Possibility of the Normal.

Why is everyone so offended by the fact that they might lead a “normal” life? Why has the idea of having a desk job, that could help you provide for yourself and live comfortably, become so frowned upon? More importantly, why are you judging those who want that normal life?

Your version of the said “normal” life implies that there’s no happiness whatsoever in it, that it’ll just be “dull and boring” ‘cause you’re not doing something that’s considered “cool”, “risky” or “exciting”.

Honestly, having a life where I’m financially stable and living with my family or those I love shouldn’t make me cringe.

Maybe sitting on a desk all day would make me complain, maybe I’ll have bad days where I’d hate it but I’d have them anywhere. So, I’ll just pick whatever job makes me happy, a job I’ll love no matter how much I curse it.

Edit: Normal isn’t mediocrity, normal isn’t uncreative and normal definitely isn’t failure.

Disclaimer: I don’t know what I wanna do with my life, I just don’t find the prospect of a normal life that unappealing anymore and I wanted to stress the fact that you shouldn’t shame those who truly want it.


Prologue, Untitled.

With their flags high and their spirits even higher, it’s time for the tyrant to retire. Young men and women with an aim of survival, they waver their banners and sharpen their swords for the final trial. They’re unaware of what the future holds in store, they’re unaware of a certain doom. Catastrophe knocks on their doors with every word they roar and none of them is safe from the man in the guarded room.

He, their very own scrooge, watches as they scream, shout, yell and screech. He cares not for their dying voice, he orders a couple more of those deadly drones to show them that they really don’t have a choice.


”Do you think the master will listen this time? Do you think we’ll finally find that darn silver lining in the sky?“

He’s barely old enough to be there yet there’s no stopping him. A boy, only eighteen, with dreams farther than the heavens and the seven seas.

His questions are answered by the howls of the wolves, a pack of dying men whose only hope is to keep swaying their flags. They march with him around the the bloody square.

Their jaws are clenched so tight, their bodies tense but their eyes are wide open on the brighter days.


Tear gas? It’s okay, they’re already crying silently in the quiet of the night. Tears on each cheek for every tragedy of the night. The kids eating scrapes and the parents starving; the father behind bars instead of a national scandal, the mother under filthy hands to insure no rival.

Although they’re scared shitless and terrified to the bone, they don’t care about the sacred rules or the holy lines anymore. Their prudence is shredded to pieces; the wrath of the drill sergeant or the mercilessness of the county sheriff are no longer enough to daunt them.

They’re afraid, yes, but not from the tyrants. They’re afraid of what happens after, they’re frightened by the possibility of freedom, of what it brings. It’s the unknown destiny ahead that haunts them, and despite that, they’ll still choose it over him.

Letter #2

Dear Bowie,

How do you tell someone you love that they’re always hurting you somehow, verbally or mentally? How do you tell them that, although you’re one of their favourite people on earth, they treat you like you’re not worth a penny? How? How do you tell them that they’re not your hero in this story anymore? How do you tell them that they’ve turned into your villain?

How do you explain to them the hundreds of times you’ve cried yourself to sleep because of them? How do you explain the countless nights you’ve spent worrying over them and never be given a decent explanation afterwards as to why they’re distancing themselves from you? How do you explain why you’ve started to take a step back too? How do you explain why’re not caring enough anymore? That you’re sick of this treatment, of being told you’ll never understand?

You don’t. You don’t tell, you don’t ask and you don’t explain. You just leave silently, a part of you after the other, until there’s nothing left of you.

All my love,


Dear Bowie,

It’s okay if you can’t write more, it’s okay to have writer’s block. Don’t push yourself knowing there’s no use.

Why don’t you go read your favourite book again? or watch your favourite movie? That’s okay too!

You don’t have to write better than anybody else, you love your letters and aimless writings and that should be enough.

It’s okay if you read someone’s post and felt sad, it’s okay, you’ll try again tomorrow.

You’ll get through it, then you’ll get over it.

You don’t have to write day and night like you’re running out of time.

you’re not.

All my love,


The year of minimum regrets.

Dear 2017,

I was sitting with a couple of friends and we were talking about you. Some felt happy with you, some seemed angry and others were quite meh.

Unlike any of them, I didn’t feel any of those emotions. Frankly, I was a bit confused because

1. I have so many reasons to hate you.

2. I have so many reasons to love you.

3. Well, meh.

So let’s start with number one, shall we?

I hate you because I never got around to losing those extra pounds, that practically haunt me whenever I squeeze into my favourite jeans, instead I’ve gained a few more. (p.s. I call myself fat, you don’t. Period.)

I hate you because I was so heartbroken when I got rejected from two places I really wanted to get into.

I hate you ‘cause I’ve lost respect for so many I once called friends and ended up a bunch of fakes , and I hate you for making me see the truth.

I hate you because I’ve spent most of your days sleep deprived, and stuck in a classroom listening to KR basically abuse us. (kidding, the guy’s “Walter White/Heisenberg” cool)I am danger

I hate you ‘cause I’ve spent my 3 months of summer stuck at school, forcing me to deal with the heat and Microsoft Access at 9 am.

I hate you ‘cause I never have the time to read anymore. (fan-fiction does not count, no matter how much you read, people)

As for number two, well….

I love you for finally letting me accept myself, with all my flaws and insecurities, and for letting me love myself, even if it’s just for a few days (compared to the self hate ones).img_4838

I love you for letting me be okay with facing the unknown, and venturing outside my bubble even for a tiny bit. Thanks for finally showing me how to cope, how to cope with mood swings and inexplicable sadness.

