I can’t dream

I can’t dream, because sleep comes to me less often. So I compromise, close my eyes and there it is. Drawn on this curtain of my eyes made of flesh. Faces familiar to me I thought I knew too well, their edges rugged they are fading. I let light in, see my books and my mirror, they try to show me meaning, bring to me in bits and pieces the parts that were lost. But the hazy faces? What will become of them? I mull over for some minutes. Then pray till the depths of my heart are full. Be whole, be content, be thankful. For what’s taken away was never yours. What is yours, is temporary. A gift. From the Most Gracious.

Instead of dreaming, I erase the word ‘miss’ from my mind furiously. Its tainted, and weak. It binds my feathers and suffocates. And once I’m done, a beautiful peace rises. I taste it at the tip and of my tongue as sweet as honey. A strange paradox, keep losing yourself in all that lifts you up, and you will find yourself. I breathe out loud and the air that leaves my lungs feels rich and I thank Him. Sleep finds me, sings me lullabys and I drift away.


You blind girl

Do you even know how fucking precious you are? You think you are shattered because that one guy refused to get his act together and realize what was right in front of him? It makes you sad and lonely when you consider your loss. But you haven’t evaluated your losses right. You’ve lost a guy you think? No. You’ve lost the sight too see your beautiful existence. Why don’t you take your self by the shoulders and give yourself a firm shake? You see the beauty in everhthing, then appreciate the beauty in the mirror when it reflects you. Stop undermining yourself. You being naive isn’t doing anyone favors. Least of all you. It’s not a sin to feel good about yourself. You don’t have to take permission to become the storm you admired. Please do yourself a favor, be kind to the fragile heart you have caged inside your chest. Ease your lungs and breathe out all the doubts. Be done with it. Thank your Creator for the gift of your life. Love yourself.

-a late am note to self


It’s as bad as a fresh burn. Stinging, searing pain. To hear the voice of a parent in distress. To know that your closest friend needs more than words, to heal. And then you add up the chaos in your mind but there’s no more space left. So you try to borrow an inch of your heart. Start stuffing it with confusion and failure, your doubts, and all the fears. And suddenly there’s no room left for keeping the stones of your mother’s sorrow. But it doesn’t solve anything. You scribble away, tallying it up trying to absorb more. It gets heavy because well, a sponge can only soak up so much. It’s helpless against the ocean.

Your knees strike the gound, forehead one with the earth. The sponge is sopping and dripping when you close your eyes. There’s a throbbing in your head. Over and over whisper the name of The Creator. It’s okay if your ears start ringing or you don’t remember your mother tongue, or maybe you have no recollection of why your heart beats like it does and how you ended up looking like a picture of absolute surrender. Because just in that moment, the dam broke. The sponge became lighter. Relief you inhaled. There’s nothing now that can trip you from complaining and asking. So ask of the well being of the people you call ‘home’. Make space.


Tonight, sleep under a galaxy. For you were made to dream of kingdoms built on the tail of comets, speckled with stardust. Rest your aching bones, curl up gently just as a fern gathers itself in a spiral. May your sleep recover the drained magic of your existence. Ameen!


This is my very first blog post. I started because I wanted to rid my mind of the constant racing thoughts that frankly, make me feel like I’ve lost my mind. But I did not attempt to actually write until this very moment. When I am about to study for my Pharmacology test. I feel anxious, on edge. Something’s nagging me, an invisible tug that feels all to real. Why you ask? The silence of a friend, a mean glance from a passerby, an offhand comment. Things in my head. I read into it too much, a language I do not understand.

But tell me, is it really worth it? Is it worth giving away all my power and control on my own mental peace, just because a person does not like me? It suddenly feels childish. I want to erase it and bury my face in the pillow and sob. What good will that do?

I recently have taken up running. It makes me feel alive. The rush of those feel good hormones. I want to pocket those emotions, keep them bottled up in a pretty mason jar twinkling with fairy lights. Bit by bit, I want to learn to accept my own self. It feels impossible. When I think of Huma, I picture a rather large nose, introversion, low self confidence and anxiety. If anxiety took the form of a human, it would look like me.

I am aware of the good parts of me. And when I think about them I stop, as if I don’t deserve to mull over the things I like about myself. It’s like a warning goes off in my head. I don’t have access to the VIP lounge of my own club!

Let me give you a background story. I fell in love with a guy. I fell in love with the way he carried his tall frame with such ease. He claimed the space around him so effortlessly, it was second nature to him. And just as I knew deep down, it happened eventually. We became strangers. He told me we were poles apart, and yes we were but do you remember S? Do you remember that one time you said you loved me in another tongue? And how my hand fit perfectly in yours and the day we walked around the block and I felt like I belonged with you and such a fool I’ve been. A fool to love another soul and neglecting my own so brutally. Never feeling like I belonged to myself and never kind to my heart. It felt like a knife twisting my gut, as I fell down the hole the size of a crater that I dug into the ground of my own existence.

Is it really worth it? To hesitate for feeling good in my own skin. Is it really worth shrinking the magnitude of my own accomplishments and shrinking. To a small point.

I’ve decided to write love letters to myself. I will bring my self flowers and give my heart the room to wander. Find myself in my old books and new books, and old songs and new songs. Laugh till I can no longer breathe and cry if I need to. But just to let go of the bad. I think of my tears as the toxic waste that needs to be removed. I’ll do it with a sigh so content it will fill my lungs with magic. I will find my worth.