Growing up, I never had one specific answer to the classic question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Every time I watched a movie or saw someone doing something interesting, I instantly felt like that was the thing for me, too. I wanted to be a teacher, a doctor, an interior designer, and sometimes a member of an animation team at a resort, dancing in the sun with a bunch of kids. I spent most of my time imagining all the infinite possibilities of what adult me could do and enjoy, long before I knew anything about personality types, KPIs, corporate ladders, or team building.

All I knew was that I wanted to lead a calm, yet interesting life. One where I didn't have to regret steps I never took, or realities I never pursued, created, or worked toward.

The Crossroads

Eventually, I grew up and stepped into the phase where I actually needed to decide what I would study in college. I found myself deciding between a major with a career I believed was practical and interesting (Business) and another that spoke to my heart and mind more passionately (Psychology).

And I found myself going for the study that I was less passionate about: business.

But who does that? Who consciously goes for the less appealing choice? And why? There were no external boundaries or limitations. But there was a solid belief and faith in something else within me… my curiosity.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it saves me every day.

The Art of Living Many Lives

It will surely happen, my friend, that we’ll be faced with two roads, two options (sometimes even more), and that we’ll keep thinking about the different realities—and the different people—we could be if we made a specific choice.

The role of curiosity in those moments is to remind us that there is no single identity that creates a certain life. Our curiosity is a door to all the lives we wish we could live.

Looking at things with genuine interest is what makes our lives interesting. Not that specific career, not that specific city, not that specific reality—but waking up with eyes that are actually eager to see and understand. You can wake up like a kid trying to understand the world. You can cook your breakfast like a French chef. You can style your plate like a food stylist working for a magazine. You can carry on with your life like you are everything you ever wanted to be. You can be everything you wanted to be if you are curious enough to ask yourself: “How would they have done this if they did it for a living? How would I deal with this if this were my muse?” It is a shortcut to presence—to wanting to truly understand and feel things.

A Protection for Your Wonder

I could write a thousand posts about how curiosity can save us from an identity crisis. I truly believe that asking ourselves questions and protecting our wonder does us a lot more good than a thousand personality tests or performance appraisals.

If you have reached this point in my essay, I would really—from the deepest part of my heart—like to invite you to step into the intention of asking yourself more questions. Many of them will have no answer, or perhaps more than one answer, and that is really okay.

Show up to your world with wandering eyes, and a mind that is courageous enough to ask: “What if?”

I think what it taught me the most was what a blessing it is to have emotion. I tend to be numbed from the inside when things are too much, but I’ve recently been CRYINGGGG in all the ugly ways, laughing when it felt like it, chuckling sometimes, then crying again, then looking at the wall for 30 minutes straight. I’ve felt my blood BOIL from anger, and my tummy make noises from anxiousness. And honestly, what a blessing.

I’ve witnessed my loved ones and myself grieve, worry, and care too much. I’ve seen so much love and happiness in many eyes. And I’ve seen myself hesitate towards taking the ugly, hard, annoying-yet-right adult decision of letting go of things I still want to hold onto.

Life recently has been a series of events that are all pushing me to understand one thing: life is funny. It will break you multiple times, it will push you to feel like you know it all—though you never do—and it will make you laugh at your limitations and mistakes. It will humble you, but it can also show you that that generous heart of yours can make room for a lot more than you knew it could.

Life has been reminding me again and again that it is permanent and bittersweet.

What has life been like to you, my friend?

This thought was inspired by “K,” a regular at the café I work at, so we meet quite often. She is away from her family and home, studying here, and spends most of her time in our space. It is always so wholesome to have our daily chats and hear about her latest university shenanigans and exam hassles. She and her friend “D” are two of the blessings I am so grateful for.

The other day, “K” was going on vacation, and she knew she would be away for a while, so she passed by and handed me this beautiful flower bouquet as a mini goodbye. She just knew she’d be missed. It has been a week, and she really is.

