Author: Nour Abdul Reda

BA in Journalism, MA in Communication Sciences. Writer, dreamer, peacemaker.
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Focus can be hard

I literally lost my ability to focus on work. I have hundreds of things to do, including super long and annoying tasks, and I have a headache, my stomach is empty, I am nauseous, and I am waiting for my food. And I cannot focus.

My lemony chicken with mashed potato is on its way, and I am super excited to eat it because I have decided to go healthy, and this is my third day of eating healthy. Also my stomach growling loudly as I sit with four other colleagues in a small office does not help my patience.

I was supposed to go out today, but I am too tired, and I just want to go to the gym and come back home and sleep. I’m sorry dear friend, but not today. Or maybe after I eat my chicken? Then perhaps I can decide if I would like to drive 30mins up the mountains for an hour or two of coffee with a friend.

The only reason I am writing this, other than my failure to get things done (and my general failure in life), is that I am so hooked up on the most peaceful song; it carries me somewhere, far, far away.

As the sad-eyed woman spoke we missed our chance
The final dying joke caught in our hands
And the rugged wheel is turning another round

Dorian – Agnes Obel

Agnes Obel on Dorian: “Dorian is about the inter-relational thing between two people, that you can’t put words on but you know is there. And when you reach the point of no return, and you are sort of swaying, or are suspended, into this weird space of nothingness, and you are still longing for all the good stuff that you had before. ‘Dorian’ is sort of my construction of that state of mind.

Nobody outside this bubble of these two people can see it, so it looks really pretty and great but then if you step into this ring, you see that it’s all sort of falling apart and rotting. I felt like Dorian was such a beautiful name and… for me, I like to make out my own meaning for a word, imply my own stories to words or names, so in the back of my mind, of course, I knew about Dorian Gray but it was not deliberate or about that character. I am sure it coloured it but it wasn’t about it.”

It’s been on repeat for a couple of days. And right now, as Agnes plays her piano and the violinist softly plays her instrument, I see myself somewhere up a hill in Georgia, neon green grass before my eyes and a valley too breathtaking to describe. I see myself, with a cup of tea, wind stroking me playfully and the cold making my eyes water, I see myself happy.

I am hoping to travel to Georgia beginning of January, but I’m still not sure if I would have enough savings to go. I prepared a list of places I want to go to and even an Airbnb list for houses to book. This song kind of gave all my planning a meaning, a feeling.

How can you even begin to understand music that makes you feel places? The tranquility and gullibility, yet the fast pace of the violin and cello, as if running down a mountain with arms stretched open. How awfully pretty.

It’s raining today, and I sped along the highway, and I felt what it’s like to drive into madness (I got yelled at by my driving teacher, obviously). It’s cold, and I am wearing my Sherlock trenchcoat and waiting for my chicken. It’s not so bad over here; it’s not so bad.

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Monday chronicles and I feel like a slug

monday

It’s a Monday again; I feel like I write so much about Mondays that I might create a category for it, and I know chronicles do not fit in this context, but I like the word, and I never know how to use it so since it’s my blog I am keeping it and expect no judgments.

Speaking of Monday and my blog, I just installed Monster Insight(!). It turns out Monster Insight offers AIOSEO. Despite always saying I am happy my blog does not have any of that websites SEO obligations, the little organizer in me is joyful. The downside of this is that now I will be focusing on having a good SEO score. I would change titles, introductions, and Metabase to stay on the green lane because if I do not obsess over idealism, then that is not how I roll.

It could be fun, no? Wasn’t Monica always talking about structured fun, and that worked out well for her?

Anyway, you won’t notice it much. It is all internal addition of words and maybe lengthening the title and one post taking me forever to publish because my page analysis has to turn green more than red. Or else my Monday would not be as frivolous as I want.

