Category: Bits & pieces of everything

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Back to the homes

Ola amigos, Como Estas? I’ve missed you.

I am currently writing on my flight back to Beirut from Dubai, after nine days of getting out, escaping, exploring what it is like to be in a place where all fundamental rights are given abruptly, where menstrual pads are offered in bathrooms and where my male friend can go out wearing black nail polish and be admired for it.

It is not that I like Dubai more or that I am praising it despite the transparent fragility of artificialities and faux pas; it’s just that we all deserve an equal chance to live with less stress and more social freedom. It is okay to be discrete and diverse and have people not know your name or where you come from. It is nice to be free.

I love how vibrant and social Beirut is; I do. You know how much I am very much in love with Beirut, you all know that, but Beirut refuses to give us an open window to breathe, to get out of its people and colors and insanely social occasions and obligations and the must trys and the frowned upons. It is indeed an exotic city and, at the same time, so conservative, and its existential crisis is driving my own existential crises down the abyss.

It was my birthday last Monday, November 1st, and it rained in Beirut, like every year-I like to call this God’s birthday gift, and I wasn’t there to celebrate my rain. I was soaking under the desert sun, buying Afghan bread, and observing cultures lurk through the bustling streets. It was hot, but instead of my usual agitation and sun loathe, I did not mind a little sweat in return for mere coexistence.

I want to tell you all about it, and I have a feeling I won’t because I don’t know why I always avoid writing about significant things that happen – maybe because I feel too much and I always avoid writing about the big things because they require a lot of energy and I am a sulker at best and a sloth at worst. (:

I might not tell you about the whole trip here, but you can ask me whenever and we can talk about it over coffee. What I will for sure be telling you about is the incredibly aching play I watched on my last night because I cannot stop thinking about it – so alluring and painful that I have been thinking about the play all day.

For now, I am listening to Amy Winehouse and thinking a lot about her these few days for different reasons, and I skipped the airplane meal because it is so inedible yet devoured on the coffee – who knew airplane coffee could be this good? I just finished the fourth episode of the second season of You, and I am thinking a lot about all the victims of sexual harassment who watch their lives burn before their eyes from a touch unwanted.

It is unfair, unjust, and crucial that most women experience, one way or another, sexual harassment. I have no words and will never fathom why a person would ever think he has the right to abuse another.

My airplane is starting to land, adios mis amores for now.

<3  

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My blog turns one today🎂

Dear lovelies, the awesome readers of my blog,

My baby’s one today. Happy birthday, nourslittleuniverse; I am over my head with thoughts and impressions, and I am so proud of you.

Being the uptight structured moi, I am overflowed with so many things to write and so many bits and pieces to share, and whenever I feel like writing too much, I freeze, and I would get writer’s block because lol. The life of nonsense is me, and I am it.

As per the aforementioned – ;), I have categorized my thoughts into the following points, and I’m hoping I make some sense because when I’m excited, I lose words, and I just end up smiling like a creep, and since you can’t see me smile you’ll probably think I am a mess-which I am, but I wouldn’t want you to think that.

Embrace yourself; this will be a long post.

Anyway, the points are:

Songs you can listen to while reading this🎵
General overview: a- Typos b- Content✍️
Feedback📝
FAQ❓
Photos – cover photos🖼️
Today🎋
Plans & future🩰
Round of applause👏

Songs you can listen to while reading this🎵

I am currently listening to two songs:

Eid Miladek – A5rass: I discovered this song in March 2021. The song is so simple yet so alluring. The theme revolves around a girl he loves, who is currently in a relationship with another person, but he still wants to be part of her life; he makes her laugh when her partner upsets her, and he cries so many times while her hand is in the hands of another.

He tells her that he will hide her from everyone’s eyes, and he will protect her from them, and on her birthday, he will sing her all the songs that have been sung until this day, and he will still not do her just.

I cannot even?

Malibu – Miley Cyrus: I heard this song first during the summer of 2017, and every time I listen to it, I close my eyes, and I see myself sitting on a shore on the last days of summer, looking at a sunset and feeling a slight chill because autumn is near. This song reminds me of healing, reminds me that after summer, there is always winter, and winter is always happy.

