Category Archives: Writers

Sciamachy by Berlin

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Sci·am·a·chy noun [sahy-am-uh-kee]: an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy.

You see his name on your friends list

Regretting the fact that you weren’t online when he was, 27 minutes ago.

As if you would have said anything

As if you could have even typed “hello”

You click on his name and sigh at the sight of his profile picture

Not just because he was adorable but also because you see him cuddling “Monster”

The Jack Russel terrier he had had until giving him up for adoption a year ago.

You remember your heart sank as you read his goodbye letter to him.

How much it hurt him to let go of a very smart, brave although often stubborn companion.

Which you know Jack Russel terriers are…

Not that you were particularly knowledgeable in dog breeds…

It’s just that you had time to pull up all the dog photos Google had and settled for the one that monster resembled the most.

You thought about asking him directly, but then again you wouldn’t want to re-open that wound…

Or cause one on you.

You hovered the cursor over the like button

And debated whether clicking it would be too incriminating

You settled for later and clicked on his photo albums instead.

You realize he takes a lot of selfies… another thing you found in common with him.

Aside from badminton, the sport that introduced him to you.

You remember being called to umpire his game.

You remember him mistaking the first letter of your name for M.

You remember correcting him and him shyly apologizing.

You smiled, letting him know it was ok.

He smiled back.

That was your last memory of your sanity.

You watched him playfully sing, smile and stare at you during the game.

You didn’t want to assume it meant anything…

So you just officiated the game keeping your eyes on his b… the ball.

You found his name on the score sheet and repeated it a hundred times in your head so you can find him on Facebook… as if forgetting it was even possible.

You typed his name, hoping that he was there and PRAYING he didn’t know how to adjust his privacy settings.

Because you don’t really plan to add him…

You don’t even plan to say anything.

You just wanted to observe…

To see if he is or was married.

To know where he lived… worked.

To find common interests.

Basically stalk him like the psycho you are in the comfort of your own bed

But still keeping the right to act like you weren’t the least interested when you see him next.

You remember freaking out one night when Facebook notified you that he had accepted the friend request you were certain you didn’t send.

You wanted to blame your sister who used your computer that morning,

You were waiting for her to answer your call when the culprit caught your attention.

You rolled your eyes, hung up and cursed at the quarter-full bottle of J.D. on your bookcase.

“You’ve done bad things before but this…” you shook your head in disapproval and took a swig of the perpetrator.

Weeks passed and you found yourself thanking Zuckerberg for never considering the “who viewed your profile” option.

He doesn’t need to know his profile was viewed 87 times today… and he DOESN’T need to know you were responsible for 74… 82 of those views.

You read all of his statuses, scanned all his photos

Mentally clicking “like” on all of them… never physically.

Not just because you were a hopeless coward… but also because he’ll find it weird if you liked his break-up post from 2009.

You have casual conversations with him in the gym

Never trying to prolong them or let them get personal

You catch him staring at you sometimes

He smiles awkwardly when you do…

You notice how he says goodbye to the whole group but singles you out with a direct “I’ll see you soon”

But you never think too much about these things.

These, for all you know, might all be in your head.

Even when he asked you if you were seeing someone when

He gave you a ride home last Friday.

He even asked if you are looking to date… but you never assume…

You never conclude… you just always hope that somewhere between his lines is a chance that this is mutual.

You would never dare confess, let alone ask if he felt the same.

Something in your gut confirms that there is a chance there.

But your gut, your booze-loving gut, had been wrong before.

He might just be the guy who is so irritatingly nice, sweet and friendly to everyone.

Or worse, the guy like the last one…

The guy who likes you, flirts with you and practically dates you but deep down knows he will never actually BE with you.

You rolled your eyes at the memory.

You’ve been around long enough to accept that not all men are gay

Not that you were ever confident enough to believe otherwise.

Life is not that complicated… if he wants you, he will let you know.

Unless he is as afraid of rejection as you are of course.

Unless he is as attached to his pride as you are to yours.

A round green thing appears beside his name indicating he was online.

Your heart beats a little faster.

You wrack your brains for something to say.

You refer to your last conversation.

You wanted to thank him again for the ride.

You wanted to ask him the same questions he asked you about seeing someone.

You type… in notepad, because even the slightest chance that he sees you typing is terrifying to you.

You make a draft.

And another.

You are pathetic like that.

And when you finally settle for the perfect message, “Hey”

You find that he had left… 4 minutes ago.

You exhale a sigh of disappointment and relief

You close your eyes and say “tomorrow”

You promise that tomorrow… this sciamachy will end

You convince yourself that tomorrow you will be braver.

Tomorrow you will win.

Sciamachy by Lucy Moore

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Sci·am·a·chy noun [sahy-am–uh-kee]: an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy.

My battle has been to simply be.

My hardest and most endured fight; to accept my known self. A level of appreciation of my character, the basicness of content.

The achievement of happiness with I.

A journey through the ugliness of pretension. I fought to create a skin that didn’t fit the body. Slowly I moulded myself out of shape.

To resize, adjust and take in the essence.

Realisation that the battle was to stay as my nature. The expulsion of impurities made for tender days.

There is more sugar in a single lemon than in the flesh of one hundred strawberries.

Finally I found my home.

Waves by Dee

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When I was younger and more inclined to believe

Everyone told me their favorite lie

Like once when I was hurt, they told me pain came in waves

That it was a divine mercy so no one was given more than they could bear

And I liked the idea that someone was looking out for me

Because I didn’t know any better

But now that I think about it

Pain comes in waves because it is in its nature to be cruel

Pain comes in waves because it likes to grow in strength

Then, just when you think you can’t, when you’re done

It crests, and hits you with its grand finale as it breaks

And as it ebbs you start to doubt your memory

Because for a moment, relief siphons away the intensity of suffering

So pain steals back into the space left free by forgetfulness

And it is nearly as unexpected when it comes back around

Because pain comes in waves

And people are given more than they can bear all the time

They’re just not given the choice not to bear it

Waves by Eva Al-Meshal

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It seems that these words want to spill out of me, in no logical order…
Just the way ink spills onto paper recklessly and without a destination,
these words are waiting to erupt out of my dormant soul, spilling and spreading like lava – forming new islands of land inside of me.
I want to travel to visit them,
and sail gracefully through the ocean waves of myself…

Onto the next, and the next…

I want to absorb the fullness and the life of each syllable, each of the particles that merge together to form these islands of bittersweet tales and unexplored desires.
These words have been imprisoned for lifetimes…
And now, they would rather die for their freedom
than live in the dark, dusty corners of my mind.
I suppose I do not blame them.
I hear it is a lonely place there.

Waves by Osman Naeem

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Here I was, at the barstool, I mean, what better way to kick start the weekend than by spending your pay on cheap vodka shots and deep philosophical thoughts with your cubicle friends, who are all alpha males with beta reasoning skills and gamma temperaments.
Ten minutes past midnight and we were already spewing wisdom like snake monks, unfortunately, thanks to Basheer, and his amazing tendency to stir random substances that altered brain waves into our drinks. These substances were either made in secret laboratories or secreted by various life forms, our dear friend Ranjish Patel Kumar Turbanfulk jr was now Scottish and took his pants off because he wanted to feel the air flow through his legs and feel the comfort of a kilt. It doesn’t end there, he proposed a toast to God and said “My friends, hunks, hunkarettes, the lady with the armpit stains, we are all vagabonds roaming through nothingness in a search for bliss, and along that path, we have our own bandwagon that we think belong to. What we do defines us, what we define does us, like that lady I’m taking home tonight, and the closer we get to bliss, the further it seems to be. Now that is very funny, because bliss is within, trapped, in your minds, hearts and scrotums. Hey let go of me I am a citizen of this country what are you doing yaar…..” swear words and curses echoed through the back room as the bouncers carried his voice away.

