The trouble about jumping was that if you didn't pick the right number of storeys, you might still be alive when you hit bottom.


It has been a while, hasn't it? It's pretty a while that the little grape trees that I planted grew up to the size of my thumb, spiraling all over the poles, with the leaves drape down like a curtain in some wild fantasy movies. It has been a while that the grape trees wilted, died, and grew back again, just like the green grasses that sprawling after a bush fire.
It has been that a while.
And a lot of things happened in between that. I have been meaning to write, but as I sat down on my table, fingers dancing on the keys, brain juggled in between incoherent thoughts, I yielded at the very last moment. It struck me that the stories that I was going to tell were just another repercussion of the same shit again and again. 
"You're a good person but you refuse to learn", Sammy told me one day on our way back to the parking lot. It was a cold winter evening, not as blistering cold as in Minneapolis, but it's pretty cold enough for Saudi Arabian standard. 


I get these moments when I have to lie down because everything feels sort of too much and I look up and see the blue, or the grey, or the black and I feel myself melting into it. And, for like a split second, I feel free. And happy. Innocent. Like a dog, or an alien, or a baby.

The End of the F***ing World
Normality in our part of the world is a bit like a boiled egg: its humdrum surface conceals at its heart a yolk of egregious violence. It is our constant anxiety about that violence, our memory of its past labours and our dread of its future manifestations, that lays down the rules for how a people as complex and as diverse as we continue to coexist – continue to live together, tolerate each other and, from time to time, murder one another. As long as the centre holds, as long as the yolk doesn’t run, we’ll be fine. In moments of crisis it helps to take the long view.

-Arundhati Roy

This Bird Needs A Bicycle

As I walked past a perfectly aligned date palm trees along the walkway to my office, I couldn't help to notice the birds that were happily (they were happy I assumed) pecking the fallen dates on the ground.

Life is simple for them. Wake up in the morning, spread the wings and look for foods, fill up their tummies, and get back home right after.

Nothing to worry about. There is no complex love life, no mortgage, no dumb underlings, no loud sex neighbors, no traffic jam, no bad hair day, no office politics, no keto diet. They have no human silly problems to face to.

But then it strikes me that the birds have to worry about prying cats, about the rain that ruins their nest, about finding foods for their hatchlings, worrying about their babies. They have tonnes of bird problems that we silly human may not understand.

But fuck it. I understand bird problems. I just want to be a bird. Let me be a bird for a day. Then I can judge.

This Bird Needs A Bicycle
Zubaidah Arshad
23 Sept 2018


There’s a faint tone of subtlety in the speeches from those who have been the sturdy supporters of the former ruling government.

It is as if watching kids humming dissatisfaction while slowly swallowing the defeat. Hard and gravelly along the throat, but swallowing is the last choice in hand.

People have to accept that ruling a nation is not prerogative to a singular entity.

The defeated has to vouch on the idea that changes come in many forms and shapes. And I believe this time, it could not be any clearer.

Happy Friday everyone.


First and Last

Sometimes love does not need to be expressed by words. I Love You, I Need You, I Am Falling For You, are all phrases that are so cliche, it loses its values.
Love is a mutual feeling. When two people love each other, their actions speak louder than any verbal I Love You you've possibly ever heard.
Love is about pretending not to love, but loving is all what we do.

Zubaidah Arshad Krakow, Poland 1st March 2018