Please note that I don’t have a music identity and that I listen to Miley Cyrus, System Of A Down, Pink Floyd, The Smiths, Abdulhalim, Alternative Arabic, all in one playlist. But we can discuss this later.

General overview: a- Typos b- Content✍️

Where to begin? When I first created this beautiful space, I was at B-Hive; Maysa was helping me with organizing my volunteers’ database, and I was supposed to reply to emails, but all I was doing was designing this blog from scratch. The template, font, color, photos, categories, tools, widgets, appearances, everything. It was too thrilling, and I was so intrigued to borne something so dear to my heart from empty white canvas.

It has been an incredible journey, and I think this blog is solely the best thing I ever did for myself. It is healing me in so many ways I cannot describe.

Looking back at the past year, I cannot but think of all the insanely magnificent people I have met, hugged, loved, cried for. The ones who left and the ones who stayed, the people that shaped me into what I am today, the ones who broke me and rebuilt me, they all are immortalized here, in every word and every photo, and I am in bliss.

On spelling and grammar mistakes – I would like to sincerely apologize for all the typos and grammar errors in my writings. I acknowledge most, and my camera roll is full of screenshots of typos that I find when I reread all posts, and I say I want to fix them, and I never do. I will someday, I promise.

Content – this marks not only one year of blogging but also my 100th post. Granted, I expected to write more in one year, but 100 posts mean one post every four days for a whole year and??? wow.

I know that the figures are inaccurate, that I have probably written five articles in one day, and that I have skipped July and August, but the range is good enough for me, and I am so happy I committed for a whole year. I did not expect that.

There are times where I thought that if I didn’t have anyone reading my blog-as per my analytics-I would be discouraged to write, but that was not the case. There were many times where I had zero visitors, and I still wrote because I enjoy writing, and even though I LOVE it when you read my posts, I am also happy to write for myself.

Feedback📝

The outstanding feedback you have given me the past year is too heart-wrenching to even speak of. I absolutely loved your feedback, and for those who read my blog in silence, please do talk to me, give me feedback, feed the confidence of the 12 years old nour that lives inside me and that dreams of people loving her and what she writes.

Your feedback not only encourages me to write but also keeps me alive. You have no idea how much it means to me that the one thing I absolutely love, the one thing I think I am good at, and the one thing that has accompanied me through all my life, is something you think I’m good at too. It’s like telling an insecure bird that it can fly. You encourage me to spread my wings, and I am so grateful.

Your words, I remain in awe.

FAQ❓

A question I frequently get is: who’s the person you keep writing love letters to? The answer to this answers the other frequent question: why do you not tell me what you write about?

Because if I could speak about what I write, I wouldn’t really write it. I created this blog to be able to share all the things I cannot talk about, so I can never really explain to you the context behind most of what I write about because I honestly cannot express it.

There’s always a face to my letters, there’s always a certain somebody that I am thinking of as I write, but it isn’t really one person. I have probably written to/about at least five persons, and if you’re smart enough, you’ll figure yourself out.

But forgive me, I can never tell you more than you are reading, so you’ll probably have to read through the lines.

This answers the following frequent question: why so depressive most of the time? Because I am not accustomed to sharing when I am sad, which is why I would only write them here. It’s not really about me being depressed; it’s really just that these are things I cannot express or talk about, yet I need to rid myself of them somewhere, and et voila, I have a blog for that.

Would you take negative feedback? I’m sorry, but no. If you have negative thoughts about my blog, please refrain from sharing them with me. The blog is too personal, it is me putting myself out there, with all my raw emotions and personal experiences, and you criticizing means you are criticizing my feelings, my personality, and I’m not confident enough to accept that.

Photos – cover photos🖼️

Out of the 100+ photos shared here, only 5 of them are not mine, but all photos reflect a very personal moment, a cherished minute, a loveful memory, a second that I wanted to immortalize. All photos have meaning and a story behind them; it usually takes me considerable time to choose a photo.

As for the cover photo, it was taken at Concierge coffee shop while I was with Ghassan during one of our infinite study/work dates. Before COVID-19, Ghassan and I met almost daily at coffee shops, mainly New Yorker, to work and study, and they were precious times. Thank you, Ghassan, I may have never thanked you for the lovely memories, and I hope if you ever read this that you know I am grateful.

