Damascus in Vienna

Posted on by Mani

This is a personal blog written from experience and metaphor, not doctrine or authority. It reflects how the world looks to me right now, not how it should look to others. Reading it is a choice, as is interpretation.
Image by Jakob Linser

I have many names.

Abdo (ibn Fatima), after my grandfather.
Abu Saleem (kunya), after my old man.
Muhammad.
Iskandar (Alexander) — the name I sign with.
Roumani (Roman) — my family name.
Rou — a name given to me by Kholoud.
Mani — a name given by Manar.
Manilein — a name given by my mother-in-law.
Hob (love), as Sarah has called me for the past ten years.

But truly, I am Damascus in bits — and I’m writing this Letter to Vienna.

I was born in October 1987.
My legal birthday, on my passport, is January 1, 1988.

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Decompressed: Between Damascus and Vienna

Posted on by Mani

Grainbach — At the time, bipolar was the diagnosis — but it later became clear it didn’t fully explain what was happening.

What happened to me was something else.

In August, from my internal experience, I wasn’t “cycling.” I wasn’t unraveling. I wasn’t losing myself.
I was over-leveraged.

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My Theory of Everything

Posted on by Mani

Feature image by Pixabay

HOF — It’s been thirty-four days since I stopped taking medication.

The first three weeks of October were an abyss—days of heavy silence, a depression so deep it seemed to absorb light. Then, around October 21, something shifted. I began to swing between two poles: one day happy and open to everything around me—people, nature, even strangers on the street—and the next, emptied out again.

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Good Things Can Always Wait

Posted on by Mani

Feature image by TruShotz

HOF — This morning, I woke up with a heavy heart, so I took a walk in nature. There’s an airfield not far from where I live — sometimes U.S. Chinooks come in fleets to refuel there — and between it and my block runs a dirt road. It’s not my favorite place to walk, but in summer I used to go there to watch the planes.

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