A Hug!

I felt your being, your soul, your past and your future. I felt at home, you were my home at that moment… You know they said that time was an illusion and that it’s non-existent, I never understood what they meant, time had stopped for me, until I hugged you. Like a silent prayer I ask you, hug me for a while longer…

                The concept of hugs and hugging was still an unusual notion for me, but when I was in India, it became a norm. Why and How? Simply to put it down in words, it happened in the moments were words failed to express, the moments were when the throat was thick to speak and the eyes were blurry with tears, lips trembling up and down between sadness and happiness, it’s in these moments were bodies were leaning with an embrace towards each other disregard of any efforts of doing so. Moments were bodies cried for embrace, it is the simple moment of when a Hug comes into play. Where the rib cages colliding and the hearts meet. Forgive me, let me rephrase that, it’s when the hearts SPEAK.  

                I have been away from home at that time for almost 6 months; it was the longest time me being that long away from my family. My heart was racing as the plane landed, and almost stopped as I walked outside the gate towards the airport’s exit and I saw my parents and siblings waiting for me in the hallway. We have a Lebanese culture of greeting each other, we kiss, we kiss a lot. So the traditional way of greeting each other would be three kisses on the cheeks with one or two arms on the person’s shoulders depending how much you’re close, or how much you miss that person. Having that in my mind, a didn’t want their kisses I wanted to feel and embrace their beings. I rushed towards my mom at the beginning; I saw tears in her eyes from a distance as I walked towards here, I increased my pace and thrusted jumping into her arms embracing her with a hug. She took it in of course but not how I expected her to, she then went back to the tradition of kisses, I mean that was how she was taught to express love and affection, that was her way, her language... I then turned to my father and embraced him with the same, his reaction was a bit poorer than my mother, he didn’t know how to react he then went back to the same tradition, same case with my brother. I won’t hide it, I was a bit disappointed and my soul wasn’t satisfied. My expression for love and receiving in return was not yet fulfilled.  I kept my tradition and set the old one off. I embraced friends and families with my new tradition of a hug, I got similar responses to the ones of my family, however I remember two of my cousins expressed that they preferred the hug, they leaned forward for a kiss, I by responded with a rushed settling hug instead, it was a strange thing for them but they soon breathed it all in and felt it’s magic. I kept my tradition all the way long, it was part of my identity as an individual, as soul that’s always thirsty for giving and receiving love without any limits or expectations.

                Fast forward,, 3 years later… I came home to the gentle south today after a long hectic week in the city, and after not seeing my family for a longer while… I arrived home and my dad was in the field checking on our baby trees, as soon as he saw me coming upwards towards our house on the road he walked to the front gate to meet me. I stepped down from the car and rushed to his arms for an embrace, he hugged me tight this time, and still gave me a kiss, and I did too, I guess old traditions will never die, I guess hugs were part of this old tradition but soon had been forgotten. I felt my father’s soul, we spoke without saying anything, our hearts spoke.  I knocked our door and my sister opened, the initial reaction was a mutual hug, and we hugged some more. Our hug lasted for almost 3 good minutes, we swayed and breathed, she was my home and I was hers, it is a cold winter day, it kept us warm too, not the kind of warmth that you’d physically feel only, but also the one that you’d feel it glowing from the inside. I then went to my mother and embraced her, we also spoke without saying a thing, despite her being occupied with her art in creating food, she had time for an embrace and satisfying hug. Followed by my brother eventually, surprising me with his sincere hug… It just hit me! They got it, they spoke other language of love eventually and it was beautiful… My heart had to knock the doors of their hearts and embrace their souls, it happened naturally and effortlessly. It immediately healed the accumulated fatigue of the week.

                The cherry on the top of the cake was that my friend that I met in India that I haven’t seen since 3 years was in the south with my aunt, she had to pick her up from the airport since I couldn’t.  Soon I heard the car arriving, I dashed down to meet her. She spoke the language of love and embrace, with my accent. The moment the door opened, I swear that I felt her soul merging with mine before even her touching me, it felt as time had stopped. I can still see her face in my head, her eyes sparkling with light, a beaming smile anticipating to connect, and arms wide open ready to enter a different dimension. It was to strong… We met each other again the moment we hugged. The wave almost physically blew my hair; again it was something radiating from within… Our souls shared the stories again, we united again, we breathed, settled, welcomed, connected, loved, spoke, cried, laughed, shared, took a walk, sang, listened, reflected, swayed, and came back through that hug.

               

Story of a Swan!

It was just like any other day, floating as she reflected upon her reflection on that lake. She looked at her fellow swans from a distance; they were busy with their everyday, day to day norm; some were picking and cleaning their feathers, others taking a nap, some gently swaying with their mates as they swam, and others taking a walk on the dry land.

