Unbearable, Unforgettable, Unforgiving

I couldn’t go back to what I was. I just couldn’t. The wounds were too deep and yet to be healed. I couldn’t just easily step back and fall into my familiar skin. I couldn’t ignore the gnashes and scars adorning my soul. I couldn’t easily forget, the pain and how it sounded in my heart. It was all unbearable, unforgettable, unforgiving. It was all confusing what one person, how much power, they had over me. How one person, changed it all.

Yet, I believe I did not change. No not at all. I grew up and realized life was not cotton candy and fluffy clouds. I realized in order to be grateful for happiness, I have to drown in sadness. In order to see light, I have to be in darkness. I have to see a bit of both, experience the good and bad.

But why, oh why the pain was unbearable, intolerable, devastating. Oh why, my soul was dragged through mud, rocks and thorns and tattered. Why was I tired? Why was I sick of everything? Was I living in an illusion of pain?

I didn’t know and quite frankly I was lost in the storm that were my feelings and thoughts. One person could tear that veil from your eyes, your beautiful perspective. You saw beauty in everything. They destroyed you and you were a fallen castle, a rubble of bricks and broken glass.

I picked myself up, slowly, painstakingly as not to break me ever more. I put myself back together, slowly, as it was painful not to find pieces that fit together. I planted flowers in empty spaces where there should have been parts of me, but now lost, long gone, buried somewhere far. I made myself beautiful, with all my battle scars, they were my written history of a war with pain and loss. I adorned myself with the invisible wounds of a broken heart. I was back again, a little bit different, but back again.

Postcard Odyssey #10: Rain

Gold Coast

August 2014 


The city of golden sun rays and white shores it was. I always woke up to an amazing view of the sea. Today was different. A brooding cloud, as large as Russa itself, hung low on the city of Gold Coast. I sat by my bed and stared at the view.

The colors were dimmed and the sea was suddenly calm. I could hear the howl of the wind through my almost opened window. Then it began, the sorrowful song of the gloomy grey cloud.  Its tears knocked my windonw in a constant beat. The droplets hung dearly on the glass before sliding away.

The room was filled with a queer smell, it was light just like the droplets and cold just like the wind. It was as if I was wrapped in a cloud myself. The room had another feel, I was detached from the world. I felt calmness seep into me, the melody of an anguished sky playing outside.

I loved the rain, it washed me away into peaceful numbness.

Postcard Odyessy #9: Blue Surface

Processed with VSCOcam with p5 preset

Swish, drip…drop of water…drip, drop, drip…dropping…swish, peck…kiss the shore…peck, kiss…pecking

Crush, step…crushing the sand…crush, step…crush…stepping….
Whispers, hisses…waves crashing the rocks…

Where am I?

In the land of sleeping empires…of dead cities buried deep…of myths brewing in the bottom…

Who am I?

I am the sea, the ocean…where magic comes to life as the sun kisses the blue surface…

I am the blue surface of the Earth…I am the holder of all ancient empires…the storyteller of legends…


I slowly bleed into myself

I slowly wither into an empty vessel

I slowly break, shatter and leave

I am a phantom of unspoken emotion

I am the minute before that grand explosion

I am that silent moment

Between the dawn of awakening 

And the dusk of eternal slumber

My pieces are the dust of stars

They are the talk of legend

They are the fragment of wishes

The scrambled departed dreams

I am a ghost of myself

A decaying part of an original

Broken, shattered and gone

I had dreams of being 

I had dreams of becoming

I had dreams of everything 

They were the melodies 

The strings of my songful spirit

They were blots of light

In an ever dark enclosure 

They have become 

Nothing but a part of a forgotten memory

Stabbed by my decaying self and broken wishes

Write a Book in 10 Days


There’s always a story cooking up in your head but they don’t alway survive to make it on paper! This challenge is for the person whose mind is always scrambled with ideas yet never got to plan it out. The drive of this challenge is spontaneity.

“Let it be the first thought in the morning, the last thought in midnight, surrender to the idea, and forget life for 10 days”

This shouldn’t be planned at all. The first topic that comes to your mind. You should surrender to your muse and that’s it. You don’t think too much about the plot or character and write. Write and let your characters lead you and your story flow out without you cutting its edges, yet.

The rules are easy:

1- Choose a topic (you can write poems, short stories, thoughts, anything you want!)
2- Have your laptop ready
3- Keep a logbook of your process
4- Share with a friend
5- Invite anyone to write with you
6- 150 pages is your goal!

If you are up for this challenge we will be starting on 22nd of Jan, 2015 and using the hashtag #10DaysofWriting. This can help you break through your creative block and risk it for once. This is purely for the fun of it! Let your curiosity spiral and let your fingers write!

It’s unplanned.
We don’t know where we’re heading…
All of us, together..
But we’ll get there, hand by hand..
In the those 10 days!

We will be creating a group for the challenge and you have until 21st of Jan to join us and if you do join please contact us on twitter: @mimieq_ or @rabuazzah_.

