RAMBLINGS

Fall 2016
the infinite ramblings of my mind perplex even myself, so it isn’t a surprise that they would be
incomprehensible to you. please pardon the dust.
grief is lonely
like the broken obelisk
that stands in the sea
of smooth red bricks
like a pillar of isolation
guarded by gray walls
like the burden of carrying
the world on a point.

grief is lonely
like the woman
who sits alone
on the red ledge
like a blue heart
enclosed by white ribs
like a silver ring
shivering on a finger.

grief is lonely
like the library
that looms over the maze
of smooth red brick
like the pearlescent moon
above the square
like the midnight silence
descending upon the city.
Maybe we should spend less time thinking about what we want to be
and more time thinking about who we want to be

I want to be someone who is

brave
kind
perceptive
strong
independent
generous
patient
selfless
non-judgmental
confident
mysterious
expressive
creative
focused
outgoing
thoughtful
smart
outspoken
energetic
successful
HOW TO GREIVE
1. Accept the crushing numbness that will smother your soul for at least two weeks. In this
time, you will live in a state of denial with respect to the deceased. “No, no,” you’ll tell
yourself. “There’s no way there’s really gone. It must be a nightmare.” That’s how you will
rationalize it.
2. Become overly bitter at other people’s lack of worry, overwhelming responsibility, and
sadness. In disbelief, observe your peers fret about things that now seem idiotically trivial in
nature compared to what you’ve just gone through.
3. Ignore all your text messages, emails, Facebook messages, voicemail. Take three times as
long to complete any task. Look for your motivation in the last place you remember seeing it.
4. Ignore your friends, concerned neighbors, then feel guilty for doing so. But don’t feel guilty
for too long, because they don’t know what you’re going through. Nobody could possibly
know what you are going through. You don’t even know what you’re going through.
5. Adopt an extra-snarky, extra-sassy, extra-sarcastic attitude as a defense mechanism. Be
blunt—say “died” instead of “passed away.” Shrug nonchalantly when people offer their
condolences.
6. Get creative with your excuses for why you are randomly tearing up. “It’s my allergies,” or “I
accidentally poked myself in both eyes!” Get used to your tire, pale, dry, acne-ridden,
stressed-out face. It’ll look like that for a while.
7. Try not to roll your eyes in annoyance or frustration when a friend asks you how you are
doing, you reply with “not good,” and they rapidly shift the conversation to something like
what color they’d like to paint their walls. They just don’t know what to say or how to handle
the complexity of your emotions. Or maybe they’re so terrified to be in your place, they’d
rather not linger on the details.
8. Get overwhelmed by tiny tasks like refilling prescriptions or buying cereal. Remember,
everything does have to be harder than it really is. What’s life without a lot of complication?
9. Stare blankly at things—walls, table tops, trees—in order to master the art of looking lost in
thought. People will inevitably wonder why your eyes are more glazed-over than a maple
bar—ignore them, they can’t possibly understand what you are going through. Pro tip: try
not to stare blankly at actual people though; they might start to feel extremely
uncomfortable.
10. Embrace the perpetual internal struggle that will wage endlessly in your mind—the struggle
between being a good, productive member of society and hiding under the covers all day
long.
I often just sit. And stare. And I can’t tell if this is a giant waste of time or will somehow enhance
my life someday down the road. You know, when they interview authors and ask them how they
came up with such vivid characters, and the authors’ reply is “I used to people watch all the
time.” That’s what I’m hoping will happen to me.
I miss you so much. The very idea of you brings up a wave of nostalgia, of overly romanticized
memories. I miss the quiet train ride to Brockenhurst, the spread out green of the English
countryside. I miss the gothic towers jutting out into the sky in Oxford. I miss Wesley and Molly
the Westies. The Thames Rivers curling around London. The whisper of the underground
whizzing past. Pret-a-Manger.

