Meeting you was like winning the lottery. It was the best decision I ever made to become your girlfriend. Thank you for loving me for who I am and not wanting to change a thing about me. Thank you for helping me love myself more each day. You consistently go above and beyond, and you have been nothing but a blessing in my life. I’m grateful for you every day, in every moment.

Your touch, your scent, your smile, your eyes—everything about you is perfect to me. You are the most selfless, unique, outgoing, and loving person I have ever known. I remember the first time we met and our first conversation. I recall the moment you thought I was cute and when you asked me to be your girlfriend. It was in Central Park, and it was raining. We stood under a bridge, soaked, and you held me in your arms, asking, “Will you be my girlfriend?” It felt like a scene from a romcom.

I remember our first kiss and all the special moments we’ve shared. We have now been together for 992 days, and we continue to promise each other forever. With you, it truly feels like eternity. I remember when I first fell in love with you; it wasn’t love at first sight. I fell in love when you stayed with me at the hospital for ten hours. That’s when I knew you were different from other men I’ve known, and I love you for that.

People say that when you are truly with the right person, you start to look alike. That’s what I see in us. I love you, handsome, forever and always.

I have seven goals for 2025. 

First, I aim to graduate soon and earn my creative writing degree. Second, I want to finish my book titled “The End Begins Now” and self-publish it. My third goal, which might seem a bit crazy but is also exciting, is to obtain my motorcycle (M1) license and get myself a Harley-Davidson, since I’m really passionate about motorcycles. 

For my fourth goal, I hope to move in with my partner. I envision our place being as spacious as possible, filled with sunlight, and having a balcony where I can plant my favorite flowers and enjoy nature’s beauty. 

My fifth goal for the year is to secure a well-paying job that provides enough stability for me to achieve everything I want and need. Sixth, I watoain healthy relationships with my partner and friends, as I’ve experienced the challenges of dishonesty and a lack of loyalty in past relationships, especially with friends I once considered like sisters.

Finally, my last goal is to maintain my peace and showcase the best version of myself—not just a version that others expect. I believe that in this world, it’s crucial to present your true, authentic self in order to succeed and make a name for yourself. I want to achieve this through my writing, helping others who are afraid to express their true selves. I aspire to be someone others can relate to, where they won’t feel judged. 

These are my goals for 2025, and I hope to succeed in achieving them.

Thank you for being true to yourself and not allowing anyone to push you around anymore. I appreciate your courage in being vulnerable again after experiencing hurt from family, friends, and even a toxic significant other. Thank you for choosing yourself in situations that could jeopardize your mental health once more.

Thank you for accepting your flaws and embracing your unique qualities. You have made the little girl inside you proud today because no one else could ever fully understand what you have gone through.

Thank you for loving your inner beauty and not worrying about what others think. I admire how you hold onto your childhood memories while letting go of the pain associated with who you used to be. Thank you for breaking free from your parents’ control over your life and for recognizing that you are not obligated to maintain relationships with people you don’t get along with, especially your brother.

Thank you for following your heart and pursuing your dreams without letting anyone else ruin them. Life is too short not to be thankful for yourself, so always remember to be grateful.

