Saturday, July 1, 2017

Blossoms And Battle Scars


This is where the problem lies; knowing the end. It is saddening to be aware of how the ending will be. It shatters us to the core knowing there is a finish line, knowing this is all merely the high. That's the problem when you've already died and revived yourself; you're never fully alive again. It isn't the same as the first time, that wound has left a scar and this scar is a reminder that the finish line is what you deem it. I feel like I've acquired the taste of disappointment and maybe that's why I can't adjust myself to this new flavor, a mixture of chance, hope, and love; a tang so heavenly. I attempted and I continue to attempt building a home in a land to which I don't belong. There is still that voice that asks, how can I mold it into an asylum when it is not mine? How can I stay, reside in a place that is overcrowded? How did I lead myself here? But I silence that voice because I am so overwhelmed by the thought of what might be. The what if's and maybe's are intoxicating but here I am inhaling all the unrealistic possibilities in hope that the end might be modified. The feeling of home can't be enforced it is a choice. This choice isn't an independent one it has to be two sided otherwise the four walls that are holding us together eventually collapse for when the base isn't strong, when it isn't solid it falls apart and when it does it takes a piece of us with it. A piece we can't get back, we can't recollect. We are left scarred. Yet the scars we bear aren't a shame they are power. These wounds will heal and they will mend us into warriors. This hurt will end and we will blossom.

Thursday, June 8, 2017

GRIEF


That’s the thing about grieving life it comes in droplets like a drizzle before rain then suddenly it showers you. One day you wake up feeling like you’ve surpassed the mountain of grief and the next you are back to ground zero barely feeding yourself. Nothing is harder than grief. Nothing is as consuming as it. Nothing is as blood sucking and ruthless as grief. It breaks you and crushes your frail bones then throws you out to face the wild as if your pain was worth nothing. Sometimes you wish the person you were grieving were actually dead rather than having to live with the reality of them actually still existing. Yes, I know death isn’t easy but neither is life. Neither is convincing your brain that: “No, brain they aren’t coming back. No, brain it is over.” It hurts to be weak and what is worse is that some days all you have is to be weak. Especially, if you are an emotional person, a wreckage of a human and all you do is build hopes and expectations that maybe tomorrow they’ll come back from the dead. Maybe tomorrow I’ll understand and it will make sense. Maybe tomorrow I’ll realize that it is all a dream. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be better. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be better, maybe tomorrow I’ll be better, but then tomorrow arrives and you’re still trying to fake it till you make it, fake it till you become it. Somedays like today I doubt I’ll ever move on because here I am still writing and I can no longer trust myself, whether my emotions are valid or whether I am lingering on to the past. It is horrible to lose trust in yourself, in your judgement and it is hard to talk to people about how you feel because everyone thinks that you will be fine and maybe you will but sometimes we need someone to tell us that we might continue to feel this way for a long time. Last time I grieved I wasn’t honest with myself I immediately filled that void but now I want to dwell in the emotion and pain of grief. I want to indulge myself in it. Here’s to grief may we find it, linger on to it, then finally surpass it and never look back. 

Friday, March 31, 2017

2 Years Later; The Story Continues

You’d all think that considering the fact I’ve been living with death for the past two years I would be scarred. Bruised. Broken. That is nowhere near the reality, with every passing day, with every bomb that hits, with every missile that drops I grow invincible. Death is a vengeful sea. A sea feared by all but Yemenis, we have adjusted our sails and claimed that sea ours. Ours eternally.

This Saudi-American led coalition might have ended 2600 little children’s lives, but that will not be a barrier. Every 60 minutes 6 children die in Yemen from different diseases as a result of both the air, land, and sea blockade and the illegal weapons they are dropping on our country. That means that every 10 minutes a child at his or her springtime of life have their lives stolen for no reason. Yemeni children are paying the price for a sin they didn’t commit. The children that do make it past the ten minutes are mutated because of the bombs that are dropped. The children are scarred for life because of a brutal, savage, inhumane coalition. But even this is NOT a barrier. 

The last time I saw my father was 28 months ago back when I was sixteen. Now, I am eighteen and sometimes I feel cold and cruel for no longer pouring rainfalls from my eyes when I think of how much I miss him. Don’t get me wrong I miss him with every heart beat and every drop of blood in my veins, but when I remember the 15,916 fathers that have been massacred and how their children must feel, I bear with the pain. I can’t even imagine how much it must hurt that little five year old to know daddy is gone. No longer being his little princess, but rather labeled an ORPHAN. All for no reason! A life is stolen for no reason. A child is crying for no reason. Disregarding all this pain, the truth is these small babies crying for their dads will rise to avenge not only for their fathers, but for our land.


