STORIES, STORIES

Writing Triggers by Alia Makki Tell me again. Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?  You mean writing?   Haven’t you already gotten it figured out by now that at the end of the tunnel, it doesn’t get any brighter or easier? Life doesn’t get easier. Writing distracts you from looking at yourself personally. Why should you write?  Because it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. And this scene! Look at it! How could we not be inspired…   Hasn’t it failed you already? Why couldn’t you take a hint from the millionth failure?  Because the million-first might be the one!   Bosh. Sorry, who?   Pshawh. Shucks. Bollocks. Bull. I’m calling your disgusting sense of optimism a delusion.  Oooh. That’s a nice word too. What just happened? Was it a mosquito that landed on your face? Then why did you hit your face for? Listen. My job was to try to distract you from this futile habit of yours. I’ve done my job and could only manage ...

Notes on Running by Nessreen I hate running.  I mislike all the things about it. The hard work, the mental anguish, the physical exertion, all the emotional pummelling you get when you hit the track. It’s way more than just running  to me, it's a constant test.  When I run, every part of me is fighting to go against all my natural tendencies of laziness and at-rest spoiled-brattery.  And I suppose that’s what made me take it on. Because I’m nothing if not the kind of person who only knows to excel under extreme, oppressive conditions, whether or not I conjured them myself. I revel in this oppression, and it makes the end of each run for me all the more glorious. When I’m in a yucky pile of sweat and dirt and sometimes tears, and I play back the distance and speed I’d just covered, without fail – I feel fascinated at how much I could endure . How much of something I hate I could endure just to reach a goal that no one but myself cares abo...

Still on the Band by Chukwudi Barrah Seeing a post recently about the Microsoft Band being the best fitness band you never heard about reminded me that I was going to write a review—or rather ended my procrastination in writing a review—about the Band. I've owned mine for five months, paired primarily with my iPhone 6 plus. In that time I have come to the conclusion that the combination of both devices do not meet the requirements for which they were purchased. In essence, I need to change one of these devices. I know, first world problems, right? Not really. The essence of exchanging hard-earned money for electronic devices—or anything, ever—is to derive some sort of satisfaction from those things, and so far my satisfaction has been relatively low (at least compared with my expectations). Again, I know the argument is that experiences are lower than expectations. I'd argue that that is the case if the expectations are set unreasonably high. In my case, I don'...

The Craft by Nessreen "There's only one way to become a writer," they all said. "Write." Alright, I said. Close all tabs, open writing topic generator.  "More Than Friends," the website blinked once. "1,000 words." Right. I wrote.  More Than Friends It was a funeral. She was uncomfortable. She knew no one, probably no one knew her. But that's alright. People are generally accommodating at funerals, even to – especially  to – strangers that show up. These strangers who come to pay respects. After all, what's the worst that could happen when someone has just died? Nothing can upstage death, not even another one, you could suppose. So everyone is assumed to have been friends with the deceased. For the sake of the funeral. But they weren't friends. They met years ago at her first job. She worked for a rich woman – tidying up her space, scrubbing her bathroom walls, lining up her perfume bottles...

A Sugary Addiction by Carcass H Ah games. They come in many shapes, sizes and types. From traditional games like hop scotch and tag to modern, electronic games like MMORPGs and consoles, there is something about games that keeps you preoccupied, and assists you in losing track of time. Among the most popular electronic game currently is Candy Crush, which can be played on multiple platforms and operating systems (though I only ever use Android, as I’m not very familiar with Facebook). Diabetes inducing I was first introduced to this game by a colleague, whom I saw playing the game. After watching him play a few times, I got interested and decided to download it myself. While I was starting out, another colleague (you know who you are) showed me she was nearly two hundred levels ahead of me, at a level similar to the introducer. This started my quest to go the distance and see how far I could reach, and if I could pull ahead (to rub it in their face). Before even r...

He Who is Neither Nor by Nessreen One time at lunch, a friend, who I presumed to have received some sort of bad news just then, sighed and said, “God is good." I was all “What do you mean God is good ?” because I’m always ready for a nice old argument about religion, and he was all “Just that. God is  good.”  He didn’t explain further, but we all know why we say God is good  to punctuate tragedies big or small – to remind ourselves that God only gives us things that we can handle, that He puts us in difficult situations so that we may be stronger and wiser and that our faith in Him may be harder to shake. We say it as a salve to our wounded souls when beset with misfortunes.  But what if (and the chances are very, very high, given the nature of God’s all-knowing existence versus our tiny, tiny excuse-for-a-speck ones), what if we were looking at it all wrong?  Saying God is good  is just the same as saying God is bad . After all, thi...

Inking Out Loud by Chukwudi Barrah I am not a serial plant killer. I am not a serial plant killer. I am not a serial plant killer. This is clearly a real thing and not just me being overly paranoid that I can't take care of a plant, or plants rather. See, I've purchased six indoor potted plants, and the only two that are currently surviving are possibly because they fortunately came with care instructions on the pot. That I need a how-to for plants just makes me sad. Growing up, I tended to a full garden of flowers—okay, my dad did all or most of the tending-to, but I also contributed with making sure there was no weed anywhere around them. Somehow, in the last three years or more, I have managed to kill (or neglect-to-death) four innocent plants, that I voluntarily and purposefully took home. Until a few nights ago, I did not even realise I needed consoling. Browsing one of my favourite after-hours Internet watering holes, I discovered a chart of indo...