Now it remains
Just an image, a reflection
All else gone, and she wonders
Was it all in vain?

What is the difference anyway?
here and there feel the same when neither of them loves you back

“Have faith” is ingrained
through repeated assurances
now called upon
by fingers rubbing nervously

Maybe when we abandon home too many times,
We stop finding it inside ourselves.
Maybe when we abandon home too many times,
It stops finding itself in us.

I buy flowers every Saturday and bake a few cakes; I even adopted a cat. Something is still missing. A carpet, maybe? Maybe, if it were the flying type that can take me back to Makhoul Street. But what if it were? What if I went back?

Migration isn’t always a good choice after all. In this case, Muna and Raghda areaware of this indirect process of tempting kids to change their identities, and defy it. Raghda even believes she was stupid to make the decision of leaving home. She brings up a tree analogy during a conversation: if a tree is removed from its roots and put in another location, it won’t grow.

I love it when someone tells me “I’ll call you back as soon as possible,” and the hotline goes dead. I chew on it because it gets lonelier each time. As if the phone call never existed or the person on the other line was just an echo of mine but in a different voice.

When your world keeps getting harder and harder, where do you run to? When the future looks uncertain, is it still worth anticipating? When you live in an era where your children have no chance, what do you do?

Dear Diary,
The policemen finally gave you back to me. I was worried they were going to keep you as proof that I was no good. It took them a while to find names and numbers to call since I was adopted, but eventually, they got a hold of Sarah’s mobile number. The man on the desk has been on the phone nonstop, but I don’t think anyone has answered him so far.

At first, it feels like abandonment,
Like leaving your house with the lights on and the door unlocked.