I’m blabbing, I know. It’s just that this is my first Monday working at home since forever because this is my first Monday since forever without a considerable workload. It’s not that I don’t have anything on my plate, but the tasks I need to start are humungous, and I decided I will be starting them tomorrow.

monday

I had my driving lesson this morning, and I treated myself to a Nescafe nestle from a street express. And now I am (finally) sorting out some blog stuff before getting deep into work shenanigans. Blog work makes me so happy because I feel like I am structuring my life and updating and changing and organizing, and it’s soothing, hence the good mood to write.

Leaving you with this for now. Talk soon, and I hope you’re well, safe, and happy!

Fyi, my AIOSEO score is 98/100(:

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Let us be the generation of equity & equality

Happy Thursday all, and happy International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women and the beginning of the #16DaysOfActivism Against Gender-Based Violence. Even though ending GBV is long overdue and still a long shot ahead, kudos to all the humans out there working to create safer spaces for girls, more accepting places for women, and a tiny bit more inclusive generation.

We often use #GenerationEquality at work, and it’s a phrase very dear to my heart because I very much believe it. I believe in an equal generation, and I believe in a generation achieving equality, and I believe in generation equality.

Now I can go into the historical details of Generation Equality and the agenda, but later, maybe. You can find all about it here. It’s more of a roadmap to achieving gender equality, a sustainable development goal, and it’s an inspiring frame of work that puts hope in the emerging generations.

From CEDAW to Beijing 1995, to the many significant conferences that helped in setting women’s rights on the map of development, those were all led by academics, scholars, and experts in gender studies and women’s rights. Icons who dedicated their lives to understanding behavioral change and society and the way to move forward with respect to communities. They have pinned down the steps needed to achieve, realistically, equality between women, men, and individuals identified as none.

However, and despite the inspiration they represent, they were all adults, and they were all intellects. This is definitely not a bad thing, and I definitely am not one to have any say in that, but just like law and order, intellects represent the base for any fundamental right, and it is the common people’s duty to execute. I believe that human rights, especially women’s rights, are more born with us than taught to us. Human rights are for all, and not only those who seek education. They are for the youths and the people living in this world and trying to make it a bit happier and safer.

I am talking about us, and particularly Gen Z, the generation that was born between 1997-2012, following millennials. This generation is often criticized to be raised by the social media and the internet, but, tbh, I rather have children raised by social media than a retrograde mentality of older generations.

As I was born in 1997, I cannot say I belong entirely to Gen Z, but I have walked on its surface and have witnessed it emerge, and I am beyond impressed. This generation is fascinating, and I am forever profoundly astonished by how developed, proud, empowered, and feminist it is.

It is mostly all about the trends, I know. However, the limitless online spaces have opened up opportunities for individuals who never had a chance to exist, let alone be accepted, within their communities. Twitter has made it okay for everyone to be who they are, with no filters, and has accepted them not despite their differences but because of their differences.

Tell me now, how else would have the LGBTQAI+ community find its voice in conservative communities if it were not for social media normalizing being you, exquisitely unfiltered, and accepting you solely for that? How else would we have heard of #BLM and supported it? How else would have western communities heard of the Palestinian struggle and marched against apartheid if it were not for the online sphere? How else would we have become comfortable with our body silhouettes, curves, birthmarks, flaws if it were not for posts and stories explaining that flawless beauty in magazines IS NOT real?

I have been working for the most prominent women’s rights organization globally for a year and a half, and I have colleagues who have worked in the feminist field for years, and I have seen Gen Z individuals use pronouns and inoffensive language more effortlessly and correctly than all of us. I have been learning so much from Gen Z youths; their acceptance/endorsement of another, their fight for women and trans individuals and equality, and I am in awe of how ‘woke‘ 16 years olds are, more than I or anyone ever was at that age (or any age).

I know it is not all sugarplum, I am not delusional. I know there is still so, so, much negativity and discrimination and bullying, especially among teens. I know social media has created [new] drastic problems and insecurities for teenagers, and God knows, it had created a few for me and still does, but it is not all bad either. I

t has given a haven for bullied persons to speak up, for lonely teens to find friends, for individuals with mental health disorders to find similar people and relate to them.

