Saudis under the Mask

I still feel you. You're everywhere. You're in every rainy day, every sad song. You're every cloudy sky and every book I read. You're every green eye I meet. You're presence still lingers around me. I have not forgotten. Your lemon perfume next to my bed still. I feel you even when your six feet under. You know I envy the ground that wraps your body. I hear your laughter sometimes, in other people you live on. I hate getting attached because I can't risk being ripped off like a band-aid again. So sudden, so quick. Gone. I still spray your perfume when I can't remember how your hugs were like. A lemony scent fills the air, and I remember what it was like to be enveloped in one of your hugs. I can't sleep at night, most nights. I drizzle your perfume on my pillow. I'm doing just fine. Pieces of you live on with me forever. I will always remember your every detail, even after I burned the pictures. Blonde hair falling right into place like a crown, fram

Nobody listens. Nobody cares. And nobody understands. Years of pain and suffering have plagued my memory. I'm constantly screaming and crying for help, yet my voice still goes unheard. Tormented by the ghost of my past, tortured by my excruciating childhood. I am a pain magnet, I attract the worst of the worst into my life. You'd think I would've learned by now, but I didn't. I can't stop myself. I used to wake up every morning terrified of what the day will bring on, of where I'd see you haunting me next. But now I'm used to seeing you in everyone and everything. My life is a constant series of fake smiles and forced laughs in order to convince you that I'm okay. I'M OKAY! I'm fine. I'M FINE! I can be very good at convincing you I'm okay, you didn't even know I was crying myself to sleep every night. I'm so very far from fine. I'm screaming. Can't you hear me? Do you not hear my screams? How can you not hear me screaming?

صوت يرن في أذني وكأنه صوت نقار الخشب. يزعجني عندما أسمعه ولكنه يعالجني، يفرغ قلبي مما أكبحه فيه من غضب ومشاعر كثيرة في دوامة الغضب. لا يسألني أحد عن السبب الذي جبرني على الصراخ، ولا أحد يواسيني ويبدل غضبي بفرح ويحول مشاعري إلى شيء يجعل مبسمي يشق وجهي. بدأت أحس وكأنني منبوذة بين البشر. ليس هناك من يكترث لحالي، ليس هناك من يداويني قبل أن أصرخ وأخرج ما تراكم من رماد المشاعر في قلبي. قد يضحك البعض ويقول هو صوت مزعج، كيف أصبح دواء؟ بالنسبة لي، الصرخة كأنها ممسحة زجاج تلطخ ببصمات الناس فأزالها حتى أصبح أثرها لا يُرى. أصبح الصراخ صديقي الصدوق في حياتي، هو ما يواسيني، هو من يعالجني في حين يجرحني غيري وليس بوسعي أن أمنعهم، هو السبب الذي يجعلني ابتسم.

As I grasp onto the remnants of my sanity, my thoughts stumble to the pits of emptiness, cascading down the river of oblivion. I lose myself to the demons of sorrow and lose my words to madness altogether. I scream until I have no voice remaining, and I scream myself to nothingness.

The fruits of evergreens are fragrant, and so is the whiff of warm vanilla. I am neither; I am a woman, my love; I smell like independence, knowledge, and willpower. I smell like the sunset after a long day. My love― my fragrance is the break of dawn, declaring new hope. My fragrance is light.

The one that got away. I’m looking for you, wondering if you still can’t express what you feel like you used to feel. Still looking for depth in everything; hungry for answers. It’s okay if you’re still the same. Do you want a glimpse of the future? What are you like, now? I look at you, but can’t recognize you. Yes, you, the old you— it makes me want to scream.

A scream A piercing cry you hear from the strong And from the weak You,  The coward And the brave; fear doesn’t distinguish between those things, for it comes at different degrees. Thus, fearless doesn’t exist but less fear does. Less fear  To the point of not feeling, or fearing it I guess you can call that fearless but the coward still stands next to the brave in the single entity we call a soul an oxymoron a paradox of this very world. so, scream. And let the world know you are afraid But not conquered by fear.

He was about to leave her when she choked the remaining words out of her sore throat: “Lie to me, give me any false hope to hold on to. Tell me that you’ll always..” “I’m sorry” he walked out without turning back. This time she didn’t look for a seed of hope in the seas of dead flowers, she didn’t stay until dawn looking for the faint arrays of the sun shine knowing that she hadn’t seen it for years. Instead, she silenced her innocent soul and locked herself up in the most dreadful part of her, lit some fire and only gazed as it attacked everything it touched. Someone from the outside, an old friend it seems, sensed the danger within her walls. He broke down the front door as furious black smoke stretched right towards him. He ducked running to the source, he screamed her name, he looked for her in every room until he finally arrived at a locked door. On the other side, she had crumbled up in the corner and started feeling the numbness of everything and nothing at the same time. He

