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Writing about Loving Him, reconciling myself and healing.

I have known loneliness in time of chaos, the silence choking me till I’m blue in the face. During those times, seconds tends to blend into each other. My soul is floating and I’m not here. Not really.

I have also known joy that feels stolen, that doesn’t feel like mine. It feels like the happiness that presents itself to me is existing on borrowed time. This happiness must belong to someone else.

Emotions are strange things. They are so abstract, yet I can almost taste them. Many of us tend to seek ways to box them. For me, I…


Sometimes we forget that our demons are probably as scared of us as we are of them.

Content Warning: Depression, Bullying, Self-Hate, Suicide.

Photo: pen sitting on top of a closed black journal. Photo by Thomas Martinsen on Unsplash

I. I was fresh out of secondary school when I first said “I hate myself.” It was a coping mechanism. An exorcism of sorts. I hoped that if I said it enough times, not hating myself would get easier.

I didn’t realize this intense hatred I had for myself was not as mundane as I made it out to be until I accidentally muttered “I hate myself” in the presence of my younger brother.

I was in a world of my own and didn’t even remember he was right beside me. …


“And in the end, we were all just humans, drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.” — Christopher Poindexter

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

As a child, I craved for love the way crack babies wail for cheap cocaine. Like those babies, I didn't understand what I wanted but I knew I needed it. Here I am, twenty-three years old and lost in myself most days. I still crave love and hate myself for it on some days. Only today, I’m able to smile wryly and say “How human of you, Aisha”

In my teenage years, I thought deeply about two questions. The second revolved around why romance is so entrenched in our culture. At sixteen years old, I truly believed that I would…


To sense. Intuition. Words are not enough, but it’s in your bones.

Photo by Zoe Holling on Unsplash

Imagine this.

Sand between your feet. You bend to pick a handful of it. The scent of salt and warm air, the humidity around your face like a warm sauna. You open your eyes and there are miles and miles of ocean as far as the sun rises and sets. You can almost taste the salt of the water.

You have an awareness that this is the beach. You’ve felt all the elements; sand, salt, humidity, heat and water. Given these five combinations, it could have been anything else. …


I looked beyond him and raced towards the door. I almost couldn’t believe it. Past the hurt and pain, something new yet timeless was waiting for me.

Photo by Jakub Kriz on Unsplash

Yesterday, my best friend asked me “Are you resentful of the process that has taken you so long to get you here ?”. She was talking about how for the first time in over three months I had opened my mouth to say “I’m happy”. Before Corona, my world had already been shaken. Picture the walls of Jericho falling, fire and brimstone raining down and destroying whatever life lived in me. For over three months, depression and all its symptoms made me a husk of myself. I didn’t want to recognize myself. To do so would mean death.

So what…


We ran out of milk and Corona will not allow us to be great (or allow us to afford milk). What we made was pure, accidental genius.

Coconut Milk Crêpes

We don’t use measurements in this house so gauge till your dead grandmother whispers “Enough My Child!”

Fresh Coconut Milk, blended & sieved

2 eggs

Sugar & Cinnamon

Flour

A pinch of salt

It’s some time past 10 and I ate two hours ago. However, I’m visibly angry. And hungry. Mostly hungry though. I get ravenous due to my meds. It doesn’t help that I torture myself looking at pages of cake vendors on Instagram. I’m getting angrier by the minute looking at pictures of moist chocolate cake.

My youngest sister, Sumayyah announces that she too, is in fact hungry and I tail after her hoping I can convince her to make an extra helping of whatever…


I don’t know what my therapist would make of this, but I’ll tell you a story.

I’m seven years old and my little sister Noor, is a baby. I love her so much, so much that I carry her anytime and everywhere, as possible as my small hands will allow. I’m not very good with kids and this is evidenced from a young age but it doesn’t matter because I love Noor. I am in our old house, and I’m carrying Noor but my hands are tired. So I place Noor on the banisters while holding her tightly. I didn’t think it through. It seemed okay. My mum comes out, her room directly beside the stairs…


Words will never be enough to tell the world what your pain is. They don’t teach you how to heal yourself from this kind of trauma.

My heart does this funny thing when I read stories of people talking about their relationships with their father. My heart falls into a pit, and mentally I’m trying to fish my heart from this pit and place it back beside my lungs. It always evades me. All I have is this empty that I don’t know what to do with.

I have daddy issues. I write this and I laugh a little because I am just coming to terms with it, and it’s so obvious. (And painful). He has been the subject of my many tweets, blog posts, poems…


I’m happy. Where I’m just happy. I just want to be happy

Yesterday I watched a video of a woman who quit school to pursue her happiness. She moved to a small town during a bitter winter, and as you can imagine things were hard. But she knew what she wanted. Slowly, she got on her two feet and built a life for herself. She got a dog and immersed herself in creating art. She documented her life and the things around her. She fell in love. Even got a cow.

And by the time I was done, I was half green with envy, half desperate for her life.

Right now, my…


Even an adult should be hugged like a baby once in a while.

Photo by Žygimantas Dukauskas on Unsplash

This is where I answer the question, “Am I a needy little bitch?” OR “Do people around shame me for having basic human emotions?”

I’d say yes to both. I don't think they are mutually exclusive.

I’m a bit of a paradox; I crave a lot of attention and love, but I tend to shun it (especially publicly) as I’m ashamed of it and consider it a sign of weakness.

Why?

+, is it even a sign of weakness?

I may be wrong, but I like to…

Tọ́bálàṣẹ́

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