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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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Feature image by Yuting Gao
HOF — I’ve reached an age where I see aging as climbing a mountain. The higher we climb, the less we have — fewer resources, narrower footing, thinner air. The climb strips us of everything nonessential, leaving only what truly matters. And it’s precisely that scarcity that sharpens our appreciation. At the summit, we can look over the vast landscape — and at the few precious things we’ve kept — and feel proud.
That’s what 37 feels like.
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People look at me and assume I’ve lived a privileged life.
And in some ways — they’re not wrong.
My father comes from one of the most famous families in Damascus.
My mother, from one of the most powerful in Ghouta.
I have relatives scattered across the globe.
Wherever I land, there’s always someone who can help pull a string.
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.
DAMASCUS Rural –
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.
Roumani Line 