Their struggle is not in vein 

In the memory of those who proudly sacrificed their lives for our beloved country. 

Link to the original article. 
His mother remembers him as the handsome man he always appeared to be to her: tall and strong, with a shaved head and always with a hint of bukhoor. The bukhoor that she made for years and sold for a few dirhams in order to secure a decent life for her children. The scent is stuck to her fingers as she moulds the ingredients into round black pieces and preserves them in a glass jar, hoping that his memory will be locked in there, too, but with every whiff, her eyes well up. Each morning his wife applies the bukhoor to his children’s clothes before they leave the house, as though reminding them that they come from the bloodline of the brave. A deafening silence fills the house as the smoke rises and his memory swirls. He was a man of honour, one who was familiar with the horrors of war. Upon his departure he kissed their heads and promised he’d be back; instead they got his uniform and medals draped in a flag. 

This week we remember those who have fallen while protecting the glory of the flag and the safety of this country. 

Forty-four years ago, on November 30, 1971, a young policeman called Salem Suhail Al Khamis fell defending the Greater Tunb island when the Iranian armed forces made their first military assault. There were only six members at the police station that night; the calm island never required more forces. As the enemy forces marched on, the soldiers used the station as a fort and started attacking. The battle went on for hours, and when they couldn’t defend the fort any longer and as one of the men tried to bring the flag down, 20-year-old Al Khamis stepped out and refused to give up. They opened fire and he fell at the foot of the flagpole. The fort was compromised. 

The UAE’s brave soldiers have fought in conflicts to make sure that the hands of the enemy don’t touch the serenity of this country’s unity. They have helped citizens in ­neighbouring and far off countries. 

Each one of us carries the burden of their duty. Their sacrifices shouldn’t be forgotten; their glory should seep through us and ignite a fire that can’t be withheld. In their memory, we should work together to make the UAE proud of its children, and be heroes in our chosen fields. 

Our soldiers who fell in Yemen were helping a sister country survive and revive. They kept their oath, one that they repeated proudly every time they sang our national anthem, the last line of which says: “We sacrifice our lives for you, oh my homeland.” 

These heroes are not dead, they are immortal, and their glory will be studied and repeated. May peace and our prayers always be with them.



“We became carbon copies of broken hopes / Our Polaroid aren’t myriad of colors they are just grey / We are blinded to the new forms of slavery we practice everyday

Source: Home by Hessa Albanafsaj

Searching for my voice

Hello World, how have you been.

Sorry i have been MIA on my blog for sometime but i wanted to share an article i wrote for the Women’s Majlis section in The National newspaper.

The article was published on Friday the 2nd of October and i have uploaded a scanned copy of it for you to read here. You can also read it on their website through this link .

This article was inspired by the current hype the UAE is going through with regards to the Federal National Council elections. When researching the candidates i found everything but what i was searching for, my quest to find a voice that represent me as a single woman on the council remained unaccomplished.

However perhaps my main inspiration was the fact that people are ready to SKIN women from humanity and treat her like an object that requires “fixing” of some sort.

I hope you enjoy it 🙂


Happy Reading.

نقطة انتظار

جلس الكهل يحدق الى صورته النصف ضبابية المنعكسة على زجاج غرفة انتظار الحافلة. 

نظر الى ساعة يده، الخامسة مساءاً..

يبدو العالم مظلماً اكثر من العادة فَخُيِّلَ له ان الوقت متاخر اكثر. 

لم تعد الدقائق تمضي كما كانت و كيف لها ان تمضي بعد وقع الخبر المريع على قلب الأب. 

وقعت عينيه على انعكاسه مرة اخرى و بدأت عيناه تلاحق ظلال التجاعيد التي أرساها الزمان على وجهه. كيف له ان يعيش و هو كهل، فماذا كان ينقص ابنه؟ لماذا؟ 

رددها بيته وبين ذاته الى ان رِن صدى الكلمة في كيانه و روحه 



قطع حبل أفكاره صوت دوي الحافلة معلنة وصولها الى المحطة ولكنه لم يستطع الحراك. بدأ يحدق في عجلة الحافلة وكأنه يقيس حجمها ويقارنها بالسيارات الاخرى هناك في محاولة يائسة لاقناع نفسه ان ابنه لم يعاني في مصابه. 

“لم يتعذب ابنك.” قالوها له. ردودها. توسدت كلمات التعزية جملهم التي لا بد لهم ان كرروها مئات المرات سابقاً. 

و عقبوا كلامهم قائلين انه قفز من السيارة و انحرفت هي الاخرى خارج الطريق و لانها كانت بعيدة عن مكان الحادث فإنها لا تزال في حالة جيدة. 

فتساءل بسخرية ماذا سيفعل هو بالسيارة ان لم يعد صاحبها في حياته؟ 

أنت أقوى 

يا سيدتي ابقي القليل منك بريئاً دثري الطفلة التي تنام في جوفك

دثريها، خبئيها و احكي لها اساطيراً

عن الملكات و سلاطين 
ضعي يديك على عينيها لكيلا تبصر شيئاً غير النور

ابقيها بعيدة عن حقيقة الحياة و مكامنها
يا سيدتي تشبثي بتلك الطفلة و ابقيها رفيقتك

فلتعيش فيك تلك المشاكسة والبساطة
يا سيدتي انت لست هامش الكتاب المهمل

انت الادب و الكلمات و الشعر و النثر و جمال الحروف

التي تنحتها الاقلام ويخط الحبر بكل تأنٍ تفاصيل فتنتك
لا مكان هنا في هذه الأرض لإمرأة ضعيفة أخرى

خارت قوانا في سباق الإنقاذ

كوني أقوى من ذاتك، أقوى من الهواجس التي تزرعها افكارهم فيك  
انت أقوى 

Day 99: Banafsaj 100 days of writing

What is this urge I have to sleep next to my notebook and pen. To always have them at the reach of my fingertips. To stay up after all lights are out, as my eye lids grow heavier than ever, but I insist to write, write something, write anything, I need the fume of paper more than I need air ,,, do you feel the same ?