Category: Bits & pieces of everything

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Hello Hello :)

Hello Hello and bonjour. How are you? How are you feeling on this fine last Monday in November? I hope you are doing well, and learning how to heal from all that you went through the past few days, months, it can be a lot, and it is okay to give yourself a moment or two to reflect.

I am doing okay, just very hormonal and cramping, but other than that, it’s fine. I just found this wholesome song called Heartbroken by Hooverphonic. Hooverphonic is a Belgian band formed back in 1995. The song speaks about someone who is getting out of a controlling relationship and who, even though is expected to be heartbroken, she is not. She remembers all the fights and bad memories, and she insists that she is doing okay, and that she is not heartbroken.

I think this is probably the first song I have listened to that does not depict heartbreak but portrays what it’s like to be strong and empowered. There is nothing wrong with feeling weak, with letting yourself sulk in the pain of loss. But it doesn’t always have to be this way.

Idk; this song got to me.

It’s world cup season, and I, as assuming most people, absolutely love world cup season. I love the ambiance, the obsessiveness of people with the matches, spending time with my family watching the games, and spending time with friends.

I remember eight years ago, two world cups ago, I was walking back home from my friend’s house and I remember I could hear the echos of the commentators and the live game on the streets. Everyone was watching the game, nonchalantly, and excited. I remember it was that moment that I fell in love with the world cup season.

It’s cold again, and I’m wearing my new favorite boots. A lot of changes are coming, changes that I am not sure I am brave enough to face. Nonetheless, I need to pass them to be able to grow and reach the place I want.

It’s scary, but I think I am in a place where I am aware that with every rainbow, there needs to be a storm.

And a heavy storm is coming.

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One year ago now

One year ago

One year ago now I probably was drinking my second cup of coffee, at 9:37am, in our old dark office and listening to Dorian by Agnes Obel. One year later, I no longer drink coffee in the morning, and most days, I avoid coffee because it’s causing me acid reflux – you know, grownup shit.

I’m finding it so hard to concentrate because this weekend was a lot, and I’m still healing. I spent my morning searching for flight tickets to Bulgaria, and I found one for USD 176, and I was this close to booking the ticket before realizing that I would need to apply for a Schengen visa first, which of course, won’t be granted in two weeks. So I refrained, and I decided to search for more tickets early December and maybe think twice before booking the trip.

I’m listening to a song called Aman (‘safety’) by Bilal Shabib – it’s a song I discovered last year around the same time as now, and it’s basically a one-syllable song where he just repeats ‘Aman’ (safety) for two minutes. It has 9.1K views on YouTube. I tried making others listen to it, but it didn’t get much hype. But I love it.

I also found myself searching for home tattoos this morning. Something that maybe can guide me home, to the safety I am forever looking for. Something to remind me that it can exist somewhere, like my compass, and I found this:

It got tears to my eyes. How beautiful? The stems growing from concrete, steadying a perhaps unstable house. The crooked house, leaning to the left, with a badly drawn window in the middle of the brick roof. I’ll make this feel like home. I’ll create my own safety. I’ll try to love this body I’m in, and I will try to act as if It’s my home.

Do you think getting a third tattoo in three months is too much?

I don’t.

I’m going now, as I have 14 big tasks to finish today, and I’m not planning on staying over hours because I want to see my aunt. My aunt just got back from Canada to a house without my grandma. My grandma was living with her for the past three years, and my aunt hasn’t seen her children, who are in Canada since. She decided to go to Canada in early July to see them, and two weeks later, my grandma passed away. I hope coming back wasn’t so hard. She doesn’t deserve that.

Goodbye for now. I hope you’re safe.

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One sample post

One look you gave me

And I understood

It was clear

Very clear

That hand of yours

Is no longer for me

It was obvious

From the look you gave me

That I am done, I am free

I shall no longer think of you

Whenever I think of me

And you think that this is what I want

That is what will let me be

Unaware that there is no sunshine anymore

That I no longer feel happy

That the cold hand of yours

Did not feel like mine anymore

That cold heart of yours

Were as cold as the Baltic shores

Were as cold as the first drop of rain

On a day in May

The inflicting pain

Writhing in me every day

I looked at you

Straight in the eyes

Crying

Begging that I be anywhere

And everywhere

But any place

Not here

Sitting in front of you as you wait for me to speak

The unforgivable sin

The momently bleak

It was dark, and not just the way you made me weak

The room was dark, the lights were off

I could see you vaguely from all the tears

And the ugly sun from the balcony

Flashing your eyes so unashamed

Looking at me as though I am naked and hideous

As though I am the most disgusting being you see

As though whatever you see, you wish to unsee

As though if it were me and you sitting next to a sea

You rather throw me to the sea

Than take another look

At me

So I spoke the words you wanted to hear

And I waited, heart dropped to my legs

I waited in fear

Knees weak

Storms wreaked havoc

Vision bleak

And I thought, surely, you would not leave me

But you did.

