Jad used to understand. When I miss him, the thing I miss the most is how he would understand.

He would understand the anger in me, the pain in me, the feelings that even I didn't understand. Last month, a black woman won the Emmy for leading actress; I don't watch the Emmys, and I don't watch HTGAWM yet, but I cried while watching her speech; and when I told Jad, he understood. And I didn't need to explain to him what it meant, I didn't need to explain to him that every little bit of positive change for black people - and even more so when they are black women - makes me happy as hell (all the while breaking my heart, because we're in 2015). I didn't need to explain what it meant to me, because he knew, and he understood. And Jad is more privileged than I am (I know I don't talk about privilege a lot), being a straight man; even though he is a lot less privileged than other people (being an Arab in a world where Islamophobia is the new accepted form of racism - and yes, I am aware that being an Arab doesn't make you a Muslim, but the world sadly isn't); but he fucking understood. And whenever I think about whether or not I'll find someone again someday with whom I could have what I had with Jad, I'm always left wondering if someone else will understand me the way he did. But that doesn't actually matter all that much, what matters is - will someone understand the world, and everything that is wrong with it, and everything that needs to be changed, the way that he did? And that's when I miss Jad the most.

If home is where the heart is, then we're all just fucked...

Guys,

I'm trying real hard not to talk about how heartbreaking it is to leave this place.

I'm convincing myself that putting my life in boxes is exciting and not just fucking sad. I'm trying to forget that all these boxes symbolize that failed relationship that saved me from everything, that kept me sane when the rest of the world failed to. That I've never, ever felt more at home than I did here, and that I probably won't for a very long time. That this place is the place where I've felt the safest, where I've been the happiest, where I've laughed the most, where I've loved the most - that I've loved
the most.

And leaving Ninove was hard as fuck, but it was the easiest (and best) thing I ever did; putting everything in boxes went so fast, you can't even imagine. And I couldn't wait to get away from all those memories, from that room, from that house. And the future, that looked like a black hole, still looked brighter than it had for a long time. But packing my stuff from this apartment, my apartment, just feels like putting little pieces of my heart in boxes; again and again, and pretending that it's all fine.

Because that's basically what it's about, pretending that it's fine that it's over, pretending that I'm happy about moving, pretending that I'm fine. Not talking about all the mistakes that will forever haunt me, not talking about all the flashbacks, and about all the memories that will be there forever. And I've never been less excited about the TV shows starting again, because my favorite shows became ours. And the nights that we spent watching them; and ordering food at 1 o'clock in the night 3 nights in a row because we're lazy fucks who sleep during the day; and skipping class to walk around in the city without any purpose. And waking up to go eat out, because everything is so much cheaper at lunch, and going back home to sleep, because, again, we're lazy fucks who sleep during the day. And buying hundreds of books, expensive books for me because I'm a snob, second hand books for him because he's not; and having two libraries that are messy as fuck because we both have so many books and we're lazy fucks who don't organize our shit. And fighting, and yelling, and crying, and making up, and laughing. And playfully fighting in bed, and laughing until it hurts, and continuing to laugh anyway. And making jokes only we understand, and laughing while people think we're crazy, and maybe we were, maybe we are. And loving, and knowing I was loved, and having a home, and having stability. And never lying to each other when we looked each other in the eyes; and telling each other everything all the time; and that bad feeling I couldn't repress whenever I was withholding information from him, even if it had nothing to do with him. And sleeping with him, and waking up next to him. And the millions of gifts. And not knowing some random fact about literally anything, and asking him, because he knows everything all the time. And making fun of people without them noticing, and the looks that meant everything, and the talks without words. And breaking up, but still getting along better than most couples who (think they) are happy. And it's me who broke it all, so I don't have the right to think about that, I don't have the right to talk about that, I don't have the right to be heartbroken. So I pretend it's okay; and I pretend I'm not sad when I see people who've been dating since April 2012 and are still together; or when I see young couples move in together; or when I hear about people our age who are happy and engaged and free of doubts, and so full of love. Because it's not okay to want to be them, while simultaneously wanting to be free; it's not okay to throw our efforts, our love, our future away, while simultaneously wanting it with all my heart. None of this is ok, and that's why we don't talk about it, and that's why we pretend I'm fine.

And some of my friends think that having a big house (to share with three others) is better than having an apartment with your boyfriend; but it's not, it's really not (for multiple reasons that I won't state here). And I know that it makes no sense whatsoever to want to stay in this apartment, while we're both so hurt (him obviously more than me) and fight so much, just to hold on to the memories, and to the first and only home I've ever had, and to 'us'. So I pretend that I'm happy about leaving the tensions, and I ignore the fact that I'm also leaving the happiness.

And that's why I'm convincing myself that putting my life in boxes is exciting and not just fucking sad. And that's why I don't talk about how heartbreaking it is to leave this place.

Make A Wish

Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head...