- الرياض - الأربعاء – 8 نوڤمبر 2017 – الساعة 11:57م. على بعد مئات الكيلومترات، يتوسد جسدك تربة الكوت. إلى أغلى من فقدت، أشتاقك جداً. أما بعد، أريد أن أخبرك بأمر لم أطلع شخصاً عليه قط، إلا أني أظن أن من حولي يعلمون به؛ كيفية التعامل مع غيابك – روح أبكى الجدران رحيلها. في أول عامٍ بعد رحيلك يا جدي، اشتاقت حواسي كلها للشعور بك؛ سماع صوتك، رؤية ابتسامتك، تذوق قبلةٍ على جبينك و أخرى على يدك التي بدت آثار السنوات في تجاعيدها، و الضياع في حضنك. افتقدت حواسي وجود روحك يا جدي، و لم يبدو أنه بوسع أي شيء في الكون أن يعوضها أو يشبع شوقي، فالصور على سبيل المثال جامدة، و لا تكفي. المهلبية -أمرُ مضحك- أنها ما قادتني إلى أقرب شيءٍ لك؛ ماء الورد. بنكهتها العطرة، استطاعت أن تحيي جزءاً من ذاكرتي كدت أن أنساه، و كأنها حلقة الوصل المفقودة بيني و بينك. رائحة الورد يا جدي، عطرٌ لا يليق إلا بك. حين أستنشق رائحتها، أتذكر تقبيل جبينك، فتزداد شدة الرائحة حين يقترب أنفي من غترتك البيضاء التي لطالما اعتمدت "دهن الورد الاسطنبولي" طيبها الوحيد، فأعلق على زكاء الرائحة و تكحل مبصري بابتسامتك الخجو

A void in my chest brings me so much misery – A feeling that only a scream could heal. A scream is no more than a loud voice coming out of you – to fill you. When words fail and cries no longer feel useful, scream. A scream, comes out as a sound so loud. A scream, is a collection of emotions and words that are hidden too deep within. To let out a scream is to rid thyself of all tension of all sorrow of all fear and of all hatred. To let out a scream is to allow thyself to find serenity to find happiness to find peace and to find love again. To scream is to fill the void in your chest and to be back at rest to be the person you have always been except now with greater maturity, and undefeated. To scream, is to renew your strength.

Heartbeats scream like phantoms The rattling of brittle ribcage bones Find me slow dancing with the void on weekends The ghosts watch us Our shadows merge as one Oh, don’t visit the graveyard Kindness is buried in a coffin six feet under The werewolves don’t howl at luna The moon is creaking like door And she’s trying to leave unnoticed But all the stars threaten to turn into candles And all candles melt into dull yellow wax The darkness is skating in the sky Begging me to use it like a blanket Seek comfort in scarecrows with broomstick bristle hair I nestle amidst the haystacks Won’t the hayride take me to heaven?

Amidst the quiet darkness, I am aware that all I have got left to do is to believe … “Mom, what does it mean to believe?”, I still remember my eight-year-old self contemplating emotions before going to bed; emotions that I have never experienced until years after. My mother tucked me in bed and curled her pursed lips to form half a smile, “to believe is to have faith, honey. Now goodnight, you can ask all you want in the morning, but it is time to go to bed now.” Being the stubborn kid that I was, I pulled my blanket away and sat upright as I looked at her, “I want to know now. If you don’t answer my question, I won’t sleep. I promise you, mom, it’s only one question, and I only want one short answer.” Giving up to my request, she laid next to me and finally began to answer my question. “No short answer will ever carry the great and true meaning of what it is to believe. To believe, is to wake up every morning knowing that today is going to be better. To believe, is to choose th

في كلّ مرة أقرأ فيها خبر وفاة أحدهم أفكّر كم هوَ مرعب أن يموتَ إنسان كان حاضراً و أن يبدأ في التلاشي كأنهُ لم يكن يوما، وأن يأخذه الصمت من بعد ما كان صوته مليئاً بالحياة حيث لن يُذكر في هذه الحياة.. أليس محزناً أن نفقِد الشعور بالحياة وأن تختفي الأحاسيس والأوجه والأصوات وأن نغادر الحياة ونسقط من ذاكرة العالم تدريجيًا وينسانا الجميع؟

Tick, tock, tick, tock, an imprisoned scream erupts within me, scraping my throat like sandpaper. I, running amid the emptiness waiting for your molten lava of tears to shower on me. Tick, tock, tick, tock, the boundaries between us drift apart, and I run, and run, and run. I am running out of air. I fall, into the abyss of oblivion. I fall, breathless and out of time.

Breathless as in the way I first felt when our eyes met for the first time you walked in the room. Breathless as in the way I felt when you first told me you loved me and I stayed up that night counting what I can remember from the stars in your eyes. Breathless as in the way I felt when you hurt me for the first time and it felt like everything I've ever loved has walked out on me. Breathless as in the way I felt when you made the galaxies collide just to see me smile after a stupid little fight.

Breathing. The air inhaled and exhaled during ventilation, an act vital to intake oxygen and to survive, an inspiration. In other words, you. I don't seem to know where to place you.. Are you my oxygen? My air and my inspiration? Or the reason I'm suffocating? These thoughts of you are suffocating me I see you everywhere, in everything I own You drive me crazy and the scariest part is the unknown What I do know Is having you in my life is overwhelming, My words are not mine anymore. everything, is yours for the taking. Breathless when with you and breathless when I'm not Just tell me darling, what do I do with all this love?

