Elle est made funny faces to herself on the crowded train home today. She then beamed with pride and inside giggles, because nobody noticed. Everyone was lost in trying to maintain their personal spaces by gluing their gazes into middle-place, and receding into the back of their minds. But Elle est was in the present, and she found being squashed so funny and enjoyable that she squashed her nose against her arm to inside giggle more.

On the way home I noticed:
a man with very clean ears and another with arm hairs
a woman chewing gum
a long hared, head-phoned man’s hair band on his wrist
a mean looking man who was probably nice
a baby with a teddy bear-eared hat
fat juicy grape fruits at the Turks
the first watermelons of the season and daffodils.

I chased the last rays of the sun, and the sky got lighter near the flat, and there was one shiny star in it. If you stick your face into your arm, the world could look like a Kandinsky or something abstract.

Elle est was having a crisis about marrying the end of innocence, and dreams, and carefreeness. It lasted weeks until today. But she was very wrong, because everything in this world is a state of mind. A self-made reaction bubble to any situation God has laid out for you to live through at any given time. And at the end of the proverbial tunnel, when everything is illuminated, you look back and are full of love and regret. Love for a loved one who is so lost, so helpless, and so precious with her troubles. And regret for not having made a different reacting bubble. For not being as strong as her.

Allah, forgive me and make me full of wonder, like a child. So that even this state of weakness appears as the actual good thing that it is. The no-mans land. The beginning of the Elle est who will find. Who will experience. And who will hold onto with all her might, her faith for herself. And through her own eyes and not anyone elses.