Did you forget too?


I’ve asked myself these past few weeks

Whether hopes and dreams meant happy or happier

I still haven’t responded to myself

Mostly because my mind couldn’t be more crammed than a jammed copier

I think it’s fortuitous and perhaps it’s eventually grand

To be so busy you can’t ask yourself

Whether you’re cut out to build your own brand

But do we only work and grapple until we forget?

That at some point there was a hope that began a bet

That one day I’ll be this and I’ll be that

Let’s get to work then

Let me catch up on the righteousness track

Because to dream I guess is to be noble

To live beyond your existence

To hope your impact becomes global

But here I sit and type out fatigued little phrases

From a mind that wanted to remember why it began all these phases

Is it worth it now? Are your dreams equating “happy”?

Because I don’t even know

I’m so tired I forgot

I don’t even know

Good night then self, I’ll dream and hope you’ll remember tomorrow

The Future is Mud and Ice


There is a future that I fear,

I see it masking its opportunities in mud and thawed icicles

Waiting to be reached at or grabbed at just the same

I think it held its coolness for a while,

I think it was trying to assume repose

But the fever of great await sweat out of its pores

She melted her only preservation

And I guess prayed no one could see

I think no one noticed how she drowned her body in earth

Then rummaged through oceans for equanimity

I guess all she found were some ice sticks

And held them closely before they ran

But mud and water is not clarifying

And I saw the creature feigning repose

Perhaps I was the only one

But I shuddered at the auspicious sight

That she should be worth waiting for —

That finally reaching her was only right.

But all I feel is fear

I feel terror beyond my sight,

Because she is not what I will create…

We are both bombed against each other and asked to be patient and then fight.

This Whole Time

Journal, Poetry

And it feels ongoing

To desire then wait

Then desire again, some more patience

You get it and sometimes you don’t, and the ticking of time moves as slowly as you continue to want

It was ongoing — seemingly relentless

That days hung on my shoulders and I forgot what I wanted

I was only moving forward

Get it done get it out of the way

Let time pass until that something you await

I would promise myself the second I took hold of desire X

I was to be golden

Untouched and satisfied

But the next desire advanced into the forefront

Demanding a presence or improvement

Like perhaps you could need an alteration

Or perhaps this was not your initial real desire

And so it feels tautological

And so it feels quite ongoing

To desire then wait — and hold nothing, not even time, to your own advantage

It is a cruel patience

One where you know not what you are waiting for — one where you only want “other”

Though not specified nor called for

Okay okay that is all well and said but —

But then there was her


My baby

My beautiful precious little baby

And it is like the clocks stopped their ticking

And the earth slowed its orbiting

And it was just me and her

All too new but too familiar

Molding in and out of each other in an inexplicable attachment only felt not described

She was a piece of me

She was the piece I had been waiting for

She was a desire that needed “wait”

But in the incredulous moments of her arrival — in the surreal swirls of her turning a blush pink and breathing our oxygen

My world flashed

It was her — her — what I had been waiting for

Not for nine months… I think for twenty four years

You know when it is a calling?

I do not know, perhaps I still do not but it is like a calling

And it was her this whole time

I had been waiting

I have been waiting for you my whole life, baby

I have been waiting this whole time

اللهم احفظنا لبعض وارجعنا اليك وانت راضٍ عنا



There is a thin line between success and journey

You see, success

It is too autonomous for me to understand

No real reasons, no fighting, no experience

It just happens or it doesn’t.

But you see, then your journey —

It’s a long journey

It tells you it builds the highs

Scrapes them from the ground into little rounded pebbles ready for the projectile

But it is only shaping you —

You, as you walk, jump and crawl,

You, as you speak, whisper and scream

I decide who I am and how to be I suppose…

Success doesn’t know a thing about that

It maintains nonchalance as it passes by carelessly chosen souls — telling them they’re the lucky ones today

My life could have been this or that, different I suppose

But there remains a thin line between it all…my choices almost not mine

But ever so slightly in chosen repose.