While that happened, I had somehow teleported to this couch at least two dance floors away from the barstool that I warmed. I was beside the cornerstone of sexy and the centerpiece of “so damn fine”, my heartbeat was cosmic waves on a Richter scale, which is probably why I was talking gibberish, we were as close as distant relatives after exchanging private information because it is totally safe to share the dimensions of your birthmarks and your secret teddy bear with a person you met exactly twelve minutes ago, and you don’t even know their name. But I didn’t care, I was finally going to break through the crest of my purity as we winked at each other like we were epileptic. It was as if I had successfully aimed at a peanut through a sniper rifle fitted with a kaleidoscope, from a kilometer away, I had finally scored!

I insisted we leave and then decided to walk through the urban ghetto that this city had become, it was romantic, mostly, actually completely, because it gave us a chance to walk together through a cold night and I finally had the chance to cross out a line on my bucket list that included giving my coat to someone special to make them feel comfortable and cozy. We decided to dine in at Hummus Palace a block away from my apartment and ate the special “RegretMeNot” hummus, as we walked out while holding hands, a voice entered my left ear and told me I was going to have my first kiss in a really long time for dessert. Our lips crossed like shoelaces and then we brushed our cheeks together but I felt like I was rubbing my face against a porcupine. I now, had another reason to commit suicide by jumping into Tsunami waves, I had made out with the infamous queen of herpes.
I had made out with Ranjish. Patel. Kumar. Turbanfulk. jr.

Waves by Toby Al-R

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I hope you are ready for some random rage!

Because I am agitated, irritated for being facilitated to get levitated only to be dictated in a premeditated, disorientated system in desperate need to be rehabilitated.

The world is collapsing down, my mind is going haywire and the waves of anger are coming at ya!

Human beings… those invidious parasites, slowly climbed the ladder of the most brutal predators and managed to fail and f*** up everything around them then ironically and proudly claim the sanctity of life… And by the way; f*** consumerism and f*** advertisement too.

We skin the endangered animals only to make an expensive jacket… hello??? We dump a fish in a bowl only to see it circle around for a split second of our day and cage a bird only to hear it sing for our own disgusting amusement.

We kill nature by burning trees only to build factories to kill it even more. And everyone seem to be feeling just f***ing alright about it, because we are too busy shopping!

You know! It is just that cool to drive a Ferrari while there is a child somewhere that is too thirsty with nothing to drink, it just happens mysteriously that a liter of petrol to fuel your car is cheaper than a liter of water.

We teach girls to be plastic and boys to be bullies, we reward army soldiers, or should I say killers! With honor medals and crown a king for being a royal descendant to play judge, jury and executioner. So much for stratification… We just mysteriously forgot that we are all one specie.

I say “we” because the majority is not bothered, we flipped the table and turned this pristine earth to a board game, the puppet masters are playing their game and the rest are under global hypnosis.

It is Musical Chairs in slow pace, for once the music stops; a person, a company or a country is going bankrupt. Are you not entertained by the circus show? Then plant the seed of differences among those slaves, guilt trip them with religion, let it be their only solace, brainwash them to believe theirs is the right one, so you know… Murder can be negotiable… and finally lay down and watch them worship in a warship.

Say there is a monster underneath every child’s bed yet there is a child inside every monster. Turn freedom into something you have to fight for, enslave the mass under controlled debt, so even wiping your tears will cost money.

Tell the media that war is NOT the most profitable business which costs nothing but lives. Tell them it is homeland security against terrorists and mysterious zombies coming to eat your brains, trust me they will believe it. They already did! And are too afraid for their belongings and their Versace wallets, bomb those zombies, bomb them all! They will shout vain.

Control education and the capability of critical thinking, capture and assign the genius ones to develop weapons of mass destruction and educate the rest just enough to follow the rules, the rules we made of course.

Tell them it is natural to have poor and rich, even mention it in religions and let it be the words of God. Don’t you dare hint that the earth is the heritage of all, don’t you dare include this in the concept of equality. Let the structural violence emerge followed by hatred, envy and greed then tell them it is all… genetic, so we can have an excuse to build jails and get rid of those who fall in the trap we set and no longer fit in our box. It is like putting fuel into fire then get angry at the outcome.

Striking similarity in the story of God creating the devil then getting angry of him and whoever he influenced. I wonder if he created us in his own image or in fact we created him in our own image. I leave the enigma for you to solve, but either way both answers will result in psychosis.

More people died in the name of God than all other reasons combined. May heaven be their reward in afterlife. For everyone believes their God is the true one, it is a circle of stupidity resulting in thousands of dead fools. But let it be… the livings will continue the board game and slowly fabricate the rules to their interest, let the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

Create viruses and diseases then sell the medicine, never forget the motto; maximize profit at all costs.

Make sure to strip off people’s individuality and maintain the sheep in line, for we have more slaves in this generation than any other time in history.

Legalize weapons but illegalize their use, because we are civilized and we have civil wars! We are special creatures, we invented; sacrifice, torture, suicide and necrophilia! Give us a credit! Let us rule these lands and f*** everything around… Until this planet is completely messed up and we are finally wiped out and vaporized back to the universe by the waves of anger… To embrace the stars.

Waves by Dina Al-Awadhi

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the salty sea air

so cold, so sharp

the waves are calling

the waves are calling

boat beating through the briny foamed waters

wind whipping the sails to and fro

the waves are calling

the waves are calling

hidden amongst the crashing sea green surfs

is a rare gem, shimmering, a marvel

the waves are calling

the waves are calling

and there she is,

beautiful dark creature

smooth silver skin, shining black eyes, waving hair scattered with seashells

she is calling

she is calling

at the edge of the boat watching me

she wants me, she needs me

no            I want her, I need her

her smile is calling

her smile is calling

I take her steady hand,

we plunge into the waves

but too late does she remember

that man cannot breathe underwater

Waves by Noragotcharisma

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A four-letter word could never have been so underestimated. Wave. In fact, right now my voice is nothing but a mere wave. My aura, my energy.

Those powerful flushes of water that could almost tip you off your feet when you’re buried ankle high in warm Banana boat coconut-scented sand in Julai’a.

That voice inside your head reading this while you’re silent is a wave too. But I bet the average Joes and Janes aren’t really interested in physics, or nature, or my energy.

The waves that actually “matter” to your basic Neanderthal are perhaps the waves and curls of the hair, or the waves of a female physique—you know like Kim’s.

Alas, don’t be disappointed, because that doesn’t matter either. You wanna know what a real wave looks like? A real wave is an infinite ripple effect of cause and effect. Of emotion and how the universe so readily regains balance.

