I am not a writer,I just write.

Random arabic and English thoughts.

[thejournalofveronica]

لا احصل على ما اريد.

لا اتهم الحظ السيء

ولا اتهم القدر

لا اتهم الآلهة

ولا اتهم غبائي،

بل في الحقيقة،

له كل الحق إن اراد واتهمني.

اعلم بالظبط كيف احصل على ما اريد

وُهبت موهبة التلاعب

أو ربما اكتسبتها

أو تعلمتها.. لا يهم

استطيع التحايل على الظروف

ابرع في الكذب والمراوغة

ولكن لسبب ما،

لا أفعل.

لا أريد ان اكسب بأي ثمن

أفضل ان ارى لمعة الانتصار

بأعين أخرى أحياناً

أو ان أشعر بسعادة اطراف اكثر

على ان اكسب أحياناً.

أفضل أن احتفظ باحترامي لشخص

على أن اسلبه اياه

بجملة ساحصل بها على ما اريد.

افضل الخضوع لقواعد

يمكنني بسهولة الالتفاف حولها

فقط لئلا يشعر واضعها بالاحباط.

افضل معظم الاشياء

على الشعور بالذنب

على استغلال موهبة

قد اعطيت لي دون سؤالها.

في معظم الوقت،

لا احصل على ما اريد

ولكنني احسب هذا

ثمنا بخيس.

.

[thejournalofveronica]

Songs and memories.

I wanted to write a piece, to play my thoughts with chords, but decided against it in fear of procrastination.

I know we all experience this,

a flood of memories

when hearing certain songs,

Or music.

The first song,

A song that used

To bring me to tears,

A song I played in the kitchen

When there was no hope

Of ever talking to him

And cried

Than danced

Just to prove

That moving on was possible

But 6 months later,

I still hadn't moved on,

But the song then became

A source of inspiration to me

It brought me memories

Of melancholy

But also

Gratefulness

That I no longer lived

In melancholy.

I now listen to this song

And remember him

But feel nothing.

Another song,

He asked me to sing

And I was too shy to admit

That I don't know it

So I listened to it

On repeat

Till I memorized it

Just so I can sing to him.

I never had an urge

To sing to anyone;

I am always shy,

Insecure of my hoarse voice

But just this once,

I wanted to do something

I might be good at.

I love this one.

I truly love this song

And it kept chasing me,

I heard it at public transportation,

At local, small, unknown shops,

At Instagram reels,

And this is why I remembered,

There's still some feelings

Associated with this song,

And I cherish myself so much,

I don't want to lose feelings

And lose memories

And lose associations

I can't not think of them

As parts of myself.

This particular song,

Means so much to me,

And I'm afraid of losing

The parts of me I let him hold.

That's the worst thing about breakups:

You lose yourself in attempt to lose

Someone you used to love.

Everything you let him hold

Now smells of him

And you desperately want to

Forget his smell,

Every word you said to him

Is now associated with a facial expression

And you have to forget your own words

In attempt to forget his face

Every place you went to

And held hands in

Is now contaminated

By the loved fingers

And you have to

Forego your favourite places

In attempt to forget how his hands felt.

It may sound selfish

That the worst thing about breakups

Is just losing parts of yourself,

But if you've already lost the person

What good is it

To lose yourself too?

I think I'll rewrite this with a rhyme and rethink writing it as a song one day.

But I really miss writing just for the sake of letting things out.

[thejournalofveronica]

I have been constantly fighting

Refusing who I am

Like a rope pulled from both sides:

Who I am

And who I want to be perceived as.

I have been pushing myself

Squeezing my whole into a tiny cup,

Belittling what I'm good at

Just to be more liked,

Just to be less intimidating to some.

I have been denying my intelligence

So i might be perceived kinder

I have been trying to stay low

And constantly fail -might I add-

Just so i might receive some more

Empathy

Some more

Love

I have not been acting out

I dare not.

I just acted on my values

Rather than acting with my abilities.

I am not simple.

I am done trying to be that.

I am complex.

And it enables me to understand everything

On a much deeper level,

It makes me feel so many feelings at once

It's why there are so many thoughts

circling in my brain

It's why I listen and empathize

It makes me the creative artist that I am

And the brilliant brainstormer

They think me to be.

I am not simple.

But I am vibrant

I am excited and exciting,

I am expresssive by nature.

I am not delicate

Oh but I am tender!

I am resilient too,

I do not allow myself devastation

Even if it gets me less empathy,

Even if it gets misunderstood for

Coldness..

I am not responsible for others'

Ignorance

In perceiving

My complex personality..

[thejournalofveronica]

My study of economics taught me to see,

That truth often lies in ambiguity.

