21 in the Afternoon

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...