Birth

My womb is swollen

My wrists are bruised

With hibiscus and orchids

Ready to bloom


The Lion stained me

With colors so rude

Red and purple

Mixed with blues


My time has come

As a carrier of wounds

To give birth to innocence

Drenched in gloom

Thoughts on being a Guster: End.

"It was my luck to have a few good teachers in my youth, men and women who came into my dark head and lit a match." – Yann Martel

There were supposed to be posts in between to explain further my experience as a GUST student. They never made it up here simply because I was overwhelmed with what it actually felt like to be a bachelor student and all the obligations, the responsibilities that are tied with it. I was also a tad bit lazy. I am not going to deny that.
Many things happened. I met new people; let go of some and became close to others. However, I suppose the biggest change that happened in regards of my academic journey would be the change of my major. I stepped in that university certain that English Linguistics is what I wanted to study. Then I took English literature classes, which are obligatory to every English student. Something in me sparked with delight. A delicious joy I couldn't comprehend at the time. I was being heard and my opinion actually mattered in class. My professors would listen to what I say. Some mockingly and others admiringly, but both listened and they listened profoundly. They tolerated my crazy ideas, my uncalled-for analysis of characters, things and history I was not able to understand at the time. Yet, they listened. I was eager to learn about what I was raised to avoid. I don't think I ever was in my life this hungry for knowledge. I was intrigued but afraid. Changing my major would naturally mean the change of my future. I would be jumping from the bridge of certainty to a pond of magnificent mystery. The idea of the leap into the unknown was thrilling, but I was not able to do it. Not until my best friend Max nudged me by saying Literature has always been my passion and that I should pursue it. At the same time, I took an introduction to linguistics class, just to at least give my major a fair shot. I loathed it to the very core of my being. I hated everything about it, and above all, I hated the silence. No discussions allowed, no arguments, no opinions. I was fed information. No, I was shoved with information down my throat. Information that I did not even care about. That is when I decided, I had much more in me, much more to give. I changed my major and it is one of the best decisions of my life.
I had to read countless number of literary texts that filled me with life. The Fifth Child, Lord of the Flies, Voyage in the Dark, Wuthering Heights, The Yellow Wallpaper, etc. Introduced to many legends behind those texts. Walt Whitman, Henry James, Henry David Thoreau, Doris Lessing, F.Scott Fitzgerald, Jean Rhys. These are only few names of the people I read for and stayed up the night memorizing and being mesmerized by their words. Not to mention the ancient texts such as Beowulf, Epic of Gilgamesh, The Odyssey, Plato's Cave. I'm honestly surprised that I still remember this much. This proves to me that my soul carried a piece of each and every text I read and fused it together. I can proudly say that I am what I read and I am what I will continue to read. Even if it is not a classic, or a best seller or praised by others.
The hardest part of ending my journey as a student there was saying goodbye to my instructors. I was absolutely in awe with their passion for literature, for enlightening our minds. The passion flickering in their eyes as they taught me stories they probably taught a thousand times. I am honored and thankful to see a glimpse of their courageous and beautiful minds. I wish I was able to the perfect student enough. I wish I could say that I did not give them a hard time, but I did and most understood my frustration. I was simply tired. Tired of not being allowed to longer speak my mind the way I could before. The walls thickening, the rules branching around my wild mind, tying me down. All the "عيب" and "حرام"  I heard and complaints against stories we read that are supposed to make us think. Just that. Think. As my journey progressed, I realized that not many students majoring in literature actually wanted to think. They were in it because they thought it was easy. That alone suffocated the ones who truly wanted to reach beyond the border of our minds. I grew exhausted of not having a safe place to express all my thoughts and that is when I realized... it was time for me to move on. I pushed myself to graduate and I did. On the 27th of August, I was free.

