I burned another light bulb today. On sunny mornings, my room is warm, sweet, and comforting, and I forget to change the broken bulbs. Today it’s cloudy outside and I only have one working lamp sitting on my desk.
It’s a dark, somber, lifeless room…yet I feel light. I have nothing to fight with in my mind, nothing to lose, nothing to give up…
I don’t think I need the rest of my lamps right now. I’ll change their light bulbs later…

I hear a helicopter above me. It’s moving farther away and I have no way of reaching it, keeping it from flying. My ears love this sound. This freedom. This intoxication of escaping…
Blue bird is yet waiting…waiting for that moment to come, the moment of departure to wherever her wings can take her…

My father spilled some of the left over food we brought back from the restaurant on his black coat. He was checking the mail like he always does when the box of food accidentally opened. I laughed as I poured the clothes softener into its container. My sister was laughing in the living room and my mother joined her from my room. It was a silly thing to laugh about, but we enjoyed it.
We make each other laugh and cry. Our life has been up and down. We’ve been apart and back together again. But one thing has never changed: our sense of humor.

Timidly, I opened a bottle of mascara and applied it to my lashes. I took a tissue out of its box and gently pressed it against my red lips. I was afraid, afraid the makeup would change me. But it was the change itself I was afraid of, not the bottle of mascara or the red lipstick.
Sometimes we’re afraid of transformations, of stepping out of the norm. Somehow old habits and customs give us a feeling of safety and protection. But protection against what? The outside world? Or our other side?
Makeup did become a part of my life and so did many other things. What changed in me was not because of my new habits, but because I knew what I wanted.

The clothes inside the washing machine are revolving …I’m watching the colors…blue, red, green, white…
It’s a continuous circle, in full non-stop motion…
How many times do we get to see the things we see everyday? How many times do we get to live? At some point, this ongoing circle may take a different turn. At some point, this circle will stop. What then?
The machine stops, I open it and take the clothes out.

Is it possible to forget how to cry? Is it possible to be out of tears? I feel that I’ve reached a point where I can just be sad, depressed or angry without the tears and tissues. It’s like I can forget how ridiculously lonely I feel at times; I simply move on. Is it moving on or is it accepting? Maybe I’ve accepted how meaningless some things are and how little they can make me feel. Maybe I’ve learned to forget and leave them behind. It doesn’t really matter what the reason may or may not be. What matters is me being happy, and being able to ignore the occasional downfalls.

Life is sometimes a series of “ifs and buts”. I was sitting on my toilet seat, in my pink bathrobe, going through my thoughts. I was thinking out loud since I had the opportunity to be alone, away from my family, the temporary outsiders. I let the water run in the sink for a few minutes to make sure I wouldn’t be heard. It occurred to me that all my plans for the next few months were hypothetical “if” scenarios. But these “ifs” are what I depend on, what I look forward to. What do you do when all you have is an “if” or a “maybe”? What do you do when all you can count on is fate, luck, a chance, or a happenstance…

I’m staring into my hot cup of tea, counting the perfectly shaped bubbles that have gathered around it. The bubbles come in different sizes, but nonetheless they are perfectly round. This tea is perfect; it soothes me, calms me, and makes me unreasonably happy. My unfinished letter is sitting on my lap; I’ll finish it as soon as I have my last sip. This night feels undone, like an unfinished puzzle. But I have no other way of ending it. It’s another Saturday night, where nothing is perfect except the bubbles in my cup.

He remembers my birthdays and sends me his love. He’s watched me grow and although we live apart, he was there at every step of the way. He takes care of his little sister and gives her words of encouragement, words she needs to hear.
What would a girl do without her big brother’s love and support?
When I was a little girl, he bought me my dream Barbie dolls. He bought me Disney movies and introduced me to the world of cinema and movies. He held my little hands and showed me off to the world.
He created Bluebirdescape and gave me a place to write. He let the world hear what I have to say. My words of thanks will never be equal to how much he has given me on every day of my life.
Today is his birthday and now it’s my turn to show him off to the world. I want the whole world to know how much I love my big brother.
Happy birthday baradare azizam, my dearest.
Love,
Bluebird
Tavalodet mobarak dadash.
Dooset daram.

She sits next to me and as the bus starts moving, takes out her lip gloss. She twists its end and rolls it on her lips. She does this every morning and now the task is so ordinary and routine that she doesn’t need a mirror anymore. “You want it?” she asks, I smile and say “no”. The bus keeps moving. I only hear the engines; everyone is quiet. Our mornings never change. We wait for our yellow bus at the bus-stop and check the time. The sky is pure black and I’m thinking of my warm bed at home.
These mornings and afternoons have become too cliché, too redundant, too ordinary. We let them pass and think we would never want to look back at them. But there does come a time when looking back becomes a new habit, a need.