It’s only when you’ve touched a baby “poop” that you know you’re deeply fucked.

My brother and his wife are both away at KSA until Sunday. They left their one year old baby boy with us. My parents take care of him during the day while I’m at work. I come back home to a little baby that doesn’t know of the harms of the worldly environment. 12 months ago, that baby was swimming in fluids and now he’s gotta deal with shapes, edges, hunger, and verbal communication.

I am proud to say that I can now tell when he’s hungry or thirsty. I can make him cry just by calling his name out at a certain tone. I can make him sleep by reading to him Surat Al fati7a like ten thousand times (Not many parents do that I reckon).

I can now officially add babysitting to my resume.

Even though he annoys the fuck out of me, it only takes one tear to break my heart… and one smile to melt it. I can tell that I’m gonna spoil my kids.

Us men… we don’t do diapers. I didn’t, but I was helping my mother out when a sudden move by the little brat caused my finger to touch the shit, literally.

Should I cut my finger off now?

Dear brother, you owe me BIG!!

-Kol sana wento tayebeen-

It was one of those things that only your eyes can tell, that your tongue can’t even pronounce. It’s one of those things that the mere attempt of saying would probably cause your entire world to stutter.
It’s knowing the answer to the million dollar question and refraining from participating in the contest.
My couch, my TV, my orange juice with a twist, my living room… my current life state… are by far safer.

When you’re in a relationship you tend to grant yourself waivers from many elements of the truth. Sacrifice is overrated, especially when most expected. The shimmering fractions of my dim lit environment stood still and silent and so did my unsaid words. Nevertheless my eyes spoke of things my mind wouldn’t believe. Yet deep in the center of my Capricorn mind, I knew that I wouldn’t give in, that my tongue pronounced the word ‘regret’ more fluently than my given name. I knew that nothing is perfect. Us, perfectionists, are destined to suffer, to wait for the One. We decide to remove AA batteries from watches and clocks, store them some place safe, far away from time telling machines. We are powerful. We can stop time… at least in our bed rooms where all our fears can be put on hold, paused away from our dreamless sleep.

The cold weather fits my frozen profile perfectly.

The moon shined over his head like a call from heaven, a bat-signal urging him to go home. The sky he oozed into reminded him of a blackboard he once stared into like forever, writing the words ‘I will never cheat again’ a million times in white powder that stuck to his shirt. He uttered a word that his mother wouldn’t like then rambled into the shade. It’s funny how it’s always shinier on earth in the winter, where all land is covered with snow. He grabbed a shiny snowball into his fist and kept it there to flourish his skin. He hated his tan.
Blue’s always been his favorite.

Accompanied by his raving bloodlust he crawled along the sidewalk of the streets that he’s built in his mind, searching for revenge of a crime he made up. A dog barked off his animal instincts and shoveled the remaining portion of his cake deep into the snow. An allegory of free speech and enunciating charisma rampaged an idea that he believed he once was. Surprisingly he fell into a dark circle and contrary to what they told him as a child, you can’t walk out of a maze by choosing a wall and walking next to it until eternity and more.
The maze promised heaven even though it can not speak.
He shouldn't have listened to the silent whispers from the void.
The blame he screamed was at himself.

December’s always been his favorite. It marked the end of a masterpiece. He knew that, like a movie, it eventually plays a twist to the year. It was like waiting by the window at night for the sun to shine again. The wait kills him. If only he could shut the drapes and pretend that the sun is right outside… He’d lie to himself, but at least he’d know that the only thing that separates him from those rays of hope is a window and not the hours he chose to rule out from his equation.

‘It’s addictive’, he said right before he faded back to the real.