You smile at that chick who sat behind you in Intro to Psych, took your number to WhatsApp you only when she needed to be signed in the attendance sheet. But why are you smiling? You’re happy and she’s just hiding behind her Versace shades. Congratulations, she just took your happy waves.

She’ll go on her day feeling a bit better that someone was nice enough to smile at her, knowing she looked perfect with wavy hair. So maybe she’ll go a bit easier on her nanny today. And maybe her “beloved” Mary will then rest that night because she managed to dodge the wrath of the Vogue-esque princess who knows nothing about life.

And then maybe Rameesh will wake to see his love so happy and well-rested, seeing her glowing makes him glow too. As she gives him breakfast, he can’t help but be in awe at how happy his sweetheart looks. Rameesh’ll then go on to drive in a state of pure positivity, being nice and letting people pass in front of him, not giving a damn about anything.

And then maybe Rameesh will be right next to you at a traffic light, you waiting for it to turn green so you can get out of the scorching heat and rush home to devour a mountain of flavored rice, with a chicken by its side.

And then maybe in the midst of your torture and boredom, among all these cars, you’ll catch a glimpse of Rameesh—and his everglowing smile makes you happy for him, because why shouldn’t a chauffer be happy?

And then maybe you’ll have hope, although you’re sweaty, tired, and hungry, you’ll make it home sooner or later, and all things will be fine.

And then maybe that’s what a wave really is.

Waves by Fatma AlSumaiti

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I have this urge to cry endless tears. It starts at my center. I feel it churn within this gap of infinite emptiness that is my heart. You broke my heart even though you tip toed around it. For years you just put your life jacket on and floated in the vicinity of my consciousness. I let you float at first because indifference was my state of mind. I let you float until I gulped in your waters and started drowning in feelings.  Feelings that made me notice your eyes. They were always brown, weren’t they? Were they always this deep? This talkative?  And your skin, it is the kind of white that does not amuse my eyes. Yet somehow, the way red creeps into your face whenever you laugh too hard or struggle to articulate a thought simply cripples my lungs.

I don’t know what’s happened to me. To my heart. To my mind that was always in command.

There is a fracture within me. I think it’s called love. You know when they say love completes you? I think that is a notion created by people who mistook love for a cure rather than a fist that takes and breaks your core into endless scattering pieces.  A propelling force that pushes you to its farthest limits and pulls you back as it pleases.

There are days when distractions steal your silhouette away from my thoughts.  I forget you. Your voice. Your eyes.  Then I hear it.  The sound of a crawling beast ready to lunge at me.   But it doesn’t lunge.  It races the wind and drowns me with a shattering force.

Tonight, I sit down on the ground and feel as if I am sinking into the massive hole of nothingness within my chest. I feel the urge to reach in with my hand and try to close that endless gap. Maybe diminish it and try to fill it with any emotion that is not nothingness. It seems as if this world of nothingness is stretching further and further within the borders of myself. Taking over colonies of my being and trying to wither them away.  I’ll wake up tomorrow and bury myself with distractions.  But tonight, now, I’ll submerge myself in pain.  In nothingness.  Because for the life of me I cant seem to remember how it was before your soul took residence within mine.

 

Waves by Batool Hasan

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“See you on Thursday,” I had promised him.

I hastily open the pink bag, which was hidden at the back of my closet, to reveal the pearly white bra and matching knickers I had carefully picked out. After undressing and putting on the lingerie, I open another bag. Mesmerized by the velvety material, I spend a few minutes losing myself in the void of black fabric. I slowly pull the dress on, careful not to ruin the black roses and delicate lace that line the short sleeves.

He said, “I want you as you are.”

The corners of my lips twitch in a smile as I sprint to the dresser, picking up the makeup I’ve chosen. I take my time to make sure it’s perfect.

Today is Thursday, 10th of January 2013.

Today is the day I’m finally going to do it.

I open the small, blue boxes of jewelry and put on pearl earrings and a single line of diamonds for a bracelet.

I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing out the small knots. I meticulously arrange it in a bun on top of my head, and slip a few jeweled hairpins around it.

He had told me,“ Suicide takes you to hell.”

Funny how that sounded more of an invitation than a warning.

I pick up his gift and pass the dull threads of his necklace between my fingers.

I leave the carefully written note on my bedside table.

Why, hello mother and father!

So, you found me, huh?

Was my body still warm?

No? Didn’t think so either.

You should be glad I didn’t leave a bloody mess on your overly expensive Persian carpet.

Let’s cut the crap and get straight to the point, shall we?

I think you’ve told enough lies to earn you a lifetime of scrubbing those filthy tongues. Don’t disrespect me by telling people that I was loved and happy.

No, father, I am now happy.

Mother, don’t bother prettifying my grave with flowers; adorning death with more death is just too fucking depressing.

Sorry, but the “You’re young and dumb” lectures didn’t balance the chemicals in my brain.

What a shame.

To my benevolent friends,

Well, thank you for the 15 minutes of pretend love you so graciously offered me.

Just a suggestion though, maybe you should use your immense wealth to buy yourself a good set of manners and morals.

 

I am not a sob story.

Sincerely,

I hate you all.

 

I step on his stage and wrap the tightly knotted noose around my neck.

I will die on my terms. By my hands.

I am the crime scene.

I am the evidence.

I am just another battlefield, soon to be buried under generations of dirt.

Right

Where

I

Belong.

And I will soon be a pile of decomposed youth,

Having no value,

Purpose,

Or use.

I kick the chair and dive into his icy embrace, feeling his frosty welcome spread through me like tidal waves.

Oh, how I longed to feel you.

Waves by Hawra’a Khalfan

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Chocolate! Everywhere! For miles all he could see was chocolate, and his eyes bulged out as if they were going to escape their sockets; Kit Kat, Aero, Flake, Galaxy, Milky Way, Bueno, M&M’s, and oh! so many Maltesers. He picked up one of the Maltesers packets, pried it open with his teeth, and raised it up to empty the whole bag into his mouth. Before he could even take a bite, he heard a faint voice calling his name, “Abdulrahman.”

 

“Abdulrahman!”

 

“Abdulrahman!” It kept getting louder and louder and all he wanted to do was to just chew on the chocolaty goodness that already filled up his mouth.

 

“ABDULRAHMAN!” He felt an invisible palm slap his face so hard that it caused all the small chocolates to come shooting out of his mouth like bullets.

 

He opened my eyes, and here he was, back again, to this reality- this dreadful reality. “Ugh,” he forced his eyes shut and could still see all the chocolate that was waiting for him. He forced them shut with even more energy, focusing all his power on going back to sleep. I can do this, I can go back to it! He focused. Why can’t I go back! Nope, I got nothing. Fine, I’m up but I am so angry at Mama. Why would she wake me up like that! At least I could have taken one bite of the chocolate if she didn’t hit me.

 

“I know you’re awake. Get up right now! Uncle Lothan is picking you up in 5 minutes to take you to work.”

 

“But Mama, I really don’t feel good today,” I knew this is a battle I was going to lose, but it was worth a try, anyway.

 

“Abdulrahman. If you do not get out of bed this instant you will make me slap you again, and I will not be gentle this time! Up. Now!”