Sure, today I gush open wounds on accident and they drop out of my mouth like waterfalls — I wish they didn’t, I wish I didn’t make choice A or B or any of it at all

I wish I could get out, be alone, not lonely, surrounded, noise-full and left all at once…

I do not know where I lie on the line

Am I in between? In a far end? Losing time or gaining wins?

Will it be worth it as my head lays in the dirt,

Stare at the sky, wish it were closer — but it is already way too close

I’m not sure if any of this makes sense but this perhaps may not be poetic —

I am walking, trembling, continuing on a journey…with a thin line and thin consequences

Too quickly and slowly everything seems to pass

Hold on, wait, I don’t know. Just rest.

This feature photo is my own photography. I found this random bush on a walk the other day and thought it was a very bizarre looking plant. Perhaps just as bizarre as a lot of my thoughts have been lately.


Journal, Writing

The past few weeks have not been eventful in the sense that physical events took place that shifted a lot of where I am and how I think, but they have been incredibly eventful with regards to more self actualizations — whatever that means. I’m not sure how I can describe those as events, but they are reflections, thoughts, conversations and then conclusions.

It’s scary when you are teaching yourself how to be okay again, because in theory you may forget self development or dismiss rectifying your own mistake at the cost of denigrating your heart into the depths of self doubt and shame and despondency again. It is like a thin rope you hold across your actions and judgments, whereby you wish to be wise but also to not let your body be stepped upon as it used to be. I don’t know what this thin line is to be honest… I am simply struggling with that balance.

My mind, so far, has weaned towards upholding my nascent love of self slithered with some swirls of sugar and pride. Perhaps somewhere, I am also just tired of the expansive self research it takes to fix a thing in the first place. I think I’m doing okay. I don’t know. I cannot be too sure, and it does not feel comfortable to let myself feel secure with the idea that I’ve reached self actualization… conversation is ongoing and I wish to continue to reflect until I am satisfied with my own autonomy.

Ah, yes. I wish I had a lot of that… I reckon I will achieve it quite soon with the mercy and grace of Allah.

Not sure why I used reckon back there… I’m not British, just in case you were wondering.

But mistakes are real anyways, and I suppose me engrossing myself in the understanding that I may continue to dabble in the mud of wrong only to climb out in tears that I wish to repent is a good sign, one that perhaps signifies a heart that wishes to elevate — out of this planet and into the skies that I see waving at me with way too much serenity. I glare at the skies too often these days, most of them wishing I was up with the stars hanging out amongst the clouds, carefree and light. But to all is a wisely decided and undoubtedly written end. Timely and precise. I shall go up when I shall.

For now, I think I’ll be okay.

Tired of Patience


I suppose it is not as beautiful anymore

When a worship as noble in stillness as it is in movement extends its wings

She is leaving me, but softly

So gently I might have not noticed she was here in the first place…

Behind her she has left blocks of lead

Heavy, dark, fatigued

There is stillness that remains

But it is a choking kind;

It wraps around the waist and neck weighing them onto the ground

Pebbles, the blocks crumble into

And my heart does not know a patience it thought it had

But they told me it is liberating, enthralling, nascent in a hope once found before

I can’t find it anywhere and my face is wet

Uncertainly of confounded tears and sweat

I am not waiting anymore I do not know how

I am tired

I am so tired

How does she return? How might she find you once more?

To remove the crumbles she left behind and pat me on the shoulder

With a smile,

“Your miracle is on its way,” she would say

“What’s a minute of waiting?”



And at some point

You do not know what to say…

When the breaks inside scream for a hope

And all you can do is sway

Left and right my head spins

As I think and re-think all over again

Decisions decisions decisions

Perhaps conviction or some sort of consolation

Perhaps a conversation — someone I trust

But they seem to have walked far off,

And I am not certain should they return

My hands in the sky, during a month of handy sky

Come back! I may plead

Then patience is my only reach

Even such a word is a feat

To wait is to not know

Should I move or stop, when can I hasten, when should I take it slow

Will it come like a miracle? Or will my eyes be shutting down?!

