Posts

Posted on

Be still my aching heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on

I hate flying

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I won’t spoil it for you.

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

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

Nope, thank you.

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

Posted on

A peace of morning

A peace of morning was written on October 8, 2022.

I’m at this fancy hotel café, drinking sparkling water, waiting for my Belgian waffles and shakshuka, and I can hear crows.

Odd world, do you not agree?

Last week has been, well, not a typical week of the life of nour. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still uptight as fuck, but I tried to tune down my overthinking, and I lived a little.

I’ve been in Georgia for eight days now, walking in every nook and cranny until my feet bleed, listening to the noise of the city, and my music. I made so many friends, saw incredible nature, ate good food, went out on a date with a Russian guy, almost went out with a Georgian guy, visited Armenia, and Georgia’s countryside, and got a tattoo.

Remember the compass tattoo I mentioned briefly two years ago? Well, I finally got it. And I am absolutely in love with it.

It was all so sudden. I was with my American friend shopping at the flea market – which I am obsessed with by the way – and he just had the most remarkable exotic tattoo on his thigh, so I complimented it, and he told me that he actually did it here in Tbilisi. The tattoo artist is from Belarus, and she moved three months ago to Georgia and her work is nothing I’ve ever seen. So I booked an appointment on the same evening, and I got my compass (!).

For those of you who do not know the story of the compass, I’ve always suffered from existential and identity crisis, meaning, I never know who I am, what I want, or if this is really what I want from my life. I am scared, and anxious, most of the time, and I am forever searching for safety.

What is safety? Well, for me, safety is people, most of the time.

And as we all know, people leave, so when you associate your safety with people, you constantly find yourself unsafe and scared. And if you associate your safety with a place, you feel stuck, and being stuck is another crisis for me. So, as you see, I am still searching for safety.

And that is why I wanted to get a compass as a tattoo. Because a compass guides you to where you want, it takes you to the one thing you are searching for. And I want it to guide me to safety. My compass tattoo is a reminder for me that, on my darkest days, in my bleakest thoughts, I will look at it, and I will know that one day hopefully, it will guide me home.

Poetic, is it? Sorry, I’m just feeling serene. Currently, I am listening to I am scared of commitment by Jadal, which is ironic, and my breakfast i here. After breakfast, I am going to the flea market, for the third time this week :), and then visiting some abandoned haunted houses, then maybe meeting a friend over coffee.

The weather is magical, at least to me, there is no sun, and I am wearing a sweater. It’s a well day spent Saturday.

Adios now, I want to eat.

Posted on

Good morning from Tbilisi

Good morning from Tbilisi was written on October 3, 2022 (but never completed).

Good morning, bonjour, დილა მშვიდობისა. it’s a chilly yet sunny day in Tbilisi, and i’m feeling so tipsy on life.

Pouring down my Cappuccino Vienna, I am just observing the beauty around me. I am currently sitting at Santino Modcoffeebar, a Paris-like cafe in the middle of Tbilisi. To my left, a man is eating Shakshuka and smoking an e-cigarette, which makes me suspicious that he might be Arab or Lebanese.

Next to him sits a very interesting man with a very long Vikings-like beard, eating some sub-sandwich, with a stray dog looking at his sandwich, and the man eating Shakshuka throws him some of his food because he obviously didn’t like his Shakshuka. But every time the man feeds the dog, the dog returns to the Viking man because the dog associated that looking at the Viking man’s sandwich will get it food.

Fascinating, no?

Posted on

An explanation (?)

An explanation was written in September, before my leave.

Not an explanation actually. I just feel like I need to write this down, to have whatever I am thinking of outside me and not just inside my mind.

I have so many things flying through my mind, but none seem to make sense if I write them down. I guess what I am trying to do here is to justify myself and explain to you why I am acting whatever way I am, that is, if you even noticed at all, that is, if it is not only just in my head.

For those of you who might have noticed, I am distanced, and I might be acting defensively, a childish behavior, a mean attitude, in arrogance. If that is how you see me, then I am sorry; I did not mean to act like this or make you feel this way. It just changes are coming, and I am scared.

See, I have a coping mechanism to deal with all the bad things thrown our way. And I’m not saying I am any special, that I suffer more than you do; I am not special, at all.

I just have some problem that I am working on extensively in therapy, and that is I feel responsible for the pain of everyone.

I am responsible for poverty, unemployment, the crumpling education system, the legal injustice of women, the homeless, the orphans, the sick, the elderly. I am responsible for my mum’s exhaustion, my dad’s despair, my sisters’ pain. I am responsible for my friends not being happy enough, not reaching what they want to do. I am responsible for not doing everything perfectly at work, for all the mistakes that have been made by me and by everyone else that I have nothing to do with.

And this creates a lot of scenarios. I am responsible for unemployment, and I do not deserve to work. I am responsible for poverty, and I do not deserve to have money. I am responsible for the orphans and I do not deserve to have parents.

