Sun, Sol, Soul and Joy!

What Brings You Joy?

I kept asking myself,

what brings me joy?

What is the feeling
I want to live with every day
to hold onto,
and never take for granted?

When wars are taking place everywhere,

when people leave us
with empty spaces,

when the sun doesn’t shine today

when all the things
that once brought me joy
disappear,

How do I still want to feel?

How do I still want to dream?

How do I still want to live?

These questions come to me
when I’m under the sun.

The sun brings me joy.

The sun brings me comfort.

The sun brings me life.

There’s a saying in Arabic:

“Heaven is where green, blue,
and a beautiful face
come together in one place.”

I think of the sun, too.

It’s the name of this blog in Spanish 'Sol'
and it sounds like soul in English.

And somehow,
it makes sense
to try to contain everything
in that one word.

Gratitude
is what I want to keep

every day.

I’m afraid of waking up one day
empty!

not of things,
but of gratitude.

We are not poor
when we lack material things,

but when we lose our feelings

when everything in life
is taken for granted,

even though
nothing truly is.

My grandfather always said:

“Life is not about being happy,
but about being satisfied
and grateful
no matter what.”

I once read a Sufi saying:

"We should be thankful
for what we have
and for what we don’t."

Because not everything we want
is meant to be ours
or stay in our lives.

Some things
are only meant
to pass by.

And it’s okay
to let them pass.

I want to be grateful
for the sun
that rises every day.

I want to follow the sun by day
and the moon by night.

I want to drink mountain water
and taste life
in every way possible.


 

To all the versions I once was;

I HAVE NO ENERGY LEFT

“I HAVE NO ENERGY LEFT” I said that after doing my best. I have no fight left in me for those who have no dignity, for those who are different in a good or bad way, just different. The ones who don’t align with my values. The ones who choose themselves over others, Who listens to one side and refuse to hear the other. Who thinks twice before giving, who think twice before loving, who think twice about sharing their food not only that, but carry such heavy moods they make you question your own goodness, as if it’s not enough, or not as worthy as theirs. Those who see the world differently who decides who is right and who is wrong, who deserves land more than another, Who deserves a visa? a paper, or even a mother. To the politicians’ anger. To women-haters. I had no energy left in me. To those who cannot dream. To those who do not dare. To live life I wish to spare myself. To the greedy. To the needy. To the ones who do not dare to dream, yet still dare to scream!
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Take wisdom from the mouths of crazy people

"It’s not about being right; it's about observing people." -Vailcan people- It was the first thing this drunk man said. It was kind of interesting. He came closer and kept talking. The first thought that came to my mind was: “Take wisdom from the mouths of crazy people.” Somehow, it was true until it wasn’t. He talked a lot, mostly about his personal journey and life, which was of no interest to me at all, But I let him speak. Until he suddenly raised his voice at me and said: “Why the fucking Muslim prays in the street in front of the cathedral and not in the fucking mosque?” He said it angrily. I kept listening. I kept observing. It took me years of my life to learn how to stay calm in such moments when it comes to almost any topic. I don’t react easily. I don’t get angry, especially in the last few years, After burnout taught me silence. I listened to the voice in my head, looked into his eyes, and wondered: What do I see there? Racism? Fear? Ignorance? All of it? I wo...
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To all the versions I once were;

 To all the versions I once was; To the saddest of me, the one who suffered a lot, experienced many emotions for the first time The first time, I couldn’t handle a rejection The first time I was sad about living The first time I experienced loss and death When my grandma passed away, I went to the kitchen to bake a cake, and my mom hit me and told me I was disrespectful! But I was 11 back then, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. No one taught me because no one could. To the first fear, when I first lost my mom at the shops, no one was holding my hand I was scared to death, to feel left behind, to feel the fear in every inch That fear comes with madness, and a lot of crying, you look around like crazy But my 4-year-old me didn’t know better Didn’t know how to come up with ideas beyond imagination, and then I was terrified. To the happy one, once. When I was elected in a competition, and my grandpa cried with happiness He gave me my first phone. And I remember the first time when...
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