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Identical differences

When someone looks you straight in the eyes, as if to confirm your existence.

as if to tell you that they see you too,

to confirm that you are infact in the bus looking at them through a really big window

as if to confirm that for a brief few minutes you both shared the same reality from two different but slightly similar standpoints.

It was 9am for both of you,

it was raining on both of you

as if you woke up at a different but slightly similar time, both hearing similar but different alarms, choosing to eat breakfast on your table or holding on to it on your way to work

as if all the differences in your realities suddenly found eachother identical.

As if to say this was meant to happen

as if I was meant to see you

as if I was meant to be seen.



On countries and playgrounds

I adjusted my chair,


in order to reach my desk comfortably.

It happens. I am not the tallest person you’ll ever meet. I’m not the shortest either, but I normally need to adjust my chair when facing a desk of any average size in order to get comfortable in my uncomfortably time-consuming task.

and I get comfortable, my hand under my chin, holding up my heavy head, nearly dripping numbers and figures and swear words, as they normally go together in my reality.

How many points of sale exist in each area in France?

Which area should we be focusing on?

But how much do they make selling our products?

I proceeded to read the drop down list of the areas divided into regions.

Sud-Est, Nord-Est, Alpes.

Poitou Acquitaine, Bretagne, Normandie, Alsace-Lorraine-Champagne.

Poitou Charantes, PACA.

I took note of the cities with the biggest presence of Points of Sales and found our region of interest.

As I traced my hand above the regions and their cities, I was jealous.

Feeling like France was my playground, I was getting to know the cities better, I sometimes could guess the region by its city names. I would walk around the office sometimes and I would see area managers tracing their fingers above France the way I did, the lines on the map almost leaving their fingers dirty . Tracing their salesmen on paper condensing six hundred and forty three thousand kilometers square on one map they could hold up with both of their hands.

How I wished I was tracing ten thousand kilometers square that never seemed to lose their familiarity. It would’ve been much easier to learn again the name of the city I was born in, the areas I grew up in, the streets where my friends lived, the lights of the highways I fell asleep to, the compounds in which my father carried through my tired six year old body, not being able to stay awake after long nights of deafening voices and music and gossip and family and chatter and food.

Quiet, in my chair, tracing France on a map, tracing Lebanon in my head.

You are lucky, my dear frenchman, and I am jealous of your playground. Mine is far and much smaller, and I wish I could trace it and condense it into the size of my palm, and figure out where our points of sales would be.


From halves to wholes

Here we are again.

Myself, my thoughts, and my walls.

and my memories.

If you are lucky enough to find a soulmate in a friend, then you have found a blessing that will ignite a glow in you to keep you warm years later, even after your soulmate is no longer your roommate.

Here we are again,

You reading me writing.

Your eyes move and my fingers move, your lips read and my keys click.

Here we are again,

Myself, my thoughts and I,

and every single memory I have now behind me

in my head, and thankfully, in your memory too.

Every word we said to each other, secretly now between us. We share thoughts that only the two of us know in between seven billion other stories. Other people will never know ours word for word; and how special that is, to be able to share a secret with someone in a world that is increasingly and effervescently loud.

Here I am again,

Amongst these decisions and everyday tasks and routines and circles and squares that I used to share with you in meticulous detail, so that you would pick and understand and decipher to then critique and solve their little knots, reshaping them, showing me how much smaller they are in real life, and how easier it would’ve been if I had just breathed, and cleared my head.

My top drawer, my half meal, my half priority for four years, sharing half my room and half of my thoughts

Half of my space and half of the oxygen I was breathing for years.

Half my cab fair and half of my laughter.

Half of my memories are with you,

and I tell you now,

as I have settled on in a place of my own, where no halves are to be compromised no longer,

Here I am again,

comfortably knowing that I will always have not a half, but a full one to rely on when times are hard, and even more to share laughter with in times of joy.

and so will you, as we both passed from halves to wholes.

The color green

I suggest you read this with Calum Scott’s Dancing on my own playing in the background.

You know, just to set the mood.







So I’ve stumbled upon a Youtube wedding video…

…that I had voluntarily searched for.

Stumbled upon [1] : To come upon accidentally or unexpectedly.

This, was by all means no accident. This was not unexpected. I willingly typed in Jess and Gabriel Wedding in the search bar, knowing very well that it was my 3rd time watching this video since its release.

Fast forward one hour, two cups of tomato soup down and a mountain of tissues later, I find myself stranded in that part of Youtube where all the suggestions on the right of the page either have an Ashley & David or a Kenza & Aleksandar or a Rami + Hana OUR WEDDING MOVIE.

Although there’s a particular trend with these videos: closeups of hair and makeup, close up of David or Aleksandar both buttoning their white shirts, the future married couple’s words to each other, and slow motion shots of their photoshoot.

… and it’s really warm.

