a series of poems stripped of decoration, acting as snapshots of the everyday.
I think a lot about insulation in public spaces
I think a lot about insulation in public spaces
How people wear headphones and look either outside windows or at their screens to avoid looking at people
I let my eyes fall wherever they need to
And i’ve learned that they are invasive
How will you make sense of the world
If you’re viewing it in between distractions?
I’ve always struggled to make sense of waiting periods
There are 6 bus stops separating me from where i need to get off
I’m 1,000 derham short from going to the places and eating the food i want
There’s a week and a couple of days separating me from my homecoming
It’s gotten crowded again.
It’s one of my first few times in a public bus in Dubai.
I told my friends that I like the more realistic, roughhoused dubai. I dont like the giant monster like buildings and the manipulative sea of stars at night.
I like seeing people in everyday clothing
Nothing to prove, just going about life
I like how tired everyone looks
Because its how i feel
And ive been concealing that to be part of a larger show
The promised dream.
Back home, my uncle gave up
Came back from his trip to Turkey a year later with with debt and a bitter taste
He’s steps away than he hoped he would be
I bet he prayed that his niece would struggle alone.
That she would find things harder
Because look at how laid out life is for her
How else would i explain things getting harder all of a sudden?
With a month left in dubai, less now, ive spent it
Portioning my food and wasting my time to save my money
When i graduated i asked myself what will i offer the world?
with a degree that ive spent far too much on.
I think a lot about insulation in public spaces
when i let my eyes fall in the bus wherever they want
I notice how suffocated the space is between bodies
Public transportation buses are directionless
Theyre a series of stops and you decide to hop on, hop off whenever you want
There is nothing that binds you to the other person in this sardine box
Except that youre all sardines
You regain your sense of self when you hop off
When i had more money i took cabs
I could afford to put a location on a map and ask someone else to drive
I used to ride public buses with my grandma as a kid
And she put locations and she told someone else to drive
And i didnt need money
I forgot my earphones this time,
And someone is coughing in my ears
Another clearing his throat
More gibberish
But when i have my earphones on
The music feels forced
Its asking me to dance
And im on my feet
But im balancing my body, hanging onto rails on a moving bus.
And it’s not scenic
If i let my eyes relax
They go to the back of someone’s head
How this old lady’s arm is too close to my rail
How my body feels slumped
Stacked
Compromising
Ive always been compromising
Even when prepped proper and promising
Ive compromised a fair share
On my own time
On my own account
Maybe becoming an adult means more of that
this is what it’s like living in two timelines
I went to a charity event where older aunties sell their crafts and nicknacks
It’s a support space for small businesses nestled in the underground floor of a mosque
They dish out their latest creations and stories about their daughters and sons,
Many abroad, many with a promise to come back, others stuck with scraps or doing good for themselves.
My mom and I had a chocolate stand and they passed by, one by one, with polite greetings but also wide eyed
Like a spectacle i delivered an apologetic show
The bird with a broken wing, surely something must be wrong with her to return to her mother’s nest.
I came back to the city that my friend warned about.
He told me it must be something in the water.
I’m a fresh graduate in my room again
Somehow 6 months in the wild of the world mean nothing in front of purple memory boxes quietly stashed away on my bookshelf
I return to mornings with heavy eyelids
And food that i cant seem to get my fill of
A month ago, in a sad studio with crackers, a box of eggs and labne in my fridge, i seemed to get full on a glass of fruit juice
Here my dad grills halloumi kaak, and i have leftover msabbha, and still desire more.
Did i have a poor appetite or was i fulfilled?
My travel bags sat out for 3 days after i had arrived
With worn clothes disheveled out of its belly
I had no appetite to empty it again, after moving around 5 times before
The toil of packing and unpacking
The task that makes you wish you carried less.
I guess one thing i didnt miss is this luggage of a timeline.
I came back to a pablo picasso portrait of myself
My past simply doesnt have space for my present
and so the city is pushing me out.
I fear its streets and i shallowly think: how have people been?
They dont owe me a summary to their lives while im standing at the door.
What am i demanding?
Maybe i wanted to come back to a discomfort
To different streets
When i saw that my friend’s hair grew longer,
I sighed of relief.
But this is what it’s like living in two timelines
In one city where they are accelerating to forget
And in another where faces slowly melt,
I stand.
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