like a faint heartbeat

At first, it was like the faint heartbeat of a fetus, barely noticeable. Then it turned into a ferociously hungry dragon, then it became a sky-high wave that drowned the whole world. A zombie virus, one-thousandth the width of an eyelash, has run a riot, a pandemic that to this day has affected almost 400,000 people worldwide, and killed almost 17,000, broke stock markets, ended human socializing, and brought our daily lives to a halt.

I’ve stopped listening to the news, it’s all bad, it is all horrifying; is this how we will all die? Possibly.

Whenever I write a text to a friend I start by “how are you holding up during all this madness?” To some friends I’ve recently spoken to, I write “if you need someone to talk to about something other than the virus, I’m here for you”.

I made the mistake of googling, when will the pandemic end? The result I got was it might take another eighteen months. Google is a dick.

It’s almost unfathomable how utterly weak and vulnerable we are as a species. And what started as funny memes and gifs is now a terrible reality. How will we reflect on this in several years’ time? I don’t know. But what COVID-19 taught us all, is that it’s not the Atomic or the Hydrogen bombs we should be fearful of, but a barely living virus one-thousandth the width of an eyelash. 

A part of me is kind of like ‘maybe this how humanity ends and we give back this planet we’ve destroyed to the animals.’ We’ve fucked up so much, and for so long.

A Very Late Post for International Women's Day

I’ve been so busy working on my book I didn’t get a chance to post anything on International Women’s Day! And now I’m torn between posting something for women’s day and posting something about the virus that’s brought life as we know it to a screeching halt! But I’ll do Women’s day first.

The past year has been huge for women, American women in particular; the women’s soccer team won the World Cup. Six women ran for president in the democratic race; and although they all dropped out, the sheer number of female candidates from various backgrounds and ethnicity, and the massive support they received is a great sign that women are breaking ceilings, blazing paths, and moving forward. Sadly our next president is going to be just another stupid old white man, but the one after that (I’m hopeful) shall be a woman. The fact that dirty Weinstein is behind bars, has experienced a lot of violence in prison, and caught the CoronaVirus (due to which he’ll hopefully suffer and die) is a massive win for the Me To movement. American biochemist Jennifer Doudna co-founded CRISPER, a scientific method to edit and modify genes; this scientific revolution will rid humanity from all genetic diseases. And sixteen years old Greta Thunberg (not American but is a badass worth mentioning here) is leading the fight against climate change. All in all women are stronger and more passionate than ever, and the best is yet to come.

Texas Sky

Did I tell you how beautiful the sky is in Texas?  https://www.oysterriverpages.com/texas-sky

سكوت المرأة رضوخ لاضطهاد وتحكّم الرجل، سكوت الرجل ممارسة للاضطهاد والتسلّط

"السكوت علامة الرضا" عبارة يكثر ترديدها في المجتمعات الذكورية القامعة للمرأة. تم توظيف العبارة لترجمة سكوت المرأة على أنه رضا، وأن سكوتها عبارة عن خجل وخوف، حيث تعد صفات الخجل والخوف صفات مرغوبة في المرأة ولصيقة بأنوثتها، يردد الرجل أنه يفضّل المرأة الصامتة، الخائفة، الخجلة، لأنها سترضخ لما يمارسه عليها من اضطهاد وتحكّم من دون معارضة أو رفض.

