he smiled, and his face was like the sun.@ godlyicarus
youssef | arab | 25 | he/they
the seawhenever
he smiled, and his face was like the sun.@ godlyicarus1761142452

  • on saturday, i turn 26.

    birthdays are a complicated time for me. i used to love them as a kid. the excitement of being another year older, the classic thing of a child yearning to be an adult because growing up was the goal for some, unfounded reason. mama would make me tiramisu, my favourite dessert, because i never really liked birthday cakes. i have vague memories - or maybe i’ve just seen photos - of my second or third birthday, one of the few that i spent in lebanon (in the years since, we would only ever spend summers there). one of my aunts went into labour and gave birth to one of my cousins. we share a birthday, and blood, but nothing else. i also remember my seventh birthday. i would sleep on a mattress on the floor of my parents’ bedroom at the time, because one of my uncle’s was visiting and staying in my bedroom. i remember waking up, surrounded by presents that my mum and sister had carefully placed around me as i slept. they were the first thing i saw when i opened my eyes, and i remember being filled with excitement and joy and so much love. i think i’ve been chasing that feeling ever since. one of the presents was a mr fantastic toy from my sister, whose arms could stretch far and wide. i remember playing with that toy, testing the boundaries of how far he could actually stretch, until later that day i pushed him too far and one of his arms snapped. i was suddenly filled with shame and embarrassment. how could i tell my sister that i had already broken her present for me, a few short hours in? how could i tell her that i had been careless with her love for me? looking back now, it’s obviously not that serious. it was a toy, and it broke. but in my freshly seven-year-old brain, it was the biggest betrayal i had ever committed. so instead of telling her, i hid him and his now severed arm behind the closet, and never brought it up again. i don’t think i ever told her. sarah, if you’re reading this, i’m sorry that i was so careless, and i’m sorry i wasn’t brave enough to tell you. you probably don’t even remember the toy, let alone the fact that you got it for me. but the memory is seared into my brain. it’s funny, what stays with us.


    in recent years, the leadup to my birthday has been filled with melancholy. a yearning for childhood, nostalgia, whatever you want to call it. it’s also filled with awe. another year gone by, another year older. there was a time not so long ago that i didn’t think i’d get this far. i mean fucking hell, as i’m writing this i’ve been signed off work because of a particularly gruelling depressive episode. every year, i’m surprised that i’m still here. i have more fight in me than i think. i have people who love and care for me, which helps, but if i’ve learned anything in these almost 26 years of being alive, the will to live has to start from within. every time i think i’ve lost it, i have to choose to claw my way back.

    so on saturday, i turn 26. on the whole, not a major milestone at all. but at the same time, i’ve made it another year, even if sometimes it feels like the hardest thing. mama won’t be making me tiramisu this year - it’s a lot of work and she’s had a long year. her hands don’t work like they used to, but that’s okay. maybe i’ll make it for her birthday this year.

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