Journal

I thought of this silly story and I figured I would put it down before I ever get the chance to forget. It requires some context about my upbringing though.

When I was a kid first getting into the public school system, my parents were informed of this school for the gifted and talented called Quest. My parents were both well educated and were hell bent on putting me in the best and most challenging schools. So when I was maybe 5 or so, I took the entrance exam for Quest. I wasn’t really conscious about what that test meant for my education, and I had no focus or care for the actual questions. From what I could remember, each question had a picture of something, and the question answers were also pictures. The right answer was the picture that had the most or least in common with the question picture. I ended up picking the airplane or car picture very single time, just because they seemed the coolest out of all the possible answer choices. Suffice to say, I did not pass that test, and I was stuck in my neighborhood elementary school for the foreseeable future. The result of that test didn’t hit me until I found out through my parents that I would’ve probably taken the bus to school, which was when I started crying hysterically. School buses seemed so cool, and I was envious of anyone that had a bus route, while I walked 5 minutes to my school. Although I didn’t get in, my parents were not discouraged in the slightest, and they tried every available avenue to achieve my enrollment into Quest. Eventually, that time finally came. I was to attend Quest at the start of 5th grade. I fondly remember my last day of 4th grade at my elementary school. We were allowed to bring our tablets/electronics in, and so I brought mine loaded with Fifa Mobile. At the end of the day we were to have a last day of school party, and until then the teacher held all of the electronics. We didn’t get to have that though, as tornado sirens in the area started to blare and we were under a tornado warning. My class was in the mobiles, so we were escorted by another teacher from the mobiles into the gym. I remember looking up at the dark, churning clouds. I was obsessed with tornados at that time and all I could think about was a tornado coming down from one of the downdrafts and tossing the mobile classrooms into the air. We braced in the corner of the dark gym, and one of my classmates near me started crying. I tried to force tears to come out of my eyes, but nothing budged. I also remember the teacher that escorted us kept opening the door going outside to check if anything was happening. All I could see behind the teacher was torrential rain and hail. After some amount of time, the thunderstorm ran out of energy and we were allowed to return to our classroom. There wasn’t time left in the day, so my teacher handed out the electronics, and we played until our parents came to pick us up. I hugged my teachers goodbye, never to see them again, and a new chapter of my life was upon me.

5th grade was a really strange year for me. It was a completely new environment, and most friend groups were already formed at that point. The 5th grade class was also split into two, the first group being in the accelerated math program, and the second not. I was placed in the second, as a new student, and so my contact with the first group was limited for the most part. I got in trouble a lot this year, and I drove my parents crazy. That summer I took part in a shortened ] math class to earn placement in that accelerated program, where a year’s worth of content was shoved into a couple weeks of concentrated learning. I somehow managed to pass the test at the end which earned me entry. This all leads up to the first day of 6th grade, my first day in middle school. Middle schoolers had an orientation day, where we learned how to use the lockers, and were given a tour of the section of the school that was unknown to me, where all the middle schoolers had class. On our first real day of classes, I got lost and had to ask the vice-principal where my class was located, making me late to that class. Embarrassing already. I tried to utilize my locker, and stored new textbooks and my first math homework assignment, which I was to grab before I left for the day. Overall, it was an overwhelming day for me and when I finally got home I crashed. I went through everything that I brought home, but then a haunting realization washed over me. I had forgotten my math homework in my locker. I told my parents and I stared uncontrollably crying. I remember saying exactly, “I can’t do this, I can’t do it!” My parents looked at me in a state of confusion. They waited for me to calm down, and they arranged for me to go to school early the following morning to retrieve my homework and do it before class. That was what ended up happening, and I was able to get the homework in on time and complete.

I find it fascinating what happened in my life to change that mindset I had as a kid. I truly believed I wasn’t cut out for middle school, that the step up was too hard for me. I can’t think now of any time in recent or fairly distant memory where I thought of myself as inadequate or unable to do or achieve anything, and I’m glad that is a trait of mine.

