I’ve been praying in Arabic for thirty years. Five times a day. The same words. The same verses. I know them by heart. I can recite them perfectly. But I don’t know what most of them mean. My Arabic is functional. I can read the Quran. My pronunciation is decent. But understanding? That’s different. I’m
Professor Rahman sat three tables away at the café. I saw him immediately. Macro economics, ten years ago. Brilliant. Intimidating. I had questions about something I’d read online—digital currency, blockchain, terms I didn’t understand. I asked the waiter instead. Kamal was maybe twenty-five. He brought my tea and I asked him. Do you know anything
Happy’s been waiting fifteen years. Not with ultimatums. She just waits. While I figure out that nodding at your phone isn’t the same as listening. I don’t think that’s what she meant to do. Arash is eleven. Nine of those years he’s been saying “Baba, look at this.” Last month I looked. A beetle.
Thousands of hours of classroom instruction. Reduced to educational amnesia. As if those years never happened. As if I never studied. Never learned. Never passed those exams.
I never thanked my legs for carrying me until they couldn’t. Never thanked my lungs for breathing until it became hard. Never thanked my body for health until sickness taught me what I’d lost.
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At 2 AM, a headache becomes catastrophe. One search turns into fifty, each answer spawning new fears. Information intended to empower overwhelms, making every sensation suspicious. Possible eclipses probable; peace loses to panic. Tonight I practice information fasting—trusting body and doctor over algorithms—choosing sleep, breath, and measured wisdom, and quiet.
The anti-aging industry sells war against time. What if anti-aging is the wrong goal? Choose pro-living over anti-aging culture.
To the universal human experience of body dissatisfaction. Maybe satisfaction isn’t the goal. Acceptance is.
I miss running without thinking about running. The magic has become machinery. But the machinery still works.
We are simultaneously made of glass and steel. My collarbone is healed now. Stronger at the break point, just as the surgeon promised. This is human fragility resilience.
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