, making our own money and shopping for groceries for the house? When did we come so old that we are paying for vegetables and shampoo with our own money?

We grew up, even though we didn’t want to, even though we were not ready. We grew up, and nobody asked us if we’d like to take all these responsibilities or remain safe in our beds on a Sunday morning, not thinking of what to cook for our dependents, not getting worked up for laundry day.

I’m not saying it was easy, or fun, or happy, but it was just not as hard. Our problems were a “me” problem, and not the whole world carried on our shoulders. Or it just me? I never know.

I’m listening to You by Switchfoot, and it’s one of my ‘nostalgia’ songs. I was 15, and I just broke my leg on a snow day the first day of 2013, and I watched A Walk To Remember. I thought that the movie is good, but not one of my personal best, but I got You by Switchfoot from it, and You was on repeat for a year. When I wanted to sleep, I would listen to it as a lullaby.

I downloaded my Twitter archives a week ago, and I’ve been looking at all those pictures, all those memories I’ve forgotten, and the rush of nostalgia has made my heart so, so, heavy. I searched the whole house for one of the shirts that were my favorites when I was 16, and I’ve been wearing it for a few days. As if wearing it would make all the responsibilities go away.

Anyway, here are some memories that might not make much sense to you, but I hope you can feel them.

Beqaa at 5am.
The first rainy day on the last school year
This was more of a bi-weekly outing with people who were the closest to me. I cannot believe I was underweight at that time, because sometimes we would add to that mix waffles. We were a group of eight, and we would spend most of our nights at our friend’s house. Now, the only people who are still in my life are two of them. (thank you for all the memories)
Bkassine walk. It was a warm day in September and it was so peaceful.
I was all alone that night, talking to my back-then favorite person and feeling so loved.
Saturday mornings
I don’t think I appreciated this beauty enough back then.
My favorite days were when I would write my story on our village balcony. Songs I was probably listening to: shesmovedon by Porcupine Tree and Polyamorous by Breaking Benjamin
My teta was probably sitting next to me, offering me grapes.
It wasn’t a beach day without our turkey and cheese sandwiches.
This day was hard on me. My anxiety levels were so high that I had to get out of the car and walk home from school. When I got home I skyped my back-then favorite person, and all my anxiety went away.
Yes, I played the Kim Kardashian game. Here is me with Kim.
When I was 16, I had taphophile; a major interest in graves and cemeteries. I would spend quite some time searching photos like the above, and I would visit my grandpa’s grave on a weekly basis. (I was never that sane).
I was too afraid to wash my hands. Too afraid it would fade away.
That week was the very first week I practically lived independently. My best friend’s family was out of the town so we had the house to ourselves.
Reading the Fault In Our Stars, and crying for three days after. (also: that was my favorite Christmas holiday)
I think we can all relate to the serenity of this. We all had our moments at the “waterfront”.
This was the only spot in our village house that we had wifi in. I remember that night, vaguely.
Why did I ever have those gloves and why don’t think still exit?
This weekend is still one of my favorite weekends.

I know I’m making no sense, but all those were perfect moments to me. Oh what I would do to live in a moment.

Posted on

I want to live again

Just give me
Your wild young heart
Let me borrow it 
Just for a while


Let me be a teenager again
Experience what's like to be careless and free
Free of commitments 
Of responsibilities 
Of the person I don't want to be 


Give me a one night on a cliff
Holding sparklers and running around
Dancing to the loud music
Feeling the breeze
Feeling what's like to live in a moment


Leave me someplace I was never in
With a memory I never lived
With an experience I never wanted 
With a person I never met
Give me the chance to live again


Let me borrow your love of life
Your teenage blues
Your sunset cruises
Your red lipstick and your waterproof mascara
Your happy eyes and genuine smile
Give me back the feeling that everything is okay
Because we are living now
And tomorrow will never be


Give me your young serenity 
The long days at the beach
The long hours of swimming in cold pools
The long hours of tanning on a lava sand
The sunburnt skin and the red slippers
Give me back a day where it was okay
To live


Take me back to a time 
We drank colored frappe 
And avoided grown up black coffee
We ate greasy burgers
And laughed at people who order salads 


Take me back to the first text
The first smile
The first touch
The first hug
The first warmth
The first time we felt alive


Give me your young life
Just for a day
Let me breathe again
Let me feel like I exist solely 
To dance
To sing
To laugh
To love
To live
Posted on

Beirut, God, Beirut.

It’s been six month. My God, it’s been six months and not one single step closer to justice.

Have you seen the photos of the mothers? The mothers carrying the photos of their sons and daughters, who have been killed ruthlessly by the behemoth hands of beasts?

How can they sleep at night? Knowing these mothers cannot breathe? How can they go on with their lives when a mother desperately gives in to the fact that her child has died for no reason, and still no one wants to explain to her why. 

Could you go on, explain to her? Explain to her why the sun does not shine anymore and why she now throws away the remaining of her pot of stew. Forgive her; she is still not used to making lesser portions; she still makes some extra for her son, who they murdered.

She makes his bed every morning even though it remains untouched at night. Forgive her; she refuses to believe that no one sleeps on this bed anymore. She refuses to believe that her child is no longer her child but is a child of the Earth, his ashes still buried under the rubbles on a hot August day.

What do you tell her when she walks towards the silos for the first time in six months and searches for her son? She knows, she’s not crazy, she knows he is not there, she knows he is long dead, and he cannot even hear her wails, but what do you tell her when she impulsively walks searching for her son, to tug him back to sleep at night?

I read on the Legal Agenda that a little boy is planning on making a ladder so tall that it reaches the sky, so he can visit his father up in heaven whenever he wants. What do you tell this boy? How can you tell him that that wherever his dad is, he will not be able to reach him?

You’d think it gets easier with time. If It’s not easier on us, the privileged ones who got away with only seeing their beloved city on the grounds, how will it ever get easier on the victims’ families?

And the murderers still sleep in gold-plated king-sized beds and breathe the same air we breathe. How can they sleep? How can they breathe the same air as the families of victims and still sleep?