Unfinished drafts compilation

Hi, hello, and welcome to the unfinished drafts compilation saga. By reading this, you will benefit nothing-except wasting time and possibly losing some competent brain cells. I, however, will achieve my long-lasting dream of having no pending drafts and start my 2022 free and with new mundane stressors to obsess over. 🙂

I am currently listening to party music, which might not relate very much to the tone of this post. For each post, I will-or might-introduce the background and context behind the writing; most of these posts are unfinished because of 1) lack of time and/or 2) writer’s block and/or 3) too mentally hard to continue.

Some are only titles because sometimes a phrase or word compels me so much that I decide to write a whole post about it-but due to lack of time (and energy), the post never sees the light. I might get back to them later. Anywhoooooo, without further ado, these are my unfinished posts for 2021(:

#1 – Take me to Naples

Date: January 15, 2021.
Background: I am in love with Italy, the ’60s, Sophia Loren, old movies.
Post:

Take me to Naples in the 1960s. Take me to Naples, where Sophia Loren danced to Americano in front of Clark Gable and where Neapolitans sold fish in the morning at the fish market and sang l’Italiano in bars in the afternoons.

Take me to Naples, where violence and unrest were allies, and people were too modest for the luxury life. Take me to a Naples of women dancing with torn dresses next to the Miseno with cheap jewelry around their necks. Take me to Naples, the city that was destroyed 100 times during world war and its people still belly danced their nights away.

#2 We don’t talk about Sophia Loren as much as we should

Date: January 18, 2021
Background: I still want to talk about Sophia Loren. She needs to be talked about. Soon, soon.

#3 I can’t think of you. I can’t even entertain your thought in my head.

Date: January 26, 2021

#4 21 days in solitary confinement

Date: January 30, 2021
Background: I wanted to write a diary of my days with COVID-19, but I got too discouraged.

Post:

I honestly do not know where to begin. As a journalist student, I thought of this post on the very third day of my isolation. It’s a habit we develop to see everything as a story and think of how it’ll look on paper.

It is solitary confinement, being punished for something we didn’t do, but it happens to the best of us, I guess, and for now, I’m glad it did, and I am so very glad it’s over. For a very people-orient person and someone who is out almost every waking hour of the day, being put in a four-wall room for 21 days cannot be easy.

The first few days were the hardest, of course. I felt chained by the throat, and it felt like the walls were closing in on me every second of every day. I think the hardest thing is that I did not choose to be here, I was forced to, and I hate someone else deciding what I should do; it makes me feel as if I don’t have control over my life.

#5 Teach me how to focus

Date: February 2, 2021
Background: working from home during lockdown,
Post:

Guys and gals, my attention span is so bad.

I was reading “Administrative Guidelines for Offices on the Novel Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic” shared by our head of office, and I suddenly found myself playing chess with a computer, so I was like; “Nour, you need to focus.” So I started searching for ways to increase my focus and attention, and then I remembered that I was reading the guideline, so I went to read it, and I found myself writing this. Then I suddenly stopped writing, and I was watching the music video of Hasta Siempre.

THE GUIDELINE NOUR THE GUIDELINE

Or I can be reading “all poems and speeches about Che Guevara.”

What do you usually do to get yourself to focus? Or finish tasks you really don’t want to do? I procrastinate and read poems on Che Guevara. Is there any other, healthier way?

#6 So the wind won’t blow it all away

Date: February 4, 2021

#7

Date: March 1, 2021
Background: I wanted to write about my dad, the two weeks of him being sick and the doctor saying he is going to die. But I couldn’t continue writing it, I still can’t (he didn’t die).
Post:

It’s raining. I’m listening to new nice songs, I just ate, and the three weeks of work madness is over. It feels right; I feel okay.

Two weeks ago today, I didn’t think I would ever live a happy day again; I thought I was going to lose my happiness

#8 The women victims of war: rape as a weapon of war and means of ethnic cleansing

Date: March 11, 2021

#9 Success & resolutions

Date: March 27, 2021
Background: this one’s too funny because I could not even finish the sentence and write the year.
Post:

It’s almost April, and I have yet to write down my resolutions for

#10 Golden

Date: May 10, 2021
Background: I had an epiphany, and I was obsessed with this song.
Post:

To be running in a meadow of green and beauty

#11

Date: September 24, 2021
Background: this would have been cute if I actually did finish it.
Post:

It’s Friday (!), and I’m in the office, and the people at the other end of the floor are listening to All You Need Is Love by The Beatles, which of course made me smile to myself and made me realize, it’s the end of the week.

This week? It has been well, the workload is insane, and I am still lagging so, so, much even though I’m coming an hour early and leaving hours after, and I just remembered that my work week only started on Wednesday- I had an incredible two days getaway on Monday and Tuesday.


Done, thank you, lovely ladies and gentlemen.