I often have a tough time fully being able to appreciate big milestones and moments in my life. It almost feels scripted. I have a goal, something that I set out to accomplish, and once I’ve gotten it, I move on to the next set of goals. I fully expect myself to achieve what I set out for myself, and it’s hard for me to celebrate something in which I already had the expectation upon myself. There are events in my life as of recent however that I never could’ve dreamed of, beyond anything I could’ve imagined or planned for. It’s truly a blessed feeling, and it feels like being a little kid again. The growth that I’ve exhibited in these past few months in areas of life I thought I would never be able to grow has me begging the same question. Why now, am I able to exhibit these changes? Why not months, even years ago? I fully know the answer to that question. When something so beautiful enters your life it’s hard to imagine being anything other than the best version of yourself. It’s easy to disappoint yourself, I’ve lived that cycle for years and years. But even just the thought of disappointing the blessing that has graced my heart and soul drives me challenge my weaknesses and my faults everyday, breaking them down one by one. One year in our life is a little over 1% of our full lifespan. How much can one year really mean in the grand scheme of things? I can certainly say this last year is worth wayyyyyyy more than just 1% of what I’ve lived and will live.

I’m sitting on the flight home, a long and daunting 9 hours in the air. Yesterday and today I’ve been able to decompress a bit more on the trip as a whole, and it’s quickly come to me how unforgettable it will be. I struggle to articulate how much I’ve been moved by my travels while going through a significant moment in my life. It’s left my heart more tender than it ever has been, fluttering at times like a butterfly amongst blooming flowers. It’s skipped a lot of beats, many good and only few anxiety inducing. It’s yearned and dreamed of many futures, all equally beautiful and desirable in their own right. I must admit, these are new sensations that I’m feeling and trying to grasp. I’ve always been a “brain-driven” individual, if that term even makes sense. It feels exciting letting my heart take the lead.

Marseille was like a fever dream. After getting the keys to the small studio I rented, I quickly changed into shorts and a short sleeve (only second time this trip I was able to wear such attire), and quickly hit the streets. I was located next to Vieux-Port, the central hub for tourists and the city in general. Boats are stuck up against each other like sardines, and the walkway that surrounds the boat port are lined with restaurants and food, all vying to get your attention. Walking up from the port is a massive walkway, with boxes of plants filling the middle space, while either side has chairs and tables from their respective restaurants. One of the places I frequented on this walkway was a Tunisian cafe and pastry shop. I walked past it on my first stroll but seating outside was packed, so I vowed to come back the next morning to have a cup of coffee. I kept walking up, and the one thing that was apparent was the farther north you moved from the city centre, the density of North Africans increased exponentially. I at this point was starving, so I decided to go to an Algerian restaurant for the culture. As I moved higher up, I stumbled upon the Arc de Triomphe that Marseille also has apparently?? I finally found the restaurant, definitely in an Algerian dominated neighborhood, but I was very intimidated to walk in and order , as I didn’t see many people eating at that time. To add the cherry (maybe 30 of them) on the cake, as I was looking around, everyone around me started to watch something unfold behind me. I turned around just in time to see a group of 10 guys jump a single man. They were throwing punches and kicking him, but then I saw one of the guys hold a chunk of rock in his hand, and began to hit the single guy in the back multiple times. I was completely in shock. The single guy ran away but was tripped, and the guy with the rock was about to deal irreversible damage when the guys around me shouted for them to stop and the group moved back. The guy who was jumped got up and walked away from the group. I took it as my queue to go back down towards the port. I eventually settled at one of the many kebab places lined up, and got a plate. It was absolutely delicious. With that down the hatch, I walked back down to the port to see it in the night. It was dark enough to where you could feel the night, but light enough to see the buzz of people walking around. At this point I stumbled upon a cafe sitting on the edge of a weird intersection with the walkway and the tram that runs through the city center. I sat down, and got myself a cup of mint tea. The waiter was Algerian, which made things so much easier. He turned on the Canada vs. Bosnia game, and I watched intently while on the phone. I saw others around me getting fresh glasses of orange juice made, so with the last of the euros in my pocket, I indulged as well. The game ended 1-1, and it was pretty late, so I began my way back to my apartment to recharge for the long day ahead of me.