To question fast answers, to hold back my claim,

To pause before judging and casting out blame.

To doubt clear cause in a world so wide—

Now more than ever, I stand mystified.

But that’s no reason to shun what's due,

To shrink from the credit, as if it’s untrue.

To bury the pride I’ve rightfully earned,

Or dismiss the hard lessons and paths I’ve learned.

Not to deny what I’ve worked to attain—

It’s not false modesty that I entertain.

It’s just that chance plays a powerful role,

And fate doesn't follow a script we control.

Yes, it could have gone a different way,

Another might’ve shined brighter that day.

Or done it cleaner, sharper, or better—

That thought lingers on, like a haunting letter.

[thejournalofveronica]

I am getting too sensitive

Too fragile

Too soft

For this world.

I do not feel loved.

I do not feel lovable.

But the second is not a feeling

It's a belief.

And it's a belief based on excuses.

When you do not feel loved

You have 3 options:

1-You can deny the feeling:

Tell yourself it's bullshit,

People love you and it shows;

I usually do that

But I couldn't now.

2- You can believe the feeling

And blame others for it,

You can reproach your close ones

For not showing it enough

For not exerting effort,

For creating a distance

That wasn't there.

3- You can believe the feeling

But excuse others for it,

They're busy,

They're distracted,

They've made efforts

That you hadn't acknowledged,

Or they hadn't

Simply because they didn't want to,

And you can't force someone

To want something,

And maybe they don't want to

For a reason:

You're not lovable.

Maybe what they say

Or what they think

About you

Is true.

Who's the judge here?

Who's to say:

Your personality is fine,

Your sense of humor is fine,

You're kind.

You're understanding.

Science

Has its standards

You can easily distinguish

Scken from pseudoscience

But how can you distinguish

Friendship

From pseudofriendship.

.

[thejournalofveronica]

I am getting too sensitive

Too fragile

Too soft

For this world.

I do not feel loved.

I do not feel lovable.

But the second is not a feeling

It's a belief.

And it's a belief based on excuses.

When you do not feel loved

You have 3 options:

1-You can deny the feeling:

Tell yourself it's bullshit,

People love you and it shows;

I usually do that

But I couldn't now.

2- You can believe the feeling

And blame others for it,

You can reproach your close ones

For not showing it enough

For not exerting effort,

For creating a distance

That wasn't there.

3- You can believe the feeling

But excuse others for it,

They're busy,

They're distracted,

They've made efforts

That you hadn't acknowledged,

Or they hadn't

Simply because they didn't want to,

And you can't force someone

To want something,

And maybe they don't want to

For a reason:

You're not lovable.

Maybe what they say

Or what they think

About you

Is true.

Who's the judge here?

Who's to say:

Your personality is fine,

Your sense of humor is fine,

You're kind.

You're understanding.

Science

Has its standards

You can easily distinguish

Scken from pseudoscience

But how can you distinguish

Friendship

From pseudofriendship.

.

[thejournalofveronica]

What does it mean

To not love yourself enough?

It’s not heroic, it’s not grand,

It’s not a trait to understand.

It isn’t noble, it isn’t fair—

So don’t excuse what isn’t there.

No need for reasons to be unkind,

Even when it’s just your mind.

You’re still someone—don’t forget,

Your worth is real; it’s firmly set.

Not loving yourself will make you doubt,

Your heart’s intent—not what plays out.

It’s not just trust that slips away,

But love that fades, that will not stay.

And love, you see, will never shame,

It does not tarnish, does not blame.

Not loving yourself means you recall,

Your every fault—forgetting all

The good you’ve done, the light you bring,

You count mistakes but not your wings.

You listen close to words that sting,

To those who strip you, clip your spring.

As if their scorn is what you need,

A bitter truth, a poisoned seed.

You think you’re just, you think you’re wise,

Yet fail to see through clearer eyes.

You won’t stand up or take your side,

But fairness isn’t self-denied.

You fear you’re false, that you don’t belong,

But empathy was never wrong.

It’s not deserved, it’s freely spun,

A gift to give—to you, to one.

[thejournalofveronica]

Unsettled.

I think of a friend

Who sat behind me at highschool

Whose grandmother made

Amazing carrot cake

And tuna sandwiches.

I think of that and wonder

What has become of her?

I think of the boy who

Sat in front of me

And made a move on my friend

Who was too afraid to speak.

I think of that and wonder

How I thought that was all

There is to life?

How I thought

I could stay at that time

Forever?

I think a while back

To foil papers

And the way my friend

Used to shape it into a ball

After she'd finish her sandwich,

We'd then play foil soccer

During recess

In one of the underground corridors

My school used to have.

Do these corridors still exist,

I'm sure I'd cry if I ever

Walked through them.