I have so many examples of what I am rambling about; I have all the evidence and proofs and stories to back up my argument. But this is already a very long post so I will stop here and continue in a part (2) later.

This is a feminist generation, we know it, we acknowledge it, and we feel it. This is a generation that refused any sort of sexist word, let alone any abuse. This is a generation that stood up against violence and called out the smallest abusive actions for what they really are: violence that needs to stop. This is generation equality, and I am so proud to be a part of it.

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It’s my fault

It’s my fault

forgive me,
It's me,
I do that to people
And then I complain when they leave me 


Forgive me for letting you
Take me for granted
I do that
I do that a lot


I let you feel like 
The most beautiful person on earth
The smartest
The funniest
The closest
I tell you how important you are
To me,
To the world
I build you strong
I give you everything 
I prioritize you over me
I put you up so high
And then I get upset when you
Start stepping on me

And then I turn around, 
Expecting you to be there
And you're not there
You're never there
And I wonder, whatever did I do wrong?
Did I love you too hard?
Or is it that you couldn't love me enough? 
Or maybe I just don't deserve the love I expect 
And I decide to leave
To leave you
And you lose that source that gave you love 
And you wonder
And you think I am the bad for leaving
But what can I do? What can I say? 
Can I tell you
Or would you even listen
If I asked you
Why didn't you love me enough?
Why were you not there?
Why didn't you try harder?

How can you tell someone
That they are supposed to care about you
Just like you care about them
How can you tell someone
That if I need them I expect them to be here
Now
And not
In February
When they have time to spare

Forgive me,
But you drained the love out of me
I am exhausted and I have no love
To give back
Forgive me,
But I cannot forgive you for what you did and are doing 
To me
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Everybody leaves

Everybody leaves. Maybe I’m a bit too hard to love, and maybe it takes a little more effort to stay with me, an effort you don’t want to make, and maybe I am not worthy at all to care and be cared for, and maybe this is why no one’s here when I need them, or even when I don’t. 

Maybe I’m just a little too ugly, a little too loud, a little too much, and there are so much more important things in your life you can’t really bother with someone as broken as I am, and I don’t blame you for that.

I would never blame you for leaving, because why would you not? I blame myself for staying without really looking twice if you’d really care if I stay or leave. I blame myself for making myself think that I could ever be worthy of this, of all of this. 

I blame myself, for caring too hard, for loving too much, for putting you first when you really didn’t care to put me second. I blame myself for giving you my all and when I wanted you to give me a little, you weren’t even here.

Maybe it is me, maybe I give so much that I make you independent  of me, maybe I encourage you to use me and only come to me when you’re bored. Maybe I have taken the role of the prostitute in your life; you come for a night of pleasure and throw me away the very next morning. Maybe it is me, I am too broken beyond repair and you didn’t want to put up with that. 

I know you love me, but not because you care about me, but because I care about you and you need that. This is why you are never here in my low points or high points,you only come for yourself and never for me. And it’s okay, I understand that, it’s just me who anticipates shit that isn’t there.

Thing is, I expect you to neglect me. I expect you to do less and care less despite what you think or feel. I expect  you to forget me, to leave me, I expect the worst of you because I expect so little of me and I will never believe you can actually care.

And the funny thing is, you didn’t really prove me wrong. You haven’t really proved to me you care, and you have mastered the skill of neglect, and you have endeavored the act of me chasing you that now it has become a confidence booster to you. 

Maybe I’m too awful to love. Maybe my skin’s a bit unclear and my double chin is a bit too obvious and my voice is fucking terrible to listen to. Maybe my lisp is too annoying and my hunchback is disgusting and my clothings are a bit too chabby. 

And this is why I will leave. Because you make me feel like the cheapest doll and I don’t want to reach the point where you break my plastic body and throw me in the garbage. I will leave because you make me feel all those things, you make me feel like a beast and, forgive me, but I no longer want to feel that way.

