Dear diary,

what am I doing here

among this sea crowd?

I see those faces,

I’ve come to learn

In their reflections

I’ve found my own

and yet

I glance at myself on surfaces

only to feel more unknown.

staged by their shadows,

and caged by my own.

Where are you, oh friend—

in your company I felt seen.

Will this feeling forever linger,

or is there something that could be done to make me real?

Regards,

Shahad

Playing an ABBA song,

humming along to, “ you'll be dancing
Once again.”

You’ll find the courage
to meet the floating lights—

to be the protagonist
of your own dream.

You’ll glance at falling leaves,
welcoming autumn’s air.

With the reflection of the sun
in your rearview mirror,

on the ride home,
and back again.

Even now uncertain,
still drifting with the wind,

but with no time to grieve—
only with enough to retrace your steps
and chase calling dreams

If you could only see it now.

On a starry night,

I begin to float with hope,

sounds of waves anchoring me whole.

I read fantasies of warriors and battles won

As I lay on a field of gold.

If love remains unwritten,

allow me to find my solace—

maybe it’s the endless chase of how to be.

Let me begin my dream of something new,

despite the whispers beyond golden walls

begging me to reconsider

what’s been left unknown.

She’s got stars in her eyes
and dreams to chase.

They tell her to be sensible,
To be real.
To accept what must be accepted,
To think what must be thought.

But she’s been soaring far from the ground—
Past mountains,
Seas,
And valleys.

With the birds and fairies, towards the second star—
On a journey to discover everything left unseen.

She’ll find something to be
Beyond the mainland’s clouds.
A place to finally belong—
Beyond what memories could carry.

She’ll gain wings there,
To release the weight of gravity that ties her to the earth.

She needs, and she needs, and she needs to reach those striking heights.

Yet her gifts remain unseen,
And she’s ever so behind her peers.

But the sun still shines for her every morning,
And the trees grow despite fall.

She is behind so many, and yet, perhaps she still has time after all.

So she wonders if the hollow tree awaits her as well,
And if she’ll find who she is by the end of it all.

A remedy at last,

to be free and true.

You are the vastness I seek.

Will you take me out

And let me exhale once more?

I’ve been holding my breath,

For far too long.

Give me something to do,

Something to see,

To simply be—

So I could survive this heat.

Perhaps I’ll find clarity near you,

For those waves could heal.

Perhaps the smell of rain once more

could linger,

and I’ll feel just real.

Maybe the rush of adrenaline while on horseback near the seashore—

As I feel the breeze enveloping me,

Could be the antidote.

“Growing is the cure,” you tell me.

But growing is anxiety-inducing—

It has never come easy.

Will I remain the same forever?

I need to see the sun.

Its light should be softer than the summer's heat—

Welcoming and warm.

If I’m incapable,

Am I doomed for eternity?

Be honest with me.

Regards,

Shahad.

In all my life,

People have asked: “What is it like?”,

But how can I answer when it’s all I’ve known.

They say twins are opposites,

But I think that’s further from the truth.

At least for me and you.

We share similar hobbies,

We agree on most things—

Except unwanted advices, but I suppose that’s a “sister’s thing”.

identical,

similar,

yet not quite.

I might be the more restless ambivert,

the one shopping for two

And you the homebody—

reading a book back at home,

trusting my taste.

But I’m still like you.

We still are so alike,

Don’t you think?

In ways more than two.

My dream day

hasn’t started yet.

It begins

with birds chirping

on an early morning.

A gentle sunbeam

scattering its light

over the four walls of my bedroom.

The beautiful weather beckons me

to open my windows—

to simply see.

And so

I look up at the sky,

at infinity

and feel no ache

of missed opportunities.

Instead, they walk alongside me,

allowing me to witness

what I once left behind.

The playgrounds of spaceship pretendings,

the crumbs, leftovers from unhealthy snacking—

hidden from a teacher’s scowl.

I smile at my friends under the adults' watchful gaze—

trying my best to keep my giggles at bay,

so as not to let our secrets slip.

I linger on the outlines of my school,

now with fading faces—

Of friends in days past.

Their names ingrained,

and their faces clouded with dust in my mind.

Like the antlers of a gentle deer,

my spirit is always attached to spring-like dreams.

And so I see parallels in everything I think, feel, or do.

And in those dreams

I no longer dwell on questions

Of “what ifs”

and missed steps

instead

The soft animal raises their head there

staring back at me,

a sign to go homeward,

a sign to begin once more.

And to let go.

To let go.

My “Failures” at Twenty

I’m twenty years old, and I still don’t have my driver’s license.

I’m twenty years old, and I didn’t get to study abroad like I once dreamt. Instead my university is only about thirty minutes away.

I’m twenty years old, and I’ve been spending so much time daydreaming.

I’m twenty years old, and I haven’t been to my favorite city yet.

I’m twenty years old, and I don’t feel like an adult. I’m pretending most of the time.

I’m twenty years old, and I feel small compared to the vastness of all the other twenty-year-olds in my life.