They told me to believe in happy endings. They told me to believe that things will get better. They told me to believe that I can be happy again. But I can't. You left me in a place of rage and confusion. You left me stranded and alone. You left me. How could I ever believe in a happy ending for me, when there is no happy without you? How can I believe that my life can get better when you ARE my life? How could you? How could you leave me like this? How could you leave me without saying goodbye? Was I not enough for you? Did I not deserve a goodbye? My life won't ever get better. I won't ever be happy again. Not without you. You're gone. You're never coming back. Does anyone get that on any level? They say time heals all wounds, But it cannot bring people back from the dead. I don't think I believe in anything anymore, I don't believe it could get better for me. I don't believe that I will ever be happy, Then again, I never reall

The two of us were made for each other, literally. We're broken pieces of the past united by will and acceptance. We didn't need anyone else to help bring us as a whole we only needed to look for the pieces we've lost in each other. We were young and innocent with hearts of pure see-through glass. We'd roll on the fresh green grass and watch the stars on our favorite hill at night, the one that had the tree we used to climb when we were younger. We'd spend all day traveling by car from a place to another. And at just those moments everything seemed perfect. We were crossing cities by car in a rough weather and my hands left the wheel for a moment to light a cigarette, it's funny how she always said it'll leave me breathless but I just keep smiling. We drove for what seemed like hours until we reached a narrow bridge cutting the sea in half. I accidentally zoned out then came back again and my eyes went to check on her almost involuntarily. A sort of fear mad

She has never felt breathless until she saw his eyes. For the first time, she lost her breath and felt that her oxygen has gone the moment her eyes have met with that person’s eyes. She has always thought that the feeling of breathless is linked within mental and physical diseases, such as fear, nervousness, sadness and damage in the lungs as a result of smoking. “These are all lies,” she commented. “The way his eyes was looking at me is the real definition of breathless, and there is no real meaning than this.” We might disagree with her, but the reality is that everyone has his own way to define things, and this can be only based on the situations that we’ve been through. To conclude, that girl who has different sight regarding the word breathless has learned the day she met with the person she loves that we all should save our breath for those who make us breathless.

Words are all around, but who give them their real meanings are people who have an impact on your life. A 10 years old boy, who’s in his first year of school was asked to define the word “Believe” in a full sentence. He has never heard about such word, and that’s why he took one minute long to find what does this word really mean? Then, an image of a person he knows really well has crossed his mind while he was thinking of the best way to define the word “Believe”. He asked himself; “Why did my dad’s picture cross my mind while I’m sitting here in the middle of the class, surrounded by those boys who are looking at me, waiting for me to find a good answer for the word “Believe”. “What is the relationship between my dad and the word “Believe”?. Suddenly, he realized that words in life are usually come in the form of people.. And he quickly answered to his teacher’s question as following: “Believe means, when your daddy closes his eyes and you hold his hands, guiding him to some

“Have you ever met someone that took your breath away? Made you feel so breathless?” he asked. I laughed and said,“What do you mean?” “I have. The warmth in her eyes when she looks at me, the smile she gives for me, the way her nose scrunches up when she sees something she hates, the way she looks at stars as if they are magical.” he looked at me with so much love in his eyes. “I have, and it's you.”

يُقال أن المشاعر كلما زاد صدقها، صعُب التحدث عنها، وأؤمن بأن هذا تمامًا هو ما يحدث لي كلما حاولت الحديث عنك، فلا أظن أن مجرد كلمات بسيطة، مكوّنة من عدة أحرفٍ كفيلة بوصفك، أشعر كثيرًا من الأحيان وأنني مقيدة بأغلال شبه مستحيلة الفك… مازلت أتذكر ذلك اليوم الذي أخبرتني فيه بأن أؤمن بقدراتي، حتى وإن لم أتعرف عليها بعد… أخبرتني أن أشجع نفسي، وأحفزها، وكأنني شخصٌ آخر يحاول التحدث معي… كان كلامك ساذجًا بالنسبة لي، لم أكترث. ولكني اليوم بعدما أدركت قيمتك التي سُلِبت مني، أدركت معنى كل حرفٍ قلته لي، وأشكرك على كل شيء، على صبرك عليّ، وعلى تحملك لي، وعلى نصائحك… فأنا الآن أؤمن بنفسي أكثر من أي يومٍ مضى… سأظل أذكر فضلك عليّ، سأظل أدعو أن يجمعني الله بك في الجنة، وأن يتغمدك بالرحمة، وأن يصبر قلبي على فرقاك.

I’m out of words don’t leave me there gasping for air asking why do our troubled souls intertwine? Is it because of your slight touch inside my soul... Or is it your reflection on me? I still feel breathless. What if our souls find peace? will we intertwine? We were fragile like an autumn breeze because of our emptiness. But what if we are heavier? What if we are the leaves that don’t fall down now. Will we intertwine cause I suddenly feel full of fresh air.

