Introspection
Replacing: Self
Apple’s Migration Assistant, in all its sterile productivity, offered two options: transfer everything, or choose what matters. Though I wanted to bring it all with me, my storage had been 95% full for months, and it showed. Soon enough, I found myself sorting through the digital debris of a former life.
Dear Senior Year
I love the life Harvard has given me, not because it’s been perfect, but because it hasn’t been. Freshman year exhilarated me, sophomore year disarmed me, junior year repaired me, and you, senior year, have made me proud.
A Pale Shade of Green
I often feel as if I’m lost in a garden of blossoms, surrounded by bright stories of success and high standards. I am a barren branch reaching out in a field of fully bloomed magnolias.
In Pursuit of Knowledge
I have found my place at Harvard by leaving it, using Harvard resources to open my eyes to the broader world.
To a Syria Far Out of Reach
This year marks 28 years since my father last walked the shores of the Mediterranean in his home city, Jableh. It is a country that returns to me in flashes of memory, but does not anticipate my return.
As If Your Tears Do Anything
I want to write something — not to arrive at clarity, but to practice reaching for it. To trace the distance between where I am and where I think I could be. To say: I don’t know what I’m meant to do, but I want it to matter.
Nowhere Else (but Detroit)
A Harvard student and a fantasy footballer board a bus to downtown Detroit.
Traveling Through
A small part of my mind traces back to the moments I spent sitting in the big hospital chair, able to reflect without worrying about the speed of life around me. Time I thought I had lost.
An Inhabitable Archive
What stays behind isn’t paint or plaster; it’s the way we’ve marked each other when the walls themselves were the only witnesses.
Good Person
For the most part, I don’t go about my days actively thinking I am a bad person. But I can’t control when the thoughts arise — and when they do, they are relentless.
Love in Spoonfuls
Caring for myself at Harvard is more difficult than I like to admit. I question how I can stem from generations of nourishing women as someone who can barely replenish myself.
Paper Boats
The ground is forgetful — after a few dry months, it’s flustered by the torrent of rain and can’t hold onto the precious moisture.
Planting a Seed
It seems unfair to say I love someone who I never knew completely. It’s hard to understand how it could even be possible. I have no evidence, no explicit reason why I should love him aside from the blood we share and his undeniable part in giving me life. Yet, I do love my dad and I miss the chance I had at being his daughter, blooming in his image.
The Little Black Room: Navigating US Customs as an International Student
Entering American customs is a game of chance. The officers hone in on seemingly arbitrary factors: fidgeting, nervousness, hypervigilance. Yet, warned about the risks of failing to pass immigration, aren’t we all nervous?
Contingency
Most predictions are contingents: over a hundred species will go extinct tomorrow; Mexico City will run out of water in the next decade; I will witness climate collapse within my lifetime. All statements about the future, neither inevitable nor impossible.