But here is the thing… there is a chance for love to creep its way into our spaces and lives only if we allow it to. And how do we do that? Sincerity, my friend. My answer would be sincerity and reciprocity — two of the values closest to my heart.

Sincerity

To give lovingly and wholeheartedly. To do what you mean and mean what you do. To say things that you truly, deeply mean. It always shows, I believe — whether your words come before your feelings, or whether they are coming from the deepest parts of your heart.

Reciprocity

To give first and to give back. Reciprocity is important in many aspects of one’s ‘pretty weird’ adult life. And it is very different from things being transactional — it is about mutual, consistent care and nourishment.

I am still learning more about myself and life — staying curious, you know — and I really hope you are too. But if there is anything this beautiful bouquet reminded me of, it is that the idea that we should constantly be waiting for someone to choose us and say something like, “I like you, you are actually lovable,” is very limiting.

Sometimes, these expectations come in the form of validation-based words that lack meaning, and honestly, that annoys me. It is very beautiful and honorable to find love — though I think “love” is such a limited word, by the way; we can discuss this later.

You can be a lover at heart while still holding love — and all the beautiful meanings it carries — to such a high standard that you refuse to call things that are nothing more than modern, watered-down gestures “love.”

But do you know what is worth appreciating and filling your heart with?

A flower bouquet from a woman who chose to come, show up, and say: “I’ll be away for a while, and I am going to miss you and our daily chats.”

Platonic love is also very valuable, and very important to how we develop and think about the world and ourselves.

If you read all the way here: first of all, thank you. Second, regardless of your gender, age, or background, I hope you are not limiting your vision or perspective — about anything in general, and love in particular.

I hope you allow yourself to give and receive, to show the tiny gestures — of course within respectful boundaries and understood frontiers — but still allow yourself to imagine a different narrative for your life and timeline.

I hope meaning, love, and appreciation fill your heart in all the beautiful ways.

Love always,

Sondos Shamel

This morning, I found myself overthinking a problem my brother is dealing with—more of a challenge, let’s say. But then I remembered that with the little resources I have, in accordance with his problem, his life, and his situation, my overthinking and trying to control may not be helping; and maybe I need to pour that thinking into how I can really help. How can I help make his life a tad bit easier so more of his energy can be poured into dealing with his challenge? How can I support? Empathy is not always about placing ourselves in the place of others to fix and change; sometimes all we need is to connect to a situation only to imagine what can actually be needed in terms of feeling. Is it a hug? A pickup meal? A call? A friend that I know can help? Or maybe… just a sandwich.

A sandwich that says, “I may not be able to fix your problem, but I consciously and wholeheartedly chose to ease your day, even a tiny bit—so I made you a sandwich.”

I want to show you what’s in my bag while I tell you the story of everything I carry around with me. Why do I carry the things I carry around?

But this conversation will not continue to be about my bag, but my baggage as a person—my thoughts, my fears, and the ideas I hold about myself and the world. About how I am seen and how I am known. About the first time I fell off my bike and when I got lost in Düsseldorf as a child who spoke no German.

The bag I carry has mint in four different forms—all trying to replace my need for a cup of tea with mint (شاي بالنعناع) at any point in time, just because it runs in my blood.

The bag I carry is heavy… so heavy. But it contains my world. It carries the trinkets and the truths I haven’t yet shared with anyone. It has my wallet and my (under-constructed) financial mindset.

My bag has my dates in two different forms, celebrating my love for variety and how much I appreciate a midday power snack. And it also carries my love for dates, my culture, and my roots.

My bag is heavy… so heavy. But I am training to be strong—extra strong—so I can carry my bag around with all the tiny pieces of me with courage and grace.

What’s in my bag? Ah, I forgot to share—maybe my iPad, my journal, and a couple of different things… what’s in yours?

I’ve recently been thinking about balance a lot. It is something I strive for, so for me to know how to walk towards it, I think I need to wrap my head around it. It’s okay if my idea of balance changes in 2 years; it’s even okay if it changes tomorrow, but I find it far more interesting than not giving it thought and attention, at least for a while.