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.

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.

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.

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.

🎤

I am so very much in love

I am in love. I am in love with the wonderful world we live in; with the ebony night and the washed-out days and the godly mountains and the soft breeze brushing my cheek without consent. I am so in love with this feeling of idyll, of living in a world so ghastly, of the obsession we have to stay alive, to survive amid chaos.

I am currently in the middle of nowhere. I am in a well-known town, but this cottage is in the middle of nowhere, and a cat just ate my food and spilled my drink on the white lace cloth lying on the perfectly carved table, and my feet are cold, and I am feeling lightweight with a mild headache, and I am absolutely in love. 

It is so drastic to love something so ugly. To love a world that shelters starving children, orphans, poverty, to love the beauty in the very ugliness of the world.

It is selfish to be sitting here, on a holistic swing playing with my hair and planning to stay awake until sunrise, while death lingers by in every cracked window and every leaky roof.

Yet, I am okay; I am well. I am so grateful for the world we live in, for the beauty in the souls that pass by us, for the behemoth pain and euphoria that we must live through, for every moment that crossed us, for the way I feel drinking my coffee and laughing to the insanity of the whole universe we live in.

It is so inane, yet so relieving, to be able to see the world as it is, a real-life adaptation of Alice in Wonderland. And then there are these sweet and vile moments, moments that make heartaches go away, that feed our blood ecstasy, that make every single broken memory, totally worth living.

How lucky am I? To be able to have a Monday and a Tuesday off for a post-weekend getaway, contemplating ways to survive the rest of the year and thinking of the life I led, with pride and a lot, a lot, of shame.

I’m reading a novel written during Lebanon’s civil war by one of my favorite authors, and I felt an urge to share my happiness with you. I know I do not do that often-share my happy moments-and I am forever sorry for what you have to read here, but right now, you need to know that if I’m on drugs, I would probably not have felt this high.

What else?

I cannot wait until I watch my Grace Kelly and Bing Crosby movie tonight, after sunset, and before I find myself asleep on the couch. I will be of course binge-drinking coffee, but we both know I will be falling asleep by 12-ish.

Also

I have been obsessed with this song the whole summer, it is so enchanting and raw, and everybody should be listening to it. It reminds me of love, of quietness, of happiness. Give it a listen, will ya?

“if i knew what
safety looked like
i would have spent
less time falling into
arms that were not”

Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey

I hope you’re having a lovely Monday-or at least trying to (:

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.

Tonight is just like any other night

Just like any other night – It’s 4 am. I’m struggling to remember, a few months ago, where all of this was gone, when I woke up on a cold December morning and I remembered that it had been so long that I didn’t have morning anxiety, that for the first time in over 5 years, the dawn anxiety attacks were gone.

And here I am now, clutching what’s left of serenity, with agonizing pain in my heart and an inflicting lump in my throat, here I am awake and thinking of all the horrid in life. Here I am at 4 am, wishing that the sun never comes, that I never have to wake up again.

I’m sorry. Every time I am back in a slum, I feel like the weakest creature on earth, like I have failed you and everything around me. It’s similar to the feeling of when I eat too much, and all I’m left with is guilt and shame and self-hatred.

I was so happy about this blog a few months back when it was a happy and content place. I listened to songs that I felt, and I found safety within; I got out of the house willingly, and seeing people was so idyllic. Now it’s all dark and depressive, and I am listening to It’s Over by The Smiths, and I have 14 unfinished posts in my draft, and I’m sorry that you have to read this.

And, my dear God, summer is blooming, which means all this will worsen and get uglier. And I’m terrified.

I’m sorry that I’m not what you expected; I’m sorry that I can’t be sane enough to be a normal friend or person. It’s just, I am trying so, so, hard to get out of this nightmare, of this rollercoaster, I’m trying so hard to be a better person for myself and you, but the pain in my heart still wakes me up at 4 am and tells me there is no happiness, that I don’t deserve happiness because I am what is wrong in the world and yet, I do not deserve to die.

I wish I can be better; I wish I can have nicer words and a nicer feeling, I wish I can write the way I wrote before, I wish it can get better, and I’m not awake at 4 am thinking of all the ways I could numb the pain inside me. I wish I can be better for you.

Be kind

Be kind please. You never know, you really never know.

Be kind to those you love in general and to those you hate in specific. Be kind to strangers, to grumpy taxi drivers, to migrant domestic workers, to people you come across, and you never know what is going with their lives or their heads.

You never know, and because you never know, please be kind. Be kind to your nice friend who is always laughing, be kind to your colleagues who do not talk to you, and sometimes not make eye contact.

Because you never know. You never know which one’s which; you never know which one is arrogant and which one is too shy to look at you in the eye. You never know who is thinking of going home and swallowing the hidden pills in an unworn brown jacket.