I’m twenty years old, and I don’t feel very different from my seventeen-year-old counterpart. They promised a big change, but I didn’t feel it.

I’m twenty years old, and I’ve never had a “rebellious” phase, and for some reason, I find myself mourning that.

My Wins at Twenty

At twenty, I finally took the first step and started taking driving lessons. I’m slowly getting used to taking the wheel, even though I’m anxious about it— I’m working on it.

At twenty I get to wear heels everyday, a little embrace to my inner 11 year old girly girl that I sadly tried to hide in the great “I’m not a girly girl” phase many of us somehow went through.

At twenty, I’m finally comfortable with horse-riding. Despite not achieving younger me’s dream of studying abroad, I am striving toward another one of her many dreams.

At twenty, I’m almost done with my second year in university majoring in psychology, a field I’m really passionate about.

At twenty, I’m surrounded by good people— family and friends who I’m grateful for.

At twenty I’m still in touch with some of my close high school friends.

At twenty I’m trying not to take things at heart. Not to let the doubts win.

At twenty I’m embracing my middle school self. I’m watching shows I used to love, reading comics that I've started at 13, embracing being a fangirl, enjoying nerdy hobbies, ensuring I never let go of what I love. Because things I grew up loving, are still very much a part of me.

At twenty I’m trying not to shrink to societal standards.

At twenty I’m writing more.

At twenty I’m starting to appreciate my imaginative mind.

And finally at twenty, a new decade starts. So I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that everyone is at their own pace.

Saturday, May 2, 2026. 10:30 AM.

It’s May,
And the heat already burns my eyes.
I sit in the passenger seat on a busy road—
pupils watering, trying to ignore the sun’s existence.

Yet Summer welcomes me in a moment of dread,
turning the page all over again.

She waves, welcoming me toward new chapters.
In her, I should believe;
In her time, I begin once more.

As the heat arrives on a sunny Saturday morning,
I begin to miss spring’s incandescent light.

She watered the fruit and grew the plant,
She was the reason I hoped despite buried hopes.

But every beginning has an ending, I suppose.
Where Spring brought hope, summer is heavy and intense.

Now the misty air overwhelms and the sunlight blinds—
Those rays so harsh and bright.

Yet her homecoming shelters me on a path of new beginnings.

So I blink the tears away,
And face the shades—
Until I’m ready to turn towards
her dazzling glare.

I think it’s time to start planning again.

“What is yours will find you.”
I so desperately want it to be true
But what if what’s “mine”
Is rarely what I want?

What if my fate is unresponsive
to dreams I've tried to find?

“What is yours will find you.”
But who am I truly in a room full of people?
Carrying their ambitions,
Never do they reveal their doubts.

“What is yours will find you.”

But when does the path I've passed through
Over
And over
Become clear?

When does the weather we cannot weather
Become the miracle of our open doors?

“What is yours will find you.”
Yet what was ever mine to hold?
I have never been a natural,
In a world of gifted souls.

So how can I clench
what was never mine to claim?
And how can I decide my path

In a world full of people, so close to my age—
Never fragile,
Never wingless,
Never flinching despite the sea’s vastness.

“What is yours will find you,”
I do believe—
I just hope it's what I seek,
And not a grounding reality

Another endless sea of questions,
with no anchors
in the ship of my everlasting wander.

Thank you for reading! <3

Embedded letters—

sealed in memories.

Pictures of her at twenty

a reflection of me.

She listened,

I listen.

She felt,

I feel.

She worried,

I worry.

She dreamt,

I dream.

Generations far,

yet so near.

Similar,

Yet different in ways

more unique than one.

I carry waves,

and she’s the sea.

I pick blossoms,

and she’s the stem.

she cared,

and so I begin to care.

My mother and I.

Their social-ness

unfamiliar to mine.

Their values:

A rocky,

unsteady mountain

being pulled apart.

Their tongues rarely uttered

a word of kindness to others.

I should’ve known

that I would’ve been one

of the “others” in time.

The bus ride home twisted

into cruel whispers.

Things we’ve shared,

a weapon for misuse.

In a blink,

they left me with no seat.

Years later,

we crossed paths once more—

they ignored my presence.

Their heads held high,

their glances everywhere but mine

as they played pretend—

despite hearts left un-mended.

Was it regret,

or did they truly forget?

Whenever my eyes met theirs,

“Smallness” flooded my lungs.

So I averted my gaze,

releasing the weight,

never truly standing my ground.

And that is my only regret.

March 23, Monday | 9:20 AM

Dear diary,

I wonder, do people whose paths I’ve crossed think of me as much as I think of them?

I don’t know why I doubt how much of a role I play in others’ lives, especially when they aren't close to me. I tend to assume they only remember me when I’m standing right in front of them, only to be noticed, never truly perceived.

I guess it’s just easier to picture yourself as an observer, taking in your surroundings, than acknowledging that other observers are also quietly doing the same.

