Currently//

Without referring to my Currently post of last June, I can recall that I called it bittersweet and I gave it a taste of “salted caramel,” to describe it. I can say this June has been quite similar in the sense of having good days with a hint of uncertainty and boredom. Except this year, instead of drooling over ice cream cookie sandwiches, I’ve got my heart desirably craving chocolate custard-filled doughnuts.

Drinking Costa’s caramel lattes

Listening to Tebessem by Mesut Kurtis + Edhak by Humood Al Khudher

Obsessing over custard-filled doughtnuts

Feeling extremely uninspired and unproductive

Wearing a black tee tied in a knot and an Aztec-printed skirt

Eating everything, literally everything

Craving all the desserts 24/7 (the sweet tooth only peeks in Ramadan)

Watching Youtube religiously, especially drama-related content

Losing and gaining weight

Failing to properly utilize my time & tick off things from my to-do list

Starting the third bullet journal of the year

Slightly missing morning coffee

Embracing nightly adventures (usually not a fan)

Squeezing a 20-minute workout in my daily routine

Anticipating Eid festivities

Post-midnight blabber

So I opened a brand new word document at 1:38 AM with no topic in mind. It’s become a habit to produce seven blog posts dispersed between two blogs. Should I maybe vent about how unsatisfied I am with my writing lately?

 

Here’s the gist of it: 99% of the time, I just write so quickly because of my month goal. Before the clock hits midnight, I try to whip something up just to get that day’s timestamp under the post before a new day begins.

 

Should I maybe talk about how 2017 tricked me into thinking it would be a good chapter after the messiest year of my life, 2016? Or the fact that I am still running away from people and their interrogations?

 

If I say I am in a messy place in my life right now, I would sound so ungrateful and slightly exaggerating. I mean, compared to others, life would always feel “less” exciting, “less” fun, and “less” eventful…etc. So am I really in a confused phase? I don’t think so.

 

My life unintentionally fuels on uncertainty, and I envy those who know exactly what and where and how they want to do things because to them, people like me are just wasting their time when in reality, we are emotionally, psychologically, mentally, and physically disoriented.

 

In my own bubble, everything is understood and labeled according to my strong belief in fate and my sharp observation. I can feel it in my heart every time something goes wrong or I am averted from a path I urgently wanted to pursue because God is telling me:

No, I have something better in store.

 

And days attest to that theory because I always end up in a much better situation making me learn the ultimate goal of patience and God’s timing and reasoning. He knows; I don’t.

 

But I can’t vocally express that to people without sounding like I am hiding behind an excuse; I genuinely take all the signs even with the smallest things, and I easily drop the matter, no questions asked because I know that it’s not meant for me.

 

So if I were to summarize what I came here for, it’s this:

  1. I am not a fan of my writing style this year
  2. 2017 is playing mind games with my heart
  3. I can say that I am the good type of “confused” the kind that makes me ponder more
  4. I trust God’s plans for me

I don’t want Ramadan to end

Ramadan started this year on a bad note, and being that I judge a month from its first impression, I kind of thought the rough start gauged the tone of the upcoming days. Started bad? It’s going to remain bad. I was wrong, thankfully.

 

I tend to forget how effective those thirty days are on my yearning soul. I had only wished for the days to become placid again. I do not fuel on drama; I burn out and cry behind closed doors.

 

Being in the company of family on a daily basis has kept my heart full, and sometimes yearning for more. We’re only 12 days in the month and I am already acting nostalgic. Trust me, in a blink of an eye, Eid will come and this would all be history.

 

I always forget that holding back from certain practices or holding merely my tongue can bring me such good fortune. I feel blessed every single day in Ramadan; it’s as if God is protecting me from everything caustic. Just writing this I feel crying because I do not deserve this niceness. I am overwhelmed… the good kind of overwhelmed.

 

For thirty days, acidity is crossed out from the schedule. It’s all good habits, good company, long nights, and a liberated heart. I request God to allow me a wish during Fajr; I wake up in the morning with a wish granted. And you ask me why I don’t want this month to end?

The curse of being a writer

The curse of being a writer is that your problems are never left unwritten. You’re an open book by default, and your ups and lows find their way to your personal blog. Is it truly a curse though?

 

The best part of it is learning that your issues are relatable, and that readers were relieved to know that they’ve found someone who is dealing or have dealt with similar dilemmas. And that relief becomes the writer’s sigh of comfort as well, knowing they’re not alone in this world.

