Category: Home (to me)

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You, everyone will know who this is about

I just drove you home. You were singing along with the songs I have played – I thought of you while picking the songs, I thought of the way your voice will fit perfectly with every melody, I thought of how every word will remind me of you, of all the untold stories I could never say. 

I listened to you hum, and my heart broke to pieces because with every hum, I couldn’t but think to myself: “this is the last night you’ll ever spend with him.”

Your voice is still stuck in my head, like a lullaby, singing. You weren’t singing to me, but I want to believe you were, I want to believe all those nice words were meant for me, it’s been a while since you told me you loved me, and I am longing for a talk you promised me with, and we only have tomorrow left, but you are seeing her tomorrow night, and not me.

It’s 10:00pm. I stop at a red light, and you stop singing and look at me. You look me with those boyish puppy eyes and tell me that you really want coffee but you don’t have any money, and I tell you I will get you the world if you ask me to. We stop at a coffee place on the street and you get plain coffee and I get Nescafe, and I drive you home.

We reach another red light, and you tell me that this is the first time you drink coffee with sugar, and it tastes disgusting. I smile and tell you my Nescafé does not taste good either. I drive you home; I only say goodbye to you in a rush because it’s already 10:25pm and my curfew is 10:30pm. 

I am writing all this, as I try to keep every memory of you alive, as I cry because tomorrow will be the last day I get to be near you. I listen to our song as I remember last January, when you said you wanted to dance with me to this song and I shyly refused. I didn’t like you back then, you were just a friend. Little did I know that I will be lying here, cold and distraught, thinking of all the times I could have spent with you, holding me, as we danced to nothing at all, as I smell your perfume mixed with your warm aroma and you-smell that no one has but you. How can I survive without smelling you? How can I survive this? 

Teach me how to survive a world without you. Teach me how to listen to songs and not have them remind me of you. Teach me how to be brave and honest, and tell you that this is about you, that I could/will never love anyone the way I love you. Teach me how to imagine a world where you are not here.

It’s past midnight. Last night you texted me at exactly the same time and asked me if I was still awake. I was getting ready to sleep, but I felt like you wanted to tell me something. I didn’t give you much chance, I wanted to sleep so I could wake up the other day and see you. 

It’s 12:13am, and I have an urge to wake up early tomorrow and see you. I want to wake you up, in the annoying way I usually wake you up with. But this time, I want to let myself hug you until I fall asleep, absorbing all the warmth I could take from you. I want to feel you for the last time. 

I need you

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Those absent sleep on Christmas night

Those who are absent sleep on Christmas night. A title I just read of a long article I did not even skim. I know the content will be depressing, just like our country, a eulogy of Lebanon, Beirut, of what we were, of all the emptiness lingering in the toxicity of the acid rain pouring on the naked backs of the poor.

Those who are absent sleep on Christmas night. They sleep the joy away, in their graves, in a foreign country, in the hearts of all those they have left behind.

I’m listening to Vixen by Miguel, and my soul is slow dancing with yours in every moment. My stomach is hurting because I am drinking a coffee jug before having breakfast, and I just apologized for attending a Christmas dinner.

I am in bliss right now, well aware of the melancholy awaiting, but for now, it is alright. It is Christmas, and I always feel more than okay on Christmas.

Last night, my friends celebrated my birthday a month and 23 days late, and it was funny. I am now looking at a giant moodboard-like portrait of my friends, and as much as it is giving me joy, I ache for all those absent.

We have lost a lot, I have lost a lot, yet I prospered, healed. I grew more than I wanted. But this is for another post.

Plans for today?

I need to finish all my work in the upcoming two hours as we have an early release today, and I need to shop for my secret Santa then meet up with my friends for our photography lessons. I haven’t figured out the rest of my day yet, but I’m sure it will be a good one.

Wishing you the most peaceful Christmas night. Wishing you love, now and always.

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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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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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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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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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What is love?

Love is forbidding yourself from telling him you love him so he doesn’t get hurt, even though it’s 2:25am on a Monday and all you are thinking is of him and his arms around you.

I miss you, and I love you so, so, much and you don’t even know it.

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A song about safety is on repeat as I write this

This song, like many others, reminded me of you. I don’t know why I can’t write about you, even though you have been the most important character in my life for the past months, even though I’ve written about people I care less about, even though you are all I could think about sometimes, even though all songs these days are reminding me of you, even though I have around three unfinished posts of how I need to let you go, and I still can’t write about you.