Run. It's coming. That little voice inside my head was screaming at me. RUN! I started running, where to, I'm not sure. I just knew I had to run. My feet gently pattered against the smooth, cold, ground. I was going faster and faster, letting the wind cool my hot face. The concrete was slightly stinging the bottoms my feet but I knew I couldn't stop. I was getting tired and slowly out of breath. The air around me was getting thicker and thicker. My windpipe was tightening up and I was slowly but surely suffocating. Breathe. Just breathe. Slow down and take deep breaths, But I couldn't stop. The voice inside my head kept yelling at me to RUN! My heart is palpating, beads of sweat were forming at my temples. I was in the middle of a road, it was dark. I was running. Behind me I could hear loud thuds, like footsteps that belong to a huge creature. A small growl erupted behind me. RUN! Faster I ran, faster, faster, FASTER! I can't breathe. I CAN'T

في منتصف ليلة سوداء، وبينما كانت قطرات المطر تهطل بغزارة وتغيّر من تيّار الرياح، دخل طفل صغير وهو يبكي ويصرخ قائلًا "أمي تعبة وسقطت أمام بوابات المشفى،" ولكن لم يسمعه إلا قلة.   كانت تتهافت الأنفاس في وسط منطقة الطوارئ، ويتراكض الأطباء لإنقاذ المصابين ولَم يسمعه إلا ذوي المصابين في وسط حزنهم، لذلك لَم يستجيب أحد لنداؤه. بدأ يصرخ بصوت أعلى ويبكي حتى سمعه طبيب مناوب وركض لمساعدة أمه. تجمّع الأطباء والممرضات حول والدة الطفل الصغير لإنقاذها. بكى وهو ينظر إلى أمه التي بدأت تنزف دمًا من رأسها، ولَم يكن بيده شيء ليفعله سوى النظر إليها من بعيد.  استقر حال والدة الطفل الصغير بعد ساعة من محاولات شتى لإنقاذها من الموت. انتظر الطفل أمام باب غرفتها لساعات متواصلة دون أن يجلس، خوفًا من استيقاظ والدته دون أن تراه أمامها. انتظر الطفل حتى شعر بالنعاس وغفى دون قصد. بدأت صافرات تنطلق من غرفتها واستيقظ ابنها ورأى الأطباء يركضون لإنقاذها. كان طفلها يراها من وراء النافذة ويبكي من خوفه على أمه. بدأ الأطباء بإنعاشها ولكن باءت محاولاتهم بالفشل وانطلق صوت استمر طويلًا حتى سمع الطفل صوت الأطباء وه

قرأت مرة في كتاب دوستويفسكي أنه يُعاني من حُمّى التفكير فهو يفكر فيما حدث وفيما سيحدث وفيما لو قد يحدث.  بالنسبة لي فأنا أُعاني من حُمى التأمل، أقضي عدة ساعات في تأمل أشياء لا أحد يقف أمامها لوهلة، قد يطول بي الوقوف في شارعٍ طويل مُقمر أو الجلوس في مكان لا يعبرهُ كثير من المارّة، أُطيل النظر في ملامح ليست على حظٍ كبير من الجمال، أُعيد قراءة بعض الكتب لمرّات، أُراقب بداية هطول المطر على يدي بينما الآخرين يراقبونه خلف النافذة. لا أعرف ما الذي يدفعني للشعور بالأشياء أكثر من اللازم وطالما فضّلت عيشُها دونَ التفوه بكلمة واحدة كونُها لحظات ليس بوسعي وصف وقعُها كما هي في واقع الحال.

الساعة تشير إلى الواحدة والسادسة عشر دقيقة صباحًا، وما زال كل فكري عنك أنت وحدك، تبعدنا مسافة تقارب ثمانية الآف ومئتان وتسعين ميل. ورغم بُعد المسافة التي بيننا إلا أنك الوحيد القريب لقلبي. أحبك.. و سأحبك حتى نكبر ونشيخ.. حتى أرى تجاعيد وجهك.. حتى يشيب شعرك.. سأحبك إلى آخر أنفاسي، وسأدعو الخالق عندها بأن يهبني إياك في جنان الخُلد حيث ما لا عينٌ رأت ولا أُذن سمعت ولا خطر على قلب بشر..

I take a moment to close my eyes when I hear nothing. When I'm surrounded by silence. A place where I find my inner self. I travel through mind exploring its narrow streets and its crowded neighborhoods. I get lost in my head. I'm lost, then a sudden sound disturbs my tranquility. The calmness I find in me. And now I've lost the silence.