Dr. Keith Jardim
Dr. Piers Smith
Dr. Martin Rosenstock (my German professor who always listened to everything me and my friends said, whether complaints, news or stories.)
Dr. Yulia Naughton
Dr. Gerald Naughton
Dr. Kenneth Pak (my philosophy professor who asked me all the right questions.)
Dr. Shahad Al-Shammari

I do not have enough words to express my respect, love and gratitude to the instructors mentioned above, but I will try. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for nurturing my thoughts. Thank you for challenging me. Thank you for listening. And thank you for lighting a match in my dark mind. Thank you.

A long journey of mind ended, but I am already on the look for the next one. I know for a fact that all I have to do is keep reading and asking questions because being a student is not tied with a degree, but with simply being alive. 

Creating Poems

I can't paint pictures using words

Neither beautiful or bold

I wish I could draw metaphors with gold

Or stanzas that shatter molds

Alphabets designed to leave you in awe

But I still can't paint, nor can I draw

Once my fingers touch the pen

The ink refuses my call

Papers await my fall

In the deepest pit of black holes 

When will I create poems as divine as my soul? 

My face stopped working

Some day in mid  November, my face suddenly stopped working.
I hadn't gotten enough sleep on that day and I was both mentally and physically exhausted. The semester was hectic and I was drowning. I was being suffocated with the amount of work and I just couldn't keep up. I was tired, perhaps  a little too tired on that day but still decided that I needed to destress and hit the gym. I worked out with the little stamina I had in me. I was feeling unusually dizzy that day, so I decided to grab orange juice from the closet that I kept my things in to refuel and get back to working out. Little did I know that walk from the treadmill to the closet would change my life.

I practically limped my way to the changing room and the AC was oddly cold. I grabbed my orange juice, drank and decided that it would be best for me to go home and rest. I put on my clothes, said goodbye to the coaches and headed to my car. Once I got in, my phone rang and it was a close friend of mine. I started complaining, as usual, about how tired I feel and how crappy my day was. During the conversation, I felt something very strange happening to my left eye. I immediately thought it was a headache and that my body desperately needed a good 3-4 hours "nap". I got home, took a shower, wore my favorite pyjama and jumped in my bed. I closed my eyes, or tried to... I thought to myself that whatever this type of headache was, it was irritating me beyond belief and I just wanted to be knocked out as soon as possible. I finally was able to push my stress and anxiety away and fell into a deep slumber. 

My nap took longer than 3 hours, but it was very much needed. "God. I'm starving!", I thought to myself. I stood in front of the mirror while brushing my teeth and my face looked...funny. Huh. My left eye can't blink properly. Meh. Whatever. I need food in my system. Right before I go on a hunt for food to the kitchen, my little sister comes to me with her jolly spirit and humour as usual. I can't remember what she said to me exactly, but it was really funny! So then, naturally, I laughed as loud as I could. God knows I needed it. She looked at me and giggled. I didn't understand why she was giggling, so I asked "What's funny?" Her giggle turned into hysterical laughter and said to me "Your mouth isn't moving. Haha!" I felt it too. I knew that I couldn't smile and was unable to blink. What kind of migraine is this?  

I stepped into my mother's room and asked her to examine me like I always do when I felt or noticed that there is something out of the natural order. I sat next to her on the couch and said "Mom, look at my smile. It's not moving!" She replied to me, assuring me, that there was nothing wrong. My face is probably just numb from the long nap I took and that it will come back to normal. I wondered just how long would it take. My father then joined us in the room and noticed what I noticed. His face grew worried and I could see the doubtful unease behind his eyes. He knew what was wrong with me, and so did I. I tried to avoid it. Prayed to God that it wouldn't be that thing. Because that thing had also happened to his mother, my grandmother.

