Category: Bits & pieces of everything

It’s weird how much you affect me.

I saw you today, and I realized that you affect me a lot. I talk a lot like you, I act a lot like you, and I am beginning to feel the way I think you do. It’s odd, right? To start feeling the same way somebody else feels about things. I know identification; I just never thought it could go this far.

Your influence on me is so bizarre because ever since I met you, we both were so bizarre, and I don’t know how we lasted or why I still count days to see you or why I still use your words, but you influence me a lot.

It’s still there, the feeling I get when you’re in a room, like a camera focusing on one body and blurring everything else in the room; that’s how I feel whenever you are around me. I lose my sense of listening or seeing anyone but you. It’s like when you appear; everything stops existing; it’s only you.

I love the way you talk or act; I do, it’s not like other people, and it’s unique. I find myself studying your every move because I know it will be different, and I know it will be unpredictable. I find myself in an enigma of trying to understand you yet personally preferring you stay this way, someone that I can’t predict what their next move would be.

Today wasn’t my favorite time seeing you; it was normal, and even below normal. I didn’t see you much anyway, but I noticed the way you looked at me that one time as if I’m special, as if there was no one but me. I saw your eyes smiling, and I loved that a lot.

I love it when you talk to me, and I can’t help but remember if I felt this way the very first time I saw you, and maybe thought to myself; “hey, he talks so special, let me study his every move,” or if this interest struck me after, after all that happened.

Why am I like this? Anticipating everything and still getting so happy to see you. I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t understand you, and it’s painfully mind-blowing. Can you help me understand the way you feel towards me? Can I, please, know what you want of me? And can you, for the love of gods and everything almighty, talk to me more?

I saw you today, and it made me think a lot, of you, of me, of us. I thought of you because you ever are so charming, and I thought of me because you affect me so much; it’s study-worthy, and I thought of us because, damn, what are we?

Can we please go back?

I wrote this inspired by one of my favorite poems (ask me about it, if interested):

You are trembling my dear but this is not what I meant
When I told you what they said to me and how it felt
That time I saw you late at night so heaven sent
They said you’re a beast, a creature so hell-bent

It drove me away, the way they described your lazy eyes
They told me you lurk whiskey and you smell like ugly lies
You laugh with yellow teeth and an ego I despise
Your shirts are thrifted and your shoes are incise

They said you’re no good but I needn’t be wary
As you don’t come close, you distance, very
Then why do you sit next to me, it’s scary
Why did you come close in this huge lonely ferry

You’re trembling my dear, as I tell you what they spoke
Do I hand you a cigarette? Do you crave a last smoke?
I won’t hide my hate for you and I don’t mean to provoke
But how can you be so beastly? I hope you choke

Love of my life, you hurt me
I’ve been trying to get away, to be free
It is true what they spoke, but I couldn’t see
That you are a sin and all this, it mustn’t be

I hope you die because I can’t rid of you any other way
I know you’re a predator and I was a passing prey
But I still prefer you than a world with you away
I still choose you over me any gloomy day

You are trembling my dear for you stand defeated
You told me you are toxic, and very much conceited
But you didn’t tell me about your victims and how they were treated
You told me you are no good but then my intuition you greeted

I know you are soulless because of what she did
You gave your all and she left you amid
She took your favorite sweater and away she slid
And ever since then you cut out hearts to feel vivid

She wore her red lipstick and gave you a smile
As if you’re socks that got out of style
She kissed you goodbye and you lingered for a while
In trauma, you wondered: how can I survive?

You look at your victim’s eyes and all you see is hers
You cry as there is much melancholy your heart bears
And then another girl smiles at you, a wink she even dares
And you think: let me fill my lustful void with theirs

So you kill to get over her and you chose me to kill
But I know what you are, so ugly and so ill
So I think of killing my own self, to jump a hill
I won’t let you get to me, your revenge to fulfill

You are trembling my dear for you will get your desire
I stand at the top of the bridge and I look at you with ire
I loved you a lot, I still do it’s dire
But I won’t let you kill me, I’ll be my own misfire

You are trembling my dear for you realize what you have done
She threw you to the wolves, left you undone
And you wanted to do the same with me, kill and run
So I chose to jump off the bridge on my own, I will be gone

You were beautiful my dear, an angel in the dark
Wears cheap perfume, it stains and leaves a mark
I won’t be very far away, I’ll be a skylark
So every time you see a skylark you say:
Here lies the girl that loves me, and there flies the proud skylark

It’s scary how much we can love someone.

Never getting attached to anyone, always keeping a distance between ourselves and everyone around us in case they leave, in case they decide to disappear.

Then comes someone and sneakily breaks all the walls; we love their presence, their laugh, their talk, their silence. We remember them whenever we’re anxious, or whenever we’re sad because their memory is safe, it makes us happy.

It’s scary much loving them makes us feel alive, as if that’s it, that’s all we need from this horrid life, that’s all that is important amid hunger and injustice and destruction, loving them is all that is needed to stay alive.

It’s scary how much they can affect our days, our mood, and the rest of our week. An inane message, a word of kindness, or a smile – that one smile, that’s all we need to go back home at the end of the day and say ” ’twas a good day.”

