Diary of an Elderly Young Person (pg. 13-21) – post #2

T/N: Hey! Back with another translation of DoaEYP (long title XP) and I am so incredibly excited that I’m in a pretty good mood for doing this. I think this second post is smoother because I’m starting to get the hang of this. ūüôā So, enjoy Subhi’s thought process~ This is when things begin to get a bit more interesting. What is next picks up from where the first post ended.


Sometimes our fear of losing others -by their choice- stands as a wall between us and them to the point that it forces us to lose them by our own choosing because we fear that moment when they decide to abandon us.



Alone in my room, I unburden myself of the heaviness of details, the length and remoteness of distances, and the aches of the soul. Tired, the flu leaves a rampant stale taste in my mouth; a thousand daggers pierce my throat, and the coughing is almost ripping my chest apart.  I take two tablets of painkillers, and then I drink a cup of warm Anise tea that might reach my frozen insides that yearn for warmth.

I become nothingness itself…a short sigh, and an aspiration for the comfort of naught.


Life For Beginners

I have said it before: Truth is, nobody cares!

And another poet has said it in an eloquent Arabic language a thousand years ago: “Don’t complain to people about a wound that belongs to you; the wound hurts no one except for he who has the pain.”

I might have said to him amiably, “A bit of pain is alright, but what do you do about the ache?”

Pain passes; it comes and goes. However, we get completely crushed under the umbrella of the resident ache. Wounds do heal, but aches are chronic, eating away at the soul.

The problem is, we -unconsciously and involuntarily- exaggerate our expectations of other people’s responses beyond reason. We place ourselves in high positions; we think that our actions, words, absence, presence has an exaggerated effect although nothing changes in the universe. We expect others to die because of a disaster that befalls us, because of losing someone precious to us, because of an academic fall back, or for any vice of life’s many vices.

We go and then we return, feeling the features of the road, looking hard for what has changed although the time of absence has been very short…to find that people still go to their work, still throw old jokes, eat popcorn, and watch TV whether we are there or not.

No one will feel for you when your father leaves without a¬†good bye, or when he passes away and he’s not content with you, or when your faith gets crushed under the pressure of consecutive disappointments, or when you lose your best friend–the list¬† goes a long way. These are aches you can’t only bear with others’ temporary warmth, and any words of sharing would seem trite no matter how articulate they are.

Even the moments of true sharing in the most sincere cases stay below previous personal expectations;¬†people will pat your shoulders, trying to give you some temporary warmth, and they’ll disappear for you to understand on your own that nothing changes in the alphabet of life!



I was extremely afraid to fail academically, so I found myself in my final year giving way to one of the stylish girls that were once classmates in one class to correct the “bio-calibrations” section that I strongly detest in the practical booklet.



They whispered.

She appeared to be scared and confused; she stood in the center and they surrounded her, trying to give her internal reassurance.

She yelled, “I’m going to tell him what, exactly?!”

“Alright, alright; don’t be scared. Tell him ‘hello, can I talk to you for a bit?'”

She stood in complete stillness; it seemed to me that she was trying to re-shoot the scene, and then she backed away. They started pushing her until she found herself in front of him.

He was sitting and looked to me like an ice cube.

She was at the peak of her clutter, and he was at the pinnacle of his calmness. She stopped a meter away from him and has fallen silent completely.


A Yellow Flower

We sat together on a wooden chair that emitted a distasteful creak sound that we were used to sit on. He took out his American cigarettes and a Qura’an that he always kept in his left pocket. He straightened his position in his chair.

He hid his eyes, and told me in sound English and a shaky voice:

I’m falling in love again.



Dear Cordelia,

I am fine, but I am still going around in vicious cycles with a short breath.

I still keep my boring daily routine and bad habits–not to mention a little doll of a bear that is called ‘Mega’ that rests on my desk, which I received as a present from a Canadian colleague¬†in the occasion of Vancouver’s Olympics. I put in his hand a small flag of Holland that I’ve keeping since my last visit to the Magyar.

My lust for writing has stopped, and my desire was extinguished in the midst of my intellectual drought. I don’t know why and for how long; I’m not even excited to know the answer, and I live in a state of a metaphysical wait for everything. But I think I’ve come a long way in the matter of autism with myself after countless debates, and an internal practice of a settling disputes policy, or mitigating them for a while. One of its results was that we grew closer a little although it is -most often- nauseating.

I got a cat that I named after you, but they don’t stop calling her with another silly name with the excuse that it is much easier. I watch the falling of papers from the wall calendar passionately even though the days are extremely similar in a pathetic way.

I received violent shocks in the level of my expectations from others, and especially from the people around me. I became terribly austere when it came to asking for happiness, which I barely believe with a fragile faith¬†in its existence, all fittingly because it’s rare. I still take lots of stimulants, I’m surrounded by many papers, and I am looking forward to buy a new android phone as soon as possible.

Sincerely Yours.


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