There is a lot that we can notice and learn about some concepts from contemplating the words we use around them. Language can teach us about life more than we can imagine, so I decided to give some thought to the phrases we use when speaking about balance.

‘Strike a Balance’

So I have been contemplating the phrase “strike a balance.”

You mean like in a bowling game, when we’re trying to strike it? That perfect point that would let us score the highest, with all pins falling?

Because from what I know about bowling pins, they all exist in the same size and shape. And this is far from the truth when speaking about any aspect of my life.

As part of the diaries of a 22-year-old, my life has recently been expanding, and with it being such a blessing to make choices and move, I’m also learning how to do that in the most responsible way. Not in the perfect way, because there’s no place for that. But I’d rather invite accountability.

Between family, friends, work, other work, my hobbies, and my health, balance here is not something I can strike at all. But maybe one that I can craft.

I’ve always appreciated crafts. Since I was a little girl, I would sit down for hours and hours, absorbed in trying to put things together and come up with something that has my print- a product of time, feelings, thoughts, and attention to detail. And no matter how imperfect it would be, I would always appreciate it. For it is not only a product, but a process I had to go through - one that allows me to see things, and myself, differently every single time.

Years of crafting have made me appreciate craft. Years of trying pushed me to ask myself one important question:

Should I be striking a balance, or should I be crafting it?

The answer I have for myself today is this: Life- this so-called journey comes with no manual; I create my own.

When I seek to understand my religion, when I think things through, when I seek to find answers to my questions, and when I crave new discoveries. A chaotic, imperfect journey that I am walking with a heart that desires serenity and a mind that craves novelty and experience. See how this stands in contrast to a bowling game (where you can score 100%, which would be very impressive, by the way) - I realise you can’t score 100% here.

There are no pins of equal size and shape. Here, every area is different in importance, size, and priority. One common thing, though, is that they matter.

One common goal is to craft. To craft my balance, leave my print, and document my trials of giving them all the attention they need at different times, and to keep trying.

As far as I know, our trials are all that matters

.

Seasons

I needed to see the seasons change. I needed to remember that it is normal. It is normal to experience change. It’s normal for my leaves to fall before they have to grow again.

For the past couple of weeks, I have been trying to make sense of my chaos. Analyse where things went wrong. Which was the wrong turn? Why did I take it? How do I re-route? How long will it take me to reach my destination now? And why am I running out of fuel so early in the journey? But is there such a thing? Wrong turn, seriously. I believe not.

And I am not here to throw a bunch of phrases about how and why we should have no regrets and that we should embrace the mistakes, and so on. I am here to express my thoughts about our limitedness. We keep trying to have control over everything when, in fact, not only can’t we have control over everything, but control itself will bring us nothing but misery. We shall never control everything because it’s how we will ruin it all. Our limited minds can never comprehend how everything works all at once. And despite this being such an annoying thought to the curious mind of mine, it still saves me a lot when I am drenched in overwhelm. When I want to have a plate of summer fruit, but the fruits in season will soon be out of sight. Too much thinking about strawberries when figs are now perfectly ripe. I sit here with my thoughts about myself and seasons. I will have my seasons too. Seasons of triumph, and seasons of low energy and discomfort. So I remind myself that I cannot steal from myself the right to normally shed every once in a while, it will take some time and patience, and things will get better again eventually. Maybe instead of my expectation to create a certain outcome, I can sit with it and observe it all. Cry, write, walk, sing, speak, relax my shoulders, and wait for it to pass. It shall do the same way the dates turn yellow and figs fall from the tree.

Transition, maybe?

While I try to navigate this phase, I scroll through my timeline to find a questionable amount of ‘how to change your life 180 degrees before the end of 2025’. Contrary to what you might think now, I don’t hate them. They do not annoy me either. I think it is courageous of us to want to make use of our time and grow. But what I do find annoying is the means.