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Books I need to read and get

My friend always makes fun of me for hoarding books and reading so little, and as much as I would like to punch him in the face when he points this out, I also know it is painfully true.

It is not that I am one of those people who buy books just to look smart, I love love love love reading, but I just don’t have time most days. I often get to my bed late at night or after exhaustion has eaten my brain, and as I lay there with my book beside me, I can barely read the title. All the focus I had was long gone at the first sip of my Diel coffee this morning and editing Golda’s story and desperately trying to fill out an F10 form.

I honestly want to read, I really do, and I even read two books the last two months and started with another two that I am reading at the same time, which I don’t exactly like to do, and I really would like an extra hour or two to read more.

But instead, I usually go back home too tired to think that I attend up binge-watching Netflix.

Nope, no mister, not today. Today, I will be skipping the gym to read, and as I finish all my tasks in due time ( 🙂 ), I am leaving the office no later than 5:30 pm, and I will read. I promise myself, I will read.

However, I also REALLY want these three books, but I feel guilty to buy them as I bought five last month, which I still did not start with. So what I will be doing is I will finish two or three books by December, which will make it easier for me to buy more books because, hey, I am consuming(:

The books I want are:

The Blind Assasin by Margaret Atwood

A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen

Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur (poems)

The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler

Farewell My Lovely by Raymond Chandler

Oops. Looks like they’re five books. Lol. I know I’ll be getting two of them mid-December, but the rest, I would need to book hunt.

Let me update my calendar now and leave the office. It’s time to go home, folks.

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A letter to the lover of Frank Sinatra

(This has been written a while ago)

Frank Sinatra sings to his lover

He says she is his only way of life

The only way he knows

Did she listen? Did she cry?

Because my lover never listens,

He kisses the lips of another

And I die.

The autumn leaves fall down the streets

Soon to aloof the mighty tree

And as I reminisce your memories, I think of my defeats

I think of the ways you held me and the way you are holding she

The autumn is upon us

Just like the mighty tree, I stand unprepared

For the nostalgia I feel inside my guts

Thinking of all the music you sang and all the words left unheard

I think of you, you who has abandoned me

You who ripped my heart out of my body

Yet you refused to set me free

You who left me with eyes so soggy

And slow danced with somebody that isn’t me

You drank your bloody wine

Held her sweaty hands into the night

Walked our streets with her under a moon so divine

Took her to my place, my chair, my light, despite

Tell me something now

While drunk did you

Slur your words and my name allow

To escape your lips, now tell me how

You took her into your arms

Saw my face on hers

Held her closer to see

The agonized soul of mine

Looking into the dead eyes of thou

Do you think of me when you are with her

Drunk and desperate, sulking into her embrace

Do you reminisce on where you are now and where you were

Do you see her the way I do, an ebony crow with such disgrace

And when you sober up and remember it isn’t I,

Does your heart sink to your legs, do you lie

And from her you shy

Do you chug your coffee 

Light your cigarette, my memories deny 

I wonder if Frank Sinatra, writhed in pain

When he realized that lovers like mine and his

Cannot feel love

That all the words we rhyme go in vein

I wonder if he knows all that and still loves her

Just as much as I love you

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Teach me how to love

Teach me how to love you. Teach me how to love like an ordinary being, how to stand before you, weak in the knees, shivering hands, and throbbing heart, and tell you I love you.

Teach me how to be normal, wear brighter colors, drink less coffee, and not blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. Teach me how to think before I speak, how to make you feel wanted and pull you close to me.

Teach me how to focus when all I can think of is you. Teach me how to love like a human, to be affectionate, and to say the lovely and sweet words that you so deserve, teach me how to love you back the way you want me to.

Teach me not to use you for my pleasure, how to love you so selflessly that I love you for you, and that there is nothing I am getting in return.

Teach me to look at you with dreamy eyes and frivolous smile, how to come near you as if I approach the warmest thing on earth, how to feel scared of loving you yet still come close because you are here, at this moment, you are here, and there is nothing more important than loving you at this moment.