I miss that feeling of invincibility that you gave me, that sense of timelessness. The way every
place I went felt like I was interacting with the histories of a thousand people. That feeling that
everything was going to be ok, that sense of hope you inspired.

I miss you so much England.

Men, I want you to know that women deserve respect and equal rights because we are people
too. We deserve the right to determine what to do with our bodies. We deserve to live in a
harassment and assault-free world.

Men, I want you to know that I deserve all of these things not because I am someone’s daughter,
niece, sister, but because I am human, with the same exact number of chromosomes as you.

Men, I want you to understand that women deal with sexism in ways you couldn’t possibly
imagine. That we have come up with ways to cope that are so subtle, they would need to be
explained to you step-by-step.

Men, I want you to know that we are strong and resilient and refuse to take no as an answer.
And that no matter how many times you try to drag us down, we will always get up, brush off the
dust and continue to plow on until the work is done.
I know it sounds so cliché, but I’ve always wanted to sit at an art museum and write. Ideally, I’d
be able to sit for hours in front of my favorite piece, something that really speaks to me, but its
exactly twenty-five minutes before closing time and I’ve only been to the SAM once before.

I kind of feel stupid. For one, I didn’t think about checking for closing time. I also could have just
stayed around the UW area instead of taking the light rail here for the purpose of spending
fifteen minutes in a semi-lit room. Good job thinking this one through, Reem.

At least I can check this off my “things to do if you’re feeling angsty” list.
I’m definitely going through a quarter-life crisis, there’s no doubt about that. I’ve never really
heard of anyone going through that, but I think it should definitely be a thing.
 I am sitting on my yellow flannel shift, legs twisted “criss-cross apple sauce.” The Quad flows
with an ebb and tide of people meandering in and out. There is a couple in front of me—maybe
they’re not together—contorting their bodies in advanced yoga positions. Behind me, a girl I
know is giving a campus tour—I recognize her from her fiery red hair. Should I go up to her and
say hi? Pretend that everything is fine? No, I think I’ll stay put here. She’s talking so quickly, so
crisply…I haven’t said a word at all.

I wish somebody was with me. Somebody I could claim as my own. It seems like everybody
belongs to somebody else. I am a party of one. A lonely party. I wish I had energy, drive, to get
up and do something. My eyelids drift together. Wow. I really liked that sentence. I’m going to
London in two weeks, but I don’t feel excited. I just feel numb.

Holy crap—I looked up and yoga girl was upside down, supported by the brawny, tattooed
shoulder of her laughing counterpart. I want to laugh at something. Like I laughed yesterday
when Nadia and I sat on the couch and acted silly. My foot has gone numb. Time to change
position. I want to feel something other than numbness.

A fly flew on this page and I immediately shook it off, then felt bad because I did that. It’s like
how we always say we’re not biased but then turn away when we see ugly things—poverty,
illness, death.

There are goosebumps all over my arms and legs. A wave of sadness just hit me. What do I want
to do with my life? I don’t know. I don’t know. Is it ok to not be ok? They say it is. I don’t know
anymore. Who am I and what do I want from life? How can I move forward when I’m still
grappling with the past?

Dear friends I am going on a twelve day trip to London and Paris alone because my dad died two
weeks ago and I’m feeling lost and need to find myself before my body gets lost in a sea of sand
and you said you’d be there for me but you rarely ask about me so I’m going to dig myself out of
this ditch I’ve been sinking under and fuck you if you judge me at all for this love reem.

Dad are you here? Is the wind your soul passing through the earth, around and around and
around? Are you trying to tell me something? What are you saying? Where are you? And now
you’ve left.

Where do people go when they die? Are their souls still around, mingling amongst the living? Or
does God collective them in little mason jars, lining them up on a shelf like they’re pulsating blue
lights?

