I’m back. Reunions & Fleas.

I took a hiatus from this blog because my privacy was being disrupted by a creep. Someone from my past decided to capitalize on my old Instagram handle (@lavieluv) and impersonate me. In doing so, they also put my blog link into their bio. I was so frustrated. Fortunately my lawyer is close by, so for my stalker who is reading this: tread lightly *Bryan Cranston voice* Sorry, I had to take it there. But, yeah.

The point is: I’m back and no one is going to be able to steal my shine. This blog marks the beginning of my growth. The desert rose is still the only flower that can survive in desert climate … forever.

P.s– I’m still growing.

My family has reunited due to the accident my father got in. We are all devastated, slightly sick of each other but also secretly happy to have gathered together. The last time we were all together was 4 Eid ago — and what do you know, tomorrow is Eid. Full circle sh*t.

In the back of my head “Roses” by Kanye is constantly playing.

“Cause with my family we know where home is
And so instead of sending flowers, we’re the roses”

We are coping in our own ways but we are together. And that’s more than what a lot of people can say.

Most of my current friends don’t have much family. Either they were estranged due to horrible circumstances or they died. I’m in full gratitude. My mom is so stressed that she often forgets that she has 5 daughters that are scrambling around her, willing to do anything. But that’s my mom.

I leave tonight and I’m headed to my other reality; traveling foreign lands.

It almost seems like I’m time traveling. One minute I’m in France sipping champagne, the next I’m in a hospital where I am plagued with memories of my past. I’m delighted to see growth, especially from pain. I’ve been patting myself on the back and giving myself high fives for waking up and getting out. I could only imagine what my reality would have been if I continued to keep myself around bad company.

When you lie down with dogs you’ll get fleas, be careful of the company you keep.

Figuratively speaking, I still have fleas from lying down with those dogs… they just don’t itch anymore. Ha.


You know when you’re having a hypothetical conversation with someone in your head? Like, someone came to my mind. And I began to think, what we would we be talking about if they were here.

I started thinking and I got excited about what I’d tell you and how you’d typically respond.

And then it got to me. Why am I having this conversation in my head with this person and not in real life?

Did I lose you too?

It seems like that’s the price you pay on a road to gold. I just hope I’m not chasing a rainbow’s tail.

So… maybe, you lost me.


Apart of me is always trying to narrate my own life. Do this and that so you can be that or this. You used to be that so you shouldn’t do this. They are story lines. Some that come from the demons of a past that I no longer identify with. “Thanks for creating this monster…but I have nothing to do with you now. Haha.”

Detaching from my memories

as they are only memories.

Don’t remember me.

Remember what I taught you.

That’s my spiritual view on things. I am a student and everything around me is a teacher. Some teach me how to not live; lessons. Some teach me how to; examples. I have to thank both. What is actual reality? Is it truly skin and bones, taxes and free champagne? Or is it simply what we think it is. Or is it something we have to revisit often so that we don’t forget it?

Let me get out of my own head. I’ve been drowning with novels by poets, artists and risk takers. I am a risk taker, among all things that’s what has gotten me the farthest.

On the outside, I’m learning about my own power as much as I can. I fear determination is something I won’t fully grasp. But I have to, I don’t care.

I’m learning about life and it’s biggest picture probably won’t be revealed until my last dying breath.

So I try to create my own story line. Just like in all of the books I read.

You had to go through this to become this. I’m currently in the process of defining what “this” truly is.

I have two paths to make “this” happen. Eleven. Two ones. You get to be number 1 twice. That’s my story line.

You come to my mind a lot. and when you do I feel a calmness. Your energy was always calming to me. Usually, people with that sort of energy pull away from the world. Everyone is in need of that calmness and you can’t just be a giver. You’ll exhaust yourself.

I took that energy from you and it healed me. I no longer have you in my life. I may have gotten greedy, but so did you. Maybe, we were both secretly mad that our union ended. We were a dangerous duo. You let the sand crawl under your feet. I let the wind push me in new directions. I’m itching for an adventure with you. To gain a moment of clarity.

You questioned the stars just as much as I did. A thirst for an untamed schedule. A dying will to feel joy.

But also, I’m haunted by the betrayal. I’m a friend not an enemy, I just need the reassurance. So I hope.

In the mean time, I can only sit back and enjoy the little view I have of you.

Live your truth

Everyday I run across articles, books, youtube videos, poems and blogs that identify transition into awareness. Whether it’s through the form of self-love, gender identity or faith, everyone is fixated on finding themselves.

A lot of these authors or speakers touch on other people’s judgements towards their process.

Evil gains power when we repress the true identity of ourselves. So why do some of us cast a blockage on ones path to divinity? Is it hurting us? Is it threatening us? In my opinion, it’s because we are afraid of what we might find in ourselves…which is raw human emotion and soul.

I myself have unintentionally stunted one’s growth into transition. Just as certain negative voices play in my head (from people judging me without knowing better), I may be that voice in someone’s head. Have you gone through life without making someone feel odd or left out? Run for president. hah.

I’m living more mindfully these days. Maya Angelou’s infamous quote: “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

As stated before, there is more harm in repressing identity than allowing it. Live your truth.

How to love

Sometimes I wonder if I fight your love because I’m afraid of it. I’m ashamed of you, when you have more right to be ashamed of me. But you don’t care. And I’m jealous of that. Why don’t I know how to love? Have I been taught hate for so long? You asked me today, who I was blaming before you got into the picture. I guess everyone around me. The last person who did me wrong. But ultimately? Myself. I’ve always blamed myself. Scrutinized my actions. I’m my own worst critic. But that was conditioned into me. I apologize. I miss everyone. I’m a builder and destroyer, and I got real tired of building so I just destroyed. And then you came in the picture. And I got a hold of myself. Today I pictured myself angry with you and your gentle reaction. You always have a gentle reaction. I don’t know why. I wish I knew how to love like you…. but doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I’m just afraid. Of. Love. So. I. Fight. It.


I don’t think men understand the terrible power that shame has on women.

We all know that popular saying: “when a man sleeps with a dozen of women he is celebrated, yet when a women does the same she is scrutinized by society.”

A mistress is a cruel character but the husband of the wife that chose her is high-fived and overlooked as “just being a man with needs.”

Men don’t understand the powerfully negative effect shame has on women. A man who has slept with a dozen women can enter any room with a smile…whereas, a woman, can do the same and may not enter the room in fear of being subjected as sick, disgusting cruel or worse not being taken serious.

Shame drives social anxiety. It can drive you to sit at home and avoid the world.

But men don’t understand this. Men overlook the anxieties of women by categorizing them as “crazy.” It’s unfair. I’m tired of explaining myself to the privileged. I can’t be a teacher of every ignorant thought.

I question if I am fit for a relationship like this. Where the significant other constantly needs explaining. And later, is in complete oblivion when the explainer becomes flustered with constantly explaining. I have better things to discuss.

It’s a man’s world, (more specifically a white man’s world). They laugh at our misery, they mock our insecurities. Yet without us, they would lack every artful aspect of life. And this, they do not see until we leave. Until I leave.