Aunita Hakimi

Lost in the beauty that surrounds me.

To heal myself, for if I could,

I understand now how blessed the children born of love are.

All I ever craved was clarity.

Day 789. That's the coded way I've remembered it. I left. Without a grand proclamation, without any warning. The weight of my decision fueled by an adrenaline rush, fear, and the ever-consuming urge to escape. I just... ran.

It is my last day in Toronto, and I am sitting in this café that I have been coming to this past week to study. It is also the first day of the new year, 2025. I can't bring myself to study yet. Right now, in front of me, there is this beautiful view of the outside - ordinary stores, a Chinese takeout, a psychic clinic, a UPS store. These are things I can barely see in the modernized academic area where I live in my hometown, Tucson. It is ironic how I just called Tucson my hometown since my real hometown, Esfahan, has been "NA" - not applicable - in my mind. Really, I would not go back there.

I know I have to come back soon. I know it will happen again – and that is why this thought refuses to let me sleep. People often ask me if I'm still on social media, if I'll ever return, or why I deleted it in the first place. The easy answer I shall offer each time would be that I wanted to focus more on school and spend less time on my phone. But the truth runs far deeper than that.

Three years have ebbed away since I last felt my mother's reassuring presence; my grandmother now battles with the relentless advance of liver cancer. My father remains a distant, unspoken thought. Love, in its traditional guise, has eluded me, yet I've discovered it in unexpected places and forms. But these revelations do little to assuage my sense of drifting, of repeating mistakes whose lessons remain unlearned. The clarity and conviction of youth have dissolved; I am adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

In a world where effort is often cloaked under the guise of indifference, where passion is dampened beneath a facade of apathy, there lies a rebellious heartbeat. This heartbeat refuses to be silenced by the trend of the 'effortless cool.' It's a pulse within some of us that rejects the norm of turning off emotions, of not saying how we really feel because we fear it's too much.

Mom, I'm hiding from the phone. Not wanting to let you down is why. I can't say I'm hungry, can't say I'm blue. Up here, where happiness should be easy, I find it hard. You're in a tougher spot, I know, and I should be grateful. You'd give anything to be here, where dreams are supposed to live. Especially yours, Mom. But here I am, feeling lost in this dream. So, I'm silent, because sadness has found me again. I'm hungry, broke, and alone. Disappointing you is my biggest fear. I aim to make you proud, just need a moment. A moment to gather good news, to find my way. I'll call, Mom, with stories to lift your heart. I promise to make you proud. Just a bit more time. That's all I ask.

This is the is the end of something that never began

I write, and write, and write. Life is this wild, continuous story that just keeps going. And I'm always amazed at how I manage it every time, every day, every glance. I'm amazed at my own perseverance amid everything. It's like losing sense, going slightly mad. I'm desperately searching for meaning, for purpose in the smallest of moments, in each new story, each new emotion. I'm looking for something to make these seemingly meaningless events feel meaningful.

Do we make movies because they depict lives we can never live? It's a bit disheartening to think about. We spend our lives watching these idealized versions of life, knowing we can never actually experience them. The entire movie industry thrives on this.

Give people their space. Focus on your own journey.

Forsaken and cherished. A heart as pure as snow, yet burdened with guilt,

In the heart of Switzerland, a single moment encapsulated a lifetime of memories. There, on a street far from our beginnings, the three of us - sister, brother, cousin - found ourselves together again. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring us to this point, a reunion that transcended the mere crossing of borders.

If I could ever go back, I would hug my friend tighter and tell my mom I love her cooking. I wouldn't worry about the bugs and would lay on the grass in the yard. I would read all of my books. I think I would fear less and leave my bedroom more often. I think I would run faster and swim more. I would hug my grandma and talk louder for my dad and grandpa. I would not worry about my acne and would not cover myself as much under that hijab. I would see my friend more often and open up to her. I would trust more. I would ask my mom more questions about her life and her childhood. I would watch more movies with her. I would cook for my family and be less mean of a girl. That is, if I could go back. If I could. And if I could go back, I know I would feel familiarity, but I would be a stranger. I know I would smell the old days, but the old me does not know how to sit with ease. That is, if I could. I know I can't. I know I can't.

In the shadowed corners of childhood,

A Plea for Slowness from a Fast Runner

You gently took my head in your strong hands, "Let me get that for you," you said softly,

In a small, quiet room, surrounded by shelves stacked high with books, she felt both comforted and overwhelmed. Every spine was a portal to a new world, every page a chance to live another life. There was a burning desire in her to read every word, to understand every theory, to speak every language. To be a scientist, an artist, a philosopher, a voyager in not just one lifetime, but hundreds.

Drink deeply of the sea and lift me ever upwards,

Why is it that, at my core, I seem to be the most anxious, the most heartbroken soldier, the saddest version of myself?

Mountains' Whisper, Oblivion

I've paid my toll for dreary days,

How far I've come, free from the guilt, All those times I looked back, unable to stop,

Every time, relentlessly, it's just me, alone in my own echo.

Belonging to Nothing

In brilliance they stand Their perfection so sharp

I pause, not distracted. The boredom sharpens my vision, brings clarity.

I hear the unkind melody of rain, How the earth is beaten by this cruel beauty.