Will I be well deserving

Almost as if my head is topped with a crown

I fear those longer stretches; my human tendency is to forget

Yes, with it pain dissipates — but so might the thirst and beauty

Of the onset

You know, the one that had me breathing really hard

Praying for a long life of steadfast

Then as the ticking gets slower…my back breaks

And I wish for the end quite fast

And then at some point

I do not know what to say

When those little bubbles find solace in a moving picture — fiction I try to explain!

Fiction, my love…

But what can they do? They are wounded

And they see love and generosity,

Hope and grandeur — as if it had never existed before

They tell me they know it exists — love — just not for them,

It will not be a part of our story

So at that point

What the hell do you say?

When you are hopeful and hopeless all at once…

I suppose I simply let my head and fingers sway

It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, I’ll be okay

I think, I know, I don’t, I don’t know

Patient Blessings

Journal, Writing

There isn’t a particular reason I’ve decided to gobble together seemingly varied topics into one post — but I’ve been making a lot of reflections recently. Perhaps, and as a start to the post, I may find it appropriate to mention my possible discombobulation with words. I’m usually more organized than this. Anyways…


In the past it’s seemed that sharing a lot of my thoughts was a bad thing — perhaps burdensome or simply uninteresting. I, of course, never believed so, but I usually relegated to sharing my own thoughts with my journal, shutting that page, then maybe revisiting it for more reflections. But let me tell you, there is such a fantastic comfort, validation and empowering form of support that comes from sharing how you feel with those whom you know love you and appreciate you. I recently learned that it was okay to believe there were those out there who truly loved me. Truly cared for me and for my well-being. I also learned it was okay that there also existed those who only pretended to love me, or never knew how to love. It wasn’t as crushing a reality as the fear of it all seemed — that if the closest ones to you were one day the same people who didn’t want you, that I’d be wrecked for a long time. I wasn’t — I’m not. But man, was it a fantastical experience that brought not only elements of retrospect (duh) but also of immense appreciation for any who allowed me a space of trustworthy comfort…

“Hey, you can tell me anything” they said. And they were being honest.

“You can ask me anything” and they would candidly respond.

“You are my family” and we weren’t blood, not even close. Not tied by anything formal or official. Just the love and appreciation of who we were as people — good people, wanting good things, I suppose. Just the respect that you can be titled a pretty damn valuable person, and we — our circle of friends — are here to remind you and each other of that.

It’s a different dynamic, because we are not together twenty-four seven. In some respects, we needn’t know all faults of one another, or ever see them, and I think that’s the point. To love someone doesn’t have to mean to appreciate and adore their entire existence — I don’t think I have the energy to do that with even myself at all times — perhaps it just means that we will remain helping hands to one another, as we continue with our lives, up until we are not here anymore, up until we cease.

As I enter my third trimester of pregnancy, I’m experiencing levels of physical and mental breadths I didn’t prepare my mind for. The days I thought I felt death right above me, and the ones where I swear I could feel His presence embracing me. But as I make decisions to be patient, and as I discuss with my good good community, I am recognizing new appreciations about my mind, my body and my life. As we rest inside a lovely holy month I wish to brood amongst the winds of Allah’s words, detach and come back —

Detach and come back…

It’s been a rollercoaster of emotional regulation that I can quite safely appreciate and enjoy as I remember tiny tiny events. Sometimes bad memories resurface too — memories of when I was with him and how awful he was, but I am gently trying to push them aside; I suppose yanking them would have them bouncing back into my face. Day by day I don’t suppose I’ll remember but the safe and soothed. Day by day, I am assured of Allah’s watching eye — I know I shall be redressed, and all pain will wilt away as the seasons of the year gently brush by the dead winter leaves to make room for the spring roses.