You sat right in front of me

Skin dripping torrential poison

You sat one inch away

Held me to your chest

Took me sincerely

Spoke so delicately

Whispered to my ears

All the words I did not want to hear

You held me, but I could feel like you were no longer here

That I am hanging on a dead body

A body that no longer breathes for me

The warmth I was addicted to

The safety I preached

Was packed in a suitcase at the other end of the room

Waiting for a deserving person

To unpack

And I lied there, clenching my chest

Praying that you stay

That all the words you said

To please, unsay

I sobbed to the corpse I killed

Begging for forgiveness

Begging that whatever happened

Could not happen

Begging that the sun did not shine that day,

That we are still stuck on the first rain in May

That I no longer loved you

That the pain in me,

Would someday free me?

That you are happy, without me,

That you hold her hand and you feel complete

In a way, you never felt

When you were with me.

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I’m listening to a song

I’m listening to a song right now that I have listened to for the past six years. I’ve always felt it, one way or another, but tonight, I felt as though it literally just happened. Would you like to hear the story of the song? I will tell it anyway.

“I came to you in the morning. I ironed your shirts, and I made you breakfast. I played you the ukelele till you slept. I sang to you.

I put you on my shoulders, and I brushed your hair because you told me to do so. I then brushed my hair, and now my hair smells like yours. Then I took you home and waited until you turned your bedroom lights on, and then I left.

This is not a normal feeling I am used to. It’s getting fast and more serious, and I never asked for it. I never asked for your smell to be stuck in my head hours after you leave, hours after I stop smelling anything at all.

You need to make this better for me and you. Could you possibly disappear, go away? Even though it is not your fault but I’m scared to get used to you. I hear you like my voice and that we may become closer friends, but my friends would push my car down the road even if it’s a 2 passed million after midnight. Do you want to do this?

It’s getting louder. I can see you in a crowd, I can hear your voice very clearly. I should’ve turned my back on you when I met you; I should’ve not done this, I didn’t know I would love you.

I’m scared of commitment.

I’m scared of commitment.

I’m scared of commitment.

I’m scared of commitment.”

This is a bit of what I understood of the song. A bit of what I am listening to right now.

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Be still my aching heart

Be still my aching heart as the weekend is over. My heart is very heavy. My muscles are tired, and I can feel the fog blinding my eyesight. It’s a haze, it’s pain, it’s agony, it’s the bleak that we fear. It is unholy to feel this pain, it is not fair.

Yet we feel it. And this feeling is not that common. We do not feel our heart often, we often do not feel it hurting us unless we actually have a cardiac disease maybe, like when you can feel your hurt stopping to the tip of your finger. Or when you are heartbroken.

Have you ever felt this feeling before? To have your heart hurt so much that you clench your chest because you know that there is nothing that you can do at that moment, at that very second, that will make the pain go away.

That no matter how much you scream, or how much every tiny cell in your body cries for help, no matter how much you sweat, how much you cry, how much you feel like you are being stabbed with a sharp and poisonous knife to your chest thirty times a second, you know that it will not go away.

That feeling, that feeling, that feeling you may feel when you go out of your house wearing shorts, unaware that it will rain, that it’s piercing cold. And you’re cold, and there is nothing that you can possibly do to feel warm. You just got out of the warm house, what you once called home, and you know that you are not welcomed back again.

That feeling when, you’re sitting on a hill watching the sunset, a time that you usually feel most at peace with, but you’re not happy, you; ‘re scared. Because you’ve been thrown out, you’re exposed, you’re no longer in safety, you’re out, cold, naked, ugly, and in pain.

Do you know what I’m talking about? Or all of this is just blabbering, the two cents of the dramatic girl that is me? Can you possibly imagine for one second that all of those are actually emotions felt?

Felt for someone that is so deserving, someone that takes my breath away with a smile, a lip bite, an eyebrow plucker. Someone that meant the world to me, yet slipped right through my hand, because I could not protect from my own self.