Note that you can write in either English or Arabic.

Postcard Odyssey #8: Wanderlust


Wanderlust, that deep rooted desire to fling your wings against the air and wander. That deep thirst to be outside that boxy enclosure you live in. Yet, we see stamps are framed, limited but they get to travel on their own kind of wings, they get to be the guardian angels of letters. They get to be a badge of honor on the chests of envelopes. Does that mean you can only explore by traveling? Expand your meaning of exploring, that wanderlust shouldn’t be edged by plane tickets and cold airplane food. Its the books that fill your room, the pictures you collect in your scrapbook and the outdated letters sent back and forth. The curiosity stems from within, the need to know how the world clicks and clanks and that shouldn’t be hidden.

Your phone is your plane now, the world is within your fingertips and grab that opportunity by the reigns. Now that you know you can travel, even from your chair in your room, go do it. Collect, search, read and imagine. Create scraps of papers, words and pictures. Imagine you are traveling, with your mind. Let your creativity have fun, you need it.

Where was he?

As usual, she sat by the window waiting. She sat looking out at a wet world, a gloomy dreary world, just trying to find him. Was he lost between the howls of the wind? Was he trapped in the avalanche of thundering rain? Was he caged in a cold winter that prevented him from ever reaching her?

She rested her forehead on the cold window and shivered as the coldness seeped into her. A hazy breath escaped her lips fogging the glass with longing and broken vows.

Where was he? Was he forever lost in torn passages of an unforgiving life?

Where was he?

A question asked, somewhat in the beating quietness of the night and the hopes of tomorrow. Just a question that continued to graze the corners of her maddened heart and sorrowful mind.

Where was he? she whispered, as her lashes gave away to a kiss of eternal sleep.

Full Circle

kisses blown into an east wind
taking away the petals of tulips
dewy droplets on ancient trees
leaves basking under a spring sun

rustle of fallen sticks and branches
golden colors of a burning autumn
the sleep and retreat of trees and flowers
a graveyard of a forest, of yellow grass

whispers of stories of a summery beach
the awakening of hushed silent gardens
the rise of salty fragrance
the embrace of a sun pecked skin

then a silence like ice cold descends
on a white kingdom of snow
hollow winds and omnious nights
icicles of frozen hisses stinging your skin

Postcard Odyssey #7: A Conspicuous Road Sign


“If you don’t know where you’re going, any way will take you there.”

I hit a road block and was met by a conspicuous road sign with vague words: “Go There – Go Here – Go Anywhere.” What did that mean?

I glanced around me. The place was empty and an eerie silence descended. The only clearing was the road which I came from. I turned to look back at it but the road was gone, replaced by a high wall of bushes and vines. The only way now was the ridiculous road sign.

“Having difficulties are we?” A small imp appeared out of the blue.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Why though?” He snickered. “Why is it always difficult for humans to choose a path?”

“Because not all paths are right and not all paths take you to your destination,” I answered.

“But aren’t all paths exist for you to tread upon and learn?” The imp said.

“I am not sure,” I said. “Some paths are not to be taken. Some are made to make you learn and some people just resort to shortcuts.”

“Ah, the dreaded shortcuts,” the imp grinned. “Would you take one if I proposed it to you?”

“Definitely not,” I said.

“Why?” The imp asked.

“Well, because I believe the longer the path, the more I have to learn, the more I experience and the more I discover. Why kill the suspense of the mysteries a path holds and take an unexciting shortcut?” I said.

“You have a point there,” the imp implied. “Now which path will you take?”

“I will go anywhere,” I decided.

“But you will be lost!” The imp said.

“No,” I smiled. “I will wander and be an explorer. I will go everywhere but I will still get to where I want to be, as long as I believe in myself.”

Postcard Odyssey #6: Flâneur


My dear adventurous friend, one who strolls aimlessly along the edges of the universe with no limits, observing the stars and skies. My dear flâneur is what you are. I so admire your sense of longing for what’s beyond the walls of your room, for that big road trip of your life. I so admire your fiery soul that thirsted for the excitement of an adventure beyond your wildest dreams. I write to you in hopes that my words, for a day, take you on a road trip of sorts. In a sense of the word, it is a road trip but not the one you desire the most. I hope one day I get to whisk you away from the world and travel across borders and cities.

Imagine you are ready, packed and all and the car is waiting. You shut out the world, plug into your inner senses and mind. No matter how mundane it sounds, this is a road trip for your soul, to soar higher than ever. Imagine you are in your favorite spot, I know its between the nebulas of the space, and you are infinite. You touch the sky and send a ripple through its very fabric, awakening a sleeping beauty from its slumber. Imagine riding the tides to the deepest part of the ocean. You are down there unraveling its secrets, ravishing in its treasures. Imagine you are hiking in the greenest forest your eyes have ever seen, so green it sets your mind on ease.

This might be one ludicrous road trip but one day, if I may, you’d sail the seven seas and see all continents, my dear flâneur.