1:16 am ... I wake up drenched in sweat. Your face, voice, smile they all haunt my dreams. I lay awake feeling paralyzed. ... The fact that I didn't get to say goodbye still torments me. You just left us so suddenly. My eyes wouldn't stop shedding tears. ... You know what hurts the most? I forgot. ... I forgot your voice. I forgot your laugh. I forgot the way your eyes would crinkle whenever I told you a joke. ... You were so young. So naive. So fragile. ... I miss you. I still love you. I need you. … 1:16 am

Locked in a windowless room I sat in the pitiful dark, drowning in silence. I waited for death to take me away, for death seemed to be my only asylum from the atrocious, ghastly silence that is slowly driving me to insanity. They say that silence is the most powerful scream, I could not agree more, though it cannot be heard, it can be felt. I felt my body slowly burn. A drop falling from my forehead to the ground It is slowly, painfully dissolving my skin, making me nothing but a melting mixture of flesh and blood in the deathly dark. I look at my hand, slowly perceiving my hot skin as my scarlet muscles appeared. My nails slowly detaching from my fingers, falling off one by one, then my lips quivered in trembling fear. As both are about to be the maddening silence's next victims, it lingered onto them, filling them both with loud and deafening screeches, making them crumble into the pitch black ashes on my lap as it dissolves into the darkness. My eyes were next

Have you ever decided to speak, but went against it because you know no one would listen? Have you ever tried to make friends, but went against it, afraid you will be rejected? I have and it hurts. I used to think that I need to change my personality to make people to like me and maybe I would be able to make friends, to stop being shy and try a new personality, but this wasn’t the case. Life isn’t like that, it's not the same as we see in movies where people would like you if you change yourself and became what they want. I began to speak less, to show myself less. I began to be silent. Surprisingly, It wasn’t that bad. Silence isn't as bad as everyone thinks, I found peace. I found myself again and I began to like silence, I became more fond of my silent self. To not be able to care? To reply with silence when someone yells at you? To shut them with silence? How wonderful can that be! How powerful does that sound? To have that power and b

1:16 a.m The night came and she was still in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection aimlessly. She sees herself and started to count her flaws; How unpretty she was, How unlucky she was, How she felt unloved not even by her own family, She hears the voice, the one she always calls the devil, in her head telling her things, things that only hurt her and made her feel small. A tear fell down her cheek, felt like a hot drop in a cold water. More tears started to fall, knowing that what he says was true. 1:16 a.m has been marked in her memory as the time where she would do the same and each time she would cry, but with each time, she hopes that  she would hear another voice, a voice that would tell her how imperfections can be perfect in a world full of perfectionists.

Funeral. They took me into a room of white, the only thing that broke the brightness were figures as dark and motionless as stone. Their faces bared no feelings, their lips didn't make a sound. I had so many questions to ask so I start heading towards a face that seems familiar. "Hello, is everything okay?" And my only response was a slow stare from the ground, going to my feet, legs, chest and ended up poring into my eyes. As I stare back I see nothing but the hollowness of a cave inside its black pupils. I staggered back and looked for another familiar face I could calm myself with. Suddenly, something grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into the depth of it. A squeal is all I could get out as it devours me to a hollow space within, then I stop panicking and listen to a sound like a deep sweep of a violin, a sound that seems to reach out for me, for hope and help that I could not give. "What's wrong?" I ask, but the voice only gets louder so I try to untan

An ode of silence (with a little bit of words). Come now my darling, lets show them how we speak silence so fluently we are so eloquently quiet for when we speak, the noise distances us apart  and the words get caught into a net of misunderstanding when we bask in the sound of nothing we don’t need to stir words inside our chipped cups of tea for it to sound a little less bitter they say, some day the silence will grow like tangled shrubs between us, coming to strangle us but I say it keeps all the regrets at bay and the only silence I can’t bear is the kind when your laugh doesn't go all the way through the kind of silence when the car ride home becomes trail of gasoline bound to explode as soon as a lighter is held up too close to home the kind when the silence becomes a library shelved with books of all the things we cannot say that is when the silence becomes a song for sorrow  silence is a language when it hurts to speak and it is best spoken it

1:16am. It's always that exact number. Same time, every single night, for the past two weeks. How do I begin to explain how much that number terrifies me? I haven't slept for days. I haven't been eating lately. I've been living off of strong black coffees and energy drinks to keep me up. I don't want to sleep. I can't sleep. I remember the first time it happened. I was on my laptop when the clock struck 1:16am. The closet creaked open and the air went cold. Something was crawling out of the closet and coming towards me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. It hovered over me and I saw those cold, dead eyes glazed over with a thick mucus. It sunk its long, sharp claws deep into my flesh and tore me apart as I screamed in agonizing pain. But I couldn't make a sound. Nothing was coming out of my mouth, and I couldn't move. Blood soaked my bed sheets and my clothes and flesh were ripped. The torture went on for what seemed like forever, but was

1:16 AM ما أعرفه هو أنني سأظل أكتب لك العديد من الرسائل وأحدثك عن التفاصيل المهمة والغير مهمة وستظلين بعيدة. إنه الشتاء يبدو قدومة باكرًا بعض الشيء وأشدُّ برودةً من العام الماضي هذا ما قرأتة في الأحوال الجوية. إنني أشتاق لحديثنا الذي يطول حول المدفأة ليلاً وأعتقد هذا هو الرابط الذي بينك وبين الأوقات المُتأخرة التي أكتب لكِ فيها دائمًا. كيف تمضي معك الايام؟ وكيف تُعِدِّ قهوتك صباحاً؟ بالمناسبة كوب القهوة الخاص بك أحتفظ به حتى الآن. اكتبي لي أغانيك المفضلة لهذة السنة ولو أنهُ على حد علمي بأن قائمتك لاتجدد كثيرًا، كلماتك التي تُقويّك كُل ما أحبطك الواقع، شخصياتك التي تُفضلين مُشاهدتها، كتبك التي تُعيدين قراءتها، قد تبدو لك هذة القائمة سطحية للغاية لكنها في الحقيقة تنقل لي كل ما أودّ معرفته عنك وأكثر.

