I’ve been (or still) in those shoes. It’s best to have a close group of friends, or even just one, to confide to. Having someone listen takes away half of the burden. If you refuse to open up to anybody, write it out. Be it in the form of a poem, a short story or just a rant, everything will make sense once you’ve cooled down. Our emotions and impulsive natures make us say the silliest and stupidest of things. But it does help pivot our focus to where it should be once common sense settles in. ;-)

Don’t let the responsibilities bring you down. Instead, think about the good it will bring. Everyone faces the hardship of looking for their first job, especially when you have a family to support. It is okay to be insecure and to be riled up, but you should not wallow in that. Make sure to always pick yourself up. If Batman listened to Alfred, I’m sure you too can take after him. It takes time, so take your time. Just make sure you’re determined to take control.

It helps to focus on the things that are still okay than to emphasise on what is not. People deal differently with hardships, pressure, even depression. But it doesn’t deem things impossible to achieve. They may be difficult, but definitely possible. There will always be good things to look forward to. All it takes is looking a little closer than usual.

I hope I was of help. x

The refugee site consisted of buildings that were never finished. There were no walls from four floors and up and the danger of plummeting to open space was imminent. The thick smoke covered the air and I could feel the pressure in my lungs. Carrying white bags with both arms, the team and I headed to the shelter’s quad to set up the workshop.

I was starting to sweat as I missed the comfort of being in air-conditioned quarters. But we were here for a reason. I set up several chairs that barely reached my knee around a table that wobbled on weak legs. Sheets of paper and craft utensils were distributed, perpendicular to the chairs. I could hear distant chattering and footsteps along with the sound of Nadiya’s chirpy voice. She led the pack of youngsters into the quad and it was the first time I laid eyes to what has always been true with the world but never fully understood.

Children barely the age of eight wore the aftermath of war. Their mouths were stolen of smiles and their eyes mirrored the terror of the past. Only a few broke into a crooked smile as their eyes drifted to the crafts that were laid across the table. The rest crowded by the door. Shirts that were clearly sizes bigger hung loose on their timid shoulders. Pants and shorts went below their knees. Their shoes had holes and several had to wrap theirs with cloth to keep the soles from falling apart. Hair were unkempt and dirt were smeared on exposed skin. It was as clear as day that this was their best attempt to look presentable. The pangs that hit me shook my pillars. It was too soon to let anything get to me.

The team and I assisted the children to their chairs. As everyone got seated, Nadiya gave the signal to distribute the dolls. Packed in crisp plastic, each child held the package in their hand, looking at their faceless doll. Expressions of confusion emerged, until we laid out more art supplies next to them. The curiosity among the children was evident. One by one, they willingly reached out for pieces of fabric to clothe their doll while some went on to draw faces. Nadiya went around the table and told each child that the doll could be whoever they’d like. She made sure she kissed every single one of the children on the forehead and have a chat with them. I saw most of them look away when she came close, but they would always observe her until she came back next to them.

I assisted four children with their dolls, only leaving their side when they got comfortable enough to be creative. Since entering the quad, a boy called Karim hasn’t looked at anyone in the eye and isolated himself from the group. He sat quietly at the farthest end, his half-opened doll in between his hands. I knelt down on the floor and gently motioned if he needed help opening the package. Expressionless, he let me open his doll as I laid it on the blank sheet.

“You can draw on this paper and then the doll. Anything you’d like at all.” I told him. His gaze didn’t leave the doll. 

I knew this stoic child wouldn’t be comfortable if I got too close. Instead of succumbing to a hug or a pat on the head, I took a pen in my hand and pretended to draw on the paper and then the doll. “You can draw anyone you’d like. It could be your mom, your dad or anyone you’d want to remember all the time. Or it could be just you." He seemed to have grabbed the concept of the doll as he eyed untouched pens that laid on the table. I moved them closer to him and tried to hide my delight as he began to draw.

His hand shook as the black marker drew circles for two eyes, a nose and then a mouth. He paused for a while and continued drawing circles across the doll’s body. I motioned other coloured pens and fabrics on the table but he paid no heed. Maybe he made a mistake, I wondered. I went to the storage room and fished out a new packaged doll that he could start over with. I knelt back down and offered it to him. He shook his head and held tightly to his doll. Nadiya appeared from behind me and attempted to halt her gasp. I turned around and saw her hand clasped across her mouth as she looked at Karim’s doll.

I stood up and paced around the table with Nadiya, my eyes still fixed on Karim. "I know. I think he made a mistake with his doll. I know it’s just one doll per child but this one’s on me.” I told her. She calmly replied, “That’s his father. He was shot with several bullets few nights ago in their home." Karim looked at his doll for a very long time and suddenly held it in his arms. His eyes were tightly shut and tears welled up. I felt a piece of my soul shatter. My breaths grew short and my chest began to ache.

After several deep breaths, I sat back down next to him. I still wanted him to take on a new doll. He noticed my intentions, still shaking his head. My eyes probably sent him a message of some sort that he reached out for brown fabric and dressed up the doll. To top off the look, he glued a small hat on. I saw him smile as he looked at his creation. I felt a surge of joy paired with immense aching.

For the first time, he looked at me as he clung on to his doll and said, "Shukran.”

When there’s nobody to run to
It’s easier to get lost
All you have are shadows and words
Until your strength gets calloused

Instead of agreeing with people that something’s wrong, I think I’m better off saying I’m just tired. Which is partly true.

there comes a time when wanting to be along is intertwined to your bones and the hours will be empty without its subtle kisses. the thing about battle scars is that it could act as a shield - or better yet, a weapon. turn the sharp daggers of silence and the noise of absence against themselves until they succumb to you. aloneness is a beautiful story haphazardly misinterpreted by attachments. no man is an island but even the most populated city in the world can be the loneliest place. so why be lonely when you can be alone?

Last night was the kind of night when it felt like everything came in the form of petals. They brush on your skin and a vivid memory is triggered. The people out there were dressed in black as the rain pelted through the brick walls like thick veins. I could hear the train’s engine sputtering from a distance as I dragged a finger across the mark the rubber band left on my wrist. It was hard to spot the perfect joy when she said goodbye. A part of me wanted to watch her shadow burn as the moon shone upon us in two different cities. But the other part wishes to give her a kiss goodbye, thanking her. My mind’s tangled and I can feel my toes sweat in excitement. I hope you saw my lips quiver as I broke a smile after whispering, “Good riddance.”

#artreture

you are me and I am you. what is gained is shared in two. what is lost becomes a ghost. we are rebirth through dust and dirt.

Sit quietly with me
Let’s watch the world together
Abandoned books are we
On shelves that wither
But fear not, fellow dove
For we’ll go far
Our stories is a fierce love
Where our skins won’t mar

I’m not dirt
But I’ll fade like dust
Gloom will be a flirt
Until you finally rust

A sack of letters weigh on the shelf
I can hear the trees chattering
My bones creak and whistle for help
Even when the wind in my lungs sing

I thought the morning was yesterday
I feel a little less hair on my head
But I’m light enough now to sway
Like the shedding trees and leaf beds

I’m getting drunk on now -
The dew kisses my skin
Slumber will take a bowUntil the wasted years win

The only way to be happy
Is to accept and know
What is within our will
And what will always be walls