But I’ve noticed the greenery, and I get that it is aesthetics and popular green wedding destinations, but this green fills and fulfills a much bigger purpose in my opinion.

This green; not too overwhelming,


fragile in appearance, is the purest love can get.

It’s as clear as day. You feel its branches and leaves, and it grows; by God it grows, pure, real and genuine.

We tend to experience the things we don’t know differently than after we had known them.

‘When you fall in love’ she said

‘You will understand’.

I’ve wondered at the time what she meant when she said that, but I couldn’t relate for as long as I remembered.

And suddenly you do. It hits, as pure as green; that you never really felt, quite to the extent things could feel. It’s not an emotion you re-live, it is an emotion created, a slightly more elevated sense of feeling.

Maybe then I had felt I was able to grasp a little more of what she meant. It is important to understand that sometimes if you’re lucky enough, things are pure to an extent that there is nothing to be deciphered or decoded to be understood. It is simply, purely, green.

ورقة بلا لون

‏سافرتَ بعيداً آخذاً ‏مَعَكَ في حقيبتكَ الجلديّة ‏صوتي و عيوني،
و أفكاري،
و قلمي،
و كلماتي و حبري
ماذا تركت لي؟
ماذا بقي لي
ورقة بلا لون
وكلمات لم أكتبها
سأرسلها كلها إليك
آملة انك لن تحتاج لرؤيتها كي تقرأها

Do you know your neighbor?

Do you know your neighbor?

There was a point in my life when I walked down a street filled with people that knew me.

Not only did they know who I was, but they greeted me into their homes, made me coffee I don’t drink and served me little bites of food which I ate a little too much of.

Not only did they greet me with food and drinks and even more food, but what was important was that they greeted me.
Point barre.
They did not simply, politely invite me into their homes; they yelled it out from the 7th floor.
Come up!
They would say
Their hands almost reaching down to the street, their electric voices stretching down, swooping the floor and scooping me up.

Not only did they do this to me, but I also did it to them. I learned to do it to them, and embraced their presence when they came by.

I walked down this street for three years, and everyday I would get the same overwhelmingly warm welcome. Women were on their balconies, their arms moving frantically side to side, yet in perfect harmony, hanging shirts to dry and clipping things onto strings as tiny drops from the wet clothes sometimes landed on the top of my head.

I looked up to see men sitting outside in their sleeveless white shirts in the summer, and long sweaters in the winter, resting their arms on the balcony side, watching people go by on the street, drinking their third cups of coffee of the day.
When I was young(er), I used to think that most of the people that lived on my grandmother’s street were actually related to us. I used to think they were family because they’d spend time at our house and we’d visit theirs. We saw them everyday and they all knew me, my brother, both of my parents, my grandmother and grandfather, and every human being sprout from that family tree, their background stories, current struggles and little victories. They knew us all and treated us like their own. It is only when I grew up that I discovered that we did not have any kind of real connection with their family whatsoever; and anyway, there was no possible way that my family could be this gigantic, but we were part of their joys and their cries. We felt it all, and they felt it with us too.
When I come back from travel I am treated like one of their own, and I am lucky enough to get an abundance of kisses and tight squeezes and questions and concerns and good wishes.

Lebanon, I’d run out of words if I’d written you poems, but I’d write you everyday of my life until my return.

And now, stranger living abroad, do you know your neighbor? Come to Lebanon, they won’t be neighbors for long.

And person possibly reading this in Lebanon, fine e3zom 7ale 3al ahwé bas ta erja3?

Carbon, blue, and all the shades in between

Everyday I wake up with a new face.
At night, I sleep with my mascara on
And I wait for the salt from my eyes to drain it away.
I wake up in the morning with streams of black lines on my cheeks and near my lips
As if the carbon from my mascara carved this feeling right into my skin and tried to outline the shape of my lips
It was so intense that it had to show.
Do you ever feel a little wretched sometimes, for no particular reason?
Well, actually, there usually is a reason.
Are, reasons.
Some of which we can’t do anything about, that depict reality as is, and some that have no reason in them at all, as if our bodies were fighting with our bodies, challenging them constantly to a match never to be won.
And in the morning the first things I see are my feet stepping on the ground, off my bed
I walk up to the bathroom, let the cold water stream fill my hands and wash away the evidence
After all, these lines are easily readable and can be quite scandalous,
But every morning, I wake up with a new face.
For anyone going through a particularly carbon-induced morning lining, I am with you, trust me.
I’ve enough sadness to fill a whole pool
And supply its decorative fountains, too.
I’ve enough gloom to cover Paris with more clouds than it is usually accustomed to
But I’ve become familiar with the rain and its own streams.
I hear people like to spend this time behind their windows, inside warm apartments that have long glass casements that stretch to the floor, where droplets of rain can hit against the double vitrage.
I hear there’s still some beauty in the blues, personally I’ve just grown tired of the color.