HOF — Finally, a new day.
February 14, 2026 – One girl named Lux was born to Fatima (aka HOB)
After months of daily inner work, something settled. Not numbness. Not forgetting. Just a calm I hadn’t known before — a neutral plateau where feeling no longer meant falling. For the first time, I could think of you, love you, miss you, without being wounded by distance or silence.
Continue reading “Notes from a Forged Damascene Heart”
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, after my grandfather.
Abu Saleem (ibn Fatima), after my parents.
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.
Adapted from my 2009 diary, originally written as a letter in Arabic to the woman who deeply shaped my life journey. The text was revised and translated into English in December 2025. The original Arabic version is included below.
Eastern Ghouta –
There is no escape from leaving—
this love has thrown us down
into the deep, uncharted unknown.
From you, I’ve worn my hoping thin;
from your impossible love,
I am undone.
Originally written in Arabic in December 2007 and preserved from my personal diary.
This English version is an adaptation with the help of AI.
It is addressed to those I loved and wounded—love remains.
Eastern Ghouta –
To you, I offer my apology—
for my foolishness, my wild delirium,
for all my seas, my endless drifting,
for every turn that carried me away from you.
Adapted from my May 18, 2006 Arabic diary below. It was primarily written in Arabic verse, for Haya. I revised the English version using AI on October 6, 2024.
DAMASCUS –
On Baghdad Street we stood that day,
the rain weighed heavy on my coat.
I watched you with my whole being,
waiting—begging—for a note,
a mercy in the way you’d turn,
a softening I hoped to earn.
Roumani Line 