my favorite tailor


It always impresses me how Picasso’s “La guernica” portraits me, and almost all of my close friends who have been through the same path more or less, except we look normal from the outside, the mess is only from the inside. I recognise how fragile my balance is when I can not engage in a conversation about how difficult it is to have your mother visit you over Easter while you have too much to study… my mom can’t visit me, that nice old lady will not see the beautiful red London buses or the stunning architecture. So yeah, I have more time to study; I will not have to be her tour guide in London, I will not take her to the Thames or London Eye. She will not see my room or the garden where I read my books.

My colleague was complaining how she doesn’t have time for her mom’s visit, while all I said was “Yeah, I know it must be difficult”, I showed a fake smile of sympathy and thought to myself, is it my fault that I don’t sympathise or that I get angry at this type of problems? I know that everyone is fighting their own battle, but why should my battle be this difficult? Why can’t I worry about my food not being organic enough or not having my vacation in the best island in Greece or even spending my birthday alone! These are the kind of problems my colleagues complain about on a daily basis, while I stay silent fearing if I talk about what worries me, I will hurt their feelings or ruin their evening. It worries me not to have a place to go to after I finish my masters because my country is not accommodating and is not a “pleasant” place to live in. It worries me not to ever see my mom again. It worries me that I don’t have a place to call home, the uncertainty, the loneliness, the exile of everything and everyone I love, death worries me… life too does… I wish I can just worry about global warming, then I would go every day to protest in front of Westminster with those nice people, but I am too broken to worry about the Earth. I wish I am that sane and sweet, but I am neither. If I am given the choice, I would probably choose to complain about the amount of field work I have to do, that I have to travel 70% of my time despite being paid three times more like that guy I met today, but I know I would be grateful to get a job unlike these people who would seize every opportunity to complain. I am not like them, I am broken. I would like to believe that I am unique because I left my pieces behind and tried to stitch myself nicely. I stitch myself on my own, I am not a good tailor, but I do my best. I do my best to be nice, to sympathise, to understand, and appreciate. I am not always a good tailor, but I am my favourite tailor.

I am sure that to other people in my country, I am like my colleagues who complain about spending their birthday alone. I live in London and I share nice photos on Instagram, oh God! We are all broken, but do I want to be fixed?

No, I don’t…

happy past year? doesn’t matter now. happy new year!!!

I have always wrote from Syria and always wanted people to read my posts because they were honest thoughts from someone who is in Syria, someone who no one actually cared about what she is thinking or what she is suffering… now, I am not in Syria. I ran away from that place that made me suffer a lot. The place that made me lose some precious years without even noticing. But just this morning I was thinking of my life since 2011… since I graduated as an architect, I could do nothing really valuable neither for my career nor for my future in general. But however, I am proud of myself. Actually I am very proud of how I stood strong, or how I faked being strong until I could actually be strong even if this strength is built over a pile of fragile moments.

Let me tell you something my friends; we all need love, depression, and war in our lives to peel our skin a layer over another, and to tear our hearts into pieces until we are nothing but a lonesome weak naked soul standing face to face with itself… then this soul must make a decision, what is it actually that you want in this life… what is it that missing piece of you that makes you don’t want to wake up and live another day…

On September 2013 after a whole year of depression and lack of enthusiasm, I was sitting on a balcony gazing into the horizon and listening to Frank Sinatra. It was drizzling and the breezes came straight from heaven, it wasn’t hot or cold. For a long time I thought I didn’t breath. I inhaled all the air in the balcony. My lungs expanded until I felt all my body is lungs now, it is all full of this air, and it hits me in the core that I am alive.


That was the thought I had in my head back then. Life is too precious to waste such a heavenly breeze go without being taken by its beauty. I want to breathe. I want to inhale all the happiness in this world and not exhale it until maybe I explode of happiness!

That is a decision you make. It is something that enlightens you and once you reach the happiness you were looking for you don’t regret any of those moments when you were dead inside, because out of death comes an enlightened  life only when this moment of clarity soothes  your body.

I tried to do everything to set me free from all the shi* around… I created my own bubble and lived in ignorance about everything happening around. I don’t need to know about people dying by poverty or war or anything. I meditated, I expanded, I made my self be aware of my soul and how I can be in control of my destiny which is something I wish I knew a long time ago, but this is how I was supposed to learn…

Was living in this bubble enough? Yes for a while but then war is like water, unpreventable and unstoppable… In one week I decided to pack and leave this country torn into pieces before I am torn like it… I don’t know where or how I am just looking for happiness… not the fragile happiness I am making up, No , a real one, an unbreakable one…

Now that I left, and found a job and bla bla bla … am I happy? Am I a “Runner away” ? do I always run away thinking I will find it? I don’t know… is this an unbreakable real happiness? I don’t know. I think happiness is also like water, it doesn’t have a shape, a smell, or a color and as a group of small drops make the river, so is happiness, a series of warm moments. sometimes it is to catch a beautiful view while walking.


it is the end of the year and I was just arranging some memories and thoughts from the past few years in my head trying to come up with a conclusion, but as always I am not sure of anything, I am still composing my theory about happiness, and I know it will never be complete… Never.

Happy new year my friends!