The first full day in Marseille was defined by Fort Saint-Jean and the water. Fort Saint-Jean sits beyond the mouth of the port, an old military post which protected the city from intruders coming from sea. Its construction was delicately kept in good condition, and all of its walkways were free to explore, an underrated touch of the place. I toured the place after my cup of coffee at the Tunisian cafe (which was delectable, I might add). Just outside its perimeter sits MUCEM, a museum containing a lot of mediterranean artifacts collected. It consisted of 5 specific exhibits, of which I only visited two. The first one was an exhibit on Ferdinandea, an island that sprung up after a volcano erupted. The island was birthed between Sicily and Tunisia, and Britain, France, and Italy all laid claim to the island during their colonial expansionist times. The island sank under the waves of the Mediterranean only 6 months after it was born, leaving the drawings, research, and samples collected to be kept here, among other places. The other exhibit I visited was … I forgot the name. It had the bulk of the mediterranean artifacts though, and most importantly, history involving France’s times as a colonial power. They had most of the floor dedicated to France’s regime in Algeria, which brought me a new level of disgust and distaste towards the French I thought I wouldn’t feel. Among what was displayed were posters and media pushing propaganda about France’s occupation, promoting purchase of foods and fruits harvested in Algeria. What was sickening were posters of Algerian women dancing in traditional clothing, used to promote “prostitute-dancers” that reduced women to “erotic-stereotypes”. It made me sick to my stomach. I was ready to leave after that. After stumbling around I sat down at one of the restaurants on the port, to get mussels and fries. I had seen many specials and signs at different restaurants, which led me to believe it was a dish Marseille was known for. I got a pot full of hot marinated mussels, and I was in dreamland. I somehow managed to finish it. From there I decided to hit the many capes that Marseille has. There is a bus that runs along the coast, and so I got on, and once I got off, I was in shock. The water was glittering like a disco ball. The stop I had gotten off at was also a small port under a bridge, traditionally known as a little Fishermans quarters. I wandered through the steep hills leading down to the rocky edge, every little street looking as pretty as the last. There aren’t many more ways for me to paint the pictures entering my eyes at this time.

I may write more about Marseille in the days to come. With all that being said, am I excited to come home? I would be lying if I said no. Beautiful things and people await my return, and I am greatly anticipating the reunions. Time-zone differences are frustrating at times to deal with, yet somehow with those struggles I felt close. I hope they feel the same.

Through the mountain range

Long and windy roads ahead

Still we journey on

I’m sitting on the train from Toulouse to Marseille while trying to conjure up even the most mundane of things to write and publish here. The train was supposed to take 4 hours, but maybe a little over halfway there and the train stopped in a small town maybe 45 minutes from the water, with the conductor stating that there was a fire on the tracks ahead of us. Lovely. The delay was originally stated to be 2 hours, and so I exited the stopped train with a quickness, out into the unrestricted sun to explore the small train station and town surrounding it. I immediately realized my quarter zip could very well bring me to heat exhaustion (no space in my overflowing bag to store it), so I took it off and threw it on top of my backpack before returning outside. The town was cute, not that it was unique in that sense to the rest of the small French towns that I’ve seen. It was slightly brighter, however. I wonder if that was due to our proximity to the waters of the Mediterranean, where the buildings and surroundings seem to glitter and sparkle a bit more than the unfortunate communes that find themselves further inland. A curious and optimistic guy like myself is then left to wonder what awaits him in Marseille, not a small town by any means. Practically everyone, from the internet, to people I’ve talked to, have issued me countless warnings. I was told to watch my bag, check my surroundings, don’t venture outside of the city center. My uncle told me they would steal from your mouth if they had the chance. I’ve been told Marseille is rough, it’s not a beachy paradise like one might think it is.

My answer to that is … so what??

Part of what makes cities exciting to visit is the fact that it is REAL. People live there. It’s part of the reason why I loved Paris so much. It’s not perfect, but cities that aim to be don’t entice me at all. I can satisfy my urges for a utopia at some resort in Cancun, or an island far far away, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m not downplaying the risks by any means. I will definitely be clutching my bag, I will be aware of my surroundings, and be sure not to throw myself into un-necessarily risky scenarios. But that is not to deter me, not even for a second, from still exploring and immersing myself in Marseille like I have dreamed to for so long. Miles of graffiti covering every possible spraying surface, weathered patina on the walls of alleyways, shouts of North Africans on every corner. I have a feeling I’m returning to a home I’ve never been.

Quick ad break, but the train is just entering Montpellier, and if this is any taste of what I am to see, my mouth waters like Pavlov’s dog. Harbors are lined with boats, and the whiteness of the lined buildings almost burn my eyes. My pupils cannot contract any smaller without my vision being impaired. I hope this train starts again as soon as possible, for I believe it runs along the coast and I will be able to again see the mediterranean. I’ve been blessed to have seen it, swam in it, basked in all its glory, but the sensation of seeing it has never dulled. I talk about the flatirons a lot, and that feeling of seeing it everyday and it not getting tiring is directly translated to the sea as well. Lots of love and will update when I’m able to sit and ponder in Marseille.