Maybe I’ll change the cover photo? To mark one year of this baby alive and kicking, but perhaps I don’t because I’m boring and because I don’t like change. I’ll think about it 💭

Today🎋

Yesterday was one of those sweeter days where I had my moments of being a social butterfly, and I made new friends and held tight to old ones. I

finished work at 8:00pm, came back home, showered, and reflected on how much I enjoyed every moment of this Wednesday. It’s 1:15am right now, and I will probably finish this by 1:45am, and I will probably be able to fall asleep at 2-2:30am, and I need to wake up at 6:30am tomorrow because I need to be at the office at 8:00am to finish pending tasks from yesterday, and I will be finished work at 6:00pm because I have a meeting at 5:00pm, so that is ten hours of work, and I will be waking up dead because I need my 9 hours of beauty sleep and I won’t have that.

But, that’s alright, writing all this here is worth it, plus my friend is taking me out for Shawarma after work, so it is okay.

Plans & future🩰

I plan to continue writing, to bore you with the details of my pain and the thoroughness of my days. I plan to tell you everything, share my days with you, write poems and short stories, and everything. I plan to keep loving this blog as much as I do now, and maybe more.

There are some things that I really want to start with, like taking creative writing courses and enrolling myself in aerial yoga, but I am not good with resolutions and, given my crunched schedule, I will not give any promises.

Round of applause👏

I am forever humbled that you take moments of your day to read this. Honestly, no words amount to how grateful I am for you. For the readers and my friends and the strangers, I am forever thanking you for being the most beautiful souls.

Thank you for giving me a chance, for loving me in all the times I did not deserve love. Thank you for all the memories that I cannot fit in this very long post; thank you for yesterday and all the tomorrows.

Thank you for everything, thank you for this blog, thank you for a world so wonderful. Thank you, and good night.

🎤

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I won’t let you die

I won’t let you die.

I will not allow it. I will keep you alive in the dimmest rooms, and I’ll cover you with sunshine on my way out. 

I will not keep you alive in memories, I will keep you alive in my current days, in my morning coffee and 5pm walk, I will keep you alive in songs that were never about you but now will be. I will keep you alive in things that remind me of you, in songs that look like you, songs that make me feel as happy as you made me feel. I refuse to let you fade away, I will grow you as a black mold on my walls and I will let you grow until I can no longer breathe, until your very existence suffocates me. I will keep you with me, I will keep you alive. 

You cannot die, not at this time and at this place, I will make sure to include you in my moments, in the superstitious smiles I sneak to the ones that hate me and the false hope I give to my lovers, I will make sure to bring you with me to my ugliest moments and I will make sure you will live then with me. 

I an no longer scared of you, no longer scared of how much you ruin me. I will keep you here, very close to me, and I will not let you escape.

I will keep you with me even if you do not want to be, even if you beg me to let you go, I will keep you alive because I am selfish and because this is where you were and this where you need to be. And  I’m selfish because I know that if you’re not here the places you will fly to are surreal, places even I cannot reach, and I can’t keep up, and you’ll fly very far away from me. And I will not be able to survive the drought.

I need you to stay here because you made me feel alive in a desolate town, you held my hands in a starless night and smiled at me as if it is all okay when we both know it wasn’t. I need you here, beside me, because it is so morbid without you and you know it.

You’re very toxic and I am over my head and I don’t care, the toxicity of the moments are very lucid and it helps me wake up in the morning, and I am fine. 

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I miss you

I miss you, and you aren’t exactly a person or even a place; I miss the feeling of wholesomeness that I felt around these certain people in this certain place at this certain time. I miss feeling alive on the deadliest days and in times where the county is falling to pieces and my community is starving for air; I miss the moments where I felt like I had it all.

I miss you for what I was when I was around you. I miss you for what you did to me without doing anything, for all the endless nights of singing our hearts out in the car, and for the mornings where you smiled at me, and it made me feel like the fire around me, it is worth living in.

Even the pain that lingered herein felt better than the delicious coffee I am drinking right now and the void I am feeling.