 

I’ve written about the fear of marriage at least twice now, and the replies that I have gotten have put me at ease. But why is it that one has to put their issues on blast for others to jump in and say: me too!

 

What I mean is that: I always feel uncomfortable taking the bullet, and saying my problems out loud in forms of tweets or blog posts. Does that make me an open person?

 

The truth is that my heartbeats resonate every time I hit the “publish” button, but I still do it. I am not calling myself a fearless writer; however, I have a pen; I have messages I need to reiterate; I have stories of my lows and poems of my darks.

 

A part of me will always feel exposed every time a reader approaches me in person saying they’ve read one of my posts because they always end up knowing more about me. It always feels like an unbalanced relationship where my conflicts are out in the open, while their complications are hidden.

 

Another part of me feels proud for sharing my stories willingly and courageously. So is it a curse then? You tell me.

Ah, anguish

I had hoped for anguish not to accompany me, swiftly after April’s departure, but I was just longing for the unattainable. I suppose sad days are meant to give us a bitter taste of the dark side; however, at times the bad days fade, but the sour aftertaste remains.

 

And it has always been uncertainty that watered eyes beyond its will. Where is the exit at this point? It is not one issue seeking an urgent solution; it’s an avalanche of obscurities burdening both the heart and mind.

 

And no, talking to humans is of no help at all, especially when all they carry for me is pity at this point. But I know I am strong, and my strength lies in holding back burdens and keeping my worries to bang against the walls of my room only.

 

But I’ll tell you this, self. You’ve overcome quite a lot and kept everything under wraps to not burden anyone, so you will be rewarded for it one day. And one day, this will all make sense.

My desk tour!

I decided to write this blog post on a whim. I had just finalized my “office” area of the room, and I felt so happy about it; thus why I am sharing my desk tour tonight. Disclaimer: I am not using this medium to brag about anything I own; I am roughly showcasing for inspiration.

My office comprises of a light gray vanity-made-into-a-desk, a black leaning ladder, and a table lamp stolen from the kitchen.

 

Before March, the desk wall was blandly empty, and knowing my visual self, I needed to stare into an inspiring wall when I write. I didn’t want to hammer into the walls or damage them in any way or form, so using black vinyl tape and a bunch of print outs were the trick.

I sandwiched three adhesives to assure the walls don’t get damaged and this is how I did it: I put masking tape on the wall, a double-sized tape on top of the masking tape, then another masking tape behind the artwork. Why? Because when I remove the artwork, neither the paper nor the wall gets ruined as the masking tape works as a buffer.

 

In addition to that, I removed two print outs to make room for the new grid mesh board where I pinned a few photos and quotes and a pair of shades.

The color palette is black and white and a dash of muted colors. The set-up in my previous room used to be extremely colorful and mismatching, which is why I suppose I went for the opposite here.

 

If I am not writing here, I am making a mess probably, cutting and adhering things together in hopes of creating “art.” Or I am on Youtube watching every Mustafa Ceceli music video out there, even if I have watched them a ton. (I’m obsessed, okay?)

And that’s basically how my office looks like. It reflects my young-adult confused self very well.

Currently//

It was hard to pinpoint how I felt about the month of May. Of course, as every year, whatever comes after poetry month becomes just bland, sadly; nothing can top off April. I’ve witnessed a lot of unproductive days, where I didn’t want to pick up a journal to doodle on or start a self-project of any sort. I was hit by a wave of dullness and no ounce of inspiration whatsoever. But there’s twelve more days to the month, so who knows what it has in store?

Listening to Yak by Aydın Kurtoğlu (Berk İşgören Remix) + Ma Tlam Al Ain by Hazza Al Raesi

Drinking at-home cappuccinos

Eating leftover candy from half of Shabaan festivities

Watching house tours on Youtube

Wearing my favorite fragrance mist, Japanese Cherry Blossom

Feeling extremely unproductive and dull

Reading about plants and flower characteristics

Failing to get writing inspiration for the blogs

Spending my evenings outdoors, chilling under the sun with my cats

Craving a cookie ice cream sandwich

Compiling a pre-Ramadan to-buy list

Weirdly not obsessing over anything or anyone

Fearing the weight I might end up gaining next month

Getting all my errands done and sorted, thankfully

Ticking off cafes from my to-visit list

Anticipating my muse’s return