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Waiting, in front of the elevator's doors, my call flashes.

I know all I know, it's coming for me, to take me to destination, self-realisation.

Impatient I pray, blue to reach red,

the moment waits,

stretches my passionate impatience,

impatient passion.

Still hoping for it to come, I dance.


Hazard, mektoub, chance, I spent last year drawing lots, daily decisions I was supposed to make but didn't want to, my mind was too blurry at the time to realise it wasn't sticking up to its bravery standard.

I felt that by presenting a broad range of answers I was letting it a chance to tell it truthfully. So as my life was a mess of indecisiveness, in just one lot, different answers to non-existing questions were to be found.

Too scared of the harsh decisiveness of hazard,

in each draw, there was always one piece of paper mentioning "DRAW LOTS AGAIN",

just in case hazard needed an other chance.


As an exercise to gain back joy and intentionally decide to uninvite looseness, this summer I started to regularly write down again things I was thankful for. I chose a purple notebook, offered by one of my students a few months before, quoting on its cover Apollinaire in golden letters "The time has come to light the stars again".

So as the days and weeks were going by and I was grateful for even a greater lists of people and a greater lists of pleasurable moments, my perception and reality had shifted. The whisper of synchronicity had already operated.

My mektoub (literally translating to "it is written" in Arabic),

my fate and destiny I got written down,

cause I needed to make sure it was properly done since no one allowed me to proofread it.


I need to cut my fingernails, I can see their dirt under building up as a black undefined line. There are details like this that are just stopping myself from moving forward in my day.

Procrastinating, I can only allow masturbation (over clothes only cause of the dirt) and sleep, a self-indulging session to avoid the reality of this task that needs to be done to feel like a functioning self again.

A breach, the moment I can finally decide that this insignificant task for some, brutally mind-bullying for myself, will open the path to my writing day. I now realise I certainly wasn't avoiding the task of cutting my nails by overindulging myself just a few minutes ago, it was my writing work I was trying to delay or was I just waiting for the impatience to build up till it bursts?

I shall then let my under fingernails' dirt be, as thick as the writing needs to flow.

And when its moment of falling death, abandoned to the sink will have arrived,

it shall feel like a reward for my accomplished work.


Impatient longing for meaning, longing behaviour for the impatient mind, till it bursts.

YAANI is certainly the most used word in Egyptian conversation. It means "it means".

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