Still, if they really do think of me, then how many versions of me exist in their memories?

I’ve changed and grown, yet I wonder whether they remember only a former version of me?

A version I no longer recognize or recall?

And if that’s the case, do they remember me with fondness or with something heavier?

Have I hurt someone without ever realizing?

The thought of being a part of a person’s painful memories haunts me. I don’t remember everything I did as a child, which worries me. I feel anxious about something I’m not even sure I’ve ever done, as if I’m blaming myself for an external trigger that simply flowed into my head in a moment of weakness with no warning or invitation.

I especially feel this whenever I'm with an old friend, and they start describing something I’ve supposedly done in the past. It's either that I completely don't remember what they are talking about, or they remembered it in a way I neither relate to nor recognize. How many experiences, thoughts, and memories did I have from the past that I’ve completely shut out from my mind, and were distorted by myself or others?

Perhaps this is just my intrusive thoughts taking over again, trying to convince me I’ve done something wrong.

Maybe that’s just how the human mind works: we are all main characters in our own minds, criticizing our thoughts, feelings, and even doubting our own memories.

I just hope that whoever I’ve met and known remembers me for who I truly am, rather than versions I've created in my head, in moments of anxiety—

of personas I don't recognize or identify with at all.

Regards,

Shahad

and there’s nothing,

no person to distract me.

My eyes remain unshut

as I lie in suffocating waves

created by a restless sea.

In a time of emptiness:

no obligations to meet,

no assignments to submit,

no classrooms to face.

This feeling lingers,

emerging,

releasing all its weight—

in the hollow-full dark.

Where there is

nothing to give,

nothing to expect,

nothing to fulfill.

A break—

a mercy.

Yet is there relief

when a heavy mind

bursts in solitude?

Releasing what has been shielded,

kept apart—

hidden and secluded—

from a preoccupied heart.

They tell me:

Be sensible—

For the world overwhelms the soft heart.

You can try to go back,

But you won’t find yourself there.

Yet versions of me

exist in memory,

In dreams.

And so—

I find her looking back at me through photographs and videotapes—

begging me to stay true.

she’s loud in her wants,

held back but waiting to prosper.

Trying,

failing,

then standing

to try once more.

She’s lost in a labyrinth—

waiting for me to call.

Never quite knowing

which door is open, and which is closed.

She shares thoughts

and carries dreams

of wallflowers and feelers.

Because for once,

It is an essence she can truly keep.

She screams to me:

Keep going! keep going!

you’ll lose and wander,

life is relentless—

but find the anchor,

and continue:

Seeking,

Chasing,

Aiming,

And simply being.

Inwardly she reminds me of her essence —

She’s a lover of fiction, accumulating years of stories.

She’s on top of the world, finding a glimpse only seen by birds.

And she begs me to yearn,

once more.

I remind her that she reveled in ideals, but she tells me:

that’s what made me, me.

Reminding me that despite change,

I will look back and still see her.

And if I fall,

she’ll be there,

to ensure I land

On safe grounds.

I looked around me for the key

To unlock windows in a misty morning,

Guiding me towards new pavements.

But instead, I released a final act—

I fired the inescapable shot,

Only for it to return, striking me down,

As the door shuts, slipping from my grasp once more.

Pupils trembling, watering without consciousness—

I pictured myself among seeds of pomegranates,

Peeled apart by calloused hands.

In tightened throats before an echoing cry,

In the cruelty of social whispers,

And inescapable thoughts.

As I wandered through the midst of it all,

Wondering what it is

That is missing

In a life so blessed.

Then I pictured palm trees growing since birth,

Jasmine flowers held in wrinkled palms—

And it came to me that I belong—exactly where I’m meant to be.

As gratitude grows with every prayer,

Despite the lingering ache of comparison.

Thank you for reading 🤍

An opportunity made its way to me—

A freedom to take the next step

To let go of my dependence—

And to welcome independence.

A willing heart—

A chance to become one with my truth.

But it became a step not taken,

Despite the void that settles after I rely upon another.

Good through all stages of life—

Rebelliousness foreign to my nurture—

Still, a predisposition,

A nature in me

That has never been shaken to dominance.

I ask myself:

What has restraint achieved but smallness?

My tower opened its gates,

Waiting for me to explore—

I had no need for long golden hair.

The matriarch of the household was nowhere to be seen—

perhaps she only existed in my dreams

Yet, I remained still, despite it all.

Waiting for something,

Waiting for someone—

To guide me to begin

When I should be the one beginning.

And so I wondered,

On the steps never taken,

The longings with nowhere to go—

Could it all have been mine to blame, after all?

I ask myself continuously,

Yet I continued my steps towards the familiar

And I left my courage in waiting—

once more.

As I weigh the cost of rebelling

to follow dreams,

Far beyond the stillness of comfort.

Authors Note:

I wrote this while listening to “Who We Are” by Hozier, it’s not really inspired by it—but it could be. I wanted to share music with my posts and felt like this was a good opportunity. Thank you for reading 🫶