a daylight dream

have I lost immunity? generally speaking, yes. ever since I made it out, I have lost so much immunity with all the weeks of illness recurring every now and then. but I’m not talking about that.   I am talking about emotional immunity. they used to call it resilience, but there’s a new term coming around. I like it better. perhaps it is my medical, biological, nerdy background that loves to use related metaphor. but I am intrigued by the notion that the more you go through emotional turbulence, the more you grow stronger as a person. it is also what I like about religion. the fact that it is not easy, that you need to strip yourself off your needs and daily comforts in order to see a glimpse of unearthly comfort. the more we get sick, the more we are exposed, the more we become stronger as human bodies.   is the concept one and the same, when it comes to growing as beings? perhaps it is. because I remember when I first came here, I was so vulnerable. having lived most of my adu...

desire is a treacherous thing. I’d weaned myself off it for some time— a very long time. everytime I found myself praying for something, I’d redirect them to pleas that God knows best what I truly need. I’d go silent and return to a stream of reveries. it was not safe to want something. I had wanted so many things and I’d lose them almost instantaneously. it was rather bizarre for a little kid— it was safer not to even try. but once life got just a little more safe, I tried again. I tried to desire a different life— friends, family, beautiful moments, work, a child. for some time now, I became ridiculously attached to observing what I receive from my prayers and it has been painstakingly difficult to watch. I don’t know how to say this but why do my prayers get intertwined by suffering? why does everything beautiful come paired with a lesson? why do my desires eventually become a painful loss? is this how it's supposed to be? the dance of polarity portraying itself before my eyes? ...

  i nitially, I was supposed to start writing a post on my intentions of this year but I found myself wondering if I could simply let it be and sink into the grace and magic of every single moment that flows within me. it’s the very first time this happens. I would have to sit down and narrow down my intentions instead of having a dozen of them. this year, all I truly intend with all my being is to simply be. for me, that is a significant transformation. to shift from excessive doing to being requires a gentle manoeuvre of my mindset numerous times during the day. I would have to carry myself from shaking my legs and biting my nails to allowing the magic of every moment to compassionately soak me whole. with all the dreams sprouting in me— my first steps in making a balcony garden with an abundance of tomatoes, peppers, sunflowers and lavender; my growing love for kindergarteners, a vision for being a regenerative leader one day and being a mother— I simply surrender to the flow of...

I was just talking with my friends about the difference being here versus living in Egypt. despite the beauty of this city and all the innumerable gifts that abound, still, I miss being back home. I miss the part of me that thrived back home. the one thing I definitely lost being here is my bubble. the sanctity and holiness of it. the bustling, starkly divergent and stimulating life in Egypt is quite inspiring. it opens inherent doors that allow me to cocoon in some place beautiful, even if it is just an armchair with a friendly ray of light, sit down and create layers upon layers of visions and make-beliefs. the collapse of humanness that I would see every day sparks a metaphor in me, and I see the world in terms of poetry and all that is chimerical and impossible to believe in. here, it is all there. all the harmony, humanness and grace. nothing extends out of me. the lack of entropy just dulls me and I keep chasing myself in circles trying to find the motivation to be different. but...

hajj was the first time I truly dedicated time to pray for myself. it was always a toilsome struggle to pray for what I truly need from God. no matter what day it was in ramadan or on arafat, I’d find myself staring blankly at my prayer mat, unable to utter a single word of need.   I had that belief that God knew what was inherently etched inside my heart, and I tried my best to be grateful for what I did not have. sincerely, I thought it was named courtesy to refrain from asking God who is all-knowing and all-merciful. but during arafat, when all I had to do was ask, when even all the prayers were shortened to make time for merely asking, I broke apart. I’m not sure what it was— vulnerability? brokenness? helplessness? perhaps all together and so much more. I am still so unsure. the only thing I am sure of is that I made so many intentions for a new life. and I am here to reflect upon them. life is starkly different after the hajj experience. the heart is full, the subtle constanc...

it’s all surrreal, being here in the spacious arms of God. the vicinity of holiness, being so carefully taken care of, being taken in an infinite embrace of mercy. hajj . I thought I was never worthy of being brought there. it seems it’s been all destined. a line written on my vision board for years and years. I never thought I’d be enough to find myself there, circumambulating in a motion akin to the angels eons above. being surrounded by all this grace, all this mercy, all this forgiveness. I keep remembering every moment of it. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget how those tears streamed wondering if I prayed enough and asked enough of your clemency. I found myself being embraced by years and years of your magnificent love, and all the years I stood small never understanding it, not being acceptant enough of time’s miracle, how it allows love to unfold ever so tentatively and courteously. I pray I’m courteous enough to be a totally different person now. my past has been e...

I still see you somehow, hidden in the glory of resurrecting days. moments upon moments of uninterrupted grace. doorways to heavenly spheres open wide, and dear God, I feel alive. the tears have arrived and they soak the dryness in my cheeks. every part of me that had been starved is free again. it’s in these moments, I see you. like a piece of my heart has come alive. it has seen its mirror and finally rests— though it knows this life is not one that brings understanding and comfort. this feeling is but a knowing. the kind of resurrection that happens when guided by God’s witnessing gaze. but in real life, this love and this vastness ceases to exist. burning away with a glimpse of our ego and the weight of worldly doing. I know that a love this ethereal is rarely felt in the bustling reality of it all. it all disappears in the roughness of togetherness and pressure of proximity. but one day..  one day soon and in earnest truth, I’ll see you.

there is something I have noticed in myself, living independently and joyfully these past two years. there has been a slow, gradual shift that I haven’t recognised until today, while I was listening to a podcast about core inner work. I found myself asking, have I changed? perhaps I have. the old me valued being effective and efficient in every single way. there was a pressured hurriedness in the way I carried out even the simplest of things. a constant strife to be a hard worker, despite all else. however, this has changed. I am no longer a tireless hard worker. that would have been pitiful for the eighteen-year-old me, who was crowned “the hardest worker” at graduation. truly, I would spend hours and hours mastering things at the expense of basking in the joy of life’s subtleties. now, I have come to prioritise other aspects of being. adventure. experiences. relationships. aliveness. this is to the woman I have become who gives precedence to a casual walk with friends over organising...

a few days ago, I found myself heaving in the tram on my way to work. I had done everything righteously for the past week, spending hours crafting a meticulously efficient plan for my day. still, there is so much fear. still, I am burdened by the unwavering shame of wondering if I had truly done things right. there is this pressure, a lack of receivership. there is this river that has dried up in my heart as the dam has been shut for so long— all the time I convince myself to be in control. and so, I am truly sickened by it, revolted by the idea of having such a tight grip on my life. my heart longs to lose control, to cease that endless strife of thinking too much. I never thought I was a perfectionist, more of an idealist perhaps, but they are closely intertwined. both require a demanding presence, a super-ego so domineering that one cannot relax to observe life’s beautiful, graceful gifts. my soul softly whispers, “this isn’t you.” I listen. here’s to saying goodbye to thoroughly pl...