It was simple, candlelights and a lot to say, and the void that was slowly taking over was creeping away with the wolves of the full moon.

Right now, it’s content; it is okay. I am drinking cold coffee, which isn’t usually my scene, and I have been listening to System Of A Down more than usual, and I am reading books(!). I had wonderful conversations, and I ate tabbouleh today for lunch; and I’m learning new things at work and taking more responsibilities, and I am feeling dead.

“I wonder if I’ll always feel weak when I go to the places that we used to be”

Was it all in my head? It seemed like I was floating. I lost the adrenaline rush, the excitement to be alive. I’m not doing bad now, not at all, it just that I lost it, I lost the spark.

I was updating my calendar today and believe me, the past month I was running 28 hours a day, it was so loud and I think it’s only fair to feel this piercing silence right now. Here’s a look at July in comparison to August and September:

July:

August & September:

a dream

It’s fine; there are bigger problems in the world, whatever; I just wish my problem is big enough for this world, as much as my feelings are.

Exciting things ahead, we’ll talk more. <3

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I haven’t read a book for so long

I’ve probably started with a book (or five) the past year and did not finish any, and to be honest, the last book I fully read was in June 2020, and I am so ashamed. I can feel my language weakening and my words becoming less appealing, and I miss the feeling of wholesomeness when reading a beautiful book, but I haven’t, for over a year.

“Between pain and nothing, I’d chosen nothing.”

The past few months have been a rollercoaster, I honestly did not have time for anything, and I have not been alone for a second. Right now, as I said goodbye to my dear loved ones, and I sunk into my empty bed, with the cold AC breeze hurting my skin, I am alone.

I used to be a bookworm, I read all the time and anywhere. I would read a book, finish it in a few days, take a break for a week from all the emotions that linger after, then start with a new one. It was my life, to live in other writers’ worlds, feel feelings that aren’t mine, get consumed by the rush of events and excitement. Nowadays, I am too overwhelmed with my own messiness to live anybody else’s; I have ignored the one thing I loved: reading.

Right now, in my hole of loneliness, I am craving the books, I am craving to feel anything but my feelings. Right now, as I suffer from major separation anxiety (as expected) I cannot but remember my favorite book, the one book that describes loss at its best, the one author that describes loss so thorough that it’s too painful to read that I often found myself hugging the book and closing my eyes because the emotions are just too much to handle.

“Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second-hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.”

New Moon, Stephenie Meyer

You’re probably judging me by now, because you have seen the movie, or because it’s trendy to hate on Twilight, but I’m telling you, you did not read the book. You honestly do not know written pain if you have not read New Moon. I was 14 when I first read Twilight, and I specifically read New Moon more than 20 times, reading and rereading the pain of Stephenie that remains as anguishing as the first time, she describes what it feels to lose:

“It was a crippling thing, this sensation that a huge hole had been punched through my chest, excising my most vital organs and leaving ragged, unhealed gashes around the edges that continued to throb and bleed despite the passage of time. Rationally, I knew my lungs must still be intact, yet I gasped for air and my head spun like my efforts yielded me nothing. My heart must have been beating, too, but I couldn’t hear the sound of my pulse in my ears; my hands felt blue with cold. I curled inward, hugging my ribs to hold myself together. I scrambled for my numbness, my denial, but it evaded me.”

New Moon, page 105

This. Exactly this. This is what I feel whenever I lose my close ones; the hole in my chest is surreal that sometimes I feel like if somebody opened me up they will literally find a real hole twisting within my ribs. It’s fear adding to anxiety, I cannot lose people and move on. I avoid music I used to listen to when I was with them, I avoid our common places, certain streets, mutual friends, photos and videos, anything that reminds me of the someone that does not exist in my life anymore. I even avoid them if they tried to reach out, their memory is more powerful than them itself and I protect myself from it all.

And I feel pain inside my guts. I feel the monsters waiting for me to sleep only to wake me up in my most moment of comfort to remind me of what I have lost, to remind me that even though I will find happiness again someday, I will always lose the people I love most.

“I worried- late in the night, when the exhaustion of sleep deprivation broke down my defenses- that it was all slipping away. That my mind was sieve, and I would someday not be able to remember the precise color of his eyes, the feel of his cool skin, or the texture of his voice. I could not think of them, but I must remember them.