The clock ticks just a bit more slowly, and a bit louder here in Toulouse. My aunt lives in Muret, a small town maybe 20 minutes from the city. It’s incredibly quiet, not even the sound of an occasional car makes its way to the insides of the property. The sun also sets a little slower than it did in Paris. It’s not a bad life though, for many. The town does everything the people here ask of it, and Toulouse is no small city by any means. Its capital is rich with its own history and grand cathedrals, seemingly infinite alleyways and boulevards covered by grand trees that make it hard to find spots of sunshine on the ground. A brisk breeze sweeps across the wide canal splitting the city into two, and with the seemingly endless overcast that’s glazed upon the skies, a jacket is almost certainly necessary for most hours of the day. I most certainly enjoyed the constant buzz and movement of Paris, the jam-packed itineraries, the 25-30k steps, the 4 hours of sleep I was averaging; it was magnificent and felt right at home. I can’t help but appreciate the change in pace, however. I’ve for the longest had to wrestle with this idea of big city vs. little, mountains vs. ocean, the fast life or the slow life. I’m so indecisive when it comes to having to choose between two opposites.

I absolutely love the big city life. New York, London, Paris, they all rank high in my own judgements. I love taking metro’s everywhere, being able to walk, millions of food and coffee spots splattered across the city like a Jackson Pollock painting. Cities like Toulouse and Sevilla have special places in my heart though, still walkable, public transport a plenty, but just a step back from a massive metropolis. Then you have the slowest of modern life, Muret. Town has everything you need, barbers, bakeries, food spots, a pool, cinema, even a mall on the outskirts, but you don’t check your watch or phone for the time. Time doesn’t matter. You aren’t pressed to catch the 2:34pm metro or tram to whatever destination. Stores are open morning to evening, so as long as you leave within that, not much will get in your way. Mint leaves grow in your little yard, and the fig tree in the front is just starting to bear fruit. I face the same paralysis between the mountains and the beach. I love Boulder, no doubt about it. The flatirons leave me speechless everyday, never quite the same each day. When the snow falls, it’s a silent wonderland. When the trees are bright green, flowers in full bloom, it’s a natural glow that rubs off on you. Your world is best described as a piece of paper floating in the air, slowly coming to settle gracefully on the ground. But what about the sea air, blowing through your hair, every breath injecting life into your veins. The ocean smacks against the water, the world’s own ticking of its clock. I have Mediterranean blood in me after all, and my body is meant to soak up the humidity of a beachy city.

How can I pick? I enjoy and love life in all the shapes and sizes it comes. What good does trying to compare these opposites bring? I think in the end it just distracts you from both.

Oh, where to begin.

Imagine a city defined by paradox. A city so ripe that it’s sweetness stings your mouth and throat, yet so raw that nothing is hidden; it’s history is like oil stains on carpet. A city who can suffocate with it’s never ending metro and millions of people going to and fro, yet every breath is of real sustenance for your body and soul. A city that is the melting pot of melting pots, welcoming different cultures and ethnicity on every street and alley, yet it demands they all bleed the same limestone grey, digesting their histories and traditions into a single French monoculture. Paris can be described by many many more paradoxes, but it is these paradoxes that drew me so close to Paris, and I think are defining reasons as to why it may be the best city in the world. Upon first landing and exiting apartment, I was hit with waves upon waves of familiarity. I walked past the highest density of Algerian shops and people ever outside of Algeria itself, and it was one of the most refreshing things to see, especially having just set foot in the city. The sun was beaming down, causing me to break a sweat even after having changed into shorts and a short sleeved shirt. We just walked and walk, and all of a sudden the Eiffel Tower came out of hiding. I always assumed that you would be able to see the Eiffel Tower all around Paris, but that is far from reality. It hides and reveals itself almost at will. The metro was humid, with people going in and out of stations like an artery pumping blood to other parts of the body. People stood on every train we took. It was a real people mover.

