Unfinished drafts compilation

Hi, hello, and welcome to the unfinished drafts compilation saga. By reading this, you will benefit nothing-except wasting time and possibly losing some competent brain cells. I, however, will achieve my long-lasting dream of having no pending drafts and start my 2022 free and with new mundane stressors to obsess over. 🙂

I am currently listening to party music, which might not relate very much to the tone of this post. For each post, I will-or might-introduce the background and context behind the writing; most of these posts are unfinished because of 1) lack of time and/or 2) writer’s block and/or 3) too mentally hard to continue.

Some are only titles because sometimes a phrase or word compels me so much that I decide to write a whole post about it-but due to lack of time (and energy), the post never sees the light. I might get back to them later. Anywhoooooo, without further ado, these are my unfinished posts for 2021(:

#1 – Take me to Naples

Date: January 15, 2021.
Background: I am in love with Italy, the ’60s, Sophia Loren, old movies.
Post:

Take me to Naples in the 1960s. Take me to Naples, where Sophia Loren danced to Americano in front of Clark Gable and where Neapolitans sold fish in the morning at the fish market and sang l’Italiano in bars in the afternoons.

Take me to Naples, where violence and unrest were allies, and people were too modest for the luxury life. Take me to a Naples of women dancing with torn dresses next to the Miseno with cheap jewelry around their necks. Take me to Naples, the city that was destroyed 100 times during world war and its people still belly danced their nights away.

#2 We don’t talk about Sophia Loren as much as we should

Date: January 18, 2021
Background: I still want to talk about Sophia Loren. She needs to be talked about. Soon, soon.

#3 I can’t think of you. I can’t even entertain your thought in my head.

Date: January 26, 2021

#4 21 days in solitary confinement

Date: January 30, 2021
Background: I wanted to write a diary of my days with COVID-19, but I got too discouraged.

Post:

I honestly do not know where to begin. As a journalist student, I thought of this post on the very third day of my isolation. It’s a habit we develop to see everything as a story and think of how it’ll look on paper.

It is solitary confinement, being punished for something we didn’t do, but it happens to the best of us, I guess, and for now, I’m glad it did, and I am so very glad it’s over. For a very people-orient person and someone who is out almost every waking hour of the day, being put in a four-wall room for 21 days cannot be easy.

The first few days were the hardest, of course. I felt chained by the throat, and it felt like the walls were closing in on me every second of every day. I think the hardest thing is that I did not choose to be here, I was forced to, and I hate someone else deciding what I should do; it makes me feel as if I don’t have control over my life.

#5 Teach me how to focus

Date: February 2, 2021
Background: working from home during lockdown,
Post:

Guys and gals, my attention span is so bad.

I was reading “Administrative Guidelines for Offices on the Novel Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic” shared by our head of office, and I suddenly found myself playing chess with a computer, so I was like; “Nour, you need to focus.” So I started searching for ways to increase my focus and attention, and then I remembered that I was reading the guideline, so I went to read it, and I found myself writing this. Then I suddenly stopped writing, and I was watching the music video of Hasta Siempre.

THE GUIDELINE NOUR THE GUIDELINE

Or I can be reading “all poems and speeches about Che Guevara.”

What do you usually do to get yourself to focus? Or finish tasks you really don’t want to do? I procrastinate and read poems on Che Guevara. Is there any other, healthier way?

#6 So the wind won’t blow it all away

Date: February 4, 2021

#7

Date: March 1, 2021
Background: I wanted to write about my dad, the two weeks of him being sick and the doctor saying he is going to die. But I couldn’t continue writing it, I still can’t (he didn’t die).
Post:

It’s raining. I’m listening to new nice songs, I just ate, and the three weeks of work madness is over. It feels right; I feel okay.

Two weeks ago today, I didn’t think I would ever live a happy day again; I thought I was going to lose my happiness

#8 The women victims of war: rape as a weapon of war and means of ethnic cleansing

Date: March 11, 2021

#9 Success & resolutions

Date: March 27, 2021
Background: this one’s too funny because I could not even finish the sentence and write the year.
Post:

It’s almost April, and I have yet to write down my resolutions for

#10 Golden

Date: May 10, 2021
Background: I had an epiphany, and I was obsessed with this song.
Post:

To be running in a meadow of green and beauty

#11

Date: September 24, 2021
Background: this would have been cute if I actually did finish it.
Post:

It’s Friday (!), and I’m in the office, and the people at the other end of the floor are listening to All You Need Is Love by The Beatles, which of course made me smile to myself and made me realize, it’s the end of the week.