I cry most nights thinking I’m not good enough for this world. I make myself believe that I’m not worthy enough to be loved or cared for. I feel like I’m in quicksand and I can’t get out or that I’m under water and the pressure is pulling me in and I can’t get out. Maybe that’s why I never learned how to swim because I’m scared of not getting out. I hid my depression since I don’t remember when I gotten really good at faking a smile and showing people I’m ok but in reality I’m not, I’m scared to disappoint because I never heard anyone say they are proud of me, I’m scared to love because I never gotten pure love from anyone not a friend, significant other, sibling, or parent it was always tough love because I was taught that being truly loved always becomes a disaster. I hear my parents arguing everyday since I was little it never stopped only gotten worse once I fully grown up, I never realized until now how broken my parents are and how they project it on me, how my mom belittles me and later argues because it gives her power over me the words and tone she represents she knows affects me and she likes it, she’s a force. My dad is just a narcissist who likes to control and throw out people, who not only couldn’t take care of his family but he was the main to break us. I guess that’s where my brother learned it from the uncontrollable range and using then throwing out people. I feel like a stranger in my own home. I don’t belong here. I cry most nights in the bathroom. I don’t tell anyone because I don’t want to be a burden. I think about how life became after a while and how broken I am. I just want to leave and start new. The anxiety and depression that has happened over the years I don’t think it would stop not until I make a change, I used to cry for my mother’s love, crave my father’s affection, expect my brother to support but that was never the case with them I don’t want to be like them ever I want to be better. I am in quicksand that’s only getting worse and worse, I dream about being underwater or having broken teeth, my anxiety takes over and there’s nothing I can do about it. Uncontrollable breath, lungs getting tighter, head pounding, hands shaking. I can’t ask for help from my own family because they think it’s a phase and it’ll be over but it’ll only be over once I’m gone. The black hole I carry in my mind sucks all good in my life and I let it be how stupid of me. The silent panic attacks I get from time to time shows how much stress I’m in and I can’t stop myself. The distraction I cause doesn’t even work. It’s hard to do so in a household of toxicity. One bedroom, broken handles, crippling walls, I don’t even have a room for privacy, parents yelling in front of me, brother nowhere to be seen for fifteen years not even a “hi how you doing” I’m tired of everything I just want to leave and start new. I cry most nights in silence so no one can hear me. I bottle up everything because I rather hurt myself than hurt someone else. I know it’s wrong to do either. I just wish it gets better sooner than when it’s too late. I hope to overcome and escape this nightmare and see some light shed soon.

One message I have for every person in the world is don’t take life for granted because tomorrow isn’t promised anything can happen to yourself or your loved one. I for one took life for granted and I lost my soul pet, you may ask what you mean by that well If I didn’t go out as much to be with friends or be busy with work and had taken care of my Mitsu aka my black cat he would have still been here with me and not get sick too easily and quickly. One thing I regret is not taking him to the doctor’s first thing instead I waited until he got worse, he was always meowing at night in pain and I always thought he wanted attention, but he was just in pain I think about how I failed as a cat mom because I couldn’t do much at first but overall, I loved and cared for my Mitsu he knew that because everyone abandoned him, abused him, locked him in cages but with me he was free to do whatever and he was happy. I remember every morning he would come into my room by opening the door with his head and get on top of the bed waiting for my mom to give me my breakfast which was tea and biscuits and Mitsu waited for my mom to give him biscuits and once she did, Mitsu ate all the biscuit he could. All the memories I have of Mitsu are blessings I’m glad that I could share my life with him, and that he could share his love and commitment with me, he showed me a pet’s love is pure and more trustworthy than a person’s love because a pet is more loyal than certain people. My message to everyone in the world is don’t life for granted because life isn’t promised tomorrow, life is precious and people and pets are also precious I took life for granted and lost my Mitsu but God gave me another chance on make things right with now my Mocha aka my black kitten spending lots of time with him, taking care of him and making my Mitsu proud from heaven.

I like the way you try to help others in certain situations and give advice
I like the way you get your eyebrows sharper than a fingernail
I like the way you have a open mind about anything or anyone
I like the way you’re learning how to communicate and be patient
I like the way you have a fear of rollercoasters but aren’t afraid to jump out a plane
I like the way you value alone time even though your friends are awesome
I like the way you smile even when you’re sad some days
I like the way you can sing the alphabet with your mouth closed and type a whole paragraph with your eyes shut
I like the way you’re not afraid to be harsh and be straight-forward with anyone
I like the way you stopped crying everyday for something sad and instead crying for something joyful