Their talk, for once you don’t mind not talking, for once you want to hear their story without having to say yours. For once, you want them to talk for hours about everything and nothing in particular, and you listen so tentatively because even the smallest details matter. Because knowing what their favorite tree leaf matters to you, as long as it’s a thing that they said. It’s them talking to you; what can be more important than that?

And that smell, their holy smell. You close your eyes once you smell them nearby, their scented aroma precedes them, and you close your eyes because it’s too warm and it’s too sweet, and it’s too them.

But then what?

But then they leave, and it’s not a shock because the world is mortal and the prettiest flowers die, and everything must end. But it doesn’t make their loss easier. It doesn’t make the void feeling less piercing in a bleak abyss that makes its way through our chest and blackens the place where bliss once rested, because of them, the bliss and the blazes.

And then the feeling of the happy moments gets forgotten, and the aching nostalgia replaces those happy moments, and then comes the era of longing for a time where we were whole, where we were floating, where we were alive.

And we soon go back to closing our eyes every time their names are mentioned, every time we try to remember, every time we see a photo of them or affiliated to them, every time we smell a scent close to theirs. This time, we close our eyes not to preserve the moment, this time, we close our eyes to make it, the memory, go away, we close our eyes as if the loss we feel is before us, and if we close our eyes and don’t see it anymore, it might fade away.

And then one night, it’s 3:00 am, our bed is warm, our pillow is fluffy, and we still can’t sleep. And as we hold ourselves so tight in fear we might break, we wonder what would’ve happened if we never met them at all, because nothing-nothing-really seems worth the loss.

I think you’ve realized by now that I love writing about music as much as I love listening to music, and as I’m listening right now to Somebody Else by The 1975 at 1:45 pm during a busy Monday, my hand started itching to tell you about it.

So I heard you found somebody else
And at first I thought it was a lie
I took all my things that make sounds
The rest I can do without

Somebody Else – The 1975

This is my second favorite song of all time, after tghayarti. No matter how much I listen to it, or whatever mood I am in, it always hits hard; I can always feel Matt Healy swaggering on stage while singing apathetically to this enchantment.

I don’t want your body
But I hate to think about you with somebody else

He sings this effortlessly; how can he sing this so effortlessly and still makes me feel so much? I didn’t think Matty could sing something more beautiful than Me, Settle Down, or Robbers, but then he released this and four years later I’m still in awe.

Also, am I the only one who thinks that the album title is the most beautiful title anyone can think of? “I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful yet So Unaware of It” (stylized in sentence case). Honestly, how gorgeous?

I think I’ve heard this song throughout so many times, but I think the one time that struck me the most, and that I felt it the most, was a December evening back in 2016.

I used to work at the Beirut book fair every year at my dad’s book stand after college. That day, there was so much wind that I really didn’t make much effort walking as the sea breeze was moving me on my own (the book fair is very close to the sea).

The sun was setting, and I remember looking to my right and seeing a beautiful skyline of the mountains, with a very grey sky. I took a photo of it (featured image), and I listened to Somebody Else.

It was a perfect moment, a perfect sunset; it was a perfect 10 days. I was already feeling so much during that time, and I met so many wonderful people at the book fair, who became a family to me. We would all meet for coffee, and I was invited over for dinner (mainly shawarma) at their book stands every day, and I was always given the leftover chocolate and flowers after book signings. It rained a lot during the 10 days, and we were often stuck inside the bookfair for hours, which made us feel like we are distant from our actual lives.

We spent hours talking about our lives outside the book fair. They would listen to me studying for my “Introduction to Political Science” exam that I didn’t exactly do well in. We would gossip about customers and visit each other during busy hours to tell each other the funny stories of the people who bought the weirdest books.

We were a group of 7, who spent almost ten hours every day with each other for around three weeks, so it kind of got addictive, and I would, of course, get attached and fall into depression after the book fair ends.

That time when I was walking to the bookfair, that sunset, the night before, one of my colleagues at the book fair told me that he likes me, and made me a customized bracelet. I didn’t like him, but I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t; I was too content with where I was, and I liked his attention, so I just let him be.

At that moment, I thought of him, listening to Somebody Else, and it was ironic because I had another person in mind that I liked, but I wouldn’t have told him. It was a very short crush, and I realized later that that was my worst crush ever.

I thought of my bad habits, always leading people even if I don’t like them, for my own pleasure and need of attention. It was my expertise to get close to someone and then leave when I’m bored because I didn’t really want them in the first place.

Fast forward a few months, I learned my lesson quite painfully. But that December night, that sunset, that cold breeze, and that mountain skyline, I was still enjoying the feeling of being loved and not reciprocating anything in return.

That moment, I fell deeply in love with Somebody Else, and I haven’t recovered yet.

