Publications 

My younger brother has always been my shadow, both my biggest burden and my biggest blessing. We shared every toy and childhood memory until the 2020 port blast carved him into someone else. I watched him retreat into a shell of PTSD and anxiety, a twelve-year-old who couldn't sleep alone or let our parents out of his sight. While my brother found his footing again, the world shifted once more. To be frank, I find it difficult to be here while Lebanon is falling apart. Ther

Beams flick from leaf to petal, skipping softly, half-aimless,their mellowed shine stitching a dappled constellation across the forest floor. I watch the light shiver through your silvered hair, trembling, uncertain,as if it senses the slight unravelling of your being. Mottled bark loosens, slips from the towering gums,from the pendulous hush of wattles- And in its quiet shedding,I see your skin begin to remember, every year it has carried,your face freckled with the slow fat

In November of last year, I had to leave campus and temporarily stop my studies due to an unexpected health issue. This meant that I would have almost 6 months off; no class, no deadlines, no exams. To those who are in the midst of an academic crisis, this may sound like a dream, but no one prepares you for how strange and unfamiliar having nothing on your schedule feels. At the beginning of my leave of absence it felt like there was this huge mountain in front of me. How wa

Anyone who has taken Introduction to Art History probably recalls the stress of studying for the final exam and having to remember every single artwork in the textbook. I remember flipping through The Story of Art, desperately trying to memorise all the paintings and sculptures, and slowly coming to a realisation. Of the approximately 370 artworks depicted in this book, covering almost the entire history of Western art, there was only one single artwork made by a woman. Conve

河中行 躺在吊床上，仰望着看不见的星空——我闭上眼，通过你的眼睛看——同样的树，同样的天空，同样的粒子。 你从第一道光就存在，你也会在我的结束后还在。 睁开眼——细胞更新，分子和原子悄然替换。接触到我视网膜的光子，已然不复存在。 闭上眼，我是永恒的。睁开眼—— 我将重新、第一次注视这个世界。 A walk in the river Lying in a hammock, I gaze at unseen stars. I close my eyes, and see through yours— the same trees, the same sky, the very same drifting particle. You have existed since the first light, and will remain long after my end. I open my eyes: cells renew, molecules and atoms silently replaced. The photons that met m

Who are you, and where do you begin and end? What are the boundaries of your self, where you know for certain that something is you, belongs to you, and has been made by you? Although these are difficult philosoph ical questions, I am not only asking them as an abstract hypothetical, but because they have a deep urgency. The question of who you are is at imminent risk of being surveilled, stolen, and sold to the highest bidder on the data auction. In fact, this is not just an

Last summer, as I was visiting the Slovenian side of my family, I spent a week in Nova Gorica and Gorizia. In 1947, the Treaty of Paris abruptly drew a border between Italy and the former Yugoslavia, cutting off movement and exchange between the two sides and leaving the regional center, Gorizia, within Italy. In response, Yugoslavia constructed a new town across the border: Nova Gorica. The cities and their populations remained separated until 2004, when Slovenia joined the

To be frank: we are eight hundred people trapped in a snow globe. No, that’s too gentle. We are eight hundred people sharing a single, cracked fishbowl. Everyone knows not just your name, but the name of your ex, your ex’s new situationship, and the exact timestamp of that mildly problem atic thing you said outside the bar that one night. And because it was problematic, everyone knew it was you who said it. That’s how it goes. Constantly seeking that gasping piece of informat

My twin and I lived identical lives: same school, same friends, same taste. But there’s a strain to our relationship, because we resent each other. Or more exactly, I resent her. Mom and Dad treated us equally, that was never an issue, but she has always been angry, and prideful. She has always been her greatest enemy. Her tongue spews poison, which hurts our friends, and then it’s me who apologises, but sometimes she won’t let me, because deep down, she’s scared of the cons