It’s been two months since you passed away. I still can’t comprehend it. I’m still grieving and healing, and it’s hard because I still expect you to come into my room and wake me up with your head bumps. I still hear you saying “ma” instead of “meow,” and I remember how you would always try to steal food when I or your grandma started eating. I miss every part of you. You helped me through so much – depression, and anxiety, and you taught me how to be gentle and care for another, even if it has four legs. You taught me responsibility, and I know you were happy in the end. I miss you so much, to the point where I wouldn’t stop crying for missing you.
I believe you’re up in heaven looking down at me, and asking God for a sign, I received one. On June 7th, 2024, I saw a cloud shaped like a black cat, which made me and grandma cry. We believe that even though you’re not physically here, mentally and emotionally, you are. Then, I asked for another sign, and once again I got it. When my coworker heard about my cat’s passing, she offered me a cat for adoption. I immediately said yes because of the sign of the black cat cloud. The next day, my coworker mentioned adopting a black cat, and then my boyfriend found a purple ball with a black cat on it. I felt like my Mitsu was sending me signs. After all that, in three days, I got sign after sign about a black cat and decided I wanted another cat. My coworker and I went to get the cat, but she wasn’t there as she was a stray. However, we later found four black kittens near a school and managed to catch one of them. After treating and cleaning the kitten, I welcomed it into my home. This whole experience led me to find another baby boy in honor of my Mitsu.

It’s March. Spring is starting to peek through the clouds.
I’m trying to move slow. I’m trying to be easy.
I’m working hard just to breathe.
I’m pining for control over my own body,
My autonomy feels out of reach.

I am reminded how I felt at sixteen, when I made the choice to starve.
Then I am reminded of the Palestinian children and men and women,
Dark eyes pleading while they wither away,
Bombs reflected back into our view.
I am humbled.

I am not the same as I once was.
Gratitude exists, albeit forced at times.
Growth and healing is an active choice.
I let myself transform.

My love and I wake in a new city.
Maybe a new country.

Either continental or café,
We enjoy a breakfast with good coffee
and pastries.
The chocolatiest of croissants,
The softest of scones,
and the warmest of waffles.

Then, we go for a walk.
We take our time to inhale the fresh air and
absorb the new city’s noises and
admire its unique architecture.

Our walk ends at a bookstore.
As we wander the shop’s aisles,
the bookstack we carry grows and grows and grows!
My love says, “Yes, of course we can buy them all.”
(We are not worried about the logistics of getting the books home.)
Once the stack is so high that
we can’t see over it,
we buy them all.

On our walk back to wherever-we’re-staying,
we make a pit-stop for takeout.
Most likely Chinese food, but
could be Korean or Indian or poke, too.

Next, but before dinner, is a warm shower.
Rich instrumental music with dissonant harmonies
and bubbly shampoo.
Fragrance-free body lotion and French skincare,
Followed by the baggiest of sweatpants and
an oversized tee.

Now all squeaky clean, my love and I eat dinner
over a grand adventure on a screen.
All snuggled,
we fall asleep before the credits roll.

You broke me into pieces you made yourself the victim and told everyone I broke your heart but in reality it was the other way around. You used me to heal yourself for a year you were obsessed with your ex and I let it slide how stupid of me, right I will never think twice to do that again with anyone anymore, you hurt me to make yourself feel bigger and better but in reality you’re just much of a loser. You broke me into pieces you made me cry for days and nights but I still loved you, you lied to me constantly made me overthink about everything for your fun. I thought it was all love but I was blind you manipulated me into thinking you loved me but in reality you loved yourself, you were self obsessed, self harmed you weren’t a good person. You broke me into pieces you made me feel small even though I already had felt that way in life but you made it worse, you never cared about my feelings or thoughts it was always about you I made myself about you and your life but what I should have done was walk away and restore the girl you broke into pieces. I fought for you, supported you even though you didn’t deserve it everyone told me to walk away he will never change but I didn’t believe them I still stayed and thought to myself he will change but I should have listened and walked away. You broke me into pieces it wasn’t love for those past years it was a lesson, a lesson on what a person is really like in the beginning until the end and you sir showed me your true colors and proud to say you aren’t a good person, you used and threw out people like toys you threw me out most of all, you gave me the silent treatment as an act of punishment as if you were the victim and I was the bad person well now I know who was the true victim and it wasn’t me or you it was our relationship throughout the years action, camera, words were all apart of victimize act but me I am survivor from your emotional, verbal abuse. you can change now for the better fake it until you break and you can be with millions of people but I know you will forever feel lonely inside that’s what you are a lonely, miserable person, and you will forever think about what you did wrong and think about the things you couldn’t do right, you broke me into pieces but now I am restoring the girl you broke, the mindset you tarnished for your own game, the fear she has about you coming back and ruining her again, punishing her for your own play she has that fear but not for long because she knows better, she knows her worth bigger and brighter and not you or nor anyone can let her down. You broke me into pieces but you were also a lesson that had to be taught in order for her to restore herself again.