تسكت المرأة خوفاً من عنف الرجل، خوفاً من تعنيفه الجسدي، النفسي أو اللفظي. بينما يسكت الرجل عن كل أنواع الظلم والاضطهاد والقمع الذي يُمارس على المرأة بحجة أنه لا دخل له في التسلّط أو العنف الذي يمارسه أصحابه، أخوه، أو والديه على الإناث، وأنه لا يملك أي حيلة أو وسيلة للتغيير. يقول أحدهم: "صديقي تزوّج من امرأة مطلّقة، وفي كل خلاف يحصل بينهما يعايرها بأنها مطلّقة ويجب عليها أن تحمد الله أنه رضي بها كزوجة، باعتبار أن المرأة المطلقة منبوذة ومحتقرة في المجتمع الكويتي". فسألته "هل واجهت صديقك بأن ما يفعله خطأ؟ بأن ما يفعله بزوجته عنف لفظي ونفسي ويجب عليه التوقف؟ ويجب عليه ألاّ يعاير زوجته بأنها مطلّقة ما دامه اختارها كزوجة". رد عليّ بكل برود ولا مبالاة "وما دخلي أنا! زوجته يفعل بها ما يشاء، لا يحق لي التدخل". انحطاط الذكر الكويتي يصل به أن يخبر أصدقاءه وبكل فخر أنه يعاير زوجته بأنها مطلّقة كلما نشب خلاف بينهما. والأغرب أن هذا الرجل (الصديق) الذي يدّعي أنه لا دخل له عندما يسمع أن صديقه يعنّف زوجته ويُحقّرها، لا يتأخر عن تسفيه وتحقير وحتى إهانة أي امرأة تعبّر عن رأيها النسوي ضد قسوة المجتمع الذكوري، هذا الذي لا يتدخل في قسوة صديقه مع زوجته، سيتدخل عندما تعبّر المرأة عن رأي لا يعجبه، وسينادي المرأة التي تعبر عن رأي لا يعجبه بأسوأ الألفاظ، ويعتبر ذلك من حقّه الطبيعي. هو يسكت عن الظلم والاضطهاد الذي يمس المرأة فقط، لأنه يستمتع بممارسته.

يرضى الأخ بالتفضيل الذي يحصل عليه من والديه، والمميزات المادية، والحرية التي يتمتع بها في حياته الشخصية، بينما يسكت تماماً عن التمييز الذي يمارسه والديه في معاملتهم له، ومعاملتهم لأخواته الإناث. يرى بوضوح الفارق بينه وبين أخواته الإناث، يرى أنه يحظى بالدلال والاهتمام والحب أكثر من أخواته الإناث، وأنه يحصل على مميزات مادية أكبر، وبأنه حر يفعل ما يشاء متى ما يشاء، لكنه يرفض مواجه والديه بالفرق بالمعاملة مدعياً أنه لا دخل له، وأن هذا هو أسلوب المجتمع الكويتي. بينما لن يسكت لحظة لو كان هذا التمييز ضده هو، أو يحد من حقوقه وحرياته الشخصية. يسكت عن الاضطهاد والظلم الذي يُمارس ضد أخواته الإناث لأنه يستمتع بهذا التمييز، ذكوريته الهشّة مبنيّة كلياً على أنه يملك حقوقاً لا تملكها نظيرته المرأة، ويرحب بالتمييز الذي يعطيه شعور مزيّف بالأفضليّة عليها.

The Orchestra

Drove to Cleveland’s Orchestra last night. The snow was falling. Under street lamps, snowflakes looked like tiny bright stars against the blackness of night.


The opulence of Severance Hall, the concert began with the mesmerizing Symphony No. 6 by Sergei Prokofiev, endlessly rich and profoundly sad. The delight and romance of The Sea by Frank Bridge. And finally the cherry on top of the cake The Sorcerer’s Apprentice by Paul Dukas.


Left the hall feeling light and drunken on beautiful music. The snow sugarcoated the streets and the roofs of houses. A tremendous calm came over me, a sense of feeling renewed and infinitely blessed.

From the Virus's point of view

I mean it’s not like I enjoy making people sick. It’s just who I am. It’s just what I do. It’s not my fault [emoji of boy walking away with hands in pocket]. If you believe in “God” then the “God made me that way” explanation would suffice. If you don’t believe in “God”, well then I don’t know what to tell you. Pigeons shit on your head sometimes. The Canadian Geese will beat the shit out of you, if you even stare at them the wrong way. Bears will eat you if they find you in the woods. And I, well I cause you to feel like shit for a few days, mostly when the weather turns cold. 