It was 12AM and I needed a confirmation from a doctor that I was going to be okay. My sister rushed me to a governmental hospital and I felt numb throughout the entire car ride. We reached our destination in no time. I remember the weather being windy, so I had to cover my face partially for protection and partially of shame. I waited for my turn anxiously, thinking that this was definitely the cherry on top of my very unpleasant year. My turn to see the doctor finally came and he welcomed me nicely enough. I couldn't blame him, I would be cranky too at 12AM.  He asked me to tell him my symptoms; the words were rushing out of my mouth at speed that I, myself, was not able to fathom. The doctor then, sensing my rising panic attack, calmed me down and said that my face is only infected by some virus and with a couple of physiotherapy sessions would eventually go back to normal. I ask of the name of this thing that hit me and it was, as I feared, what hit my grandmother as well. Bell's Palsy.

Denial

My face was paralysed and was going to stay paralysed for a while. I rejected the idea of this virus that was roaming carelessly in the air and that I, somehow, caught it. Of all people, it chose me. It was difficult for me to process what was happening, the bizarre sensation of being unable to perform the simplest things that the human body was supposed to do. I couldn't move my face muscles, I couldn't eat, I couldn't smile and I couldn't close my eye to sleep. It felt like I was in a lucid dream, except it wasn't a dream but a nightmare and I was wide awake. As a matter of fact, sleep was my only escape. Then I would wake up again and remember that I look as tired and sad as I felt on the inside.

Anger

I don't think I ever was this angry my entire life. I was angry at God. I was angry at myself. I was angry at the doctor who confirmed that it was Bell's palsy. I was angry at my family. I was angry at the wind for carrying that virus. I was angry at time. I was bitter and I hated everything, including myself. I became angrier with each question asked by people about why I looked so tired. "I'm not tired, it's just my face. I can't move it", I would reply every time till it was engraved in my memory. Why me? Why now?

Bargaining

I knew deep down that my anger towards the whole situation had to stop before it was too late. I had to take control. I did as I was told by the doctor and took physiotherapy sessions. My first session was awkward, but my physiotherapist was very kind and comforting. She had a smile on her face that put me in ease. For two weeks, I had to do face exercises, warm the infected area and massage it regularly. Then, I would be on electrotherapy to stimulate my facial muscles from within so it would fasten my healing process. The sessions weren't so bad, except for the fact they were at 8AM which bugged me quite a lot. Other than that, they were kind of cool. I had time to read my books, lay down and relax. Yet, I still felt vulnerable and weak. It still wasn't right...but at least I was doing something about it. 

Depression

"I'm ugly. I can't be seen like this. I feel awful. I'm never going to be healed." 

The second time I was on the electronic machine thingie, you know the one that's supposed to speed things up a bit, my mouth tasted like... metal. Then it felt hot, so I called my physiotherapist and told her that something was not right. She then realised, after two fucking weeks, that I had braces on. "I'm sorry, my dear. I cannot continue with the therapy, but don't you worry! You can heal just as well with only face exercises!" I knew what that meant. It was going to take longer than I hoped.

 I hated going to classes and I hated being around people. Though the weather was spectacular at the time, almost magical even, but I was so damn afraid of the wind. I didn't want the other part of my face to stop working too. The worst part was, my finals were around the corner and I was nowhere near ready. I was a complete mess and an emotional wreck. I felt self-conscious in ways I can't begin to describe. Sadness was eating me up and I felt like I couldn't go on with this anymore. I wanted to give up on everything; drop the course, drop my entire life and sleep forever.

Acceptance

It was there, always going to be there, like my shadow. That's what I used to think, until I realised it wouldn't be there if I shined light on it. I felt a glimpse of hope building up from the bottom of my heart, hugging me and giving me the strength I needed to keep going. My friends helped me emotionally a lot through the process, and for that I'll always be thankful for their existence in my life. I had my braces removed and went back to electrotherapy. It buzzed and tickled the inside of my cheek. It felt like I was being stung by a thousand bees all at once. It definitely was not the best feeling in the world, but to me it felt like those thousand bees were working hard to put my face back to its original shape, which made me feel happy or at least happier than before. I felt more peaceful as I noticed the remarkable progress with each session. I came to conclusion that I shouldn't be going against it. Fighting it was much more exhausting than accepting it. Going with the flow eventually helped me in a way heal faster and I did. On the last day of my sessions, I was able to smile and blink and it was the most glorious feeling ever! I was finally in control again of my muscles. I felt complete. 