I would say family over everything but that would be untrue. Fights breaking out all the time, Mom threatening to leave everyday, Dad keeping secrets and lies beyond his grasp and a brother who I thought I’d have a good relationship with but, unfortunately never did for the last 12 years. No contact, no support from him in the same house no asking, ”hi sis how you doing?”
Being without love or support from my parents was hard for me. Growing up in a Muslim household in a Muslim community where I had to live up through the expectations of my parents was difficult and because I’m a girl, it was that much harder. For my brother, however, it was the complete opposite. He is expected to be the heir of the household someday after my father, but after years passed, my brother drifted away from my parents little by little. I remember major fights would happen between my father and brother things breaking, physical altercations, my mom holding my brother and my dad back from each other, and I was always in the middle crying.
Their constant fighting stressed me out to the point where I had to worry about panic attacks and seizures. My mom saw my mental state and quickly started to calm me down doing my usual breathing techniques. It worked surprisingly. My brother and dad saw what had happened to me and stopped fighting. Then after sometime, my brother left and decided to stay over his friends place for a while and dad just stood quiet most days (except when arguments were going on of course).
With my mother, that took a different turn and since my brother wasn’t here I had to take on the responsibility for the household. I had to be the son and daughter all in one. I had to be the crazy glue to put everything in place again after another fight broke out with my parents, it was exhausting at times but you get used to the numb feeling of sadness and depression. I always hid behind a wall: the wall of depression. I never expressed it or came face to face with it. I always hid behind it for the last twenty two years of my life. But after a causal conversation with a coworker of mine, he asked me, “I always see you around never smiling, you always have a depressed look are you ok?” I answered, “oh no I’m not depressed I’m just tired because I have to take care of my family all the time.”
After that little encounter, I was on my way home and sitting there thinking about what my coworker said. I started tearing up and after that, I realized maybe my coworker was right. I am depressed and I’ve been depressed for last twenty two years. I needed help. After getting home, my parents had another fight over the same topics: property, money, or even siblings who they never speak to anymore. It was ridiculous, but I knew the more I got in the middle, the more I started to resent them, and live in my own world at home.
I started smoking to ease my anxiety, but that wasn’t much help either, after months and months of fighting my brother who had left told my parents he had gotten an apartment and is leaving permanently I was distraught because I knew if my brother left, I would be the one dealing with everything here by myself more on my plate, after my brother leaving, things had gotten worse than before. My parents and brother would argue non stop, my brother would do selfish things to hurt my parents, but since he’s far away my parents would say the same excuse, “he’s not with us anymore, he’s our son we still love him regardless of what he does.”
That took a turn in my head because if I were to do something small that never pleased my parents, I’d be the bad daughter, the daughter who would apparently bring dishonor to the family even though when my mom would cry herself to sleep because of my brother, I’d wipe her tears and say “everything will be okay, youre a warrior,” but I guess that wasn’t enough, because my parents would always put my brother on pedestal on everything did or said.
After many encounters, I decided that to better myself and my mental health, I have to remove myself from the life my parents expected me to live, and live my own life. I’ve lived up to the expectations of a Muslim girl for so long. The girl who couldn’t even wear clothes that showed the littlest bit of skin…who couldn’t drink or get tattoos or can’t stay past 8:00 p.m. with friends. I had to get straight A’s in school or I’d be a failure in life, I would have to become a doctor, lawyer, or engineer because being a writer wouldn’t get me anywhere they would say, but my brother, being a boy and having “the right genitals in between his legs” could do whatever he wanted when he wanted with whomever he wanted.
I lived up my parents side of their dream for so long I couldn’t get the chance to experience my own desires and dreams until now. The reputation, double standards, the repressed sexuality that runs through the Islam community has many people, especially kids, put down in shame because they want to be on their own person and not the person their parents want them to be. After so many times of trying to be the daughter my parents wanted, I gave up and started to live for myself and not for anybody else. There is a saying I always tell myself when I’m in the predicament of being let down: that is, “I pay my own bills, I make myself look, feel, do better, I wipe my own tears and make myself laugh and at the end I’ll do whatever right for me”, that’s the quote I started to live by after many times, trying to fix my broken home , but that’s impossible with my family. Though, I’m alright with that, because as long as I have myself at the end of the day, and I realize the importance of prioritizing my own journey in life, all the rainy days I had to deal with with eventually lead to the sunlight I’ve always knew I deserved.