ابتداءً من الذات، يجري البحث عن السكون. ابتداءً من عقلٍ أنهك بضوضاء فكرٍ مستمر، من عقلٍ جاهل بماهية الرخاء و طبيعته. السكون، قدرة العقل على التحرر من قيوده- قدرته على الاستقلال من قيودٍ تجبره على تحليل الماضي و تخطيط المستقبل؛ من ندمٍ لحق به جراء تصرفٍ عفوي لم يع به سواه من خوف إعادة خوض تجارب باءت بالفشل. السكون، قدرة الشخص على إغلاق عينيه دون أن يشعر بصدى ضميرٍ يؤنبه أو آخرٌ يشجعه. السكون، و لو مخالفةٌ لمدارس النحو؛ علامة وقف. السكون، دواءٌ لكل داء. السكون، غذاءٌ للعقل و شفاء. السكون، نتيجة رحلةٍ تبدأها الذات في سبيل التخلي عن الشقاء و البحث عن الرخاء.

1:09:57AM - Wires. Red, blue, yellow, and white wires. Codes that my brain could not understand nor comprehend. A digital clock ticked, indicating my time was coming to an end as this is my last clue. 1:11:11AM - Other contesters rushed into the theater, loud cheers signaled their joy as they got closer to the finish line. I smiled, no one got as close to it as I got. I stared at them from the balcony and traced the wires with my eyes, they terminated at the center of the theater and got lost between the rows of seats. 1:12:29AM - It's a bomb. 1:13:00AM - Three minutes for evacuation, or we all die. 1:13:01AM - "It's a bomb" I whispered. "It's a bomb!" I yelled. Everyone looked for the source of my sound. "Trying to throw us off, aren't you?" "If you're so sure it's a bomb, how come you haven't run for your life yet?" "Reveal yourself, it’s been a tough road getting here, we won

وعلى الرغم من بُعد المسافات بيننا، إلّا أنها لم تكن عائقًا لما بيننا يومًا ما… لم يكن هناك سوى عائقٌ واحد؛ الصمت. فأنا لم أعد أعرف كيف أفسره؛ لم أعد أعرف علامَ يدل… أصبحتُ أصبّر نفسي وأواسيها بمواعيد وهمية، لا وجود لها… غدًا… غدًا ينتهي الصمت، غدًا يُكسَر ذلك الحاجز الذي بُنِي بيننا دون سابق إنذار، غدًا يموت الكبرياء ونلتقي… ولكن للأسف؛ صبرت لوقتٍ طويلٍ حتى وصلت لعامي الثالث الذي أصبّر نفسي فيه بالكلمات ذاتها، ولا نلتقي… وعلى الرغم من ذلك، فمازال بداخلي قليلٌ من الأمل، مازلتُ أنتظر ذاك اليوم الذي سيُعيد لي الحياة... اليوم الذي سيُغيِّر الكثير فيّ، وربما في ما فيك أيضًا… أعِدُك أن أكتفي بسماع صوتك وهو يتفوّه بكلمةٍ واحدةٍ فقط، وإن كنت ستعطيني مطلق الخيار، فسأختار أن أسمع اسمي.

The lights are mostly off except for the dimmed ones on the bedside table. The bed is cold & the pillows seemed more sinkable this afternoon. The house is dead quiet, and the rooms are secluded in darkness with the people I love the most in deep slumber. And yet I toss and turn.   A thought drags another restless thought. I grab the phone & look for any attempt of communication at this late time but no, everyone's dead asleep or dwelling on their own thoughts. So I toss and turn.   All of God's land is relentlessly beautiful at night with the stars gazing down yet it's so very lonely and abandoned. The streets are empty, the shops are closed, the sidewalks are transparent, the air is clear, and the beds are filled. So I toss in turn.   I toss and turn till my body grows tired of the shape it has taken on the bed beneath it. I get up and get ready. What for? You might be wondering. It's not daytime yet. Well, I get ready for the skies. The divine skies are

Is silence just a complete absence of words? Or is it just our mind speaking louder than us? Everything tells us a story there’s no such thing as a complete absence of words, in my opinion, it’s not complete silence your mind is thinking about something. We have such a wrong idea about "silence" that when we are out of words, people can’t hang out with each other. “Keep the ones that heard you when you never said a word” the ones that heard your mind speaking when your mouth failed you. If nature can speak to us when there are no absolute words if the world can speak to us, if pictures speak to us somehow, I think we should understand a person’s silence. My mind… I can hear you speaking louder than everyone else, I’m so focused on what you’re saying to me that I can’t hear anyone around me, everything else looks like a blur, you are reflecting my absence out there. It’s like you took me to another place, a place where I’m alone, where you are speaking but out there my

Your effervescence, the way it encompasses me, like the rays of the sun, sheltering me between your ribs, and enveloping me amid the dark chaos. I was left alone, stranded under the storm, with no safe haven. Standing here, in this merciless, earsplitting silence, and I call for you, but there’s no answer. Your warmth, now nonexistent, is replaced with a dark cold, sending shivers down my body, all caused by your absence. Your silence.

