a daylight dream

invisible. invincible, too. I turn into a fort. this solitude, once saved me, you know. it became my home of dreams and make-beliefs. torrentially heart-warming fantasies. and now, reality . sweet. blessed. but exhausting . once I was a committed audience,   now but an actress. I dream to go home, even while I lie in arms of the one I love. I dream to be where I don’t anymore. when I don’t have to make this real, when my dreams could float into scapes of reveries. how can I be who I am? how can I be that unspoken, that chimerical? but I’m expected now to live up to love. with courage, through my flaws. but this is not what I want. my solitude tastes of abandonment, but the bitterness is what I crave. the over-indulgent spiral. and never wanting to be saved. he looks at me with his sober eyes, his words sweet, his arms safe, still I let go. still I hold on to what I know. tortured, left behind, invisible. almost a figment from a faraway land. I want to be like that .

reading “The Myth of Normal”, I came by a page which described depression as a suppression of emotion, the distancing of one from their feelings which would cause a calamity in certain situations. somehow, it rang a bell. it made more sense to see it that way. if you go through my old blog posts, you will definitely come across posts in which I’m apathetic, distant from life, untouchable, and far from being loved. starved— essentially. there would be other posts, in the same months, in which I am extremely grateful, upbeat, dreamy and alive. remembering the past decade, I can tell that more often than not, I did not want to keep going. I wanted to lock myself in the room and die slowly. cut myself from all worldly ties, all attachments and fade into oblivion. however, I couldn’t. I had to survive somehow. I had to shove away those dark and twisty feelings and create fresh ones, even if they were mostly delusional and based on fantasies and dreams. the moment I felt safe in 2024, all th...

  in my new life, one of the most starkly noticeable changes is the evidently increasing number of worldly attachments I am chained by. perhaps it is what makes life so different. a nostalgia drapes over me when I reminisce how it was like before, having let go of everything this life has to offer. I had and wanted nothing. my soul was close to death all the time, envisioning it, embracing it. I didn’t have anything to live for— everything and everyone I loved was a bridge to the hereafter. now, there is more to live for. a beautiful home, a warmth I was starved of. an angelic kitten. a bicycle. and all those beautiful roads by the countrysides and forests. I get why Sufists let go of all worldly belongings and attachments. they do it for the world acts as a violent veil, blinding the soul from seeing Him. it’s such a treacherous enslavement, to love the world deeply but forget its Creator for a while. it hurts my heart everytime I return and remember. I wonder what it would take t...

every now and then, I am flooded by waves of thoughts concerning marriage. it is quite a confusing state to be in, to be honest. in this era, marriage is quite different than what it was supposed to be like ages ago. and to be married in this era requires an authentic kind of introspection to ensure that one does not hurt the other when clearly times have changed so drastically. sometimes I wonder why be married when no one needs the other in the traditional sense. truly, we don’t need each other as women and men would have needed each other before. one can survive really well without marriage and even be happier with a little bit more independence. it’s perplexing to understand the essence of a family in these times, when the value of a group of people being together is not emphasised.   I keep trying to convince myself that we do need each other physically and materially. however, it is not the case. a woman can make a living without a man and even build a home and create other f...

will God forgive me if I’ve changed enough that my heart has changed? a heart that knew nothing but worship, His remembrance and reverence now knows more. there’s more than God’s presence here. a while ago, I would be remembering God’s gifts in my life, daydreaming my bus rides away. but here I am, on a bike ride through parks, thinking about this week’s bike ride with the girls, planning it in my head, wondering what the weather would be and articulately crafting instructions and manoeuvres. is this okay? when I got here, I used to feel a crippling guilt everytime I allowed life to consume me: the little doings, the details of everyday life. it felt like suffocating compared to God’s graceful, expansive remembrance. there was a stark difference, and I was scared. God, I was so scared I was being unfaithful. it felt like a betrayal. yet, the more I truly live and experience the beauty of this lifetime, I wonder if it is okay. I wonder if God meant for us to see this, too. to let it in ...