I will write about him. I will give him justice. Just not today, not when I’m this beaten down and fatigued. When I have the strength to describe him.

When I am brave enough to let you know. To let you know.

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I hate flying

I hate flying a lot. I love seeing the world, but airplanes and airports? Oh God, they are a nightmare. I mean, I would prefer long layovers over long hours on an airplane, but still, the whole flying thing is so not my thing.

Airplanes make me feel so claustrophobic, and dizzy and sick and just so boring. I am so thankful that I only have one and a half hours on my next flight to Beirut, but right now I am at Sabiha airport in Istanbul, three hours in on my layover, and three hours to go until I fly. And I am just so bored.

I mean, granted, I could have booked a business lounge and sat on much more comfortable chairs, but I would have been so anxious that I might miss my flight that I would have probably left the lounge like three hours earlier, which basically would’ve brought me to where I am right now, on a crusty chair near some gate – as I still don’t know which gate my airplane will be in – with my butt hurting as I stretch my legs over my handbag.

I am not in my best mood, even though I am well fed(:, and I am sleepy, and I just want this three and half hours over sooner.

The only thing that is really getting me through this is watching Sex Education. I started watching it on my flight to Tbilisi, and right now I am on the last two episodes, which I find perfect because then I will not have to continue watching it at home and it will always be part of this mystical trip.

A lot of my colleagues recommended Sex Education. When I first started watching it, I was like wtf. This is a series about horny teens’ obsession with sex and unfortunate bullied victims who really do not have a chance. But as I made my way through the series, I realized that it is more than that, and I understood what my colleagues meant by homey.

It is a wonderful series that break the taboos about sex and address the topic as it is, unfiltered: humans are sexual beings and there is nothing wrong with pleasure, desires, and identities.

It teaches the audience that diversity is not only important but should be celebrated. That we should all be entitled to explore ourselves and our bodies and live through experiences to grow and learn. Our bodies, who we are identified as, and who we choose to love, are never wrong.

I still have two episodes left, and even though I consider myself progressive and a know-it-all, I learned a lot watching the series, about my body, and other people’s sexualities and identities.

I think the one thing I knew before, but the series has engraved it more in my mind, is that no one, no one, should feel the pressure to explain why they are the way they are. People are different, and it is absolutely beautiful.

No matter the color, ethnicity, gender identity, sexual orientation, religion, belief, creativity, etc. it is to be praised and encouraged. Plus, I really wish Maeve and Otis end up together.

But I won’t spoil it for you.

I’m going back to watching the last two episodes, in hopes it get me through most of this painful waiting. The two episodes are two hours, so it will be 10:30pm by the time I finish them, which is only 20 mins away from boarding. So it should be fine.

The other option I have, except for reading (which I do not feel like I have the concentration cells to do), is to work on what is called a Daily Saving Allowance (DSA) package for work; each package needs to have 12 documents, and each document needs to be reviewed. And nope, no, sir. I know that I have been on leave for a week, but it’s still a Sunday night, and my leave ends on Tuesday. The last time I tried working on these packages was on my last layover and even though I spent two hours trying to sort the documents out, it felt like an endless maze.

Nope, thank you.

Back to Sex Education for now. I hope it’s a good ending, and I hope there is a fourth season soon.

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It’s November

It's November

It’s November folks, and I just noticed that the last time I wrote here was August, which means that the last time I had a free moment to reflect was August. Wtf?

It wasn’t the last time I wrote, as I have four drafts that I will be sharing in a bit, but I thought first to write my usual interludes. I won’t give you reasons this time; I will not give you excuses. I am learning to stop feeling guilty over things I cannot control and stop overthinking and assuming that people will be upset. Because let’s face it, who the fuck really cares if I write here or if I don’t, except me?

I’ve grown a lot since August, and I tell you, a lot has happened. I traveled to Georgia and Armenia as a holiday, and I went to Egypt on a work mission, and I just celebrated my 25th birthday yesterday.

I have a lot to tell you. I have a lot to tell you about me, about things that are changing in me, about the storms and the rain and the voices that are actually easing up, about the taste(s) of freedom and certainty I got to experience, about my grandma who keeps haunting me, about him. I have a lot to tell you, changes that I cannot believe I passed through, people that I have let in, and people that I have let out. About space, about culture, about my switched thinking of how we should be, of how I should be. Can you believe that I’m actually drinking diet iced tea?