01:14:06AM        This was the last thing I ever expected to happen to me. At least, not right now. As I was restless and preoccupied with my train of thoughts, a jolt of panic went back to my head, questioning my existence and what I’ve done throughout my time here. I, for one thing, am an overjoyed person that can hardly suppress his laugh towards any possible joke. I, for another thing, can barely overcome my tears. I, a human filled with raw emotions, have failed to cover my feelings during all times. 01:14:55AM        I was lying on my bed when I looked outside the open window; my face became aghast with unsettlement when a thought occurred to me: the night’s darkness will envelope me in a few minutes, and I will be gone. Breathing in heavy intakes of air, I shot up from my bed and reached for my mother’s notebook. My engagement ring glinted in the dark as I flipped through the pages, and my voice hitched when I said my fiancée’s name through tears. I told her that she’s the b

I try to relive what it was like when you were here, but I can only see fragments of that. I see glimpses of you, but you never fully appear. I fight the sleep in my eyes just so that maybe one night I'd finally hear your soft whispers. I turn in my bed 26 times before the tears come running down my face, and right there and then, I can almost feel your fingers wiping away my tears. But then again, you're hardly ever here, you never fully appear.

ما يحول بيني وبينك الآن. أكثر الأماكن وحدة وأقلهم سوداوية في هذه الحياة، كونه أول علامات التخلي في رواياتنا. هذا الحيز الصغير الذي نتخذه حال ما زادت مشاعرنا وحال ما غُلِبت مفرداتنا لقوة وضجيج ذلك الشعور الداخلي. عندما يبدو الكلام بلا جدوى، وكل عتاب يُصبح كأنه قصة طال تكرارها لأجيال لا تكترث لأساطير الأولين. هذا الهدوء المزعج الذي لا تُحل عقدته، إن طال فلا مخرج من صخبه، وإن قصر فليس الكلام أكثر رحمة منه

مرحباً. صباح الخير أكتب لك و أنا أعلم أن زمن الرسائل الورقية قد انتهى مُنذ زمن. تعلمين أننا نَمضي جُلَّ أعمارنِا ونحنُ لا نقول مانشعر به حقيقةً لسبب كالغرور او الإدِّعاء يُجبرنا على الوقوف في أماكنِنا وننتظر دونَ أن نُبين للآخرين حجم خسارتِنا. إننا نموت ونحنُ نحمِل أصدق النصوص ولا نحظى بفرصة لكتابة النصّ الأخير.لكنيّ لا أريد أن أموت قبلَ أن أخبرك كم أحبك وكم هيَ الحياة باردة ومُملّة بدونك.  لازلتُ أذكر الصباحات الماطرة التي كُنّا نبدأها معاً في المدرسة، الأجفان المُتعبة والمتذمرة أحياناً قبل الدخول للحصص الدراسية، خطواتنا السريعة في الإستراحة لحماية كأس القهوة من الإختلاط بالكثير من المطر البارد حتى لايُفقدها الدفء الذي ننشدة في مِثل هذة الأيام، اتصالاتنا في وقتٍ متأخر من الليل حتى بدايات الصباح. الأصدقاء اللطيفين الذينَ كُنا نخوضُ معهم نِقاشات عن الافلام والاغاني.  إنني ابدأ في مرحلة دراسيّة جديدة لاشيء فيها من تلك الأيام وأشتاق إليك الآن أكثر من أيّ وقت.  “ الساعة الخامسة فجرًا بداية العام السادس من انقطاعنا ”

بعضنا يحسها أول خطوة في طريق النجاح  وبعضنا يحسها عقبة مؤدية للفشل  مفهوم البداية يختلف بمنظور كل إنسان  . بعض الناس يعتبرون البداية لغم في طريق النجاح أول ما تخطو عليه ينفجر فيك ويتحول طريقك إلى النجاح لرماد ماله نهاية. البداية أمر محتم في كل أمور الحياة من أبسطها إلى أعقدها ، فأنت كإنسان كانت لك بداية وهي كونك جنين بطول الأظفر  في يطن أمك. النجوم اللي تنور سمانا لها بداية ، كرة نارية صغيرة تضيء ليس أكثر ولكن مع الأيام تتحول إلى جرم ضخم يهدد كل ما حوله من أجرام أخرى. مثل ما قلت في الأعلى أن البداية أمر محتم حتى في النهايات فنسمع مقولة لكل نهاية بداية وأنا شخصيا اتفق مع هذه المقولة أشد الاتفاق لأن في نهاية كل أمر قد حصلت على مرادك فتطمع وتبدأ بطريق آخر لما هو أكبر . جتى عند الفشل قد ترى وهج النجاح من بعيد فتبدأ مرة أخرى لتكمل طريقك الذي ظننت أنه انتهى . أنهي قطعتي بقول أن البداية لغم في طريق النجاح ولكن أنت من تتحكم في هذا اللغم فإما أن ينفجر بك أو تخطو عليه لتكمل رحلتك.