rare as forget-me-nots, found basking in the mellow light by creeks and solemn meadows, undiscovered, untempted to be of anything, of anywhere. still, they murmur a memory. the forget-me-not seeds I kept in my purse for years. their home was a garden where blackbirds and hoopoes dwelled— it was but a sacred dream. the dandelions whimper of all the wishes they keep secretly until a landing on golden grounds is sealed.   they’re wisps wrapped in silky touches of spring-air.   they talk to me. they’re not gone. poems.. songs. my broken sounds ‘neath apple boughs and midst a flower bed so serene. but I’ve let all my birds go never seeking their distant return. I’ve let them go as I let an old love die, taking me along with it. but they’re here now. my birds. my forget-me-nots, and sacred dreams.

the chestnut trees are in bloom, and it leaves me in awe. how could I have not seen this last April? why, when I walk these streets of spring, I wonder why have I forgotten everything that happened last year. why did it all slip into oblivion, especially all the beauty and gifts of this season. well, I remember. I was stuck in bed, in tears, taking 6 sleeping pills a day to escape the gnawing pain in my abdomen and heart. it hurt to be alive. I remember now. remembering how it was like last spring, I remind myself of the absolute necessity of patience in this lifetime. how could I have endured without the ease that patience brings? the faith that it would change, that transformation is a prerequisite to all situations, no matter how permanent they seem.   perhaps now that I am better, I realise how dissociated and disconnected I’ve been from my own body, all these years. there is no way that this pain resurfaced from nothing. it was building up slowly, and it was a weight I was car...

today, I found myself reverent of the empty spaces my newfound life has bestowed upon me— spaces that have given way for this catharsis to take place. the emotional upheaval, incessant pains and surfacing fears.   I still notice that I’m fearful and judgemental most of the time. it requires so much effort from me to mindfully stay present, relax—  soften . years ago, I discovered what softness really meant. melting into oneness, the present moment, aliveness and beingness. it’s such a subtle sensation, but when felt, it captivates me and lures my mind to keep chasing that state, for it is truly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt. I miss this kind of softness. I caught myself melting into it today on the metro, on the ride back home. my body took less area in space, my soul shined through. it felt quite surreal. back to the empty spaces. so, every time I stray, I remind myself that I really need to heal. I don’t know what it means, but my inner child truly wants me to prio...

 diminished was an era of brittle beliefs— and daydreams. dozens of them at a time, accompanying soft melodies and radiant sunshine. it took me years to envelope the suffocation and make pine-air out of a savage stench. this is what I realise now, being on the other side, all the things I loved, despite being so real and so mesmerisingly beautiful, were not at all alive. I spent my days and bus rides making up those stories, writing about them, pretending I was someone else. someone who knew the light, someone whose darkness could be embraced, tightened into a charming little ribbon pinned on a flowery, bohemian dress. ribbons that kept my heart alive were certainly chimerical and phantom-like. I befriended flowers , birds and passing clouds. I wrote songs , poetry and photographed ethereal views, sank in meadows and grassy fields collecting pine cones and wild grasses. those memories to me are sacred, but as much as they are beautiful, they were unhinged like spider webs that easi...

it’s been quite some time, I know. I’ve been wanting to write, but poetry is not freshly flowing as it once used to. perhaps I need to envelop my soul with more of it to feel the universe more deeply. yet, it has been a graceful, much needed change— leaning towards the present moment and neglecting the incessant romanticisation of life. I’m here to reflect on how it revived me to find gifts to give again. before Ramadan, God blessed me with this vision of giving free classes to children about a topic I cherish lavishly. at first, I thought it would be a project to improve my personal income and finances, but my soul asked me to do it for free, for the sake of giving gifts and being in touch with God’s benevolence and mercy. and, it was exactly what I needed to get closer to my heart. the mere intention to wake up each day and do something for God somehow resonated beautifully with some forlorn part of me, which truly dissipates while living abroad surrounded by material beauty. after t...