She looked back at her reflection, then up to the sky. The sun was setting and it was a nice warm summer day. The sky and the lake both looked the same, but felt absolutely different. She felt however a connection between the sky and the lake, an invisible thread that connected both. Something was calling her from the sky, an urge started building within her. The old tradition said, “You should always fly and travel in packs, never alone or thee shall perish”. For once the old traditions and norms meant nothing to her. I mean she just smiled, her eyes teared up because her life will never be the same ever again, she just lifted her wings up in the sky from the lake droplets of water were drizzling from above mixing with her tears, everyone looked at her with owe and wondered what is going on with that crazy swan, they knew she was always weird but now she’s topping all her records. She lifted her body up slowly like she was the only swan in the whole existence; the lake was distorted, looked and felt different. Her body was between the lake and the sky, not knowing where she was heading, but feeling with every inch of her body that she was meant to be else were and that she had a mission to fulfill.  

The other swans started rushing towards her shouting and yelling, warning her not to fly away since she’ll be doomed, it’s a dangerous world out there, they called her a “delusional”, “Crazy”, “Bipolar”, even one suggested that she might be “Dehydrated”. It was hilarious that she was laughing as her tears were pouring down her feathery cheeks. She was up high, too late and too fast for anyone to catch up with or stop. She looked at the setting sun and started flying towards it. Call them crazy, but some swore that she looked like an angel, a white angel flapping its wings towards the setting sun as the sparkles of her tears seemed like glitter in the air.

Oh how pleasant the wind seemed on her cheeks, and life never felt that fulfilling or perfect for her ever before. She knew she was heading towards a journey, guided, and led. After all she carried her inner compass within her.

Mo Gabris

Why Writing?

I was just wondering, why writing? Where did this urge to write down selective experiences, thoughts or/and random stories, despite if they were interesting or not?

And it suddenly came to me like watching a short movie in my head. I remembered that scene from the movie “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”, there was a scene in which Dumbledore extracts his own memories through a magic spell and saves that memory in an object called “The Pensieve” which is used to review memories by the owner and any other person. And this technique allows anyone to live, feel and see that memory. 

And for me writing felt exactly the same. Going to my notebook/diary, or PC, opening my word document and start typing down, or writing down on my notebook what I’m seeing in my head and what I’m feeling in my heart and simply putting them down for everyone to access them and live them, and for me, believe me, it’s magic. 

From the Movie:

Dumbledore: "I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form."

Harry: "You mean... that stuff's your thoughts?"

Dumbledore: "Certainly."

— Albus Dumbledore to Harry Potter

It gives thrills all through my body; my heart starts pounding like it’s dancing on a pensive melody played in silence, that rush of adrenaline that a sport junkie would feel before jumping off a cliff and into the ocean. 

Writing indeed is one of the most powerful means of communications. It’s the ultimate treasure. I frequently hear phrases like, my sword is my pen, or you can perish my existence but never the existence of thoughts and words, or that “Thoughts shape-up when put down in words”. I never really knew what they meant, but when I felt that itchiness within to just write, it’s when I start to realize why. 

It started with an overwhelming feeling of experiencing and learning and gaining, it felt like witnessing the ultimate knowledge, a knowledge that only you can see, and then you’d have that flare of fear and excitement mixed together to pass on what you once witnessed, to pass on what you felt, what you learned, it feel like you want to enlighten, to open eyes, melt an icy crust on somebody’s heart. 

That what made me write, that exact itchiness. But sometimes I just write because I simply feel like I want to talk to someone and to express, someone who’s undefined, someone who’s timeless and ageless, someone who doesn’t have a name or identity. I sometimes write to an empty existence that has everything and nothing; and through that existence I feel heard and find the best listener one can ever have.

“Sometimes only paper will listen to you” -Unknown

And above all I write to learn. 

I write to preserve my memories, to go back to them and start connecting the dots. When I go back to what I once wrote, I learn new lessons, things that never made sense started to make, things from the past that gave strength to my present, and hope to my future. 

“I write to give myself strength. I write to be the characters that I’m not. I write to explore all the things I’m afraid of”

-Jos Whedon

And keep in mind; you don’t have to publish a book to be a writer, or start a blog, or write in a newspaper or a magazine. Your only audience may be your papers, and that’s what it takes for you to be a writer. 

“Writing is a calling not a choice” -Isabel Allende 

“The writer is by nature a dreamer – a conscious dreamer” -Carson McCullers 

Writing is what keeps me going, is my comfort, it’s like meeting an old friend after a long long time, someone whom you trust and cherish the most. It’s like sitting under an old oak tree in a sunny summer, next to fresh stream of water, as the gentle summer breeze blowing like it’s whispering to the oak’s leaves how much he loves her. Sitting with that friend in silence, breathing, and being. This is how writing feels to me. 

And the best part is that it’s a timeless treasure that anyone can enjoy and live, a shared memory by whom is allowed to read. 

Writing can be an escape to a different reality, or changing the present reality by itself to fit the writer. It’s an expression of the heart, mind and soul altogether; a dance that we seldom see. A platform that invites all elements to meet and dance, and eventually becoming one. 

“The true alchemists do not change lead into gold. They change the world into words”

-William H. Gass