I was eighteen in my public speaking class, introducing myself as a lioness with a shake in my throat.
She reminded me of my own strength when I needed her most:
When I was dissociating away from my high school relationship,
And dissociating into the arms of an abusive one.
When with ferocious presence I left, and I rebuilt.

When Roe v. Wade overturned and I’m on the phone with a man
He rants about how many women must be so angry,
But doesn’t hear how it made me feel.
When he tells me I’m just like my mother like that’s a bad thing,
With the lioness by my side, I left, and I rebuilt.

With the flesh of my former self between my teeth,
I destroyed and built again.
With the pain of my foremothers suffocated under my paws,
I destroyed and built again.
With screams and aches and roars I didn’t know I had buried,
I destroyed and built again and destroyed and built again.

The blood of self-love drips from my jaw.
The lioness and I are side by side and we are one.
We have found safety at last.

The best day is a slow day at work. The best day is the day that the sun is shining, but it’s not too hot outside. The best day is the first day the temperature drops in September. The best day is the day I can give my baby a kiss. The best day is the day I belly laugh with my best friends until my cheeks hurt. The best day is the day I give my mom a hug. The best day is the day I am loving and kind on purpose. The best day is the day without anxiety; the day I can breathe through it. The best day is the day I start a new book. The best day is the day I finish my new favorite book. The best day is the day I start knitting, and every day I get to since. The best day is the day I get to go on adventures with the people I love. The best day is going to the Atlanta Zoo with my oldest sister and our partners. The best day is that same day, at the zoo, when a lion made eye contact with me (I swear it’s true!). The best day is in Boston, watching the second oldest sister graduate from Harvard. The best day is reconnecting with extended family for the first time in a decade in Boston. The best day is the day I went to the Hozier concert, and I was physically connected to the music and the message more than ever before and everyone in the audience was crying and it was beautiful. The best day is the day I realized my chronic illness is teaching me how to stop and rest. The best day is the day my cat decides he wants to snuggle in my lap before bed. The best day is therapy day! The best day is the day I realized I am healing; my hard work is paying off. The best day is the day I let myself cry in front of someone else. The best day is the day I realize I’m as smart as I think I am and, yes, I can prove it to you. The best day is the day I decide to be brave. The best day is the day I do the brave thing.