Fyi, for those who don’t know me, I do not drink iced tea, never. I’m drinking iced tea now as I write this, and it is not the first time I have drank iced tea in the past weeks. I am telling you this to measure the scale of change I have passed through.

Oh, and I got two tattoos. hehe. One of them is the compass that I briefly mentioned at the beginning of this blog. I want to talk about my tattoos, and show you them, but in a separate post.

For now, it’s November 2, 2022; I am 25 and a day, I am drinking diet peach-flavored iced tea at the office, and I am listening to She Passed Away Alone At Sea by Owsey, on repeat. I have an insane workload, but I finished most of the priorities and thought to myself, you deserve a break. I’m meeting my university friends after work, and it’s raining heavily, and my car is parked 5mins walking distance from the office, so that will be fun. I can see a rainbow just behind the mountains, and the music is consuming me.

It’s been a nice birthday week, even though yesterday I cried a lot. I had a beautiful birthday pool party on Sunday, organized by a wholesome being, and I had a lovely family dinner yesterday, and my sisters made the cookies I like, and today my colleagues at work surprised me with a birthday cake. My university friends will also probably celebrate my birthday today, and I am grateful.

It’s not all rainbows and unicorns, for sure. My heart is aching for a certain somebody in my life that I care about more than anything, but I am trying to let them deal with their problems without letting it affect me as much as it is right now, because, that’s how it should be. I’m trying.

Action points from my end:

  • Write a Georgia/Armenia overview
  • Write a Cairo overview
  • Write about my grandma
  • Write about him
  • Write about my tattoos
  • Keep on writing
  • Plan my Syria trip in two weeks

Also, it’s Christmas soon. yey.

How about you? You okay? Any exciting/nonexciting things to share with me? I would love to listen.

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Siri, play Summertime Sadness

Summertime sadness by Lana Del Rey is playing on my headphones as I write this.

I have been thinking,

And for all of you who would probably say

“Do you usually not think?”

No, I do. Think.

But lately, I have been thinking

About safety in cold nights

Safety in the sadness

In the taste of a bad coffee

In the grumpiness of an early morning

In the hotness of a summer day

In the rudeness of an arrogant man

I am thinking of the little moments we live

In the most awful memories

That keeps us alive

The touch of a loved one

The slow dance in a closed room

The sunset on a sea view terrace

The hammock nap on a hike

A midnight swim

The city skyline

Driving on empty streets

Loud music in the car

First drop of rain

Harry Potter movies

My mother’s famous rice

My father’s nonchalant jokes

My sisters

A good night sleep

A good book

A funny Netflix series

A walk in a forestry lane

A good song on repeat

The face of a lover

A laugh

A goodbye

A hug

A kiss

The small moments

That do not fade

Even in the darkest day

It blooms, thrives, thirsts off the melancholy

We choose to oversee it

As usually, the pain is too loud

But once we actually notice

Focus on the simplicity

It makes everything bearable

Hell, it becomes addicting

Craving for safety in the abyss

Lusting for the hope found in dirty niches

I live for these

Moments

For the serendipity in a heinous setting

I live to feel

I live for safety

I live to feel the safety

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It’s July again, and I miss you

It’s July again, and I think out of the many people that broke my soul by leaving the past year, you’re the person I miss the most. You were my summer, the reasons behind my laughs, my nonchalant behaviors, my confidence, a big part of my happiness. You made it easier, all of it, you made it easier to live summer, a season I am bound to feel depressed in; you made it easier to be free.

It wasn’t much, but it was a lot. You called me most of the mornings to ask about my day, my plans, if I would like to meet up. We texted the whole day, made plans for every day and every weekend. We listened to the same songs, read mutual interesting books, you introduced me to documentaries I never thought of watching, to stories I never thought would compel me.

I spent most of my evenings with you, at our place, eating french fries, tabbouleh, and cappuccino.

I know you’ve been there multiple times after, but I haven’t stepped a foot there since September, the day I came in crying, and you laughed at me and we started acting as if you are the one who was making me cry, and then you took me to your place by the sea and you listened to me tell you about my problems, and you told me about yours. You told me things you would never tell to anyone, and I did the same thing, and I did not expect to stay friends with you because what I told you was so personal, but I loved you still, we remained as close.

I remember you now, with piercing memories and heart wrenching nostalgia, because you lived with me every second of every day last summer, my personal and my professional life, you were part of both, and I never imagined I would lose you so quickly. 