I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful – yet so unaware of it.
I like it when you sleep, for I can go outside alone amongst the due and feel at last and one with you.
I like it when you sleep, for it is where the worries meet with all desires complex and small that materialize upon your wall.
I like it when you sleep, for smoking is great, and I do a lot more without you awake.
I like it when you sleep, for the things missed too and to know I’m alive longer than you.
I like it when you sleep, for the infinite sadness of London and losses and a fold-out mattress.
I like it when you sleep, for the reasons I can’t, so I jealously squirm and count moles on your arms.
I like it when you sleep, forgive me, my dear, for all the cocaine has imprisoned me here.
I like it when you sleep, for I’m guilty of work and match of the day and the girls that twerk
I like it when you sleep, for my return after weeks is an incomplete feeling when you are not dreaming.
I like it when you sleep, for, during the day, your breath lacks character.
I like it when you sleep, for I swear I’ll protect her from the wheedling, redolent, saccharine nectar.
I like it when you sleep, for there are cracks in my ceiling that I know like the back of my heart – and to learn of your body in half of that manner was something desired from the start.
I like it when you sleep, forbidden I sit in my chair for a bit.
I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful – yet so unaware of it.

(this is not song lyrics, just some words spit out of Matty’s brain)

He just finished the online class he was teaching, feeling satisfied with what he has given to his students. It was a heavy session, he thought to himself, and his students seemed to be focused on the lesson, and it was tiring, yet still, it is much better to teach from home than from school, because at school, it would be much harder to see her.

He said his goodbyes to his students, threw a “see you later” smile, and gave them homework. Then, as he moved from the camera, feeling a certain lust, he knew so well where he could go to satisfy his lust. Ashamed of himself? Maybe, but his grown hunger for his daughter was stronger.

Little did he know that his desires for his daughter distracted him from turning off his camera and that the students were learning much more than he could have taught; they saw what it’s like to be tortured yet remain crippled.

This is not a story made out of fiction; this is a story that happened in Lebanon a few days ago. A teacher was caught sexually harassing his daughter on camera after forgetting to turn off his camera and after his students recorded everything and reported it.

He was arrested and is now away rotting seven stories underground- I hope. Imagine, imagine with me, that he did not forget to turn his camera off, and that no one saw what he does and did, and that he kept on harassing her for years to come.

He could have been my teacher, and I would see him every day and let him teach me whatever subject he teaches, and I would listen and study and ask him questions and wish he thinks I’m smart. I could be a student idolizing a teacher, and he could be at home kissing his daughter.

I’m sick to my guts. It could have been easily hidden, and it has been hidden for so long. Imagine the students were not brave enough to report him, were not mature enough to say anything; imagine the life of this little girl who is being exploited by the man who should protect her the most.

Imagine, try to imagine with me, how many girls, and boys, are suffering from the same indescribable cruelty, and in Lebanon only. Imagine that home is the most unsafe place to be in, yet they remain quiet. Imagine dying in pain every single day and still waking up in the morning.

Let us speak about sexual exploitation and abuse. Let us stand against the society that pushes us to stay quiet on sexual crimes, so we don’t scratch anyone’s “dignity.” Let us speak on their behalf and make sure they know that despite their pain, we can help.

We need to adapt more legislations and decrees that penalize sexual misconduct, whether at home, on the streets, at work, or online. Legislation criminalizing sexual harassment at home needs to be thorough and inclusive of all girls and boys living in Lebanon, including marginalized groups and LGBTI individuals.

Our courts need to adapt a PSEA policy that sides with survivors and protects them from abusers; even if/when the abusers are judges and lawyers themselves, the system needs to enforce prevention, protection, and penalization of legislators and society members in case of any breach.

Only when the system adopts women and girls’ rights to feel safe can we normalize ending SEA and gender-based violence within our communities and homes. Women and girls are the center of socio-economic growth in all societies; it is crucial to give them the safety needed to thrive and believe in equity and gender parity among all the sectors of their lives.

As a girl who was raised hearing that women’s image, reputation, and dignity can easily be demolished by a word or sexual innuendo or anything that has to do with sexual behavior and that a man is faultless and is raised to be a sinner, I believe that these critical injustices need to end now.

Raise your voice for women and girls to be seen as a vital part of our nations’ social development and not as sex objects. Raise your voice for thriving women and girls who can walk into any house, office, grocery shop, cafe, school, university, street, city, etc., and proudly say: “I feel safe here.”

I find things sometimes in my notes. This is one of the things:

Maybe if we stayed here for a little while

Nights upon us, and there is not one star in the hollow bleak sky

Yet you can’t seem to focus on anything but it, the sky, whether it shows signs of rain

Maybe if you looked at me the way you looked at the sky and pinpointed the constellations

Maybe if you looked me

And noticed

Maybe then I can say I am happy

Maybe if it weren’t you that made me laugh for two hours at nothing in particular

If it weren’t you who listened to the story of my life and smiled at the details

If it weren’t you who got me yogurt and told me it tastes like all the bad things in the world

Maybe then that I can I finally tell you that I’m happy

Maybe then that I can tell you you’re mine

But how can I when you’re not?

How can I talk about you to my friends and let them share you with me?

Is it not sharing you with the sky you so dearly, not enough?

How can I simply tell them;

“Here he is, the almighty, smiling at me and making me happy”

They might want you to smile at them the way you smile at me

And that would kill me.

(I wonder how accurate this might still be)