‘Go ghost mode, ’ and for the two to three months, do it all. The social life, the healthy lifestyle, the career building, the habit quitting, everything all at once. Then sit down on a random Tuesday (I don’t know why, but it is always a Tuesday), feeling exhausted or messed up, and wonder what it is about you that is wrong. So if, like me, you fell before for that perfectionist trap, my friend, please remember this season to first of all watch You’ve Got Mail –just kidding (not really)- and give yourself the undeniable right to listen to what YOU might need. I understand sometimes we try to listen to ourselves and all we can hear is gibberish, but we learn to decipher our internal voices over time. They are not always loud and well articulated; they are, many times, really confusing, but I believe this is the whole point. Just spending time with ourselves and assessing our own needs in this very loud world. So grab yourself a drink and sit down for a moment.

So here is what I think…

We are limited, and it is liberating to understand that. So if all we have is a moment of time, a self to understand, and uncertainty to befriend- we will grab a plate, wash some dates, and remember that change remains inevitable, so we might as well walk ourselves through it the most mindful way possible. May we always learn how to do it over and over again.

Am I doing a good job? Maybe. Am I questioning a lot of things? Many times, yes. But one thing I know for sure is that as I wait for my hair to dry right now, I decide to sit by my desk and write…

As a ‘thought daughter’ who had to figure out a way to live with her own head blasting with thoughts almost every moment, I had to befriend this mind of mine and find a way through. Speaking my feelings out loud might not be my greatest skill, even though some people think I am eloquent, so writing it is.

Writing to express, to understand, to communicate, and to document.

Then writing again to meet the words somewhere other than my head.

Writing to give the words a home. Writing to know the meaning of home, then writing again to know how meaningful it is to write.

Let’s go back again to the life of a 22-year-old, shall we? Last week I received devastating news that got my heart broken a little (but is there such a thing as a half-broken heart?). And today -Friday - is when I try to sit down with my heart to mend what I can, pick myself up a bit, and excite myself for my graduation ceremony. I remind myself over and over again that I can make friends with time and destiny. They both inevitably have power over me, and it isn’t a bad thing after all. It’s only frustrating when I expect myself to always have control over things. And I don’t.

All I can control at the moment is not even the state of my well-being or feelings, but rather how I will show up to them. All I can control is knowing that if I have a little spark of energy to make myself some chamomile tea to drink before an important meeting, I will. If I feel my throat tight because I need to let out a tear or two, I will. If I owe someone an apology for my cranky attitude because I am stressed, I will apologise. If I wake up and decide that I need to reset my life, I will not think about it twice. And finally, if I feel like I will write to share my thoughts as I wait for my hair to dry, I will do it without hesitation, because my friends, our words travel through distance and time to reach who they’re meant to reach and, hopefully, make them feel a bit more seen and comforted.

As I started writing, I found myself asking this question ‘why did I choose to write today.’ For something that I have been putting off such as writing and sharing on Substack, I thought that when I finally have the courage to do it, it would be because of a life changing moment. An overwhelm of emotions or an idea that is just too bright to dim by not giving enough attention to, but today was in fact, a very ordinary day.

I woke up at 6:05 a.m in the morning. Enough time to pray Fajr before the sunrises and to make a cup of tea with milk so I can have it as I watch the sun rise. I journaled, talked myself through a limiting belief that haunted my self esteem the past couple of days. I read a while about friendships and love, things that you need to experience more than read about, but maybe the book is good? And I enjoyed my tea in silence.

A couple of blessed house chores, and getting ready for work. Work, cooking, and a nap in front  of the T.V watching a movie I haven’t watched in at least 4 years.

Just an ordinary day. And what a blessing it is to have an ordinary day.

We often wait for the big moments. The day I’ll take that important test, the day I’ll submit the work I’ve been pouring my heart into, the day I’ll see that person, and the list goes on.  But the thing is, these are often just marks on the calendar, while all the growth, the realizations, the change usually happen in the silent slow moments.

Happen when we do not reach our screen time limits. When we aren’t expecting them to come. When we let go of the need to have great ideas all the time. When we allow ourselves to just be present, be here and now.