 

He sighed, and said nothing else to her. I know we need this money, but I just really want one day off. I just really want to go back to sleep. Knowing that there was nothing else to be said or done, he jumped out of his bed and rushed to the bathroom. His mother always stressed the fact that him and his little brothers must use as little toothpaste as possible- to preserve it. He knew that if he was caught using more toothpaste than he needed, it’ll lead to a beating- but today his mother melted his chocolate world, so he couldn’t care less what the consequences might be. He went on to create a small mountain of toothpaste on his toothbrush as payback, it has so much flavor, it burns but it feels good, he brushed his teeth with a smile on his face.

 

He aligned his palm in front of his mouth and blew out a slow puff of air and inhaled it quickly to be able to smell his fresh breath. He now must be careful with his breath. If his mother got a whiff of how nice it smells, he is definitely get a beating later on tonight. Making sure to keep his mouth closed, he went to his bedroom to pick up the banana his mother always leaves on his bedside table for breakfast, and headed outside the house.

 

He looked at his banana and focused on the brown parts, pretending they were chocolate as he guzzled it up while walking to look for his uncle’s car. Uncle Lothan is sooooooooo rich! He thought, Mama said that his Corolla cost sooooooooo much money! And that he’s sooooooo lucky that he got to marry a Kuwaiti woman. Mama says we should be Kuwaiti. I know we aren’t Kuwaiti because they don’t pay to see the doctor like we do. I don’t know what we are. We live in Kuwait, doesn’t that make us Kuwaiti? I don’t know. Maybe Baba knew how to be Kuwaiti. Mama said that Baba died from Saddam. Since Saddam killed Baba, Baba couldn’t tell Mama the secret of how to be Kuwaiti and it died with him. Maybe even Saddam wanted to be Kuwaiti and that’s why he killed Baba! To get the secret! I bet Baba was strong. I am sure he killed so many men! Mama is too busy and angry to try and make us Kuwaiti anyway. I hate Mama, she is always sad and angry, and all she cares about is making sure we make money so Nasser doesn’t die. It’s not my fault Nasser has cancer, is it? I wish Baba was alive. Baba would give me chocolate, I’m sure! Maybe one day I will be like Baba and I will know how to become Kuwaiti, then I will make Nasser Kuwaiti and his cancer will go away! Where is Uncle Lothan anyway? He isn’t even here yet, she really didn’t have to wake me up so early and ruin my dream. I really want chocolate. Where is Uncle Lothan? He’s never late. Today is going to be different because he is late.

 

His train of thought came to a halt when he saw his uncle’s shiny new silver Corolla park next to him. “Hi Uncle Lo!” He said, giving him a toothful smile. “Where are we going today?”

 

“We’re going to Salmiya.”

 

“Ugh,” Abdulrahman hated working in Salmiya. The people were so rude and the cars went by so fast. “Can we at least go to the one near the supermarket? The bathroom will be close by.”

 

“Sure, son. Now look in the back, you need to sell thirty lights today. Can you do that?”

 

“It’s really hard to sell that many in Salmiya,” he looked at his uncle with a frown on his face. “They never want to buy them!”

 

“Just try.”

 

“Ok.” The rest of the car ride was spent in complete and utter silence. Salmiya. People pass red lights all the time in Salmiya. I don’t know why they don’t see me. It’s as if I don’t exist. They only see me when I knock on their car windows. And even then, they brush me off because they don’t want lights. Some people are nice though, they give me extra money, and they don’t even take a light! They just give me it, I don’t know why they don’t want the lights. It’s shiny! I wish they saw me. But to them, I’m part of the street. Maybe they got used to seeing kids like me.

 

It was now ten o’clock in the morning and it took them two hours to reach the traffic light. “I will come pick you up by this same traffic light at 11 o’clock at night. Here is half a dinar, go to the supermarket when you get hungry and buy yourself something to eat.”

 

Abdulrahman stopped listening to him as soon as he saw the money, his mind got preoccupied with all the chocolate he could buy. He gave his uncle a hug for being so generous and went to pick up the lights from the back seat. Should I go buy the chocolate now or keep it for later? If I buy all of it now it will melt in my pocket. So maybe I should just buy one chocolate now. Hmmm, which one do I want? He thought back to his dream and knew exactly what he wanted to buy, Maltesers! Waves of excitement hit him so hard, I knew today would be different! I knew it!

 

His uncle would get him in trouble if he knew that he was going to go buy the chocolate now instead of waiting. So he stood in place just long enough for his uncle to be gone while waving good-bye to him. He quickly looked at the traffic light to confirm that it is red and began to cross the wide street. His mouth watered as he thought about how full he was going to be in a matter of minutes, so he started walking a little faster.

 

The next thing he could hear was a car horn blasting loudly, but Abdulrahman had gotten very used to being honked at during the past year. Why is the car horn getting louder? Is the car getting closer? He looked to his right as quickly as he could but all he was faced with were the headlights of an SUV.

 

Abdulrahman Mit’eb, 8 years old, was pronounced dead on the scene.

Waves #LifeIsBetterInBoardShorts by Bader Shehab

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It cried and rhymed with these southerly winds, as Hajar and I, sat on those rocks, overlooking the slow, sporadic, sudden and at once subtle motion of the Atlantic sway. It soothed and cleansed my lungs of every air molecule as I, on every diatonic hole, exhaled the tunes of worrisome melodies of which, as though, seemed to harmonize and remedy with the violent claps of nature’s force against those moss and limestone.

We sat upon for an hour or two, as I eased off the harmonica tunes to listen in carefully over the fierce winds the 20-minute interval of weather radio update. “It ought to blow east any minute now” stated Hajar, as her silken of yarns of hairs blew back and forth in reaction to the winds. She looked out to the farthest horizons and continued. “I can’t wait to get out there!” I nodded in agreement, flipped my board over and placed it square on my thighs. I took a handful of wax and applied it on the smooth, shining deck of the board, as I proceeded with my normal surf routine rituals the weather radio sounded off. “Temperatures at a clear and cool 19 degrees centigrade, Easterly winds approaching at 28 km/h, ground swell at 240 meters offshore, wind swell at 12 feet heading south east off Devil’s rock coast, Agadir, low tides at 4:38 pm. Surf away!” Hajar glared back at me as she stood and zipped her lycra wetsuit up to her neck, at this point my heart pumped up a notch, all I hear and see at that point are roars and blues, to the far west one click out, upon whites of descending and perfectly orderly waves.

We found our ways down these slippery sharp rocks carefully while negotiating the balance of our precious surf boards, and atop the last rock fighting for dear life against the approaching tides, we’d hug our boards chest high and jump with one spring. We are met with cold, ocean salt water, as if toying with us in its majestic mercy as though in god’s hands we trespassed and in him we trusted, time and time again, with nothing but ply board-cut decks and bodies merely covered by the thinnest layer of nylon film or sometimes just board shorts. We paddled and paddled, and as the weather radio predicted correctly, counter winds suddenly appeared and we felt the water level under us, dilating to the atmospheric change and almost tuning visibly to the under swell that is bound to shake this coast to a surf spot. I looked over my shoulder and I saw more shapes and patterns of colors appear upon numerous surf boards above the heads of running surfers eager to paddle out and ride nature’s ferry wheel. As though the ice cream parlor drove by, a sense kicks in to the wanting of getting out there upon these limitless boundaries of Oceanic jungles. “How far out?” Hajar looked back at me with the excited look and glare she gets before she surfs. “About 100 more meters out to this way” I replied as I pointed to the south, a deviation of direction, so we can meet the swell just right on the spot.

