Posts from the “Prose” Category

always autumn

Posted on October 11, 2019

There is a moment at the end of summer when the light changes. It is a sliver of time so thin, that unless you’re looking for it, you’re sure to miss it. In this moment, the sunlit nets cast upon the waters of the world are reeled in. With them, the brightened hue, the flaxen bloom, the drenched blindness of balmy days, all begin to slink backward and disappear like lemonade twirling down the drain. What remains, are the rays of a sun more mature in her glance. The morning’s shadows grow faint, edged with a dusty gold. A dim glow laces the leaves, the red tone of a burning hearth dying into the night. Each year, I wait for this moment. And each…

becoming human

Posted on September 30, 2019

There is a special bottle I keep, tucked away in the corner of a hidden drawer: Use in Case of Emergency. A deep shade of pink, three-quarters full, sparkling with a liquid more precious to me than most of my possessions — not for the contents themselves, but for where they take me. Four years ago, on a summer night still with desert heat, a dear friend set off on a quest into a bustling market. Searching through alleyways, combing through side-shops, until she came across — there, what she had been looking for. Heart in hand, she returned, and gifted me a bottle of perfume, the same scent as that which is used in the sanctuary of Imam Hussain. In that moment, I…

orange peels

Posted on August 14, 2019

I still remember the first day I signed up for Facebook. I was in the ninth grade, and a friend had just spent a lazy spring afternoon at my house. We were hanging out in my room, discussing everything from the travails of high school to our most recent YA fiction read, when she decided to hop on my laptop: F-a-c-e-b-o-o-k-dot-com. “How do you not have an account yet?” she asked, incredulous. In one instant, and despite my protestations, she had created an account and friended herself. “There. You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” she declared emphatically. With a simple one-two-click, she opened the door to a dimension which, until now, I had never known existed. Social media. The term of our…

who am I?

Posted on June 17, 2019

Who am I? Three simple words. One weighty answer. The response to this question which rises, deep, visceral, immediate from our bones, reveals more about ourselves than anything else we could voluntarily disclose. The labels with which we choose to identify, and consequently to accept as being accurate descriptors for the beings that we are, tell us how we see this world. And the strength with which we cling to them, tells us how we see the next. How do I answer? Am I my profession or education? The degree hanging on my wall or the job I perform — do I carry it with me everywhere? There is a big difference between working as a teacher, lawyer, businessman, or mechanic… and being those things. There…

80th and 1st

Posted on January 4, 2019

John Steinbeck said, “Once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.” Oh, how right he was. I was lucky enough to call New York City home for the past few years, yet it feels as if those years lasted a lifetime. I truly believe there are certain spans we cross during our lives which, through experience, if not through time, cause us to age more than others. For me, this was one of those times. When I first came into the city, it was with the fresh, bright-eyed, shy wonder of one’s early twenties. When I left, it was with a steadier gaze and firmer feet, the weight of understanding that sombers the…

this is not about you

Posted on October 26, 2018

When I think of the great artists of old, I lower my hat to them in respect. In their musings, sculptures, paintings, and art — there was a craft. What made the Greats great was their desire to create at the upper threshold of their ability, despite knowing that such an endeavor would require time, perseverance, discipline, and accuracy. Create exquisitely, or do not create at all, was the mantra. This art is not about you – it is about something bigger. These days, however, the desire to dedicate oneself to a single skill, to work on it in seclusion, day by day, slowly, precisely, carving, cutting – hammering away at marble from twilight to dusk until a visible form begins to emerge –…

what matters most

Posted on April 22, 2018

There is a surrender that happens at the peak of life, and another at the edge of death, and the two do not weigh the same. There is an abdication when the first glimmer of light is seen on the horizon, and another when the last glimmer is about to fade, and the day between them is not the same. And how you spend the day matters. It is said, “To be pious in one’s youth is the style of prophets; in old age even the cruel wolf gives up his cruelty.” What matters most is what you choose to do when you have everything to lose. What you choose to give up when it means the most to do so. When you decide,…