I’m grateful for blue skies, warm sunshine, and a breeze that kisses the nose.
I’m grateful for green grasses and rushing creeks and bare feet.
I’m grateful for friends and lovers that grab you by the hand and dance with you.
I’m grateful for their consistent reminders, “You’re safe here. I love you.”
I’m grateful for the forehead kisses my love gives me,
And that he bends down to let me kiss his forehead right back.
I’m grateful for the safety of my home, and I’m grateful for a newcomer’s compliments,
“It looks like a gallery in here!” Thank you, the art is my favorite, too.
I’m grateful, especially, for the rabbit posed in play, a floppy handstand,
That’s been in our home longer than my memories. It’s one of my first ones.
I’m grateful for the way the sun shines into my mother’s bedroom just before sunset in spring.
It bathes the house in gold and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
I’m grateful for the drums that echo in my chest at the concert in Alpharetta,
And the music that reverberates in my bones. I’m grateful to have a body that feels the music.
It’s exhilarating and soothing, an ecstasy I don’t need to swallow.
I’m grateful for cats with soft fur and who love love love ear scratches.
I’m grateful to my body and my brain for giving me the gift of sensation.
Even when it’s too much, or not enough, I’m grateful to be present to feel.

Dear reader,
I still struggle with body dysmorphia.
But in 2021, I started wearing tiny clothes. For the first time ever.
I’ve been many different sizes since my teens, but I’ve always been shaped the same. I was a chunky kid, or a curvy girl. Even in the height of my eating disorder, my bone structure never changed. The shape of my scapulae, the curve of my rib cage, or how close its end is to my pelvic bone’s beginning; these parts of me don’t move, so size didn’t always “fix” things. My fat distribution never changed much, either (hormone problems also contribute to that). I was always a “thick thighs save lives” girl with a big butt, even if there were less adipose cells than before.
I felt deformed. Being raised in the early 2000s, this meant my whole life was a story of “Clothes Never Fit Right”. A story of my mom buying me women’s clothes at age 14 because the clothes my peers wore were too small. A story of being laughed at when I wore low-rise skinny jeans that gave me a “plumber butt”. A story of being called Britney Spears by a classmate because a button-up shirt I wore that day was a bit more form-fitting. (Which is a ridiculous insult, by the way. Britney is a queen.) It was also a story of seeing women being vilified for having a body that looked like a body. Every woman had to be paper thin.
When I was 11, the 2007 VMAs splattered the news with Britney Spears’s performance. My dad nonchalantly said that Britney was “maybe skinny for a mom but still fat for a woman”. He said that to his 11-year-old daughter.
I was insecure for so, so long.
Then comes 2021. After a pandemic shutdown that kept most of us at home for months, I’m an adult. I’m well past the eating disorder. I’ve graduated college. I make my own money. Screw it, I’m now just going to wear what I want. I’m officially not dependent on anybody else.
I wore Aerie leggings with a crop top. This was a new combination for me, and one that was trendy at the time. I was self-conscious at first; and worried about what my mom would think. She never would’ve let me leave the house wearing something like that growing up. I had been wearing the oversized T-shirt and Nike shorts combination for years.
I definitely spent way longer than I want to admit still sucking in my tummy. I spent way longer than I want to admit worrying about the shape of my butt, or my thighs rubbing together.
But it was so comfortable.
So over time, I adjusted.
My belly was out, every curve and line where everyone could see. My butt looked phenomenal. My thighs were being gently hugged by each other and the leggings with every step. Even my back rolls played peek-a-boo if I needed to reach something from a high shelf.
You could see pretty much every part that I’d been forced to hide before. I was the most visible I had ever been.
After a decade of either squishing everything in with Spanx, or completely hiding under a babydoll dress: leggings and a crop top freed me. I finally saw my body in real time. Every soft bit, I knew exactly what it looked like. I knew exactly what I looked like.
It took a while to make peace with certain parts of myself. But I could finally look at every part of me and look at every part put together to form the whole of me and be okay with it. I could finally see me and my body without shame and contortion.
My body dysmorphia is not gone. That part of me may not ever fully heal. But I made progress I’d never made before, because of this. Because of Aerie leggings and crop tops.
This particular method may not be for everyone.
This was the first of many times I’d leave my comfort zone. It definitely felt funny to start. Growth never comes without discomfort.
Looking back now, though, it healed me more than I thought it did.