Corona 19's Diary

Narrating the events on a daily basis during the Corona pandemic, from its appearance until the discovery of the vaccine, and attempting to convey scenes from different parts of the world—how they dealt with the virus and the challenges they faced—in the form of a true narrative that the author experienced during that period.

The Harbor And Other Stories

في لحظات.. يتلاشى الحاضر، يغيب في بُؤَر خلفيَّة، ويطغَى الماضي بكلِّ مخزونه، فأشاهد فيلماً وثائقياً يزخر بصور وحركة ونبض حياة.

 عديدة هي الأسباب التي تحفزه وتستدعيه ليدهمني وينقلني مِن عالَم حاضر أنا أعيشه، إلى ماضٍ بعيد لأعيشه مِن جديد، وأراه بوضوح؛ أعيش تفاصيله، وأتنقَّل بين مشاهده المختلفة.. ماضٍ ليس كلُّه بجميل، بعضه يجدِّد الأحزان، أحاول جاهداً أن أتغافل عنه، وأتجاوز حقيقته وأحداثه، قد أنجح، لكن تبقَى تداعياته تسرِي في كلِّ خلايا تفكيري، فيخيِّم وقتها عليَّ حزن، وينتابني كدر.

هل هو الحنين إلى الماضي ما يدفعني للعودة إلى تلك المحطَّات مِن حياتي؟ ربَّما يطول توقُّفي في بعضها، وإن كان عمرها لحظات إلا أنَّها مشعَّة وواضحة، وأخرى باهتة لا تسترعي اهتمامي، فأتجاوزها مسرعاً.      

The Harbor And Other Stories

Sometimes, I find the present just fades away and becomes background noise. This is when the past – with its bank of memories – takes over, and I find myself as if watching a documentary, complete with images, movement and the pulse of life. Certain triggers raid my mind and take me from my present life to a long-distant past in such a way that I can see and relive it in detail, and even move between its different scenes.
But those scenes and details are not always pleasant, for some still bring sorrow, and these are the ones whose existence I try hard to forget. And though I might sometimes succeed, their influences remain in every cell of my body, and they leave me overwhelmed with anguish and pain.
Is it my nostalgia for the past that keeps taking me back to those ‘stations’ of my life?
Some of the stops on my journey are too hazy to attract my attention, and I hurriedly pass them by. Others are so vivid and clear that I prefer to linger there, press rewind, and play again.

Dear Mrs. Wafaa

The journalist writer (Wafaa) thought that with the martyrdom of her fiancé Khaled three weeks before their wedding, that her life had ended, and that her happiness had been buried next to him, but a letter from an unknown girl came to her on her first working day after a long period of mourning, at the door of the readers’ mail, which she supervises editing. The letter was written in a trembling handwriting of a little girl who asks to visit her. It gave her hope, a new life, new love and new feelings of a different kind, which she had lost hope to live after Khaled's death, but it requires a lot of concessions from her, especially from a young woman.

The decision is difficult, the sacrifices are many, and the responsibility entrusted to it is great.

A long and bumpy road she walks in fulfillment of love and willingly, years pass and youth falter, she faced too many obstacles, but she is determined to overcome the difficulties, and her way is in that love, sacrifice and self-denial.

Mistakes Of Past

Novel summary:

Everyone has a past that shapes his present and shapes his future.

The author of the biography was keen to depict for us the years of loss that befell him when he was young, and how bad friends leads to death, but at the same time he was keen to highlight the negative role of the family in guiding the behavior of children, and the hero of the novel would not have fallen into the abyss of ruin. The family’s dispersal, the loss of the relationship between the parents, and its impact on the children.

But the writer was able to transcend adversity and rise above wounds, for the past has taken a ladder to rise to the heights of heights, and here emerges the sense of the novel that does not accept failure, and always aspires to summits.

The Winter Of Baghdad And Dubai

When love and time meet, then time decides the fate of this love. Will the ending be a happy one? Or will it be very hard to imagine? We should not give in to time and the destiny that it forces on us. Instead, we should fight time, and change this destiny one way or another. But here, happiness has always been temporary, and there isn’t a happy ending like we used to read in our childhood. A happy life has never been real. Endings have always been this way. They were sad one way or another. Endings are not the same as we see them in a movie or in our dreams. Is this caused by us? Or caused by time that predetermined our destiny and left us dreaming? It is watching us from afar and laughing, because it knows what is written at the end of the path. Oh, how I wished to see happy endings lasting for days and years until the end of our lives! But we live in a very bitter reality. We wish that destiny will play its role for the future generations, and for them to learn how to draw their path with care, love and sincerity. This is how I view real life which we are living in. This book is a part of society, customs and traditions.

