The Cairene

Right now, I am staying in my room by my own, eating ice-cream off the family-sized jar and wondering why I am not outdoors chilling or meeting anyone who could make my life a little bit interesting. I stopped typing for a while. I am still frozen in my place like the ice-cream I am eating (it’s not really frozen), but what? I can’t think of anyone to hang out with. I am trying to re-think, but I know my brain won’t let me since it is screaming; “You will die alone, sad and alone”. But wait, won’t we all? I am not sure but I know I might. I am a sinner. I am a hopeless sinner, a bad person, a liar and a hypocrite. I don’t know what should I label myself with or if I should label myself or not, but I’d rather do it than let anyone label me. I’ve lied to people, hurt some, pushed away many and let down the rest. And before all, I have been a bad person, to myself. I looked back way too many times and I realized that the bad will always win, even though if your good was of a ...

He knew her. He knew her secrets, and every single lie and mistake in her life. He knew her flaws, all her insecurities and how she was perfectly imperfect. He knew her fears of heights and her love for hiking. He knew her pain and all its reasons. He knew her scars and all the stories behind each, in details. He knew her mind, her inner voices and heart stitches. He knew the places of her scar-less wounds, inch by inch. He knew her current bruises and the ones which faded away. He knew every hickey she had from random guys before him, and he gave her more. He knew her very special birthmark on her lower part of her chest; he blew her many kisses over it before. He knew the heat of her body, with all of its temperatures and levels. He knew when she felt breathless before she could even feel her chest pains. He knew when she was going to cry before the tears even reached her eyes. He knew her favorite songs by The XX and The Fray, and the chorus she loved the most. He repeated ...

In every home, the family members complete the place's ambiance of safety and warmth. Everyone has their fingerprint on the place and leaves a piece of their soul around. To me, I like to think that homes have stronger souls than humans, and that's why when a member leaves for any reason, I imagine the place and air weeping after they are gone. And it could be true because grief usually takes over and tasteless days feel longer. Happiness is usually replaced by indifference or grief, the place feels soulless and it becomes a 'house' rather than a 'home'. God gave us our souls and we give a part of us to our homes. *On a side notes, I'd like to add that home doesn't has to be a place. It could be a book, a hug, a kiss, a song, a melody, a street or poem. It's anything which you can make you feel safe. Also, I hate to break it to you, but you can't find home in people. You just can't. They will either leave and make you feel homeless, or you...

I don't know about you guys, but my brain always fails me when I try to stop overthinking unhealthy thoughts. Last night was on of those nights where I had to stay up late, staring at the nothingness, and contemplate my life. I thought about life, death and the in-between. As for me, I consider the 'surviving' stage the in-between stage. It's where we basically get deprived  from the act of living. It's more like breathing and getting along with the odds and unknowns because deep down, we know the God has a plan. Don't ask me about this plan because I am like you sir and you madam. I don't really know. My mind decided to shift to the last stage and it felt scary. Through out my life, I never feared death, not being an arrogant b*tch or anything, but it never occurred to me that I was scared of it. Last night, it felt eerie getting a thought about it. And I realised it was because my brain jumped into the in-between stage without passing through Life, the fir...

On a boring afternoon of a tasteless Tuesday, I decided to put on my dilapidated ivory converse and take a walk around the C-town. I wasn't so sure that I am strong enough to leave the house without a single penny, but I knew I am not powerless- not too powerful though.   I roamed around the streets, aimlessly and observed all the details, the blotted out ones, the presented ones,  and even more, I observed the nothingness. Old buildings encircled me as I walked, with the shops and retails armoring the entrance of, almost, every ageing building. The sound of shishas’ water being blown, the dices being thrown along with the aching sound cracked slow laughs of old men bring back my parents’ picture of long-gone youth into my mind. My wounds were touched as I watched these grey men play, laugh, frown and lour as if they are back to being kids again. The embarrassment threw cold breeze along my spine, yet  I caught up myself smiling every time a grizzly-headed cheered after ...