Because there was one thing that I had to believe to be able to live- I had to know that he existed. That was all. Everything else I could endure. So long as he existed.”

I will go back to reading again, I promise. Hey you, be a dear and recommend me nice romantic novels that also tackle mental health-preferably depression and loss-that is so compelling I would sniff the pages when finished. Yes, this is the genre I chose, no judgements please.

(I hope you never lose a loved one.)
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I wish people can stop hurting us

I wish it gets easier over time, losing people. I wish the pain in our chest and the fear of emptiness fade away the more people leave; I wish we could shut off the feeling of getting close, of getting attached to something we know is so mortal, yet feels so good.

Maybe if we keep distance, despite the melancholy of loneliness, maybe then it doesn’t have to hurt so bad. Maybe if people stop hurling around our lives, breaking the walls we built in between, knocking down our defenses, maybe then it doesn’t hurt so bad to watch them walk away.

It happens, it always does, but this time it is not fair. I’ve loved, and I’ve lost, but it’s been so long since I’ve let someone in, and I just realized that. I had people that I have loved a lot, and when they left, I felt nothing, and I thought I was just too occupied or too busy to feel the loss, but that turned out not to be true.

Now, it feels different, my heart is aching, and I cannot eat, and I have tears in my eyes, but I cannot cry because I have people around me, and I would hate for them to know.

I haven’t really had the best week, and I have been emotional since Monday, even crying in public. Right now, it feels as if there is no safety anymore, as if I’ve lost not one, not two, but five of whom should have always been here. They should have stayed.

It doesn’t seem right, and I know it won’t feel like this forever. I know it will get better; next week and the week after, I will numb the pain of the abyss in my chess by avoiding places and music and the thought of you. The next month, it will get better, I will be colder, and the bleak will become part of me. The month after, it will be okay, and I will search for new reasons to live. It passes; everything does.

Even if we don’t want it to.

I’m accustomed to the pattern, I know how it goes, and I’m very aware of the process, but the pain of loss in the very beginning is still as severe as ever, as burning as a fresh and open wound. I wish this in particular; I wish we could sleep it away; I can’t with the pain.

As always, in times of sadness, I find myself yearning for my 16-years-old-nour-playlists. Here’s what I’m currently listening to while writing:

Also, apologies, I know this blog always has its way to get depressing, even if I don’t want it to. I’m not a sad person, I promise you, and it’s not that I live in denial, but even medically, I’m not diagnosed with depression or any of the sort, I just happen to like writing about suppressed feelings, things I cannot talk about to others, and they happen to be close to sad, so apologies.

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I can hear crickets chirp chirping in here

Chirp chirp chirp.

Well, hi? It’s been more than two months *gulp*, and I have no justification. I’ve relapsed a bit the past two months and had a lot of serene moments and incredible getaways, and I found love like I have never found before, and I unconsciously chose to stop writing in here, and I don’t know how to come back.

I say that I have been over my head with work, and my personal life was too loud to silence it here, and it has just been so “aaahh” with everything, but I know if I wanted to, I would have.

I’m not proud of this, believe me. In 23 days, this baby will turn one year, and I haven’t reached 100 posts yet, and I have 14 unfinished posts saved as drafts, so that’s quite disappointing. Nour, I am disappointed.

It’s just, the idea that I have 14 unfinished posts is a burden because that means unfinished work, and I. can’t. with. unfinished. work. Unfinished work sounds like a lack of responsibility, and it puts more pressure on me.

When will I stop fighting with myself over things like this? I set high expectations for myself, unrealistic responsibilities, self-pressure myself to do the most absurd tasks, and then dramatically break down in puddles of tears and self-loathe when I don’t meet any of them. Fun, ain’t it?

Well, if anything, I am doing well. I am healthy again, I have lost the extra weight ;), I’m eating well and walking more, Diane has been here for a month and a half, and it’s been quite busy in the lands of not-knowing-what-I-am-not-knowing-what-to-do. I am taking leaves, more than I feel I need, and I have been prioritizing myself to an extinct where people are fighting me for “not caring enough.”