My Mister

My Mister is a book that is based on stories and facts surrounding us in our society and other societies too, and different beliefs. It talks about: • Marital infidelity from both sides. • The way some victims of infidelity accept it and give in, while others don’t tolerate it and reject it. • A few sexual diseases that the cheater thinks will not be transmitted because he is being careful. • The society around us and thoughts and blind imitation of everything. • Raising the new generation and the good offspring. Calling on mothers to raise a good generation, and to not leave raising them to the awful fathers. It ends with the poems of Nizar Qabbani and Qais for beautiful women…

Zeina...A Girl Made Of Iron And Silk

When the heart knocks, you must open the door.

How tender are the hearts of lovers, and I am one of them! So what if the one who is knocking on the door is Zeina?

And Zeina is not the title of a novel as much as she is a recount of the chapters of my life, my life’s pulse that I took many of its days away, and what remains is in the hands of the Most Merciful, stored in time and days, and one day the moment of departure will come.

And to make sure that this life is not spent in vain, I would love to add some beauty to it with a story, and what a beautiful story it is when you write while you see on the computer the apparitions of people you loved who have passed away, and now you are waiting for the moment to meet again.

Perhaps it is more than a novel because it is formulated with ink like no other. When a father writes about his daughter, the words have another divulgence that is more like the divulgence of jasmines, and from that, the words infiltrate to tell the story of the birth, upbringing, the extreme pain from scoliosis and the journey of searching for a cure until the moment of undergoing the risky surgery.

As for Zeina’s journey with the world of art, it is another story, and it not only tells the story of an artist’s career, but also tells the pain of a father when facing the moments of separation.

And from the movie Habbet Loulou, which was Zeina’s first artistic work, the journey of investigation of this artistic journey begins from the point of view of a father. She did not only monitor the abstract artistic side until her latest work, Shatti Ya Beirut and Zeina’s famous cry: “Baba”, which opened the windows of the father’s heart to a similar cry that will one day be real.

And from the cry: “Baba”, the faucet of the memories from childhood until today through snippets from Zeina’s life, her academic excellence and medals that adorn her neck, to her bed in the family home whining about absence, to the teddy bear hidden in one of the drawers of the house’s closets.

With Zeina, I formed my letters with my father’s poems and my mother’s dough.. How delicate poetry is when it is wisdom, and how delicious is bread when its leaven is passion!

Zeina… A Girl Made of Iron and Silk. It didn’t become a novel by accident, it was only hidden in the heart of a father until the right time came.. It was a poem in which she is the heroine, and I am the narrator.

A Journey Towards The Light

- Why me, my father?

- I cannot answer this question, my little girl, why you? The world is full of mysteries, events and phenomena that humanity has not been able to answer throughout the ages.

The sadness that gripped my heart because of what happened to me turned into an emotion that overcame the rest of the emotions and remained in control of the focus of my thoughts.

I had to take a pause in contemplation in which I reconcile myself with the pain and sadness for myself, embrace myself, cry, tear myself apart, and exercise all my rights to express my pain. So that I can move beyond navigating pain, and searching for refuge from drowning in its sea.

I will search for a lifeline and hope. The challenges that life imposes on us are a general condition that confronts people, but the difference occurs when accepting them, regardless of their size or severity, and then excelling in dealing and adapting to them.

A Grain Of Sand

Dear readers, life is a small novel that we must learn from, to live happily, despite its trials and tribulations… And shout loudly, “O human, you are still alive and life on this earth is possible.” It is not sufficient just to live, it is imperative to live well and harmonize and coexist with others’ hearts, like the harmony between sand grains. And be sure that life has purpose, compel your imagination to achieve it, like sun is the source of life for the whole world but there is no life inside it. Life is more meaningful than imagined by people and those who want it; they should be adventurous, courageous, and continue to do good deeds… Don’t forget that life is a hope… Smile… and the future will be well by God’s will.

With The Long Hair

You won’t find much in this place, just letters trying to arrange to convince you taking them home with you. Scared of darkness and loneliness, scared of feet’s sound moving away slowly. Scared of the books next to them, they all know each other. Perhaps they won’t like shyness… Don’t bother… Who cares about shy letters in a bookshelf?

One Day, He Told Me

Who among us is not looking for happiness? How many of us actually find it? What is happiness? Is it what we find in a pretty-colored bird? Or in the scent of a fragrant rose? Is it what we find in a child’s laugh? Or in the arms of a woman we love? Is happiness all of the above? Or is it something else?