Why is my mind like this? Why do I have to think about all the things I think about? Why do I
have to go so deep—I would be so much more comfortable if I just learned to embrace the
shallow. Stop. Stop. Stop, stop, stop.
 I think I’m obsessed with figuring out my future because the thought of leaving it to be filled
organically feels like defeat, like handing over my fate to an omnipresent yet unknowable higher
power. And that scares me.
call me old school,
like brown paper
bag old school because
i want a typewriter,
a faded black typewriter,
with silver trim that
no longer shines.
call me old school,
like cadillac old school because
i want a cadillac,
a shiny black cadillac,
with a dent in the rear
from a 1950s wreck.
call me old school,
like polaroid old school because
i want a polaroid,
a polished black polaroid
with a lens made grim
by the wars of the past.
and when i become old school,
like dead corpse old school,
i want a casket,
a soft black casket
with grey satin lining
to bury me and my bleakness.
2016: A Playlist
January Hymn, The Decemberists
The Fold, Ivan & Alyosha
Ten Thousand, Emilie & Ogden
Meet Me in the Woods, Lord Huron
Avalanche, Walk the Moon
Emmylou, First Aid Kit
Pretty Girl from Michigan, The Avett Brothers
New Romantics, Taylor Swift
Alors on danse, Stromae
Flightless Bird, American Mouth, Iron and Wine
Youth, Troye Sivan
Good Grief, Bastille
Can’t Stop the Feeling, Justin Timberlake
Ophelia, The Lumineers
Trouble, Cage the Elephant
Le Beirut, Fairouz
All We Ever Knew, The Head and the Heart
Gone, JR JR
Waiting for Love, Avicii
Can’t Pretend, Tom Odell
Mr. Brighside, The Killers
Blitzkrieg Bop, Ramones
Come Fly with Me, Frank Sinatra
Short Skirt Long Jacket, Cake
River Wider, Tall Heights
Vienna, Billy Joel
Cherry Wine, Hozier
Hymn for the Weekend, Coldplay
Hero, Family of the Year
Vor í Vaglaskógi, Kaleo
Anywhere, Passenger
There is a Light That Never Goes Out, The Smiths
England, The National
West Coast, Hey Marseilles
Such Great Heights, The Postal Service
Trouble, Ray LaMontague
Sunshine of Your Love, Cream
Lush Life, Zara Larsson
Simple Song, The Shins
Forces of Attraction, Jóhann Jóhannsson
Valerie, Mark Ronson ft. Amy Winehouse
Wish I Knew You, The Revivalists
2016: A (Year in) Review

2016 was shit.

But there were also some good times:

-When Varisha, Sammy and I thought we were going to die from Yoseph’s mad driving skills
-Nightly Updates with Petra and Mikayla
-When Lauren and I got our ice cream paid for because the lady in front of us thought we were
hilarious
-Every time I see Erin N.
-Braden making me snort a noodle up my nose when we got pho for the first (and last) time
-Sitting in the very last row of GUG 220 with Moh and Kyle and teaching Kyle how to swear in
Arabic during Islamic Civ. Lecture
-The first time I had a nico at Espresso Vivace (thanks Emily)
-When Caleb and I went canoeing and ended up having a deeply philosophical conversation out
on the middle of Lake Washington
-Getting to sit in the cockpit of an original B-25 at Boeing’s centennial
-Andi and I’s weekly meltdowns in the Honors suite
-The Summer of Bae (aka Nadia)
-When Caitlin picked me up in her vintage firetruck red convertible and took me to brunch like
we were in a T-Swift music video
-Overcoming my fear of heights on the London Eye with Lillie
-Going to the Seattle Corgi Meet-Up with Nour
-When I went to my first Sounders match with Ryan and I got caught up in the game
-That time Allison, Danica and I got Salt & Straw at the end of Spring Quarter and it felt so, so
good
-When I pulled the ultimate prank on Navid at the Starbucks on 45th
-Lucas and I’s epic quest to get to Portland for Thanksgiving
-Prof. Dana’s epic motivational pep talks in Café Solstice
 This page purposefully left blank.

LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL ITS NOT BLANK ANYMORE.

Am I the only one driven mad by this?
Sometimes surviving is the greatest achievement of all.
We sat at the wooden table in the center of the café, the sky outside a steely grey .My mother
gazed out the window and sighed.

“If we all die, every single one of us, then why do we get so sad when someone passes?”

I don’t know. I don’t know.

Things that people have said that don’t help:

-“He’s in a better place.” Which place? Where? Have you been there? Yeah, that’s what I
thought. Thanks, but no thanks

-“You have to be strong.” Define strength, please. Am I not allowed to display emotion? Must I
remain stoic at all times, even in the comfortable privacy of my shower? WHAT IS THE MEANING
OF THIS?!

-“Your father would want you to be happy.” Yes. But the fact that he is dead is making me very
un-happy right now. How is this difficult to understand?

-“You need to move forward.” Ok, cool, I’m just gonna forget that I had a dad and everything will
be ok. Thanks.
 When I close my eyes,
the deep blue sky
rushes in around
the dimly lit scene,
so perfectly stationary
except for the creak
of the swing rushing back
and forth and back again.

The lamppost pools light

at the tips of the evergreen
trees and glimmers off
the rim of his glasses.
And I am cold—I can see my breath,
but I want this moment to stay
like this, if only for a while,
away from the glare of
watchful, scrutinizng eyes.

Kicking the damp grass

and staring straight ahead—
how we approached the uncertainty
of our emtions, the unertainty
of the deep, dark night.
 CITIES
 Reykjavik, Iceland
 Dublin, Ireland
 Copenhagen, Denmark
 Madrid, Spain
 Cambridge, England
 Barcelona, Spain
 Fez, Morocco
 Cairo, Egypt
 Oxford, England
 Beirut, Lebanon
 Edinburgh, Scotland
 Berlin, Germany
 Prague, Czech Republic
 Vienna, Austria
 London, England
 Washington, D.C., USA
 Boston, MA, USA
 New York, NY, USA
 Auckland, New Zealand
 Munich, Germany
 Stockholm, Sweden
 Tokyo, Japan
 Tehran, Iran
 Vancouver, B.C., Canada
 Amsterdam, Netherlands
 Am I the only one with two versions of myself?
There’s the version that you see—whatever that is,
and then there’s the version I feel—that chaotic,
messy, complicated tangle of unfulfilled ideas
and undecipherable emotions.

And the Academy Award for Best Bullshit goes to…..

 It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single lady
in possession of no fortune must be in want of adventure.

Kensington PalaceRoyal Albert HallVictoria &Albert MuseumBaker StreetLondon

EyeWaterloo StationBrockenhurstLyndhurstSalisbury
CathedralStonehengeOxfordWestminster AbbeyBig BenBuckingham PalaceTrafalgar
SquareKings CrossThe British MuseumLeicester SquareLeavesden StudiosTower of
LondonLondon BridgeTower BridgeShoreditchSt. Paul’s CathedralTate ModernNational
Portrait GalleryThe Royal Courts of JusticeLondon School of EconomicsPiccadilly
CircusCovent GardenHyde ParkNatural History MuseumNotting HillThe ShardChurchill
War RoomsHarrod’sEiffel TowerLouvreArc du TriompheNotre Dame de ParisPont des
ArtsJardin Des TuileriesPlace VendomeLes Grands BoulevardsPalais du Trocaéro
I need to stop thinking about what I never thought I would become
and start seeing what I have become.
It seems like the whole world’s gone mad.
 ‘
There’s a song that reminds me of you, of the sun-drenched July before I tall went to shit, before
the right turn on 164th and the left turn to the apartment. It’s the song sun as the car rumbles up
the last few feet of paved hill and waits for the signal to proceed; that song of being free and in
control of destiny, of the hopeful expectancy that things could be different, even when they
never are—that song.