I could barely write the five sentences above, even though what I am feeling is not little, and I have never felt this way towards anyone, ever. I’ve never felt this free towards anyone as much as I do with you. It makes so much sense to me, but it won’t to you; it makes no sense to you, and it upsets you, and I understand that.

You called me weird last week, looking straight in my eyes to see what I might react to that because we both know what you meant by weird, and I just shrugged it off with a smile.

You called me weird when you wanted to say: “your words used to contradict your actions, and it frustrated me. Now, your words and actions are the same, and you’re pulling me in, and now your words and actions are contradicting you, what you have told me before, how you have acted before, and you are just so weird.” But I understood that. I understood all of that, and you knew I did, even though I just looked at you and smiled.

And then you told me I over exaggerate when I tell you how important you are to me. We were talking about this person that annoys me with exaggerated words, and you told me: “but you do the same when you tell me you care about me most,” and I told you, “but I am not exaggerating. I am not telling you you are the most important person on earth; I am simply telling you that you are the most important person to me. And I mean it, whether you believe it or not.” And I mean it, but you don’t believe it, and I don’t believe that it is my fault you don’t.

When are you going, to be honest with me? I know you like me, you know that I know you like me, and you’re skeptical of how I feel towards you, but why can’t you tell me you still want me? I know you do, but I need to hear it from you.

I can see your jealousy radiating at different times, like when I showed photos of my old close friend, and when I asked you if you know him, you said: “I don’t, and I’m glad I didn’t.” And when I talk about other guys, you either stay very quiet or light your cigarette and walk away. I see you; I see you liking me, and all I need of you is to say it.

And I know you’re expecting the same, but I can’t say it because I don’t even know how I feel, so that it would be unfair. There was a time where I wanted to tell you everything, where I was too selfish. I didn’t care that everyone was telling me it would be stupid and that I would hurt you, but you kept shutting me out, and I know I can’t say it anymore because you gave me the time to think and rethink, and I can’t say it anymore. See what happens where we’re not honest? You even told me: “you’re so honest about everything, except the few things that you will never say. You are so weird.”

Anyway.

I will be creating a new category called “Memory of You.” This will be a series of moments I have lived with different people, describing the events and how they happened more vividly- to a point where the person might even know I am talking about them if they are reading. In each post, I will talk about a different memory with a different person where the memory touched my heart, a memory that still lingers by.

I have so many of those; I am already thinking of five different persons I would like to share a moment with here. It will be fun to write, and I hope it will be as fun to read. x

For now, I am talking to you, flirting as always, and now you are not replying. Come back, and stay, per favore.

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The mills of Beirut

November 29 – Today I felt the frost of death for the first time.  I saw love lying on the bed without a soul.  Love is ugly after death, like all corpses, and it smells.

An excerpt from a book I’m reading

It’s 10:43 pm, I’m lying on a bed and I can see the city skyline reflected from the balcony’s transparent door. It is so beautiful. The lights shimmering in every house, the noir streets in between, the aging city sleeping from above, the tiny people we cannot see, the stories untold, the mightiness of Beirut, the divine Mediterranean. It is so beautiful. 

A friend once told me that he sees city lights as “Earth stars.” They might be, captivating in their own way, dwelling in the mysteries of the Earth, untied by constellations. They’re prettier than the stars in the sky. 

They glow at me, taunting me to know the secrets, the gossips, and scandals of houses dying to tell. I can look at it, the skyline, forever, making up stories about the light owners, feeding my curiosity with appalling anecdotes and torrid letters to anonymous. 

I am dreaming, enchanted by the sparkles and the glimmers, making up devious scenarios whispered in nooks and crannies, praying for peace and warmth in every troubled soul and every aching heart. 

I’m listening to my favorite song, and I am really enjoying the book I am reading- and I am so proud that I am reading (❤️). Today was a quiet day, and tomorrow will probably be a serene one spent in nature, plus it’s Sunday which means I can sleep as much as I like, even though my brain will probably wake me up at 7 am. (:

It’s fine, I like early mornings and its delicious coffee. I’ll get to read before everybody wakes up and secretly scroll through my emails (the secret is kept from me by me (I am teaching myself not to open emails during the weekend and (I am cheating))). 

I also need to plan for camping next week; planning logistics and making reservations and writing my infamous-never ending-long to-do list, and setting budgets. Fun fun. 

If you’re looking at Beirut and its lights, let me know. We’re looking at the same beauty. 

Good night x