I love you because I got accepted as the youngest member of a magazine staff. I love you because my article got published on Egypt’s Today website, which is one of our oldest and most prestigious magazines. Also, I get paid every month to do a job I love, and for a woman I absolutely adore.

I love you ‘cause throughout these 12 months, I’ve created a bond with a wannabe Tony Stark wife, a bond that I hope will last way after our lazy butts stop sleeping/procrastinating. 

Not to forget all the new friends I’ve made, starting from my sarcasm twitter queen and my actual drama queen, to the girls I’ve come to love through Hamilton. However, I’m absolutely nothing without the one who’s endured my (fabulous) love of David Bowie, Led Zeppelin and Oasis, or the curly haired girl obsessed with Mo Salah and….teddy bears? (she’s 16 istg)

Contrary to mum’s belief, you can make friends through the internet. I made 3 twitter mutuals, who turned out to be god’s gift wallah. Shoutout to farah, who even goes to the same club and is movie/musicals obsessed comme moi! (I would’ve added her @ but she changes it all the time (lo-ki judging you farah))

I love you ‘cause I attended my first concert with my twitter mutuals, a Beatles tribute concert, I seriously had so much fun that day you can’t even begin to imagine. It’s officially my favourite night of the summer. 

I love you ‘cause I attended a play by the actor I love the most, as well as a stage adaptation of Charlie and the chocolate factory. I love you ‘cause I attended two open mic events and actually spoke in one. (It was terrible since I was sick but IT COUNTS PEOPLE)

I love you ‘cause summer wasn’t boring for the first time, instead it was filled with street walking, solving on laptops, loads of pizza, cinemas and cafè gossip. It was filled with love towards the coolest teacher I’ve ever come across, and love for an unexpected friend I’ve made.

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I also managed to see 27 new film releases in theaters (still counting tho), and I wanna say about 64 at home. OH, AND I CAME ACROSS MY NEW FAVOURITE MOVIE: It’s a Wonderful Life (1946). (’tis a classic and y’all should watch it)

I love you ‘cause I binge- watched House M.D for the second time, and Breaking Bad(which was way overdue), Stranger Things, Shadow Hunters, Shamless UK, Grace&Frankie, Degrassi, Rick&Morty, The people VS O.J Simpson and That 70s show for the first time.

As for the reading bit, I guess one can’t have everything. (well, if you’re the queen of England, pretty sure you can.)

As for the meh part, well, you had a bunch of “life is meaningless” meh days that I very much don’t remember. so,

Yeah 2017, I was a bit confused at first as to what emotion I should feel towards you.

After I weighed it out, I guess I’m not angry or happy. It’s something in between, something that weirdly feels like gratitude and satisfaction.

2017, I’m grateful for all the opportunities you’ve given to me and all those you’ve taken away from me. Excluding all the downer and meh days, I’m satisfied with every single day I’ve lived this year.

Although overwhelmed may not be the word for it, I’m so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened this year, everything that shaped last year’s version of me into the latest 1.7 version.

P.S I attended my second Glass Onion concert last week and it was freakin’ magical. It’s officially my favourite night of the year.

P.S.2 I’m still not a millionaire and I’m blaming you for that.

Dear Emma, who’s secretly Charlie.

Dear Emma,

I hear you’re feeling a bit low these days, they say you’re feeling lonely. Don’t worry, I am too.

You mentioned that no one cares about you, Charlie. I was quite upset when I read that, does that mean you don’t see me too?

Why don’t you try loving yourself like everyone says?Apparently it works for some people, so why not you?

I’ve tried it, but it doesn’t seem to work with me, I’m sure it will for you though.

You asked me how I’m doing, well, I’m alright. I couldn’t be better really.

As for the book recommendation, perhaps check out Jennifer Nivan’s All the bright places? It’s quite wonderful. I read it at the height of my book mania, so it’s certified fantastic.

Remember how much I loved reading at that time?

Well, I rarely read anymore. I want to, yet I can’t bring myself to linger more than 20 pages. I already know you’re disappointed, even if you’re not, I am. Disappointed in myself, in the fact that I’m almost 17 yet still terribly lost.

Maybe I had time to try before, I don’t anymore. I don’t have time when everyone around me is finding somebody to love, I don’t have time when the one I want always chooses someone else, I don’t have time when they have everything I ever dreamed of and I have mere dust, a shadow of what I could be and what I really am.

I tired, Charlie, I swear I did.

They’ll never clap for me when there’s always her.

They’ll never see me when they’ve got him.

They’ll never love me if I can’t even like myself.

So yeah, I’ll make it work for me, even if I know I’ll be back to the same old start point.

You understand me, don’t you?

You always do, Charlie.

forever yours,


A letter to my dad.

Hey Dad!

It’s always harder to breathe at night, when all I could think of is you. I know this sounds sappy and cliché yet it’s all so true. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’ve missed you these last few days alone. They were quite shitty days, more so than normal.

Why’d you have to leave? Why’d you have to go and leave me here without you? Why’d it have to be me? Why couldn’t it be her or him? Why couldn’t it be anyone else but me?

It’s not your fault, I know that now and I knew it then. It’s just not fair, never was.

I wonder if people think I’m over your death. I mean, I do look okay, I sound okay and I’m not dead. I guess yeah, maybe they do think I’m alright with it now.

They probably think 2 and half years is enough time to get over someone, and maybe they’re right. It’s probably more than enough, but here I am, still thinking about you nearly every night.

Will I ever understand this? Perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t.

So until then, I’ll keep breathing no matter how hard it is to do so.

I’ll keep breathing,

I’ll keep breathing,

I’ll keep breathing.

yours truly,