To my country that is being attacked and labeled “weak”. We are going to teach you strength, perseverance, and courage. We will rise again. This is Yemen we will not kneel down to any country, we shall only kneel down to God for we fear nothing but the almighty. We will stare death blankly in the eye. Twilight is merely a prelude to dawn, yet the beauty of the ending is alluring. Not all endings are bad. Some end with diamonds dispersed in the abyss. Whether the abyss is deemed the vast oceans or the seven skies. Yemen will surpass every hardship. Yemen will not be held down even if this coalition lasts till the end of time. Yemenis’ rage is eternal and we will not be held back for we were the very first on this Earth and we WILL be the very last. 



Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Buffering Life


Everyday that we wake up and open our sockets of life, we change the filter and adjust the lens. We choose whether it will be gray or vibrant. Sometimes it’s easier to live passively, but as much as we’d all rather live that way, we are in fact the masters of our fates. We lead the lives we live. The thing about spiritual awakenings is that as enlightening as they can be they are equally frightening. We reside within these bubbles of comfort that when awakened we are shaken to the core. Our bubbles burst, they explode, and disperse completely. This paralyzes us momentarily. Once it is settled we are reborn; we are given the chance to be or not to be. We are constantly in direct contact with change, we choose to pass by it or to grasp it. So here’s to grasping onto change with all fours and to second chances. Here’s to life and our choices; the sane and insane. 

Saturday, March 4, 2017

A Rose Death


Death is not black, it is every shade of pink. It starts with a feeling of being high. High on an idea. A misconception. Death is a burst of color, every hue of happy. It overtakes your every thought, every breath, every beat. Death is love in disguise. It is everything we thought we wanted or presumed we needed, but time heals everything. Time reveals the reality of everything. Death can only fool us for oh so long, but here I am facing death. My pink death, my rose form of grief. Nothing is harder than grieving someone who is alive, ending a life -even if only in your mind- is a burden. A heavy burden. I can proudly say that at 18 I surpassed this. I have grieved my pink and I have made it past every cherry blossom out there. I can stare death blankly without fidgeting. I have withdrawn the hue of pink I thought was its’. It is now black, just like every other minuscule death that is of no value. 

Monday, December 12, 2016

A letter to God

Dear God,
You have the power to make me numb. The power to no longer linger on to the past. You can heal me with all my wounds. Dear God, I know you know the bigger picture. It's merely the fact that lately days seems more unbearable and the people I am coming across are even worse. I can no longer escape them because it feels like I am escaping my soul. Dear God, 17 is harder than I thought -so much harder-. You feel like complaining is invalid because your thoughts and complaints are disregarded. Yet every mistake you make is held against you with all the power in the world.  Dear God, I know everybody is somebody and you care about every one; I only wish that with every sin we commit we become less and less important till at one point we vanish. I wouldn't mind vanishing if everyone got their fair share. Dear God, I am tired of living in fear of tomorrow. I only sometimes crave I had a relatively normal life; one with peace. Dear God, I can live my life in fear of the future, but I can not live in fear of you. I know I was taught to, but I can't. I know that you created all things of beauty. Hence, you are beauty and grace. Dear God, I wish that I'm right and I pray you can hear me without a preacher's support or advanced Arabic words. I know you are listening even as I type. Why does everyone scare me of you? Of what you'll do if I wrong what's right. Dear God, I know I should be taking more care of the two sockets that lie on the display of my body, I know they'll run dry. I am trying. I am sorry. Dear God, I wish I were with you embraced by your goodness rather than this dark, cruel world. Dear God, it hurts and I wish it would stop stabbing me. Dear God, seeing those bodies in flames broke my heart. Dear God, when will this all end? Dear God, please end it.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

The story 477 days later

And it's in moments like these when I realize -at least to some extent- how this whole scenario has changed me. I've been trying to look at the brightest spots in this dark void I seem to be sucked into. The void I've been living in for the past 16 months. The 7 stages of grief played backwards; starting with hope and ending with grief. That's a simpler way to describe how it feels to live a life full of deaths. I would be lying if I said I could define myself now. I have never not known myself. I have never been such a stranger to my existence. I can no longer bear thinking of the present, let alone the future. 

When you indulge yourself in the reality of this world it's hard to think 10 steps forward; when you see people who can't make it through the day and others who can't pay their medical bill which is basically a fraud. But the glitch in indulging yourself in all the bad news is that at some point you give in. You lose all what remains of you. I no longer feel present. Yes, that's what it is I no longer feel present.  Fading. Fading the same way ink spilled into the ocean would. Disintegrated like the shafts of sunlight.


 I have never been a fan of revisiting the past but that's all I've been doing lately. It's almost like I am subconsciously trying to linger on a bit longer to my old seemingly "normal" life. It has turned into a lifestyle of just trying to live each day as it comes not planing over a week ahead. The far future is no longer one to put much concern into. I am worn out of pleads to end this coalition. I am genuinely losing hope, not that my life will end, I seem absolutely definite that I am not dying any time soon. Rather I am weary from being so uncertain. So disheveled. Devils with depictions of white halos and angels with red horns rupturing their skulls, that's all there is to it.