We sat up on our boards after long paddles after paddles, shoulders sore and muscles already strained, but it pays off so beautifully, once you lay your eyes on that swell formation, tide change, the tail heading and the perfect tip aligning to the wave’s broad body spreading from coast to coast, increasing in speed and hollow pipeline set up, just perfect enough to surf, she is ripe and ready for a ride! “This one is yours Hajar!” she nodded at me and proceeded to paddle and paddle, catching up to the topmost edge of the wave, dropping in perfect glide to its body and surfing it ever so perfectly with textbook technique. She disappeared as I dove beneath the swell, and dipped my first wave off. Submerged, on the other hand, is another world. A top I eyed the cloud-like movement of the wave as it rolled away, so very quiet I could nearly hear my heart beat slow down, my lung capacity can last me 4 to 5 minutes, but if I’m calm and collected, I think I could stay down here a long while amongst the darks of these ocean floors. The buoyancy of my surfboard compels me to resurface and as I do so, I am met by another large swell, after swell forming graciously together and easing the tide for another larger wave.

I bodied my board as fast as I can and paddled against the tides, with one hand I paddled and the other I placed near my thigh the other one did the same as soon as the board was parallel to the rising tail, I felt the wave begin to pick me up and nearly flip me, but I counter her power with my weight as I stood on the well-waxed surface and took full balance square center, I’d use my back foot to steer, the tip seemed to wash off the board in reaction to my presence, a spray of salt water tackling my eye and taste buds, I’d grab a handful and wash my face. And here I was, in harmony and remedy with the ocean, time and time again. Waves slapped me around here and there, but nonetheless, I got up again and again. Swells of bodies of rushing water, barreled and formed a pipeline of a shape in accelerating, near-shore waters. But I got out the other side, with a scrape or two, but without a doubt I have. Hajar envied my surf exits so much so, that we spent that full day to sunset’s demise instructing and teaching her how to finish a surf perfectly, as she always had the habit of slipping or falling off the board when these deep ocean groundswell waves approach the coast and increase speed, which causes them to form into a circular, long pipe-like shape; which trick even the most experienced of surfers.

But she’s a fast learner, picks up things quickly on the sport and I am but a wave-shy of asking her out. “I really had fun today, thanks for bringing me out here!” she exclaimed and recalled what a day it was, as her hazel eyes glanced back at the setting sun off the Moroccan coast with passion, while the tides eased off in a westerly direction as if waving us goodbye. I inhaled as much I could and muttered with feigned confidence “Was wondering, if you’re free tonight, we could, you know… grab a drink or bite to eat, whatever you want, I mean…there’s this nice sea food place by the…” I slowed down as she fixated her eyes upon mine, and I was instantly lost in hers, she then broke into a small chuckle, the orange skies seemed to compliment her blushing cheeks, she carefully uttered a “yes, sure…” while scanning her feet dipped in the sand.              

Waves by Merriam AlFuhaid

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Liquid pools beneath my skull

Clear to the touch

With a taste of blood

Am I awake?

I’ve been baptized and revived

They tell me I am born again

That my old life had to die.

But I am alive

Just gutted

My voice drowned in the desert sea

My skin wrung out in the sun to dry

Or die

But no more salty tears for me

Can’t you see?

I’m perfect now

Everything you wanted me to be

An empty shell

Prepared to let you forget

What you can’t understand

That every pearl you covet so

Came from a grain of sand.

 

But instead you disturb the surface of the water

To make me a mirror

Of all you think you are

And you succeed

Because I want to break free

But I am nothing

If you’re not smiling into me.

Are you satisfied?

The waves have done their job

And every pore of me is pure

My once sweaty palms are clean

I will never want what I shouldn’t want ever again

I will never dream another improper dream

Never have another disrespectful word to say

Are you happy now?

You’ve washed my soul away.

Waves by Tifa

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Four years riding a wave of love: that’s what it was like, being with you. The highs were high, but the lows pulled me down, down, down: drowning.

Four years: a lifetime, it seems. But now you are out of my life. The waters have calmed and I the sea is peaceful, inviting. Gentle rolling waves beckon. No more highs, no more lows. No more you.

Four years: some might say I gave up. Did I? Not I. I, who would stand by your side, always loyal, always there. I did not see that I was the strong one all along.

When the waves began to frighten me with their power, to pull me under so that I lost my footing, my balance, my sanity: then I saw the truth. It was not that I did not care about you. You did not care: About yourself. About me. I knew then that I would be left to ride the waves alone, and that is not how I want to live my life.

Waves: from a distance, so beautiful, so powerful, so appealing! I wanted to ride them with you. But that same power and beauty turned out to be deceptive. Waves are dangerous. Beguiling. If you cannot trust your partner, you are safer to ride them alone. One false step is one too many: it took me four years to learn this.

Oh, you would say, we are together, we are one. But I began to see that you were on your own path. I could come along, but in the end you would leave me in your wake. I gave. You took. I believed in you, in us. You believed too – in you.

Four years: how does this happen? How does a love built on solid ground become an unstable ride on dark, icy seas? How does love turn to treachery? How did this happen to us? To me? What did I not see?

Four years: in the beginning, you made me whole. You taught me how to shine. You found my best parts and taught me how to use them. Then you used me. But you also taught me to believe in myself, and soon I did. In the end, this saved me from the plunge into uncertain icy waters, into darkness, into the abyss.

Four years: how, after you had made me whole, made me love you and made me believe I loved myself, how did it come to this?

Each wave was a hazardous ride. The exhilaration of riding side by side with you had once strengthened me; somehow, this turned into fear. Instead of joy, there was terror. You were riding the wave alone, after all. I thought you were my safety net. More often than not, I was yours.

Four years: they seem like a lifetime. But my life is not over yet. I can face the seas alone now, knowing that I am strong enough to master them myself. The white foamy sea, the powerful tug of the universe, the ability to ride things out and remain standing and victorious: these are now mine.

When I choose to let someone else into my life, I will be wiser. All because of four years

Four years with you.

Waves by Berlin

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If all the studies I’ve read are true then you must be hearing me now.

I hate you.

We spent the last few weeks talking…

reminiscing…

laughing

and now here I am listening to your parents debate whether to pull the plug or not.

“He had fought enough”, your mom said.

“3 years of that much pain is enough”, she continued.

3 years.

3… years?

This is probably not the best time to make this about me, and I know you despise how I tend to do that… but 3 years?

How could you have kept this from me?

How could you have wasted so many days listening to me blabber about people you haven’t even met?

How could you have let me bore you with stories about work?

How could you have let me go on and on about my non-existent love life?…

When we should have talked about this.

About YOU.

How could you have not said anything, knowing that every goodbye might have been the last?

I wouldn’t have known what to do,

I wouldn’t have had the solutions

But I would have been there for you.

Really there for you.

I would have held your hand.

I would have carried you if you needed me to.

I would have traded smiles for your tears.

I would have been…

A friend.

Why didn’t you give me that chance?

We shared the best, the worst and the ugliest; how could you have thought this wasn’t worth sharing?