Movements from and since our call on the 16th of April, 2026 I think I’m incredibly autistic – insofar as that is a word that usefully fits the unique fuzziness of my subjective experience to better it. I’ve always known – we’ve always known – that I am very different from other people around me. To begin, I conceptualised myself for a long time as existing in two simultaneous and separate modes. To bring this system, conceived in adolescence to navigate myself and the world,

Why Do I Spread and Leak I have to reign myself in An eye tic, another escaped gasp The twitch of an arm, leg Please give me back control of my body Or at least keep the pretense going Things to do, events to attend A life in need of progressing Waiting for me And yet here you are Hindering me Are you even a you, Or an it Whether single entity or amalgamation Try to understand me Fix the holes, the signs of wear Everything needs to be properly contained within, under cont

i remember when standing next to you didn’t make my skin crawl and i wanted you, just like that we were standing on the shore, looking into the ocean and you said, let’s walk in and drown in there. that summer, i could’ve stayed with you forever there was a blue quilt and blue walls and at night we could hear the waves because we’d leave the window open just a crack, and you always kept some seaglass on the nightstand. and you’d make me shower outside so i wouldn’t get

I am a person who likes certainty. When I plan for the week, I like to know what I’m doing, when I’m doing it, and how I’ll go about it. I make my meal plans, I do my crosswords, and when I’m stressed, I plan my days down to the minute. Obviously, though, there are things I can’t control. Sometimes it rains, and I push my run back to the next day. Sometimes my walk with a friend goes a little too long and throws off my schedule. Sometimes I read the news and feel absolutely t

“Slop” has become a ubiquitous word of late, and it’s a good word. It succinctly encapsulates the mixture of laziness and meaninglessness that characterizes the products of generative AI. There is something missing in the things it produces: the strangely monotone consistency, the eager willingness to agree with whatever you say, no matter how you say it. Slop is shallow, its phrasing repetitive, its ideas endlessly recycled. Yet for something so dull, it is a terrifying conc

On the tip of my cigarette I saw appear Medusa Eight nicotine-snakes around my wrists I rubbed my arms until blood-ink Carved my veins with their secrets Not a trace of what held me yesterday I stumble on a cemetery of ashes while Ithaca on my ribs, I wait For Icarus to fall And yet again nothing Loving an angel made me a saint Holding her breasts, I imprecated With one hand all purgatory, and Done waiting for Decaying Eros I cursed She who had knighted me With

The young poet stepped forward and asked, with a curious twinkle in his eyes, 'What about words, Prophet?’ I hesitated for a moment. Doubting whether to tell him my full truth or to tell him only the part that complies with his young heart’s content. ‘Words are one of our greatest means,' I answered, stressing the words ‘one of’. For words are nothing without intention, and they are nothing without action. Often, words alone are not sufficient to shake those with roots dug de

I am loaded with ink But it evaporates when I write That fountain pen is not sharp enough. To suck the night-coloured fluid running my body That paper isn’t coarse enough. To handle my venom killing my down I would rather say nothing than say incomplete and be misunderstood. For nothing could be munched of this polyhedron that beats. throbs. bleeds. The voices endlessly well up from the sky with the ceilings which lost control of the dawn and down. My ink is the colour of

I stand before them, them who I’m most comfortable with, them who make me feel like I can’t do wrong. I know anything is fine:. My feelings, my interests, or just the regular things we laugh and forget about and soon forget. But I fail to speak. Everything I say is like a cry for help. I try to play the piano that once felt like a part of my body,. My fingertips finding the keys like a child finding its mother’s arms when thunder strikes. This time, like so often nowadays, th

Crowds say I am heartless, for being ignorant, for avoiding the troubles that surround me like shadows. But the truth is I care more than anyone here dares to show. I run from the pain because I cannot bear to face it. My heart aches at thesight of my mother’s cries, my sister’s yells, my father’s dark, rageful nights. And yet, before all, I would fall before them choose my own demise before witnessing theirs. Because my soul would not heal from a break so vast a