A Spark of Faith

I, hereby, post this for Noor El-Terk. Because she likes cheesy. <3


With hopes she wasn't fully asleep yet, he turned in bed. And with the street light that fell purposely on her side of the pillow, he saw the tears that were calling out to him. Instinctively he reached out for her and swiftly turned her towards him. Only then did she let out her first muffled sob that gave way to more tears, unexplained even to herself.

"I wish I was a rock, like you, unmoved by all the waves that hit me."

He pondered what seemed to be the result of a long thinking and whispered gently, "You forget that this rock you're talking about is yours. It would take those hits you get gladly, for you."

"I want you to promise me to always forgive my inconsistencies," said she, "I'm weak and I fear not living up to your expectations of me."

In the friction of the second he hesitated, she broke down completely. As he admitted silently to her weakness, or so she interpreted it. He held her tighter trying to keep her in once piece as he whispered, "It all depends on one thing. If you love me consistently then I will forgive you everything else."

"I will" said she as she finally closed her eyes, rested her pounding head on his chest and not so long after, slept.

He tried to recall why he sought for her earlier, but smiled slightly at the realisation that there needn't be a reason for it.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone from Oman Mobile!

Unfulfilled days

You know when you don't want to sleep? Even though it's late and you feel tired. But it's like there's something you're meant to do. Or maybe something you were supposed to do in your day but you didn't. Like the Quran you were meant to open and read. To prove that you were going to commit to your Ramadan resolutions. Or that topic you wanted to learn more about but once you're on your laptop, you're distracted by a million updates to check. Or that friend you completely forgot you had, but always put a mental note to check upon when they remembered you and made you smile. Or giving life to an idea you've been wanting to form into words for so long, but fearing it won't be as good as it is in your head. Or that unexpected call you were gonna make and tell your friend that you miss them. Or spending time with your family, instead of that phone you gaze at all the time. Or that part of your room you've been wanting to tidy and clean everytime you look at but that 24 hours the day never seems enough for your never-accomplished plans.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone from Oman Mobile!

A Take on Humans

I'm sure you've been bruised before, but have you ever noticed that you often press the bruise intentionally and repeatedly and feel the pain? I don't know why we do this exactly. Is it our constant need for a reason to feel sorry for ourselves? Or do we like the pain? Or are we hoping that somehow the pain will exist no more? We're all desperate. One way or another. And we try so hard to hide it. But we seldom despair. We hold on to the last bit of hope there is even when we show the world that we've given up.

I'm also sure a baby has held your finger in its tiny hand. It felt good, didn't it? We love the feeling that someone in this world is holding on to us. Even if it's just a finger of us. It feeds our ego of being needed. We're selfish. Even in helping others at times, we seek that peace of mind and sense of content.


Do you often look back on you as a child? Marvel at how the world was successful in quietening you up, stealing your boldness and perhaps originality. How we start energetically and slowly lose heart. From crying over a toy we didn't get, to being confused and indecisive.


There are issues, personal ones, we never get over. No matter how old they are. We exhaust them with those around us, after keeping them to ourselves. Maybe we forget about them for awhile. But there's always a trigger that reminds us of them. We ignore and go on with our day. But at the end of the day, when we're all alone, we feel bitter with those disappointments, regrets or whatever they are. And we wish we had someone right there with us whom we could complain to endlessly, even though they've heard the exact same complaints before. But it's hard, because we won't admit that things affect us all the same when we pretend to agree with the notion that claims that time heals.

Dismantled Syllables

Fingers tingling with words crammed and unwritten. But where is that silver hue that connects all the dismantled syllables and kidnaps them from their warm and lazy sleep?

Teach Me

Teach me how to warm up the gaps between my words. How each ending letter wraps itself around the word that resides next to it. Teach me how words smile, frown, and eventually stay put in their place, content with where they are.

Teach me how to bring out the words in my heart. How to write each word there distinctively without being shy of them. How to nurture each comma so it supports the preceding and brings it forth bravely to the eyes that are reading it.

Teach me how to be patient as I write up each syllable without rushing it. How to be content with what I have as long as it doesn't tell a lie. How to put down feelings that cost me tears without fearing. Without fearing anyone stripping me bare and finding out what I'm all about.

Teach me how to guide each phrase of mine home, maybe one day they'll take me there on their own.

Childhood Memories in Iraq

A college friend posted photos from her childhood. I viewed them with envy. I wish I had pictures of my childhood. Maybe I have some but they're in Iraq. And then I started wondering if I had had a fun childhood. I've lived 7 years of my life in Iraq. All the memories I have of that time are very dear to me. Me and Noor running to welcome baba when he came home from work and he'd drop the bags he's carrying and carry us both instead. This had to be somewhere before 1997 which means that I was 5. But I remember it still. I remember our friends coming over and playing in our garden but my sister was annoyed by their voices and kicked them out. I remember that big swing that turned over while 10 of us were on it. I remember my brother locking himself up in his room as he acted out the teenaged rebel. I remember being the girl who always fainted, broke her hair slides when she was angry and was the evil twin.

I remember leaving my friends and going to Jordan when I was 7. I remember writing to my best friend (who stayed in Iraq) letters and sending her pictures. I haven't heard from her in years. When most Iraqis suffered from power cuts, I never did as the house we lived in was supplied by the same supply for nearby factories. I remember how my grandmother, may her soul rest in peace, used complain of her eyesight and still be able to recognise actors on tv. I remember when it was damp after a light pour of rain, we used to go out in the garden and find colourful ladybirds on bright green leaves. I remember sleeping in one place and waking up in another and being convinced that I sleep walked. I remember being excessively but weirdly shy of our neighbour's son who was married to a Huda.

But I never learnt how to ride a bicycle, how to swim, how to dance ballet. I've had best friends who left me or I left them as either moved to a different country. I felt like an outsider. And that stayed with me for a long time. I still remember leaving Iraq in 1999 and how we stopped in the middle of nowhere because we ran out of petrol. How my sister buried her face through it all because she didn't want to leave Iraq. I remember the whole neighbourhood gathering and going to the nearest farm as they were afraid of a rocket shattering their houses. I assume this was in 1998, maybe the only experience of such kind I had, as we lived in a safe area.

Maybe these don't qualify my childhood to be called happy but I wasn't sad when I was a kid, I didn't know any better, and going to exotic places doesn't make it a 'happy' childhood. When my older siblings talk about the wonderful playful childhood they've had as they lived in better times and my father was there with them more than with us. But still the fact that I spent 7 years of it in Iraq brings me immense joy. I love it whether it was boring or not.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone from Oman Mobile!

ذكريات

يتسلل خفية بابتسامةٍ  شقيةٍ  

ذلك الشعور الذي يملؤني حنية

يذكرني ببعض من أحلامي الوردية  

و ماذا اقترفت من مداعباتٍ فتية

ثم يعيدني إلى زمن الخواطر السرية

عن هذا و ذاك و ما فعلنا سوية

و عن تساؤلات كثيرة حول الهوية

يردد على مسمعي 'ما بالها تلك الصبية؟'

للحظةٍ أكاد أن أخبره 'يا ليتها كانت قوية'

لكنني اكتفي بـــغمزة سحرية

و أتركه ليسافر بعيدا عني في هذه البرية

فقد نلت نصيبي منه و أريد الحرية