I’m dealing with new stressors and new problems that I still do not know how to fathom or deal with without pulling somebody’s eye out, crying for five days straight, or shopping until my bank account drops. And I must add, I have been eating delicious food the past week, so so good.

I plan on reaching 100 posts before nourslittleuniverse’s birthday, so bear with me with *gulps loudly* spam of nonsense, I hope. I have A LOT to share with you, but not sure how or where to start.

Let’s meet again tomorrow, shall we?

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I burn everything I touch

I do, I do burn everything I touch. I’ve wanted to write you for a while; I have so much to say to you and so little to act upon. You’ve been making me smile to myself; you’ve been making me so happy; I even dreamt of you once. An innocent dream where you held my hand secretly, stroked it gently, and it felt so right. I didn’t know how I felt about you until you held my hand in my dream, and I woke up the second day feeling like the most beautiful person in the world.

And I’m pushing you away; I do that. I get close, and once I feel that you make me vulnerable, I step away, and I leave you there, making an effort on your own as I show you distaste and discomfort. And when you walk away, I die inside, because I just want you so close to me, but my unbearable trauma drives you away.

How can I do it? How can I ask you to stay close to me?

You’re sitting in front of me, and I’m thinking about you a lot, because you look so good and I can hear you laughing and because I miss you.

You tried to talk to me this morning, but I was too shy, and I ignored you. God, why did I do this? Why do I shun you even though the only thing I want is for you to stay with me for as long as there’s time on earth?

Maybe you think that I don’t like you, and it makes sense for you to think this way; I barely look your way even if you are standing right in front of me. It’s unbearable how much I want to spend time with you and how much I cannot even show you any glimpse of likingness.

My morning was beautiful because you were in it; it felt so good to hear you talk so effortlessly; it felt magical to make you laugh. I’ve been yearning to tell you all about my weekend hike and my plans for this weekend and listening to you telling me what you did and looking at me with those sparkling eyes that I thought only thought exist in books. But we didn’t.

And I’m wearing my new flowery top that makes me feel so pretty and I wanted you to see it. Did you see it? Did you think I looked pretty? I wore it just so you can see it, but I did not make any effort to come your way. I hope you saw it during t the sweet moments we had this morning.

Were you okay? I couldn’t know. I feel like I usually hear you talk more, and laugh more, but today you were quieter than usual. It agonizes me that you might have been not okay and I’m not your safe person to talk to. I’m so sorry.

I’m listening to a very romantic Arabic song, and it’s taking me to a whole different world, a majestic world where I am not afraid to show you how much I feel for you, a world you’re sitting beside me; I can feel your warmth and closeness and I can smell you, and it makes me sad because it’s probably the only time you’ll be as close to me if I keep pushing you away the way I do now.

I wish I can break free from self-destruction; I wish I can let loose and let you know that I really appreciate your existence in my life, and I want you to stay.

I need you to stay. You’re the healthiest crush I’ve ever had, and it would be a shame if I drove you away because I’m too scared to be close. I’m not saying you’re the one for me; I’m just saying I want to go through this with you.

I’m currently looking at you because you don’t see me, and you look flawless. Your muscles are showing as you lean forward, and your smile glows as you probably tell one of your smart jokes. You look gorgeous my love. You’re so pretty; I don’t think you know how pretty you are.

I promise I will make a tremendous effort to keep you near; I will not lose you. I will be your favorite person soon, and we will be so close to each other that you will miss me if we’re ever apart for more than a day. I will keep you near, and I mean it. I will keep you alive in every moment and every memory, I will keep you alive in me. I’ve set my mind on you, you’re my new goal, and I always get my way.

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Let’s go away

To be sucked into a turmoil, unable to drift away, indulged in uncanny in denial and a lust for an escape, a swim in the middle of nowhere, fear of the heavily presence, and the inability to feel within the premises of internal agony and willing to live.

June’s almost over, and I haven’t written anything here. Maybe writing would bring me back, or maybe it’s a push, so I don’t feel like I’m not committing, like leaving in the middle, and then blaming myself for always taking the easy way out.