Why now? You ask. Why am I opening up about it now? Well, because nobody ever considers my feelings. Nobody ever bloody sees it from my FUCKING perspective. First humans create this man made computer virus in 1982, and now whenever someone says the word “virus” there’s a panicky “Oh My God, did you backup all your files” gasp! 

Then, ever since Google came into existence, the only time people even wonder what I am, or what I do, is when they catch a cold. They go on the internet with sniffly red noses, and watery eyes, to try and understand why endless slime of yellow/green mucus won’t stop running down their noses, and why revolting diarrhea won’t stop dribbling down their bums. DISGUSTING, I tell you.

Then, there are those unflattering pics of me on Google, which I did not consent to publish by the way, but in this era of “no such thing as privacy” we live in, there’s nothing I can do about it (Humph). I’m just a squiggly round green blob, and my picture is always next to the flu virus, all blue and more sophisticated looking than I am. Why? Why am I always compared to the flue? Just because he’s the more scary one, the more powerful one, the one who contrives “a fever”. The flu’s pics are all captioned “The Flu virus” while mine are captioned “The common cold”; “common”, that’s all I am to them “common”, that’s how everybody sees me.

Nobody wants to know about my hardships, about what I endure; swapped between dirty, unwashed hands, in filthy toilets, and shot from nasty noses, onto soiled door knobs, and dollar notes, and greasy sticky restaurant menus, and handles of gym equipment. Then there are the ghastly bodies I end up inside. Oh My God [shocked open-mouthed emoji]. Whenever I invade those human bodies, suddenly those slobs stop bathing, they never get out of bed, they smell, they whine, and complain, like stupid little babies, and the gas! (Urgh/Shudder), I mean I get they need to blow their noses, but blowing out their asses! Eww! Gross! And I’m not even to responsible for the gas, they just throw that in, for variety. Then they look me up on Google, and there I am, next to that bloody handsome blue flu, with all those tiny complex tubes coming out of his edges, and all those scientific looking nerves running through him, while I’m just a blob, a common snotty green blob.

Then they start texting their friends, and their family, or whatever, “it’s only a common cold” they reassure them “I know cause I got my flu shot a month ago, so it can’t be the flu [crying to death emoji] [relieved emoji] [laughing to death emoji]. Well, enough is enough. I am not just the “common cold”. I am not just a snotty green blob. And you didn’t catch me fart face, you couldn’t catch a beach ball if it hit you on the damn face, you poorly immuned twat! I am ‘Acute Viral Nasopharyngitis Rhinitis, and I have feelings too.

*The author recently recovered from the common cold.

To Survive

Sometimes I almost grasp it, consumed in my art; the rare moments when I’m writing and enjoying it, or when I’m completely absorbed in a painting, and I lose track of time. I know who I am, what I want, my worth as an individual, I can see where I’m going, there’s a path, the journey is long but I am up for it.  And then life. Life with its mundane laundry doing, grocery shopping, floor vacuuming nonsense, swallows me up, and I’m not a writer, an artist, or a creative. Who am I? What is any of this for? What a waste of time and energy! How silly of me to even believe in myself. I’m just another person with soiled garments, an empty fridge, and a dirty carpet. I’m ordinary, I’m boring, I’m mediocre, I’m just another tired preoccupied mind, squiggly limbs, and stretched out, exhausted muscles. I disappear, I lose my voice, my body, the very features I foolishly thought set me apart, and become one of the masses, I stand in endless cashier queues, I forget, I grumble at having to scrape snow off my windshield. I need to eat and sleep somewhere clean, this is what it comes down to. I squint, trying to remember that good line I thought of while I was driving but couldn’t note down. It’s gone.

‘Pay rent’ the neon pink sticky note says with an exclamation mark for emphasize. This is what comes down to, to survive, is to be basic, is to fear, is to forget the imaginative line, but never forget to pay rent.