It seems I’ve merged all topics quite fluidly, more fluidly than I had imagined. Yes, that’s a great lesson — :

Things are not always as they seem — and thank goodness for that.

Scared of Romance

Journal, Personal

I’ve been on an impromptu research quest the past week trying to break down successes or failures of romantic relationships. I discovered a lot of dynamic and not exactly relative to any age groups. Some things work together and some don’t. But when it comes to my story, I’m just not sure if being sucked into the idea of a love story blinded me, or if me throwing away my self worth let me tolerate things I didn’t have to.

I found a lot of couples bonding over certain things, fighting, loving and attaching. Others couldn’t handle other things, just drifted apart without sound. It got me thinking about how a conclusion should be extracted, or whether there should be one at all.

I know this is a lot of thought but I’m just throwing down things probably not in order. I got married six months ago. I’m also getting divorced. I am thinking a lot.

Yesterday I was having a conversation with a friend, whom I didn’t know was going to be so incredibly understanding of my divorce, and she was discussing her last relationship with me. She told me it’s okay to discover someone who was so good to not be so good. He had cheated on her then confronted her about it. It was strange for me to swirl around that concept. But they trusted and loved each other with their lives! Then this awfulness, this unfaithfulness, this hurt — when I told her my relationship was toxic I expected her to talk about my “choice” of spouse but she just nodded her head, “yeah, I get it.”

I have to be honest that freaked me out. Not that bad people exist or that we experienced bad relationships but that it can spring up on you like that.

I’d like to think I was raised in a community of bubbled sheltered Fantasia, where everything and everyone was good all the time. It sucks I didn’t get to conceptualize badness at a young age because as a young adult now, “bad” hits me like a storm.

I keep thinking to myself — I don’t really want to be in a romantic relationship again. And I realize it’s probably in consequence of the shock and will lessen in intensity with time but the thought feels so uncertain now. Like, how do you “know” anymore if this guy will be good? Just plain “good”. When my husband was my fiancé he was fantastic. Humble, kind, active and even charming — then really strange portions of him manifested into what my child inside sees as a scary little monster under the bed. How do you get over something like that?

And don’t get me wrong, I’m a dreamy girl, with romance floating around in my head since I was 8 — it’s the first time I’ve ever felt alright with never being in a romantic relationship again. And I’m not sentencing myself, only simply expressing some feelings post a break up in process. I don’t know if people usually have it together but too many things feel confusing at this point.

I suppose that makes me scared of relationships — afraid to ever allow someone to be with me again like that.

What’s after that?

About A Year Ago


It’s been about a year since my first post on this blog. It’s gone through renovations, breaks and confusing days. Perhaps I’ve lost a lot of what I wanted this platform to be for me on the way — all through my phases of creating and deleting websites in an effort to prove to myself that I was wiser and more independent. But the truth is, I was never dependent on a creative outlet to feel better — just engaging in that catharsis was in fact something that helped make me feel better.

A lot has happened this year. Just as a lot would always happen in the previous years. But with love, loss and grief, it is not so much the events I care to share or even remember. It is the parable that lied within every event that I hope to retain, not just for my future, but to be able to be grateful.

Grateful today — for everything.

So, I wonder if I live on a few years from today, will I look back and find solace? Will I choose to forget all the good and pain? Will I dive into more knots and dismiss what could have saved me?

About a year ago, I planned certain plans and wanted certain wants. If someone had told me I wouldn’t be wanting half of them a year from that day I wouldn’t have believed it. I wanted to get married so badly and start a family. Today I want to get divorced so badly and run away.

Who knows what I’ll want tomorrow, right? I just pray it all counts for something — even if I can’t see or feel that now.


I thought this featured photo could symbolize the quite cold abyss of dramatic life choices and events. It’s also a paradoxically relaxing photograph for me to look at. Solve that poetic mystery.