Folks,

This, again, is written after 2 AM, so, again, be prepared. (Note after writing: I have very deep thoughts about morals after 2 AM)

Ursulla just turned 23. She just turned 23, and she seems to be fine-ish about it, but I'm just here, thinking "twenty fucking three". And I feel so old, so incredibly old, because I met her when she was 8, and she hated the crap out of me (I was an annoying child, and she had some unresolved issues), and we went swimming every time, and I used to cry every time we had to say goodbye. And I remember this perfectly, it appears so damn clearly in front of me, but it was 15 years ago. 15 fucking years ago. And I'm only 20, and she's only 23, and we still have so much time to live, and become 'someone', and make something of ourselves, but it still feels old. Twenty fucking three.

And you guys know that I've been thinking a lot, about who I am, what I'm doing, and who I want to be. And I have told you that we can still blame my mistakes on my 'youth', and on me being confused about where I'm going and what I'm doing, but you know, maybe we can't. Because, guys, the future is now - as in, fucking now. When I was in high school, we used to have these exams every trimester, and most of us would succeed, and some would fail (and people would be all dramatic about it) - and they would either redo the exams, or redo the year, or change (lower) their 'program' or their school. And then in September, there would be a new year, and your results of the previous year would be forgotten, and it had no impact whatsoever on your future, or anything, really, because, in that new year, you could just pick yourself up and study like crazy and become the best student in the whole school, and there would barely be a record of that year you (almost) failed. And it's kind of the same on a legal level, you can basically screw up, and all the crap is thrown at your parents/legal guardians, and when you're 18, the slate is wiped clean, and it's like you never even existed before. And, what I'm saying is, nothing we did then really had any impact, nothing had any real consequence, it was all a trial, because we were young, and stupid.

Then you turn 18, and you go to college, and you're still young, and you're still stupid, and you still expect your life to have no consequence. But now, your grades matter, because you can lose ECTS, and you can lose the chance to study, and you can lose the opportunity to become everything you ever wanted to be if you screw up too much. And if you get drunk and set a house on fire, it's on you, and you get a record, and you can't become a judge anymore, and your life is fucked. And you're thrown into this big pile of crap called responsibility (depending on your situation, the pile might be bigger or smaller, mine happened to be freaking huge), and the problem is that you've had so many excuses for so long, that you don't know how to handle it. Why are you expected to act differently, to be a different person, when you're 17 and 11 months, and when you're 18 years old? Why shouldn't you still be young and stupid? When the hell did you agree to all these consequences?

But look, I'm 20 years old. And Sull wanted to go get drunk in an empty house, and I said I couldn't, because I wouldn't get into the UN with a record, or become a judge, or have all the possibilities that my mother wanted to offer me, and that my aunt tried, and has, offered me. I want to get a Deathly Hallows tattoo, and I have to find a spot (on my body) that can't be seen when wearing office clothes, because a lawyer with a tattoo (and black, and woman, and big boobs) will not be taken seriously. And I'm having an ok year at school, but somewhere, there's a voice telling me "It's ok if you succeed most of your year, as long as you pass!", but it's not, because I would lose ECTS and that's not ok. So, I seem to be aware of my responsibilities, I seem to be aware of the consequences my decisions have on my life - not just in the immediate future, or even directly, but also indirectly. I seem to be aware that it's not a trial anymore, that this is the real thing. But why do my moral mistakes get a free pass?

And that's my point - I have been noticing people (and parts of this include me too), who have their life 'in order'; they have no record, their grades are doing ok, they work in the summer, their 'external' life is perfectly fine, but their soul really isn't. But we're young, you know, we're young and we're stupid, and we have excuses. I broke Jad's heart, who happened to be the only person who really, relentlessly, tried to save me, and I am in total denial about all the bad things that I have done to him, because I'm "young", and I'm "stupid", and everybody makes mistakes when they're 20. But when have I ever been fine doing something that is not ok, just because everybody does it?

We tell ourselves that we're doing bad things right now, while being young, and that it's all fine, because later, in a couple of years, when we're done "having fun", when we're done escaping the only responsibility we can escape (our moral one), when we have to start living our real lives, then, we'll be good people. It will be like September 1st, the slate will be wiped clean, and we can then start being the best people in the history of the world, and forget about all the bad things we have done before, about all the people we have hurt, and the souls we have broken (be it our own or others'). And our present doesn't matter, because only the future does - only the future will.

Which brings me to what I was saying: the future is now - as in, fucking now. As in, no matter what you're able to convince yourself of, what you do now matters too. And people will not forget the things you've done (if you're lucky, they'll forgive you, though), and people will compare who you became to who you were. But you know that I believe that we shouldn't care about what people say, especially about our own life; so fuck what they think, fuck what they say, fuck what they'll remember, and how badly they will judge you. What about you? Will you forgive yourself? Will you forget? As I've written before, I will have to live with myself for a very long time, and I have a very good memory. And why would I do something now, that I know would break 30-year-old-Sabrine's heart? Somebody once said that you only regret the things you haven't done, and that person must have been on a good mix of hard drugs. Because I stole a piece of candy once, when I was 5, from the only real friend I had in the first boarding school I ever attended, and I've been ashamed of that moment my entire life, and I never talk about it, and I still regret it. And it's ok to make mistakes, of course, but it's not ok to make mistakes, knowing perfectly that they are mistakes, because you're young, and because you've convinced yourself that you'll start being a good person 'later'.

I'll end this on a quote that's been used, and overused, and overoverused: "This is the beginning of the rest of your life.".

xoxo,

Make A Wish