21 in the Afternoon

Letter to My Husband If you're reading this, it means you exist. And that my absolute disbelief in soulmates—or even the idea that someone would sign a piece of paper to build a life with me—was wrong. I want to tell you something important. I can bear exhausting myself, but I can’t bear the look in someone’s eyes when they realize they’re done being exhausted by me. I wouldn’t survive the shame of that moment. It would send me into a two-day depressive episode, where I’ll be clinging to the thought that the world isn’t ending, and I have to get up again. There will be days I’ll collapse, triggered by a memory I’ve buried: the fact that no one protected me when I was sexually assaulted as a child. Most times, I’ll trace it all back to the relationship with my mother—the way I keep trying to mother everyone around me, until they walk away. And maybe you will too. You’ll see me having intense cleaning sessions, lost in daydreams that distract me from reality. It’ll break my back, and...

Grey area. Did anyone invent a way to escape them? The situations between black and white, where you have zero clue and zero control over anything—including the person inside it with you. This isn’t about relationships, but life situations in general. This is about the night I gave myself permission to cry my heart out until I couldn’t physically handle it anymore. Most of you would think this is about to be a follow-up to the Isak story, which, in my opinion, is the only grey area I don’t give a single fuck about in life. What I’m about to write is way bigger than me, romance, friendship, or any other gift in life. It’s about family, and how even the happiest ones can give you the deepest wounds without knowing. Motherhood in particular. As a person, I’m deeply grateful to my mom—to the point where, as a daughter, I refuse to admit I have issues with her. I guess that’s what we call mommy issues. So how do you deal with that? How do you deal with hating and loving the same person? But...

Did I ever tell you a story about a guy named Isak? A guy who’s somehow a sex friend—with little to no sex involved? Probably not. Mostly because I carry a lot of shame around it. The kind of shame that comes from loving every second of something you’re not supposed to. Unlike what his name might suggest, Isak isn’t religious at all. This is hot, fresh gossip that’s been slow-burning for years. The kind of story I’m technically not supposed to tell—because it doesn’t fit with my values—but here I am, spilling it anyway. If you looked at the stories I used to read as a 13-year-old girl on the bus at 7 a.m., you’d say: “Of course she ended up in this kind of situation.” Except now, I’m 21, and my adult self completely disagrees. I’m confused. Where did my morals go? But at the same time, thank God I carry a brick and not a heart anymore. Picture this: it’s quarantine. Memes and thirst traps are everywhere. And Tunisians? We all ran back to Facebook. That’s where it started. A cute, sarc...

It’s been exactly a month since I last updated this blog, and I truly feel like shit for abandoning it. Except I didn’t. I actually have a lot to say and have been writing in my notes, just waiting for the right time—which is now. The last thing that held me back from posting was hating myself for writing a male-centered blog post. I already give that species enough attention to piss myself off. But then I realized I actually haven’t thought about having a man for a man—and remembered to breathe. When adults say they don’t even have time to pee, believe them. It’s true that I’ve been enjoying life, but when events pile up and I can’t find a way to tie everything into one post, I start to lose control. And you already know about my relationship with control. So in an attempt to write out my thoughts free from any particular order, tonight’s blog will be a rundown of everything that’s happened—going all the way back before February. The best kind of high. You know what’s better than a d...

 You know that one friend whose only relationship advice is to leave? That’s me. Except, I’m more filtered if I don’t know enough lore about you. For the last month—and in just six days—I had more than three girl friends venting about dating, how hard it is to balance it with their normal life, and how cheating is basically as frequent as oxygen. One question that makes me want to keep my thoughts to myself sometimes is: What would you do if you were in my situation? And honestly, girl, I would have never put myself in your situation in the first place. That sounds offensive unless we’re really close, so I have to soften it verbally. But the truth is: a boy you’re dating in your early 20s is not someone you should stress about to the point it affects your physical health. That’s a red line. You may laugh and joke about it now, thinking it’s just a small situationship or a pastime until you find what you really want. But that small situationship could be the open door to self-destru...

Non, rien de rien Non, je ne regrette rien Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait Ni le mal Tout ça m'est bien égal Non, rien de rien Non, je ne regrette rien C'est payé, balayé, oublié Je me fous du passé This symphony started playing in my head when I saw them at the bus stop. It took me a while to admit to myself that I had secretly hoped to see them—I was curious about how our interaction would go. And just when Miranda laid eyes on me, like the good person she is, she waved and called my name, inviting me to join them. It felt good to see them. This was an old case I had chosen not to reopen, convinced that my decision to let things be and not communicate what went wrong was the right one. Digging up that grave felt pointless—our friendship had ended, and neither of us was willing to admit it or change for the other, myself included. We told people we had grown apart, and over time, it became true. For once, I didn’t feel guilty for ignoring the elephant in the room. Phabian an...

This is gonna be another blog I wrote not knowing how I should finish. I recently said that I am trying to accept that not everything has a conclusion and some things aren't supposed to make sense to us immediately. Embracing uncertainty is finally growing on me. This is me trying. I am actually trying. My comfort zone is bigger than it sounds, and the distance toward the end of it is still blurry to me. And just so you know, I am currently listening to Taylor Swift. "This Is Me Trying" would be a better fit, but I am not in a mood to cry, so I am listening to "Cardigan" because it's not relatable, and it's soothing me. Nothing gets you at times like white women music does. It recently dawned on me that I am closer to having to find a job than to kindergarten, which is actually not a realization but a fact I did my best to ignore and not think about once. I am someone whose primary fear is losing control. The third year of college is approaching, and I a...

December 30, 2024.  I, Zahra, sat down and wrote a New Year’s resolution list.  If you'd told me a year ago that I’d be writing a New Year’s resolution list, I would’ve dismissed it as something people use to procrastinate on what they need to do.  I totally believed I was above it all "raw-dogged" every year, expecting miracles. Looking back, that mindset explains why I have so many unfinished hobbies and projects.  I hate that I convinced myself I understood life and was better than people who actually tried to get their shit together. It’s like I was trying to impress some imaginary "cool people" in my head—people who didn’t even exist.   This realization hit me while I was rewinding the year’s highlights in my mind, which honestly wasn’t a bad exercise. I’ve taught myself to appreciate every moment, even the horrific ones. Without that mindset, I would've lost my mind. I was in a cab on my way somewhere, listening to the radio, when someone said, "...