Within(nisrine) Within…
‘waking up looking at the moist peeled rusted wallpaper’ this wallpaper never bothered me, It’s not its fault, being attached to walls were tired of holding a lot of memories within. Off to work, same day different clock alarm, my body moves on its own, I take the closest thing to wear, and sit in front of the blurred mirror, poor thing looking deteriorated with age, my eyes are opened but I can’t see how I look anymore, I don’t know how should feel like. I hold an old leather brown backpack, with peeled straps barely holding its weight, a name tag that says ‘yours forever’ I’ve found it in the dusted attic, and now it carries my books.
I head to catch the bus, as usual, same destination every day, the station is crowded with people, but all I see are vague faces, I was incurious though. there I am waiting impatiently, for the same bus, same seat feels like it’s reserved for me, I always lay on the window ‘sighing heavily’ oh how many times I wished this ride could last, it’s the only time I feel like I’m breaking loose from something, the only time I could think, but my troubles and agony mock me.
I love what I do, but sometimes I feel reluctant, The first one to come, and last to go, can’t help it I’m a diligent person. I always sit in the empty cold lounge on a rusted chair, trying to gather the courage to go to that room upstairs, where it’s the only place I could fold things around, and be myself, oh! what a passion, honest smiles, vivid conversations, like a maestro conducting a masterpiece, bringing a unified vision, but at the end of the day I’m glad it’s over, I wasn’t ready to go home though, these bus rides are getting shorter and shorter, so much to think about, so many places to discover, but luckily I’m an intruder in my own city.
I admire my neighborhood, it’s a mix of immigrants, occupying these old buildings that were victims of the war, you can clearly spot the different shaped holes, thorn cables, and moist fronts. My building is the oldest of them, a dusty gem, with five stores, guarded by an old black grumpy cat, and a basket hanging in the middle of the spiral stairs, mostly used by an aged lady, never seen her, just mesmerized by her taste of symphonies during late nights. This place speaks with serenity, love, and peace, every corner either has a smell or a dream. Despite the lack of the lavishing lifestyle yet content within.
I live in the last apartment with an attic, it was an easy task for the tenant to convince me, perhaps it was the tranquility, and the uninvolved society. The journey on these stairs is similar to the bus rides, never quite want them to end. The plants, the peeled walls, the tiled floors, old notes in different languages.
Finally, home threw my coat on the sofa, and went to squeeze some scented coffee, I find my harmony in simplicity, slow Turkish music, and a fresh cup of coffee on this single-chair table on the balcony, for me, it’s my window to this divergent world, the first day of school, first 4oth anniversary, first heartbreak, first and last fight, it’s never mundane. ‘what about you I said to myself’ me ‘ turned to look around the empty apartment it’s lifeless here, not a single text, or a knock on the door, the only person who understands me is my blurred self on the mirror, the only thing that scares me is my own shadow will desert me one day.
These walls hold memories, they’re tired of being silent, I feel like I was left behind to tell their stories, maybe that will open the door to show me mine.

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