This week? It has been well, the workload is insane, and I am still lagging so, so, much even though I’m coming an hour early and leaving hours after, and I just remembered that my work week only started on Wednesday- I had an incredible two days getaway on Monday and Tuesday.


Done, thank you, lovely ladies and gentlemen.

But it’s our home, Cecilia

This was written on September 2, 2021. My definition of home has drastically changed since then.

My Finnish colleague just returned to Lebanon after an extended stay in Finland; she was greatly affected by the Beirut blast, physically, and has been suffering from psychological trauma ever since to an extinct where working from the office was too much of a trigger for her.

Reflecting on coming back to Lebanon, she felt too concerned because even though she misses Beirut, we never notice how burdened we are by the city itself until we leave it, and it’s like, please don’t make me go back.

But then we come back, and we get attached again, almost too much that despite the pain and the extremely unnecessary stress, we don’t ever want to leave.

It’s a toxic relationship that could nearly kill us, yet we choose to stay.

This isn’t my case anymore. I used to be like this, so in love with the city and everything my land stands for. I loved every nook and cranny and defended Lebanon against all that criticism, and I was so full of hope and dreams, and I could see myself with a future. Right now, I am burnt out, exhausted, angry, and I just want to get out. I seize every opportunity to leave the city for a couple of days, and even though I stay in Lebanon, I make sure I am detached from all the daily corruption and starvation.

I know what I’m saying is terrible; I should not be so oblivious of the reality, I should not put myself first when people are starving, but honestly, I cannot anymore. The case right now is not that I can’t help all the people; I don’t even want to. I am frustrated with all the missing solidarity that we Lebanese don’t even know, yet we gash about it day and night. We don’t care for each other, not one single bit.

In times of literal starvation, people are stealing from the poor, exploiting shortages and outages, storing medication until it expires, murdering for the money, the rich are getting richer and are feeding off from the flesh of the poor, the warlords are drinking their expensive wine in the comfort of their penthouses, the corrupt people in charge are still in order, and people still support their leaders.

How can we survive something so broken? As if we’re holding on to shattered glass, our hands are all bloody, and it hurts like hell to hold on, but we are addicted, and just like heroin, it is impossible to sober up.

This country took away everything from me, it took away my safest people and havens, and I am holding so much grudge and bearing so much agony. If I were anywhere but here, they would still be around me, loving me, keeping the safe alive, they would still be here, and I would not be counting the seconds until they leave and take away every piece of happiness in me and leave me in an endless void.

Lebanon, I love you too much; I just wish you could find it in your heart to love me back.

Let me tell you about Younes

I think one of my saddest personal news that happened in 2020 was that Younes café closed down in Bliss. I felt like a little piece of me died as I read the paper saying they were “moving.” As if they could move a whole world and justify it. How could they?

You might have passed by Younes once or twice, and if you passed by the Bliss one, you are fortunate. It’s a little vintage coffee shop with wooden chairs and tables and wooden everything. It can get crowded during exams, but I was lucky enough to reserve myself the “terrace” spot for years.

Younes cafe was my favorite place on earth, the warmest. My waiter, Mohammad, used to call me “the ashtray girl” because I always asked for an ashtray. They didn’t have any ashtrays because they didn’t have a smoking zone, but for someone that uses tissues as much as I do, I needed an ashtray. So Mohammad started to get creative, getting me small plates and paper cups. On my birthday, he cut out a Younes cup and wrote “happy birthday manfada (ashtray).”

He was so welcoming and sweet. I started going less when my best friend traveled, and I promised Mohammad that if I ever came to Younes with anyone but my best friend, it would be with my crush. I broke my promise and came with others, and I would have to tell Mohammad that “no, this is not my crush; you can stop with the goofy smile and winking at me from behind the glass.” I never came to Younes with my crush, and just like my crush, Younes went away.

Nestled in a busy street near Bliss street, Younes is a vintage cafe with a wooden interior and beautiful atmosphere. I’ve had breakfast near the window on a rainy day, had my heart broken and drank my Ethiopian coffee to wash it all away, waited to see Ghassan Kanafani movie, and sought comfort after one of my very first anxiety attacks. A place like this is too hard to be forgotten and too hard to let go of.

They re-opened a few streets away, in an old yellow building, one of those famous old Beirut houses, they even took the chairs and tables and all, but it wasn’t the same. They don’t have honey mustard chicken ciabatta anymore, and the people are too modern and different, and I never saw Mohammad again.

I had so many photos of the interior, from the big dining/meeting table to the portraits to mirror selfies, but they are lost in between the endless photos and memories. I’ll leave you with a few photos that I saved from my social media accounts.

Hot chocolate with cream 🙂