You were struggling.

You were in pain.

You were fighting for your life.

You were dying goddammit!

“He didn’t want you to worry” your mom comforted me.

“When the time came, he asked me to apologize to his friends for…”

“Dying?” I asked without thinking.

She smiled wryly.

“Dying” she nodded and watched you with her tired bloodshot eyes.

I had to blink back the tears.

If your friendship is any indication,

then I can only imagine how hurt she must be to be losing her son.

Come back, please?

I swear I will not bother you with my usual nonsense.

I will not even complain about your singing, no matter how excruciating I think your voice is.

I will listen to it all day if I have to.

Come back.

Sing.

Tease me about my weight, about my inexplicable fondness of skinny jeans.

Irritate me with your unsolicited opinions on my dating habits.

Berate me with silly questions that you so love asking.

Force me to laugh at your old corny jokes.

Just… come back.

Be… you again.

“He was so scared to be seen like this you know? It’s not the way he wanted to be remembered.” Your dad explained, wiping an invisible tear from your cheek.

I just nodded.

My eyes were fixed on your pale face.

On your cheekbones that used to be a lot plumper.

On your dry chapped lips.

Staring at you, all I could think of was your laughter.

It’s distinct sound.

The way it makes your eyes crinkle on the sides.

The way it makes your mouth occupy half of your face.

The way you turn into a 10-year old each time you found something funny.

You see?

You were wrong…

I’m staring at you now and I am telling you, you have nothing to fear because no one will remember you as this sick little person.

You will never be reduced to being just your disease.

You LIVED!

You were someone’s wonderful son.

You were someone’s great love.

You were someone’s best friend…

You…

You were my brother.

You are.

I love you.

I just wish I showed you more often, or when it really mattered.

I should have been there for you.

I’m sorry for assuming we had forever.

“It’s time”, your mom told me.

We stared at each other for a moment and collapsed into each other’s arms.

Your dad pulled us aside to make way for the medical team.

“Remember him” your dad pleaded, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“I will never learn how not to” I assured him.

They say brain waves surge moments before death.

If that is true, then there’s no better time to tell you this…

I.

WE.

Will never forget.

Waves by Lucy Moore

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Waves or An open letter to Nutella or 9 reasons I hate you, I love you, hate, love, hate, love you…

To my smooth, chocolaty friend

1 – The very sight of your jar can bring a smile to the most bitter of men but I know under that glossy exterior is a dark and sinister side to you

2 – No matter how hard I try I can’t stay away from you, you’re my hearts friend yet the sworn enemy of my tummy

and 3 – I thought you were not good enough for me, however, you’re made of nuts which are brain food, milk to give me calcium and chocolate… derived from cocoa, which grows on a tree which kind of makes you like salad

4 -It has been 48 and a half minutes since we parted ways. And when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder they are not lying. Because I’m already craving to have you back in my sight. but I’ve seen you reduce grown men to a whimpering mess, when after finishing off a jar of you they’re left craving more

5 – You’re one part friend who listens to my problems, one part study buddy because for each page I allow myself a spoon and two parts evil diet foe

6 – I smother you on to freshly baked, buttery bread and you ooze into the cracks, dribble down my fingers and I shudder as waves of guilt, oh no wait that’s pleasure run through down my torso

7 – You are wickedly addictive, even the most unfaithful follow your heavenly cult and like a demigod we give you pride of place in our kitchen shrine

8 – You go with anything, pancakes, waffles, in pudding, on pudding, fruit, cookies, brookies, brownies. I can find you everywhere, I cannot escape you as your whore yourself around every desert menu in the country

9 – I could spread you anywhere which is proving difficult to explain when I’m out in public…

Operation Smearoff by Osman Naeem and Ahmed AlRasheed

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Base. 1300 hours:

The world around General Heisenberg was clashing, as he knew war was immanent. The General gathers his troops around the table for his briefing. “Soldiers!” As he looked at his fat Sergeant, Roethlisberger and his 1st Lieutenant, Fritz. “We are under attack and we need to act now!” Looking closely at them he decides to send them off first. “We shall send in a squad, you two should be in it. I have already sent in Sergeant Colace down for recon, but he has been missing for sometime now!” A huge rumble came as the enemies fired a warning shot.

The troops gather up to be deployed, waiting for General Heisenberg to give the final order.

Behind Enemy Lines. 2 hours ago:

“Sergeant Colace, I need you to go down there and be my eyes and ears.” General Heisenberg stated, “The enemy are rattling the cages and we need to put a termination to it, only setback is we need help reckoning where they are.” “Forget about the pawns, I say we go straight for the king,” said sergeant Colace, who the army nicknamed The Exorcist. “We enter the caves of Kabaz that leads us directly to our destination, and then make our way through the Valley of Manhood which joins with the ocean from there the navy takes over” The General nods to the Black Operation and affirmed, “If you get wedged, you know we will be there to get you out, good luck Sergeant!”

Sergeant Colace salutes his General as he marched out to get ready for his mission. Sgt. Colace got into his scuba gear and dives into the waterfall, as he knows he should be careful, as he has entered enemy lines.

Operation Smearoff. 1400 hours:

The troops are ready to be deployed as the world around them clashed, war has began. Sgt. Berger and Lt. Fritz were to lead the troops to a fight they may not come back from, but it was for the better cause. The cause to free the world of agonizing pain and hunger and return it to what it was before, peaceful and calm.

“Operation Smearoff begins, this fight may be your last, or your first. In the past, you may have been wimps, cowards, thieves or dishonest men, but today you prove everybody wrong! Prove to yourself you are worthy of such task and that you shall free this world from the devil within! The enemies shall not have mercy, so DON’T show them any! Unless, you’re taking them out, TO DINE IN HELL!” The troops yell and cheer as they praise their General’s speech. Before, these men were from happy families that had meals together everyday and simply enjoyed the humble life of amity and prosperity. Now, these men will commence the most brutal attack on their enemies. Stepping off home soil to protect the world from the Axis of Evil. They knew they were taking all of humanity’s demons to hell with them; these men were called The Reapers.

Hope. 1700 hours:

Twenty planes in a sonic boom transformed to a few hundred paratroopers, the enemy grew tenfold, as the abandoned island of now seemed to run out of ground to stand on. The Reapers were weakened and they were tired, but they never gave up. They fought for independence, they had a cause. “tsht, this is Hotel calling all troops do you copy? over tsht” General Heisenberg reported on the walkie talkie. “tsht, THIS IS ROMEO, tsht, WE ARE SURROUNDED AND WE NEED BACK UP! OVER tsht” screamed Sgt. Berger as him and his troops were in a standoff between hundreds of enemies.

The numbers were in no ones favor as nature lost grip of its temper and rapid thunder sounded the coming of a hurricane, with strong winds and cold wrath, as the rain now joined forces with mother earth and muddied and bloodied humanity’s boots. This merciless force had consumed all but a few. The Reapers took cover in the woods that opened into the valley of Manhood. They ran towards the warmth of the dense forest that was slowly dying from the horrors of mustard gas.

1900 hours:

“tsht, This is Hotel do you copy? Over tsht” General Heisenberg has not heard from his troops for sometime. Communications was lost when the tsunami hit. “tsht, This is Hotel does anyone read me? Over tsht.”