I’m not depressed; this is a fact. I am not even sad, generally speaking. I have my sad moments, and I am reigniting the shy kid involuntarily; even my sly social skills of not socializing at all are resurfacing, but I am doing okay.

It’s just I feel trapped, overwhelmingly more than usual. Granted, I’ve always felt trapped, and it’s part of my lavishing existential crisis, but it’s been severe lately. I finally understand people’s obsession with oceans; I’ve been craving the sea tremendously.

I finally understand the peace and freedom of diving into the middle of the sea and feeling like you own your space, like you own your liberation, like you can be nowhere, away, very far from your premonition and unbearable obsessions, leaving your heavily sedated baggage of unnecessary responsibilities and self-expectations on the shore.

Yet, no matter how much you swim deep, you can still look back and see the shore; it’s where you will land after you leave for a while. At sea, you sit stretched between the landing hole of maturity and life and the nothingness, and you rest assured that even though you can reach as far as you want into the nothing, there is still a land to go back to. That’s security; that’s my safety.

I am a child of trauma. No matter how much I fight it, no matter how much I act normal and try to blend in, I am a person who still suffers greatly from unresolved trauma. I see two therapists now; my usual therapy, whom I still love as much, and a trauma specialist that I hope can help me tackle the one trauma I want to overcome. I know it’s not healthy to see two doctors, and I don’t plan on juggling this for long; I’m just getting my feet wet and seeing if it’ll do me any good.

The trauma, my unresolved anger, the stress, it’s all getting pretty serious because it is affecting my physical health and not just taking a toll on my mental health. I’ve been sick for a while, but I usually dismiss anything that has to do with my physical health.

Still, two months of unbearable nausea that does not go away, significant weight loss, body aches, back pain, and a high fever on Sunday made me wonder. Nour, you may need to slow down and see what all the fuss is about.

I am a child of trauma, and my brain is wired to live on survival mode and internal search for safety, and I am still roaming deep. I have figured this out through my work with children from traumatic backgrounds; the resemblance in behavior and actions were intolerable, I realized that I have barely healed.

I’ve had great moments in the past month, some may be one of the best memories I have, and I remain grateful. Right now, I am picturing a sunset by the seashore, and I am listening to an idyllic song; I am in a state of peace. Maybe soon I can share a little of what has been going on with me lately, maybe soon I can return home.

For now, I need my sea time.

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Palestine, my dearly beloved

Palestine, you’ve possessed me in every way possible. I have always been attached to you, your cause, your people, your suffering, but lately, I have grown more attached to an instinct where I weep for your children, and I feel a personal responsibility to fill my day with you; new of you, photos of you, videos, books, and writings.

Palestine, I am spending my days thinking of you, reading about you, following your news on social media. I have grown so attached to the point that hours would pass, and I would do nothing but research you and track your steps, your deaths, your triumph.

Yesterday was my first day out of the house since last week. Last week, during Eid, you were the spoiled child of my holiday. I dressed you up in the prettiest keffiyeh, and I held your hand close to my heart all week long, I talked about you with my aunts and cousins, and I listened to the music that glorifies you.

I watched over your lands, and I looked at the sky, and I was so proud to share a sky so close to yours.

As I was in a village close to your borders, the sound of bombs hitting your children felt like it was hitting me, burning my skin; I wished it were me that is bombed and not you. I felt like hearing the sounds of bombs was one step closer to stand beside you, and even though it was burning my skin, I did not want to leave.

Yesterday, as I had to work from the office, and even though it was a lovely day at the office, I made sure to talk about you. And then I marched the streets of Beirut saluting you, and as I went out for shawarma after, I made sure you are present and alive in our talks and discussion. Palestine, despite all your deaths and pain, I tried to protect you and keep you warm and hopeful; I kept you alive within me.

And even though your shadow lingered around the whole day, I felt cold because I felt far from you. The whole time, I just wanted to go back home, go back to you; I felt so empty that I could not track your news, I felt so scared that something-worse-might happen to you and I’m not there.

Palestine, you have haunted me. With your bravery and resistance amid the most horrifying casualties and rubbles, you are living in me stronger than ever. I give my all to you, body and soul, and I hope to be part of the power that will liberate you. Maybe that way I can be free. I hope you set me free one day.