I think a while back,

To a friend I had in 7th grade

Who used to date a guy

Before she found out

He was cheating on her

With a girl named sama

I distinctly remember

How strange that felt,

Entering the world where

Cheating existed,

When it wasn't a thing

You saw in movies.

I am writing so much

About highschool drama

But I can also remember

The time I waited

In front of my friend's class

Waiting for her teacher

To let them out.

And I remember

What I studied in college

I remember questions

I thought about

And math tricks I used,

I remember the way I sat for

My last university exam,

And what I wore,

I remember the taste

Of the cafeteria's mocha

And the salad my friend always got.

I remember each of our group's

Favourite breakfast

And the way they posed to a picture.

And I wonder

How was I to know

That I left a part of me

In each of those memories?

How was I to know

I lost a leg

To every period I've been through,

How was I to know

That I would even miss the pain,

The anxiety,

The anger,

How was I to know

I would be know so

Unsettled?

.

[thejournalofveronica]

Songs and memories.

I wanted to write a piece, to play my thoughts with chords, but decided against it in fear of procrastination.

I know we all experience this,

a flood of memories

when hearing certain songs,

Or music.

The first song,

A song that used

To bring me to tears,

A song I played in the kitchen

When there was no hope

Of ever talking to him

And cried

Than danced

Just to prove

That moving on was possible

But 6 months later,

I still hadn't moved on,

But the song then became

A source of inspiration to me

It brought me memories

Of melancholy

But also

Gratefulness

That I no longer lived

In melancholy.

I now listen to this song

And remember him

But feel nothing.

Another song,

He asked me to sing

And I was too shy to admit

That I don't know it

So I listened to it

On repeat

Till I memorized it

Just so I can sing to him.

I never had an urge

To sing to anyone;

I am always shy,

Insecure of my hoarse voice

But just this once,

I wanted to do something

I might be good at.

I love this one.

I truly love this song

And it kept chasing me,

I heard it at public transportation,

At local, small, unknown shops,

At Instagram reels,

And this is why I remembered,

There's still some feelings

Associated with this song,

And I cherish myself so much,

I don't want to lose feelings

And lose memories

And lose associations

I can't not think of them

As parts of myself.

This particular song,

Means so much to me,

And I'm afraid of losing

The parts of me I let him hold.

That's the worst thing about breakups:

You lose yourself in attempt to lose

Someone you used to love.

Everything you let him hold

Now smells of him

And you desperately want to

Forget his smell,

Every word you said to him

Is now associated with a facial expression

And you have to forget your own words

In attempt to forget his face

Every place you went to

And held hands in

Is now contaminated

By the loved fingers

And you have to

Forego your favourite places

In attempt to forget how his hands felt.

It may sound selfish

That the worst thing about breakups

Is just losing parts of yourself,

But if you've already lost the person

What good is it

To lose yourself too?

I think I'll rewrite this with a rhyme and rethink writing it as a song one day.

But I really miss writing just for the sake of letting things out.

[thejournalofveronica]

You need to remind yourself

That unlike what the world says:

You do not always lose by giving.

Your ego is not in pieces

And you are not losing it

To anyone or anything 

You are not losing it

By willingly putting it

On the table for others

By willingly serving others 

With it.

Capitalism will convince you

That your effort 

should be appreciated 

That you should not go

Unnoticed,

That you should gain

Through giving

And that you should earn

Before granting

But "should" is a meaningless word

You dictate

What to do

You dictate 

Who to appreciate

And for what

You are not less

When you give.

There is nothing wrong

With respecting someone

Who does not respect you

You willingly choose 

To give something so valuable

Knowing you will not get it back.

You choose not to be a reaction 

You choose to give 

And it does not take anything from you

It does not make you less.

You are not less

When you give joy, 

When you give thanks,

When you offer respect,

When you offer forgiveness

When you offer acceptance

And When you offer yourself,

You become more,

More Like Yourself.

[thejournalofveronica]

I've forgotten again the feeling of alienation

I've become a stranger once again to my own voice.

I've been accustomed to the stage once and now I'm realizing again what stage fear is and how strong it captivates me.

[thejournalofveronica]

Can you fix who you are?

How can you start again?

How can you remove

every memory,

Every experience

From your mind,

And from others'?

How can you lead a good life

When you don't deserve it?

How can you deserve it?

Why do you have to be

A perfectionist

Even when healing?

Even when trying so hard

To be someone else?

Why do you have to be you?

I can't tolerate seeing me

Thinking and being aware

Of what I'm thinking.

If God can change a person

Can he also make them forget?

About who they once were,

Who they are?

Can he do it quickly?

Before they can no longer

Forgive themselves.