What was left behind these enemy lines were corpses scattered everywhere, organs and limbs had become a part of the debris that is smeared everywhere. The place now looked like the aftermath of a torture chamber. Nature washed away its sins with a tsunami like no other, and there was no evidence of the loss suffered by the alliance and the axis. In the end, a white flag was raised, signifying the restoration of peace, and the exile of evil that plagued humanity.

General Heisenberg knew he won the battle, with the cost of losing his Reapers, which saddened him. He stood up, turned around and reached for the flush. He flushed down the enemies as he walked out of the McDonald’s bathroom with victory by his side.

“War is peace; Freedom is slavery; Ignorance is strength” by Hawra’a Khalfan and Quamar Al-Mumin

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War is peace.

 

“Abu Osman, trust me on this- people implode when you control them. It is only human nature,” her mother pleaded as she watched her husband explode with rage. I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this. I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. Is he actually putting up a fight? Seriously? There is no logic behind anything he is saying. What does he mean women shouldn’t drive? ALL women shouldn’t drive? Yeah. Sure. Like he would be where he is without the women in his life. He is a fucking tyrant. All I want to do is depend on myself. All I want to do is be able to take my life into my own hands. He of all people should realize that. Aggravating little shitty tyrant.

“Baba, this isn’t fair” I looked at him as my eyes filled with tears. “Osman turned eighteen last week and he already has his drivers license? What reasons are there that I as a twenty-one year old can’t drive, but Osman can?”

 

Her father looked at her tearful eyes, the wrinkles on his face got deeper and deeper as his snarky smile erupted. “Because your father said so. Osman is now a man and doesn’t need me to show him right from wrong. But you? You will always need my guidance.”

 

Her mother stepped in, she was starting to get angry but knows better than to raise her voice to Abu Osman. “Honey, just listen to her reasons for wanting to drive. I am advising you to let her do this because people do not take kindly to being restrained. Trust me on this. Trust me, please. Trust me for her sake.”

 

“I have told you a million times, Um Osman! I will not change my mind. This human nature you speak of doesn’t apply to Shurooq. We have raised her well, she has never disobeyed me, what makes you think that she will start at the age of twenty one?”

 

Um Osman closed her eyes, she knew exactly what he would say but she hoped that for an instant he would take in her words and truly listen to them.

 

This isn’t over. “Baba. Can you please just give me a reason as to why I shouldn’t drive? Just convince me? And ‘because I said so’ just isn’t a good enough reason for me, please Baba.” I pulled down my bottom lip as far as it would go and widened my eyes to look up at him.

 

“Well, for starters- how will I know where you are at every moment?” He gave a disapproving look. “You think I will let my daughter out in the streets ALONE?!”

 

“You know Baba, I can always send you a whatsapp location of wherever I am? There is no other way to send the location other than from the spot you’re in!” I lied. Finally, dad’s technologically challenged self is good for something!

 

“Men will still harass you in the streets, what will you do then?”

 

“Erm, well- I can call you or Osman to come bail me out of these situations because there is absolutely no way I can fend for myself.”

 

“Okay but you are a girl, you’ll definitely have many car accidents, what then?”

 

“Yeah I know I know, we’re terrible, but! How about you get the car fully insured and you won’t have to pay a fils to fix it???” Having to be a misogynist just to be able to get a little freedom around here, the irony.

 

“Shurooq I want you to have all these nice things your friends have, but the only time a girl can start calling herself a woman is when she is married with children. I think it would be better if you didn’t drive yet because who will marry a girl who has this much freedom?” He looked at me with a face full of worry. “Girls with freedom never become women because they are never chosen to be wives. What will happen to you then?”

 

Holy shit that escalated quickly! “Baba, I know that’s way too much freedom, and I am so thankful for it. I assure you, times have changed and a female driver isn’t a bad thing. It shows strength, and stuff.”

 

“And stuff? What stuff?”

 

“Well, you know, I’ll be capable of driving my six children to school and back. You know! Stuff!”

 

He smiled. “You never fail to make me smile, Monkey!” Monkey? That’s new. “I will think more about this problem you have, and will tell you my decision when I have one.”

 

Problem I have? That’s rich. Don’t get my license and it’ll be a problem YOU have. “Thank you, Baba! That’s all I wanted from you!”

 

Freedom is Slavery.

 

The silver gleamed brightly against the light of my room as he held the keys in front of my eager eyes. “You want them?” He asked, knowing the answer. I nodded my head, but kept my mouth shut in fear of saying something that might change his mind. I was scared that even an uneven breath would trigger something that would make him pull away the keys. “You have never disobeyed me before, this should not encourage you to start disobeying me now.” Nod. “This car is a privilege and not a right.” Nod. “You may drive, but under a few circumstances.” Pause. Nod.

 

“The circumstances are as follows, the sun goes down, your car must be already in the garage.”

 

Fair enough, better than not driving at all. There were plenty of fun places to go in the morning and afternoon anyways.

 

“I will have your car shaded to the maximum legal shade so that you will not attract the attention.”

 

I wanted to drive to places and back, I never thought of driving as a way to seek attention. But now that I think about it, it’s the perfect opportunity to check out what all the fuss ‘gizzing’ is about!

 

“No, and I mean absolutely no, music while driving. It will distract you and will summon the devil. There are enough devils already out there driving around, you do not need one in the car!”

 

Now that’s just pathetic. But, whatever.

 

“You are only allowed to look ahead of you, if you really need to look at your side view mirrors, you have exactly half a second to do so, there might be a boy next to you who will assume you are staring at him.”

 

And I swear to God he actually shivered towards the end of that sentence.

 

“Does that sound fair to you?”

 

Nod.

 

Obviously I wasn’t going to complain, I’ve been waiting for this moment for three years. I was not going to ruin it for myself now.

 

“Ah yes, and one last thing. I hired a new nanny who will be your driving companion. You are not allowed to go anywhere without her. If you are in your classes she will wait outside for you. I will be calling her every hour to make sure you are near her and safe.”

 

My eyes widened for about a nanosecond, but I quickly inhaled and forced a smile on my face. “Of course Baba, anything you say Baba.” I could probably pay this ‘driving companion’ to go off somewhere and leave me be. How embarrassing would it be walking around at my age in university with a nanny at my foot.

 

“Good girl, now take these keys and be very careful.” He carefully lowered the keys into my now sweaty palms, smiled at me confidently, and walked out of my room. I finally exhaled and sat on my bed, my eyes glued to the beautiful key to freedom at last. Of at least the closest to freedom I’ll ever have.

 

Ignorance is Strength.

 

It’s been a few months since Shurooq started driving, she followed all the rules religiously and everything was going according to plan. She managed to gain her father’s trust and confidence, while proving to him that driving did not change her life as drastically as he had expected. If anything, it has made his life easier by not having to waste his time driving me back and forth. Tonight, everything was going to change. She mentally prepared for the worst, but expected the best. I’m going to take this risk.  Instead of having to explain to explain to her father that it is her friend Sarah’s birthday party, she is just going to throw a few white lies his way. A mixed birthday party. All she had to do was convince her dad that she had to go to a tutoring session at university and that would buy her about two hours of freedom past sunset. More than enough to dance with a handsome stranger. She saved up quite a bit of cash to pay off her driving companion, dropping Marie off at the souq on the way to the party. Flawless plan! Nothing can go wrong.