You never know what the kid who never participates in class-virtually-must be feeling or the kid in class who always asks questions and takes notes. You never know which one of your colleagues are listening to Asleep by The Smiths at work and searching for ways to numb the pain.

Be kind because it is easier than being guilty. Smile at people and tell them they look nice, compliment their choice of music and notice the little things, tell your friends you love them, and notice the dark circles under the eyes. You never know who spent their night crying; you never know.

Be kind because loving someone is so rewarding. There is so much we can give if only we treated others with unreciprocated kindness; it never gets old to see someone smiling because of you.

Be kind because we are all carrying sadness that we cannot bear. Be kind because the pain crippling in your guts might be worse in somebody else’s guts. Be kind because all of us thought of multiple ways to death, because many of us contemplated suicide every now and then, because some of us tried to kill ourselves but could not find the strength and bravery.

Be kind, I beg you. The world is horrendous on its own without snarky comments and cold faces. Be kind because it is so worth loving someone too much, enough for them to stay. “I stay alive because you are kind to me.”

Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I’m tired and I
I want to go to bed
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
And then leave me alone
Don’t try to wake me in the morning
‘Cause I will be gone
Don’t feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I will feel so glad to go
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore
Sing to me
Sing to me
I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore
Don’t feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I really want to go
There is another world
There is a better world
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Bye

The Smiths

I hope to lose myself for good

sometimes ignorance

rings true

but hope is not in

what I know

it’s not in me..me

it’s in You, it’s in You

You by Switchfoot

When did we become so grownup? So old and responsible?

When did we become so grown up that we started being responsible for our own life, and the lives of others? When did we start taking care of my parents, when all we ever knew was them taking care of us?

How did we grow so old in a heartbeat, making our own money and shopping for groceries for the house? When did we come so old that we are paying for vegetables and shampoo with our own money?

We grew up, even though we didn’t want to, even though we were not ready. We grew up, and nobody asked us if we’d like to take all these responsibilities or remain safe in our beds on a Sunday morning, not thinking of what to cook for our dependents, not getting worked up for laundry day.

I’m not saying it was easy, or fun, or happy, but it was just not as hard. Our problems were a “me” problem, and not the whole world carried on our shoulders. Or it just me? I never know.

I’m listening to You by Switchfoot, and it’s one of my ‘nostalgia’ songs. I was 15, and I just broke my leg on a snow day the first day of 2013, and I watched A Walk To Remember. I thought that the movie is good, but not one of my personal best, but I got You by Switchfoot from it, and You was on repeat for a year. When I wanted to sleep, I would listen to it as a lullaby.

I downloaded my Twitter archives a week ago, and I’ve been looking at all those pictures, all those memories I’ve forgotten, and the rush of nostalgia has made my heart so, so, heavy. I searched the whole house for one of the shirts that were my favorites when I was 16, and I’ve been wearing it for a few days. As if wearing it would make all the responsibilities go away.

Anyway, here are some memories that might not make much sense to you, but I hope you can feel them.

Beqaa at 5am.
The first rainy day on the last school year
This was more of a bi-weekly outing with people who were the closest to me. I cannot believe I was underweight at that time, because sometimes we would add to that mix waffles. We were a group of eight, and we would spend most of our nights at our friend’s house. Now, the only people who are still in my life are two of them. (thank you for all the memories)
Bkassine walk. It was a warm day in September and it was so peaceful.
I was all alone that night, talking to my back-then favorite person and feeling so loved.
Saturday mornings
I don’t think I appreciated this beauty enough back then.
My favorite days were when I would write my story on our village balcony. Songs I was probably listening to: shesmovedon by Porcupine Tree and Polyamorous by Breaking Benjamin
My teta was probably sitting next to me, offering me grapes.
It wasn’t a beach day without our turkey and cheese sandwiches.
This day was hard on me. My anxiety levels were so high that I had to get out of the car and walk home from school. When I got home I skyped my back-then favorite person, and all my anxiety went away.
Yes, I played the Kim Kardashian game. Here is me with Kim.
When I was 16, I had taphophile; a major interest in graves and cemeteries. I would spend quite some time searching photos like the above, and I would visit my grandpa’s grave on a weekly basis. (I was never that sane).
I was too afraid to wash my hands. Too afraid it would fade away.
That week was the very first week I practically lived independently. My best friend’s family was out of the town so we had the house to ourselves.
Reading the Fault In Our Stars, and crying for three days after. (also: that was my favorite Christmas holiday)
I think we can all relate to the serenity of this. We all had our moments at the “waterfront”.
This was the only spot in our village house that we had wifi in. I remember that night, vaguely.
Why did I ever have those gloves and why don’t think still exit?
This weekend is still one of my favorite weekends.

I know I’m making no sense, but all those were perfect moments to me. Oh what I would do to live in a moment.