blue issue text

THE GIRL WITH THE BLUE HAIR // ALAA MINWER & LULUA

 

I AM MINE BEFORE I AM EVER ANYONE ELSE'S

 
 

The itch of the edges of my hair on my neck like an army of red ants they crawl into my brain and leave me with no rest. They start a riot, demanding a better life, change. 
The black became a prison they wanted to escape, so they set me on a temperamental airplane until I have named the clouds my mother and my father the sea. 

And slowly, my veins turned blue but I wasn't near dead, I was more alive than I could ever be. 

I decided to Re-polish my Roman armor but I didn't intended it to reflect the sun light
It was so bright that it hurt others, but I only saw my reflection in it. 
It was the last thread of beauty that I was allowed to keep and I was willing to take the three steps from the edge of the ship and dive into the sea. 
I did not hear the warning siren songs by the sea 
And the thread that I craved; wrapped around that very same neck only with a tighter itch. 

The beauty became my curse.

***
text // alaa minwer
art // lulua 

 

أزرق // KHALED AL-QAHTANI

in ,
 
 
 
أستطيع أن أتحدث عن الأزرق، عن وصفه لكونه أكثر من مجرد لون أراه يوميا؛ لون يحيط بي من كل الجهات، يكسو أشيائي المفضلة.

الأزرق يكسو سبع سماوات تخفي ما هو عظيم. الأزرق هو لون بحر ألقي أسراري دائما في ثناياه، ولا أعلم من أين سيبدأ أو ينتهي. الأزرق ظاهر من كل جزء من جسدي؛ لون كل عرق يسري فيه.الأزرق لون غلاف كتابي المفضل؛ الذي لن يتغير.

قالوا سابقا بأن الأزرق هو لون لا يصلح إلا للأولاد، ولكن لا، من حق كل شخص أن يستمتع بكل شيءٍ أزرق، أن يستمد منه الدفء، أن يتذكره عندما يحزن. الأزرق ليس مجرد لون كان نتيجة دمج بضعة ألوان؛ فهو يعني الكثير. الكثير.

ولكن هل هذا كافٍ لوصفه؟ بالطبع لا. فأنا أعجز عن شرح ما أحب.

بالمناسبة، أنا أكتب الآن بداخل شيء أزرق، بقلم أزرق.
 

THE BLUEST PARTS // JINAN M. & HAYAT A. SAHEB

in ,
 

I could sit here and talk about how blue is the color of serenity and calm. I could tell you that blue is a color that exists in 53% of the world’s flags.

I could tell you that blue is the color of spirituality and empowerment.

It’s a reliable color. A favorite amongst many.

But for me, the meaning runs deeper than that.

And it’s best I tell you this in a short story.

Blue was the color he wore the first time we met. It was his favorite color. Assigned to him from the moment he was born into this world. (from the moment he could distinguish red from orange and green from blue)

Blue was the color of his eyes. If you stare at them long enough, you could almost see the ocean waves hugging the shore. You could almost taste the sea salt on your lips and feel the sand grains between your toes.

Blue was the color of the gem he gave me. It symbolized all the love. All the promises and hopes of a brighter future together. One that involved adventure and beautiful chaos.

But this isn’t a love story because the meaning behind the color blue doesn’t end at that. It absolutely and most certainly doesn’t end at that after all destruction.

Blue was the color of ground that I sunk my body into as he walked out of the room. It wasn’t a physical confrontation but an emotional one. It left me weak and helpless.

I allowed sadness to wrap around my fallen state of being like a dark blue blanket.

If I could muster the energy to get up and look out the window. I’d see his blue car as he drove off in the darkness. Him in his 4 wheeled bullet of a great escape, he sought out refuge from the mess he left behind like a child who was caught in the kitchen looking over the jar he broke.

Blue is the color that stained my heart. Blue is the color he left behind on the corners of my soul.

***
text // jinan m.
art // hayat a. saheb

 

WRITER BLUES // YASMINE ABU HALAWA & F. H.

 

It's not uncommon for writers to go quiet, and we're always so quick to judge. Writer's block we say, it happens all the time. 

But sometimes, it's not writer's block. In fact, it's the loudest thing a writer can say. It's when there's so much to say, so many words that need to be put down and uttered that the only way to do it right is to be quiet. 

The only way you could possibly imagine how dark or lonely or infuriating something is to hear it in the silence. 

Yes, words are a writers best friend. There is no relationship more passionate than a writer and the words he yields. And that's the point, words have limits. No matter how hard you try, sometimes, there are no words. And it's not because words have failed you, it's because you understand them so much that you know that silence is just another language. Another dimension of words that so few manage to comprehend. 

There's parallel world where silence is the dominant language, where words are only occasionally exchanged, reserved only for the truest of all moments; I'm scared, I'm tired, I miss you .. I love you.

 

***
text // yasmine abu halawa
photo // f. h.

SHE CAME SLITHERING // SARA W. & DANIA HANY

in
 

 

Blue is an escape, a safe place, a whirl of peaceful thoughts, a beautiful unconsciousness, a warm feeling and a hidden inner power.

                                                                        
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's the feeling you get when you stand in front of the ocean and feel like you belong there.

 

***
text // what is blue? by sara w.
photo // she came slithering by dania hany

WATER // RAGHAD

in ,

Today, I am 70% made up of acid.

I wake up and the walls of my belly are caving in. Everything is rising up until my windpipe is a pond of burning matter. I rage over geographical borders. I will explain to you; not everything that’s said nowadays is hallow. I know, history used to draw us into a picture, and if we looked up, it’s holy. If we looked down, it’s holy. And if we hit shore, oh land, all your water was holy. And I’m looking for the point in time where we got banished outside of self-love, through narrow doors, shoulders caved in like shame.

So I look to the north of you, land, and I see a golden crown on fire. It was still holy. I look south of you, land, and I see genesis, I see heaven cultivated with blood. It was still holy. Today, I don’t believe in your borders, only your skies. Transcending beyond your pride, I know you used to offer love in abundance. Arabia-felix, you were beating with joy. But I rage dipping my feet in your Gulf of oil pipelines and green waters, your Red Sea about to burst at the seam like it did for the israelites.

Today today I’m tired tired of your repetition, land. 

When we broke the holiest of waters and screeched into being it was that same water that sustained you. Your motherhood was massacred when you failed our mothers. 
Now let us learn how to belong to all of you