Sciences

I have not understood chemistry before

Not until I looked into your sweet hazel eyes

And wanted nothing more

I have not understood physics before

Not until you spoke to me of acceleration

And your voice shook me to the core 

I have not understood biology before

Not until your fingers traced my curves 

And my mouth was wet and my throat very sore 

I have not understood math before

Not until you counted the stars on that winter night

One, two, three, four…

2016

It took me a while to figure out a way to write this post, because unfortunately, 2016 was filled with pain more than it was with joy to many of us. I honestly did not know how to approach writing this post, since I really am not sure what I learned in 2016. I would say that it was due to all the dreadful situations I went through; my mind had trouble processing and digesting the all the lessons I should have learned. I was more focused on how unfair and unjust it was to be put in these situations to begin with, that my vision to what is important became blurry. Now that it is over, I am finally able to revisit my memories (although most of them are dreary) and filter all these events and pick out what I learned from them. So here are all the lessons, no matter how small and trivial they may be, that I learned in 2016. 

Toxic relationships must be cut out.

Toxic relationships and friendships are extremely dangerous, because the person involved in this relationship, or both are unaware of how draining it is. Both can be in pain, but are too attached for all the wrong reasons. I personally have learned that it isn’t easy to identify what an abusive relationship is and an outer perspective in this situation is very much needed, because when you care so much about the person you are with, you will not be able to see just how destructive it is on yourself. Ask for help, but you have to be the one that makes the call of cutting that person and the entire relationship, out of your life. An outer perspective is great, but your very own perspective is greater, so do not be blindly influenced and take charge of your decision. 

Time mends wounds, not heals them. 

Time, indeed, does lessen the pain, but it does not wash it away. It took me a full year to learn that pushing my wounds down, waiting for time to burry them to nonexistence is not the same as facing them and curing them myself. I cannot deny that it is scary facing your pain at a certain point, however, it has to be done. Once you start sorting your emotions out, you will come to realise that what pains you may not be as hurtful as you thought it was. And that is when it becomes easier for you to let go. 

Being an introvert is not bad. 

For the longest time, I thought that there was something seriously wrong with me for not being able to tolerate being around people. It is not that I do not like being around them, nor hate them. I just simply enjoy my company, sometimes a little too much. I am not the label kind of girl, but calling myself an introvert has freed me from the guilt of not performing the unnecessary social duties. Now, don’t get me wrong; I am perfectly able to socialise, but I kinda like chips and dips and Netflix more. 

Less is more 

I came across some videos on Youtube on minimalism, and I was intrigued about the minimalists’ lifestyle and their thoughts on materialism and consumerism. I have all the respect for the way that they chose to live, so I decided to read about it throughly and try to understand the benefits of being a minimalist. I realised in the process that less is truly more, and I do not mean in the sense of discarding all of your belongings nor boycotting malls. I learned that I, personally, do not have to own things that I do not need. (No shit!) 

 I used to be a maniac when it comes to buying things, especially makeup, now I am fully satisfied with having one eyeshadow palette instead of five and I am proud of myself for that. 

Other lessons learned: 

• Writing and reading poetry is therapeutic. 
• White lies save lives. 
• Mental health is as important as physical health. 
• Hospitals smell funny are scary. 
• Lattes are delicious, but black coffee smells and tastes divine. 
• Dragrace and Drag in general is Art. 
• Waffles are addictive. 
• I'm still on the search of finding the yummiest Eggs Benedict in Kuwait. (if you know a place, let me know.) 
• If it doesn't feel right now, it won't feel right later. 

I hope that 2017 is gentler and nicer not only to myself, but to us all. I believe with all my heart that 2017 is the year of change, rejuvenation and redemption. So, this is me, closing the book once and for all on 2016.