Blank Walls, Blank Pages

I see you there. I see you there breathing. I see you there being. I see you with my eyes closed shut and my room all dark. I see you not through sight but through every other sense. I see you passing by untouched. I see you being unmoved. I see you seeing me yet not acknowledging me at all. That’s the thing about the past it grips on to us and refuses to let go. I’ve been running in a loop for too long and I am impatiently waiting for the end of this to come. I am waiting for the day I no longer stare blankly at the wall reliving those treacherous memories. I know that day will come eventually but I need eventually to be right now because I can’t bear one more nightmare, one more false hope. I hope that the choices I am making in the now won’t haunt me like my earlier choices that elevated to mistakes that bruised my mind. I hope I don’t let myself down again. I hope I can gain back my lost strength to carry myself to my desk to open my journal to write down my prolonged voyage with pain. I wish I could get myself to read my false hopes but I know my destined reaction will be yet another breakdown. Even typing words into this keyboard has turned into a burden which hurts me. I hate how one mistake can make every fruitful thing seem so vain, so bland. In the end, we are our mistakes; without them our ambiguous odyssey wouldn't be so ambiguous for hurt only hurts because it is so unexpected. When my "eventually" arrives I will stitch my wounds together and watch them heal then rise to be the me I deserve to be.

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The Scene in Yemen; January 2024

"The past is a place of reference not a place of residence" this is a sentence I have to constantly remind myself. It is okay to look back to ponder then proceed, it is life nothing more, as tough and as complicated as it can get. That being said; I never choose to revisit the past, I cannot decide whether it is due to fear or rather being past the past. I choose to deem it as acceptance, that it is a chapter of history I can learn from but should never mourn upon, although I usually choose the route of not looking back. January 5th 2024, Friday, was one of those extremely rare days that I sensed I was sent through a time capsule, 8 years back, early 2015 to be exact. As I heard the sound of the war-crafts bolting through the serene blue sky of Sanaa, I was triggered. My first reaction was to run holding my head down, waiting for my home to come crumbing down to the ground. My rapid processing mechanism was concluding that Saudi is back at bombarding us, in sequence with th...

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I remember my excitement for 2010 I had just turned 11 and the world seemed to be my oyster, I had a whole plan set out for myself. I was a hardheaded child with a plan, a well thought of plan, I was going to graduate high school at 17 and start university directly after, as a law student of course, and Harvard was the obvious choice. Nothing seemed too far, nothing seemed unreachable, every dream I had was valid, every dream was a possibility. It is hard to reminisce the past, how all that energy is long gone, I blame this war for it. In February of 2015, I was sixteen preparing for my AS-Levels to elevate my chance of getting into a league school, my life revolved around books and studying, I would stay put for six hours straight without budging studying maths day in, day out. I missed out on so much all for an exam I never took because the moment this aggression began all hell broke loose, everything was cancelled and I was left to panic and cry that my life plan wou...

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The silence is frightening, like the calm before the storm. I am so used to their sounds, their thunders, now all I hear are my thoughts. As I wait for the silence to pass, this calm is now the unknown. I hear the airplanes passing and I can't help but shiver reminiscing when it all started eight years ago, when all I knew was silence that was cut off, always in a sudden, to hear a speeding warcraft above my head about to take away the lives of tens of people at once in a matter of seconds. How can I justify or explain to myself that these are not war crafts these are airplanes, the airplanes that used to sound so natural to me. The airplane that little children would wave at just eight years ago, those same children are teenagers now, and the children today would never wave at an airplane because it never is an airplane, it is always a hovering, killing machine about to take out little kids just like them. Times change and although there is a truce there is no serenity, just the f...

The Ambiguous Odyssey

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