I am responsible for my friends’ problems because I was not there to solve them, I am responsible for my sister’s pain because I do not spend enough time with her, I am responsible for my mum being angry because I do not see her a lot. It is my responsibility, it is all my fault.

I am responsible for all of that, and the more painful responsibility I carry, the more tired I become. I am working on myself through, I promise, and I am getting better. But it takes time to take all that burden off my shoulders. It will take me some time, and I will eventually be guilt-free, and get rid of all the bizarre things that I have no control over whatsoever.

Posted on

It’s November

It's November

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Action points from my end:

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

Also, it’s Christmas soon. yey.

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

Posted on

Newyorker but not in Newyork

Newyorker is a café, with bookish interior and torn couches, nestled one minute away from a very busy street full of anarchist-bohemian bars.  It’s a chill café, and it was my go-to place three years ago, where I spent all my free time in. It was nice, quiet, close to home, and had godly awful coffee. 

I used to go there almost every day, accompanied with a friend studying med at university. Whenever I finished work I would just meet him at Newyorker and we just work/study our night away. We had daily work/study dates for almost six months, until the pandemic hit, and I kind of pulled a nour on him and ruined our friendship for personal reasons I will not tell you. 

It was nice, still is. Today, I met up with him again at Newyorker, and we just rekindled the  sparkles we had, and I  absolutely enjoyed every second. He’s a medical person, and I am obviously not, and that is literally the core of all of our conversations, him calling the heart some shit like myocardium and me telling him that ice cream is probably injected with  a deadly bacteria that will make us grow a third leg. 

And we just laugh. He makes fun of me crying for absolutely no reason, and I make fun of him for his failed love life, and it gets as dark as you can imagine.

He tells me the most random stories he faces at the hospital, and I just ramble about God knows what, and I just ask him to tell me about suicidal cases because, lol, they fascinate me.

His car’s name is Lokman, and it’s a transgender car with he/him as pronouns. The car is red, slow, and makes the weirdest noises – but we associated the noise with how vocal and empowered Lokman is in the vehicle trans society. I didn’t have a car then, so Lokman was in charge of roadtrips, from driving to eat delicious shawarma in Aley, to stargazing in a dead end road in Mansourieh.

My friend knew all stars constellations and could tell each’s star’s age, function, and which zodiac sign it falls under. He’s smart like that, he would stay stuff like: “so this place we are in is usually a well known place for horny and high couples. So if you hear any noise different that Lokman’s, please do dismiss and keep focusing on the Gemini star to your upper right.”

It was simple, and I like it. After our little meetup tonight, I drove back home with a smile on my face, blasting Mr. Brightside and feeling refreshed. It was nice to go back to a time where I wasn’t so grownup and did not really understand the world as it is. 

Also, interlude, but have I ever told you about my undying love for betrayal songs? Like Jolene? Back to Black? Bust Your Windows? Angel in Disguise? Jelous? Heaven-sent anthems. If you have a song about betrayal, or a person loving 

I am feeling young again. I know I am only 24, but the past two years made me feel like I am growing 10 years in a month, like I need to act like I know what I am doing and what I am saying, when I really have trouble walking straight and not dropl over strawberry tartes served at a high level reception. 

Enough about me. How about you? Any good/bad things happening with you? Would love to hear them over coffee, or a 50cm long pizza and a dozen eclairs – I’m just PMSing, so please be nice with me.

Posted on

Siri, play Summertime Sadness

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

I have been thinking,

And for all of you who would probably say

“Do you usually not think?”

No, I do. Think.

But lately, I have been thinking

About safety in cold nights

Safety in the sadness

In the taste of a bad coffee

In the grumpiness of an early morning

In the hotness of a summer day

In the rudeness of an arrogant man

I am thinking of the little moments we live

In the most awful memories

That keeps us alive

The touch of a loved one

The slow dance in a closed room

The sunset on a sea view terrace

The hammock nap on a hike

A midnight swim

The city skyline

Driving on empty streets

Loud music in the car

First drop of rain

Harry Potter movies

My mother’s famous rice

My father’s nonchalant jokes

My sisters

A good night sleep

A good book

A funny Netflix series

A walk in a forestry lane

A good song on repeat

The face of a lover

A laugh

A goodbye

A hug

A kiss

The small moments

That do not fade

Even in the darkest day

It blooms, thrives, thirsts off the melancholy

We choose to oversee it

As usually, the pain is too loud

But once we actually notice

Focus on the simplicity

It makes everything bearable

Hell, it becomes addicting

Craving for safety in the abyss

Lusting for the hope found in dirty niches

I live for these

Moments

For the serendipity in a heinous setting

I live to feel

I live for safety

I live to feel the safety

Posted on

It’s July again, and I miss you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that you live in serenity, no one upsets you

you realise all your dreams

and I want you to know, my heart

that you’ve become a piece of my heart

and that whenever I’m happy

I know that you’re happy, too”

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

Posted on

Freak by Surf Curse, give it a listen

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

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

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

I’m still not making coffee. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonne nuit les petits. Talk soon x