My love lies stranded in light years between the death of a star and the image in your eyes you think I'm waiting but you're just looking at the past.

what Sun doesn't rise to set what friend doesn't arrive to leave what lover doesn't love to hate what beginnings don't begin to end.

I was little when I have dreamt of being a star, the star that illuminated the night sky. I was ten when I realized how silly that sounded: to be an actual star. I was twenty when I thought of my wish every time I saw a star, wondering if every kid has dreamt of that, to sparkle and shine. I, now, am twenty-four, and have realized that I can be a different kind of star and still shine. To be a star, is to achieve what you want; to be you.  To be a star, is to let yourself shine rather than shining on others.  To be a star, is to have the belief that you can make it your own way, no matter of what the others believe. Dreams do come true, and I know, that my dream since I was little girl shall be true one day.

دائمًا ما ينتابنا شعور يعجز تفسيره عند البدايات…مزيجٌ من مشاعرٍ وضدها، وكأن جمال الشيء وُضِع في بدايته فقط، ليتلاشى حتى لا يصبح له طعم أو قيمة، فنتمنى عودته تارة أخرى لنشعر بلذة الشعور ذاته، حتى وإن كان اهتلاسًا أو مجرد مجاملة لم يُلقى لها بالًا. كأن الحوار في البدايات يرتدي قناعًا يخفي وراءه كل شعور مُقنَّع، وكأننا فقدنا القدرة على التحكم بحواسنا…وكلما وعدنا أنفسنا ألا نقع في خدعة البدايات ذاتها، نفشل.

       The accurate definition of a beginning is “the point in time or space at which something begins.” Being born in this life is the start of it all, taking your first steps as a child is the start of something that everyone gets excited for. We all remember our first day of school; where we had our own lunch box for the first time, and how we caught someone smiling back at us. At then, we realized that that’s the start of a friendship that could last our whole life.        It all started when you sat in a classroom and raised your hand for the first time, and spoke for yourself without having your parents by your side. It counts as the start of something; when you introduced yourself as a child, and then time flies to reach a point where you realize that you are growing up so fast that you are currently facing the challenge of who you are supposed to be, and what you should and shouldn't do. You stumble upon people who always bring you down for speaking up, and it somehow happ

       Star night, star bright, the first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.        How magical was that? How innocent. My wish was love. My wish was you. So wishes come true? Or is that just childish bullshit made up for fun? They say stars are born out of a tornado in space. Strong winds and harsh fires twist and turn angrily in space. Then out of all that struggle, a star is born. How funny, how very ironic. I wished for love and I got it. My 10-second love, my short lived romance. It was great while it lasted. Then everything changed,the stars spoke to me tonight.        They said you didn't want me, they said you found another. How can I ignore such bright, powerful, voices? You didn't call, you didn't text. Weeks had gone by, and I heard nothing from you. The stars mocked me, "We granted your wish? What more do you want?!" They said.        I saw you in the cafe across the road, there was a girl on your arm, ki

She looked at the sky with agony counting each embellished luminous diamond and pearl that reflect in her eyes, reminding me that, like the stars, her golden brown eyes take me back home

       My gaze lingers upon the night sky, and I find nothing but mere shapes that envelope our dreams amidst the darkness. We are the ones who acknowledge the moon and its beauty, and yet the stars have been shining independently, without the need to let another element illuminate them. Amidst the darkness, they shine the most. Amidst the hopelessness, they shine even brighter .        Defying the laws of grieving, they grow even stronger during adversity. I never took the moon as a source of beauty, nor the sun; I believe in the beauty of stars. Even as they appear smaller and more fragile in contrast, they grew up needless of help. Then I wished to be, more than ever, an illuminescent star that shines during the darkest of times.

Who am I? Do you know me from the books I've read? The words I've said? Am I from the hearts I mend and push ahead? No, perhaps the hearts I've broken, their names i never mention. Am I from how my body bends, what message it sends? Am I special for loving the night? Craving it like vampires craving a bite? Am I so mysterious that it makes me an attractive sight? Or am I cut open like meat slaughtered with a knife? Do you know me from the stuff I choose, from the money I lose? Or from the past I try to forget or thoughts of the future swimming in my head. Do you only recognize me by my voice on the phone or do you really recognize me when I'm all alone? If I were a box would you see me as transparent? Or would you see me as the one locked in it. Would you know me if I was the opposite, wouldn't you know who I am not even a little bit? Who am I, do you know? Am I straight or against the law? Would you hate me for something you heard or something that you saw?  Would