Teach me how not to be toxic. Teach me the real meaning of caring for someone and being healthy for them. Teach me that despite the whole world, that you beside me can conquer all, that I will come back on a late Thursday exhausted and sleepy, and I will have you next to me.

Teach me how to feel like a normal person, behave and speak and express feelings as a normal person does. Teach me how to live and be free, teach me how to be there for you, always. Teach me to tolerate you, to acknowledge that when you exist, it is not only me, but it is very much also you. Teach me how not to get bored of you.

Teach me to stay.

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Are you smelling pineapple and mango?

It’s my pineapple and mango candle.

Just showered, and my hot and long shower gave me a bit of energy I have not felt for the past four days. I just ate the remaining of my 3-day old Japanese cheesecake, brushed my teeth, hugged mum, and right now I lit my candle and I am smelling the sweet scents of mangos. 

It was draining, the past two weeks, and even though I’ve had beautiful days, I still haven’t recovered and this affected my anxiety, a lot. Yesterday my social anxiety was at its peak that it reminded me of a particular horrid night back in 2017 and right now I feel a bit discouraged. How come I am still going through stuff I went through in 2017, despite my surreal efforts of working on myself and being? Aren’t I supposed to be growing, moving forward, and not regressing?

Meh, I guess I’m a bit harder to fix. It’s exhausting. It’s not that I expect myself to be a monk within two years, but at least leave the past in the past. I cannot keep going through the same things and hide in the turtle shell I have built.

It’s Thursday. The idea of work tomorrow and the 2 weeks old unopened emails is making my brain hurt. I am looking forward to a slow weekend, where even if I didn’t go out, I would still have time to reflect and reminisce, I usually need this to keep the memories alive and the reasons to not die, eccentric?

Good night for now my loves, hope you had a fabulous second week of November. Also, any song recommendations? I kinda need one.  

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The predator

A poem to a predator

You who lurk into a girl’s soul and abuse it

How could you?

How could you lay a finger unwanted? A kiss undesired? A glimpse unallowed?

You who thought, so narcissistically, to feed your disgusting desire with the pain of a girl

How could you?

How could you hear her groan as you lay a finger in a place unwanted and think it is thirst?

How could you kiss her? How could you allow your chapped pale lips to smudge the holiness of hers?

How could you touch her skin and leave her body burning for eternity?

How could you consent yourself inside her, treat your lust as superior and her as a weakling,

How could you see the tear go down her face and still roll your eyes in pleasure?

No, she did not invite you in. She did not lead you on. She did not lure you to her.

She could be standing before you;

Naked from head to toe;

Swirling her feet;

Biting her lips;

Chewing her hair;

Pole dancing;

With a bottle of Absinthe;

Mouthing unholy slurs;

And if she says no to you,

You do not so much as look at her with crave.

Who are you, the unbeing of beings

To kill a child, a girl, a woman,

To watch a child, a girl, a woman,

Choke in fear

In depression

In tear

Because of a hand

An abnormally ugly hand

You used to ruin her

To ruin any effort of survival

To ruin any chance of a haven

No, it is not just a word,

A touch,

A finger,

A hand,

A kiss,

A sniff,

A look,

A one-time,

A one person,

A photograph,

No it is not just a thing,

It is throwing her off a plane

And expecting her to land on her feet and continue walking.

See, your nasty innuendos, you throwing her off a plane, will not kill her

She will land on the ground, with broken feet, a damaged memory

A disabled kidney

A mutilated skin

A chronic headache

A sob that refuses to cease

A pain that the demons cannot bear

She will live her life with all these diseases, illnesses,

Mental, physical, and social imbalance

Look at other people and wonder why

She was not lucky enough to live a normal life

To smile like the other girls

To play with no fear

To feel anything but desperate

And shame

And embarrassment

And blame

And dirty

Only because

You chose to lay a finger in a place you should not have.

How could you?

Inspired by a Norwegian play my wholesome friend and I watched until 3am, on my last night in Dubai