I've known guilt

I've accepted its presence;

But this is shame,

It's not that I've done something wrong,

It's that I am wrong.

I think wrong

I talk wrong

I need to stop:

Stop being.

I've no problem with anyone else,

Only me.

.

[thejournalofveronica]

You're too disturbed;

Your stomach hurts

The doctor advises

Against stress,

Like it's so easy

To avoid everyday life.

The doctor advises

You do not expose yourself,

He advises

You don't carry

Too much emotional weight,

Tell me how

Can you avoid your family

Without upsetting them,

Tell me how

Can you avoid stressful conversations

Without seeming

Distancing and avoidant

Tell me how

To avoid the circumstances

That comes to your knowledge

The things

You cannot tell anyone about

The things

That can haunt you

Just for knowing about them.

Tell me how

To avoid the pressure

Put on you by people

Who simply love you.

Tell me how to outrun

This uncomfortable feeling

At the back of your head

That you're not even

Aware of.

Teach me how to breath

With all the things going on

Teach me how to

Unthink of things

That constantly remind you

Of their existence.

Teach me how to talk

Of the unspeakables:

The things no one talk about,

The taboos,

Teach me after that,

How to find relief

In people's condolences.

Or else,

Leave me be,

This severe Stomach pain,

Is really nothing by comparison.

.

[thejournalofveronica]

On loss.

Loss feels a lot

Like one sided love.

They taught us:

It's not love.

Loss feels like infatuation,

Add a bottle of sadness

mixed with a pinch or two

Of anger,

And alas,

You have brewed loss.

It is the feeling of

The lack of control,

It feel like something

Slipping out of your hand,

Like something falling behind you

It feels unfair,

It feel cruel

It feel wrong

Loss feels like

One-sided love.

Loss is also,

Full of the what-ifs.

It's full of questions

Trying to reown

The control

That purposefuly ran away

Or slyly

Jumped through the window.

Loss will convince you

That if you think about it enough,

It would have been avoided,

Which of course,

Makes no sense.

Loss is like

One-sided love,

If not dealt with,

It will also turn

To an obsession,

Why

Why

Why

Why

What if

What if

What if

What id

Maybe if

Maybe if

Maybe if

Maybe if

But there are no answers

Only more questions,

Loss is like

One-sided love:

You have to move on.

.

[thejournalofveronica]

How fragile are feelings?

The way a word can make your face

smile on a day

And then have no effect whatsoever

the next

On Saturday:

I feel joyous

I feel in love

I am excited

And anticipating

And willing and making.

I am in the mood for love

And love is in the mood for me.

On Sunday:

I am shocked

I am in disbelief

I cannot trust

My memory

In recalling

Or retaining.

On Monday:

I feel betrayed,

I feel hurt

Melancholy rests

On top of my heart

Like it has always belonged there

Like it does not know

The week starts on Saturday

Like it does not know

The ninth of july comes

Every year.

On Tuesday,

I feel better

Not happy

But better.

I sleep

And my eyes are closed.

On Tuesday,

I am forgetful,

"It does not do well

To dwell in the past

And forget to sleep"

The wise have always said.

On Wednesday,

I remember everything

I remember Saturday

And I remember Monday.

And I do not know

Which to feel,

Do we choose to feel

The most recent?

Or the most intense?

Can extreme love

Cover for the most recent stab?

Will enough joy

Run to wall up

Against a tsunami of sadness?

On Wednesday I think.

And I do not know.

On Thursday:

I wake up choosing joy

I have breakfast feeling bored

I ride the bus feeling lonely

I have lunch with melancholic

I sleep with nothingness

And I have dinner with determination.

A determination bound to be forgotten

Because I would

Sleep again with nothingness

And determination

Would consider this cheating.

On Friday:

Oh Friday does not come.

On Friday I do not feel.

On Friday I know exactly what I feel.

On Friday I decide

Damned if I do

Damned if I don't

On all other days

It's damned both ways,

But on Friday

It's only blessings.

But Friday does not come.

.

[thejournalofveronica]

Would you still scream if you were drowning and you knew no one would hear you?

Would you give your last breath away screaming to the void?

That's what talking feels like to me.

I feel like wasting my last bit of energy

On something that will be

Misunderstood

Or forgotten

Or ignored

Or unhelpful

Or annoying

Or draining.

But they don't understand

You're drowning

And they don't understand

It's draining.

It looks like

You're refusing to give

One breath away,.

It looks like you're being stubborn

It looks like

You're refusing communication..

Like you're too arrogant

To accept help.

But it's not help

You know that.

And you cannot affort

To waste any air you've got

So you keep it in,

Until you suffocate.

[thejournalofveronica]