 

Abu Osman was watching the season finale of Arabs Got Talent as he rocked back and forth in disbelief that his favorite person on the show just got voted out. Arab’s Got Talent was his one and only guilty pleasure and he invested a lot of time and energy rooting for the contestants.

 

“Babaaaaaaaa,” Shurooq innocently smiled at her dad with her eyes wide open. “I’m going to be a little late at university today, don’t forget!” He brushed her off as he motioned for her to be quiet. She took this as a good sign and tip toed out of the house, Marie, her nanny was already waiting for her in the car with the engine running.

 

“Marie, don’t forget! Keep watching your phone in case anything happens. If Baba calls- don’t answer the phone and call me as soon as he hangs up and I will pick you up. I will only be gone for two hours so be at the door waiting for me at exactly 8pm. OK??”

 

Everything went smoothly for Shurooq that night, she met a handsome stranger named Qutaiba who turned out to be a terrible dancer, but she couldn’t care less because at that moment in her life she knew that she could do whatever she wanted, and her family’s ignorance would be her bliss.

 

He Loves Me by Berlin and Taiba AlOtaibi

By Posted in Berlin, Collaborations, Poetry, Taiba AlOtaibi Leave a comment

He Loves Me

 

He loves me.

I know he loves me.

He told me.

Whispered it to me.

I felt it on my lips, down to my hips, reaching to the tips of my toes.

The way his hand slips against my waist whenever he walks by.

The way his lips curve upwards when he thinks I’m not looking.

A kiss goodbye, a kiss hello, and peppered with every gift he has given me.

 

I feel his eyes on me every morning before he gets ready for work,

Watching me.

Looking through me.

 

He loves me.

 

But…

 

He loves me                                                                          

 

He sees the hesitation in my eyes and wipes it away with excuses and promises and lies.                                

He pulls me close until all I could do is lay my head on his chest and surrender to his heartbeat.                         

Although I have so many things to say they always have to be said another day                                             

 

Because he is there and he feels good and he loves me.

 

He has to love me.

He told me.

Screamed it at me.

He always insisted that he loves me.

He works hard for me.

You don’t know him, you may think you do but you don’t.

You get one part of him,

His little rebellion.

His little escape.

His little drug.

 

I wiped his brow when he was sick,

I knelt by his side when he was crushed and raised him higher when he soared.

I was there from moonrise to sun down.

And yet….

He loves me.                                                                    

Why else would he keep coming back?                           

There will always be gaps in his life only I could fill.    

I handle the mess she couldn’t deal with.                       

I welcome the “him” she would never get to meet         

I fix his heartbreaks by filling the cracks with pieces of my own.                                                                                    

 

He was mine first!                                                            

My hands had held him for a longer time…                         

My lips tasted his before she even existed.                     

We had a whole life together.                                         

A whole story.                                                                 

 

And she might have invaded a few chapters but I was there in the beginning and he promised.

He swore I would be there ‘til the end because he loves me.              

 

No, he loves me.

But…you had his happiness.

Please don’t take him away…

He saved me.

No, you don’t understand, you may love him but he saved me!

He is my rock.

He is my escape.

He is my drug.

I would have been swept under the currents.

I would have been a tiger caged but he saved me and I will not let him go!

Please forget him. Please leave him to me. Please. Please. Please! Please stop.

 

You are breaking me.

 

With every moment you share with him you are ripping me apart.

 

I saw those little glances at his phone.

He inhales sharply at every ring.

His fingers flex as he looks at it. Stares at it. Then glances back at me.

That’s when I first knew. And that’s how I have always known.

A tone, a gasp, a look and he was gone.

 

He loves me but I do not have the right to the emotions that loving him comes with.                                             

 

Security? Jealousy? Seriously?                                       

 

While I cry myself to sleep at night, he watches her dream in his arms.                                                           

While I wake up longing for him, they share breakfast in bed.                                                                               

While my days are spent wishing for nights, he is holding her hands watching sunrises and sunsets.                                                                            

 

I can never confront or question or demand.                   

This is what I signed up for.                                             

Why should I even ask when I know the answer will always be “her”?                                                              

 

She has the “I do”.                                                          

She has his name.                                                            

She has his birthdays and Christmases and New Year’s eves and all the days in between.                                     

 

All I have are random nights                                           

All I have is this room and the promise that these four   walls will be broken down eventually. 

                                     

He claims to love me.

With every breath he assures me.

But then…

He hides his phone, he leans over it when he checks it.

He always checks it.

I see your number, only digits, no name, no picture, no illicit sign of recognition.

Why? I wondered.

Until I called you.

Yes.

I called you.

I heard your breathless voice,

I could feel your excitement, your stark energy ripped through me,

Your voice,

Your unmistakable tenor voice.

That’s when I knew he was forever gone,

He would never be mine,

I could never be enough for him though I have tried,

Oh god how I have tried!

Still, he gives me his sweet words that mimics his sweet smile

Before he slips away to you.

 

He called me the other night.                                            

It had been a while since we actually spoke                    

I was overcome by excitement!                                       

How are you my love?                                                     

I miss you!                                                                       

When will I see you again?                                             

 

Silence was his reply before the line was cut.                

 

I wanted to call back to see what was wrong.                 

I almost forgot calling him was a luxury I was never provided with.                                                                  

I just waited for another call that never came.                

 

I don’t know when exactly I have allowed myself to be someone I used to pity and hate at the same time.          

Someone who only comes alive at the sight of a certain name flashing on the phone and dies at the sound of a    dead tone.                                                                        

 

I start to wonder which I do better…                               

Live for him or die for him…                                           

I’ve become such an expert at both that I can’t even tell which hurts less anymore.                                                                                                         

 

He loves me…

I know he does.

I love him too.

I will crawl on my hands and knees, kiss your feet and worship you just to have him.

Would.

I would have crawled.

He loves me; however…

There is always a however. Always a reason, always an excuse.

Long cold nights. Long empty days.

I am stuck

No more.

I am stuck no more.

I love him. I will always love him but his love for me is no longer enough.

I have to get up. Like the rising sun I have to pull forward.

I am my own.

 

He loves me                                                                        

He will fight for us.                                                         

He will leave her.                                                             

We’ll be happy.                                                                

That is our dream.                                                           

We spend a lot of time dreaming…  it’s one of the things we do great in bed.                                                

And although the fantasy of it all is beautiful and romantic and perfect…                                                   

I spend more of my time awake.                                      

And the reality I wake up to is not as pretty.                  

In reality, they are one…they even have papers to prove it.                                                                           

I’m just the outsider who wants in.                                  

In reality, I am just the bastard who is tearing a family apart.                                                                                

Throwing away a future for a past that should have been buried the moment they exchanged vows.             

In reality, I’m alone in fighting a battle I could never win.                                                                                        

 

I am done settling for so much less than I deserve!         

This dream will never come true!                                       

I am awake.                                                                      

I am hurt                                                                          

But I am awake.                                                                     

 

HE LOVES ME

But never more than half as he could,

Because the other half will always belong to someone else.

Yes, he loves me

But I am gone.

 

 

-Berlin & Taiba