See, I fought so hard the feeling of breaking down and missing you, because I knew that letting myself feel your loss would take a huge toll on me, so I kind of bottled it up, I avoided the feeling, did not mention you much with my therapist, did not look back at our photos, our conversations, did not make the extra effort to keep you alive, as I promised.

But now, almost a year since I lost you, I know your loss was not easy, and never will be. It was safe and right, and I was not as old as I feel right now.

I think a major part of me being as tired now is that I was never strong enough to deal with you leaving, and I am reacting differently. You were never a lover, you were a friend. And maybe that’s all I ever really needed. I wrote about you, many times, in this blog, I wrote what I never could write about anyone else, and I remained insistent, that your loss will not affect me as much. But it did.

I’m so cold, and I am so tired. I am so exhausted I can not even explain it. My face is tired, older than it should, even my outfits have been too professional and old, almost as cooperate as I have never been. I’m making all the wrong decisions and repeating bad habits that are only crushing my soul and breaking my bones and making me more tired, if possible. I’m not saying last year was perfect, but it was simpler, never as complicated as it is right now.

And I know it would’ve been simpler if you were still here. You gave me meaning, gave me love, gave me genuine joy. Right now, as I look back at your photos on Instagram, I am yearning to places and a time I wish I could have lived with you, I am yearning to times you made it all better, you made the pain ease, the voices quieter, you made it feel like home.

I’m listening to Adonis, and i think their lyrics fit perfectly what I am feeling right now:

“I don’t wish you anything but peace, my love

and that you live in serenity, no one upsets you

you realise all your dreams

and I want you to know, my heart

that you’ve become a piece of my heart

and that whenever I’m happy

I know that you’re happy, too”

Ps. this was written on July 13, 2022, few minutes before my grandma did.

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Freak by Surf Curse, give it a listen

I’m listening to Freak by Surf Curse, and maybe because I see myself as a freak, or maybe because I love this 80s guitar beat,  but I’m feeling this moment, and this song, and I want to share it with you.

I’m feeling like drinking coffee, because my mind associates peace and writing with black coffee, but it’s 11:02pm on a Sunday, and I just had shawarma, and I don’t think coffee right now would be the wisest choice.

But then again, when did I ever choose to be wise?

I’m still not making coffee. 

And not because I’m being wise, but because I’m too lazy to get out of bed. See, I would never disappoint you in thinking I am something I’m not. I’ll always be this way, unwise and sweet, obsessive and annoying, uncertain and insecure. Yet, you’re here, reading the insanity of my brain, thinking: “why the hell am I here?” Or maybe just trying to understand me, but you won’t, and not because I’m so mysterious, but because I don’t understand me either, so all the questions in your head, are also in my head, and I don’t really know how to answer them.

Last time I was writing, I logged into my blog to post what I wrote, and I heard my mum gasp loudly to the news of my grandma dying. I haven’t posted what I wrote yet, maybe I will after posting this. And I will eventually write about my grandma, because I need her alive here, at least, because she deserves to stay alive in every memory. But not now. Not tonight.

I wanted to write about something different. I wanted to talk about the serenity I lived today, around 2:54am.

The way my skin felt soft on my bedsheets, the 1913 song I had on repeat for an hour, the ancient sound in the buzz of the moments, the way I felt, like I could die that minute and it would be the most serene death anyone could wish for. I was ready for anything, my mind for once not anxious, my sadness toned down, my heart throbbing in normal paces, my obsessiveness set loose, my eyes open and close weightlessly, my lips smiling on their own, feeling so warm and cold at the same time, appreciating beauty, allure, as it really is. 

I was ready. And this serenity possessed my Sunday. I chose to stay in bed all day; I slept then ate, then slept some more. Then I said hi to a friend for 5 minutes in his car, then went up to my bed again, and slept some more, then woke up and ordered coffee, and sulked in my bed. And throughout, I did not feel any responsibility, nothing of the brunt I carry, I felt weightless. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever felt it? Feeling weightless, like a balloon, like if you close yours eyes for just a few seconds you might as well fly? 

I smiled at myself, for no reason at all, a couple of times. I listened to music and I let it consume me. I did not stress, panic, despair. I was okay. 

I’ll try to sleep now, even though I doubt I will, due to the uncountable naps of today, but I need to sleep so I have a less cranky Monday mornings than usual, and you all know my Mondays. I will continue watching this episode of Brooklyn 99-season 8 is on Netflix now!-and then attempt to sleep. 

Bonne nuit les petits. Talk soon x