I had always been accustomed to cities that have an “old district” or a “downtown” where people go to sight-see, eat, shop, and otherwise enjoy themsevles. Paris has no downtown, or “centreville”. Sites of interest are all separated from each other, and every neighborhood has shopping of it’s own. There are many districts which all attract large crowds, all of which separated by at least of 20 minutes of travel, whether that be train or bike. Speaking of biking, every road in the city had a bike lane, of which sometimes had more traffic than the cars on the road. Packs of bikers fly past you as you try to merge into the biking lane yourself, and once you finally do, you are subject to God’s will for your well being.

Every neighborhood has it’s own unqiue signature to it, and neighborhoods separated by just one or two streets live a completely different lifestyle. You will bike towards Montmartre, a charming hilltop village where artists and creators used to live and spend time in, such as Picasso and Camus, and just one block away sits Barbes, the home of North Africa in Paris. It’s known as the 49th wilaya of Algeria, and if you didn’t know you were in France, you would believe it for yourself. It’s definitely a rougher part of town, but to be meters from an incredibly popular tourist destination shows that the city doesn’t care to put makeup or to hide it’s blemishes. Life is life here. The good, the bad, and my favorite, the ugly.

I’ve since made it to Toulouse, where my aunt lives. Expect to see more writings on Paris, or whatever comes to mind.

Paris almost felt too much. To submerse yourself for a week, even two, is almost disrespectful to the city. It’s like scoffing at it and saying “I can see all I need to see in this time”. You most certainly can’t. Even for a summer, and I’m unsure I would be able to complete Paris. Every time we left the apartment, we managed to find ourself in some new area that looked vaguely familiar, filled with the same amount of people running around like a chicken without its head. You pass a myriad of museums, historic buildings, and sites of interest with one 30 minute bike ride along the Siene. Every time you reach an intersection, there is a building of interest to your left, and your right just across the Siene.

And to the popular cliche that Paris is the city of love, it entrenches the city far more than one can imagine. It’s easy to imagine yourself there, watching videos on TikTok and Youtube showing cute spots to eat at, or the best places to watch the sunset or the Eiffel Tower sparkle, yet that doesn’t prepare you for what you actually see. Couples line the sides of the Seine, sit together at restaurants, accompany each other to museums or shopping. Every activity that someone can possibly do in the city has a majority population of couples partaking in it. What a beautiful sight to see. I hope I can soon join that population myself.

I’ve held this belief for a good period of time, and considering it is something I used to ridicule and write off makes it all the more important that I’ve changed that. It is the idea that “hair holds trauma”. I first saw this propogated on social media, with women using it to justify jurastic changes to their hair because cutting it “freed” the trauma that was held with it. I first took this directly at face value and dismissed it as silly and attention-seeking. I mean, how can such an inanimate part of your body contain any sort of emotional weight? I can see now how short-sighted and flawed I was in my thinking, however. It was never meant to be taken in a literal sense. Changeable differences in one’s physical appearance, when self-directed, genuinley bring about a new perspective for yourself. It was never about the hair physically holding trauma, but that the change in appearance from cutting significant portions of your hair can signify and actualize changes you’ve made internally, psychologically, outside of the immediately observable realm. This can be true for not just hair, but hair has the highest effect in physical differences that are immediately noticeable to yourself and others. I just found it very interesting how my thoughts have changed as I’ve grown, and that I myself am looking to lighten up in lieu of my own changes.

It was hard for me to go to sleep last night. I was in a state of complete exhaustion, I finished praying, and I was as comfortable as one could be in my bed. Yet I sat there with my eyes closed and my bonnet over my head wide awake. My mind was flying at 2 million miles an hour. This was something I had always struggled with since I was a kid. It’s hard for me to turn my mind off when it’s time to go to sleep. I run through ridiculous scenarios in my head that will never happen in real life, I have imaginary converastions, calculate potential interactions. I do it all and for some reason my mind picks the dead of the night to go through these motions, instead of my lovely shower time or when I’m chilling doing nothing throughout the day. Sometimes I wish I could put a switch behind my ear or something to power off when I’m trying to sleep.

On the other side of sleep, it’s borderline impossible to get up after even 7 to 8 hours of sleep. It feels like I’m catching up on generational sleep debt every single night. I don’t think it’s possible for me to fully catch up if that ever were to be possible. Regardless, I pull myself up in the morning so I can fully enjoy a quiet unrestricted breakfast and still be hungry by the time lunch rolls around. Besides the slight sickenss I picked up upon moving back into my parents house, I’ve largely enjoyed myself and the slowness of life that comes with not being in school anymore, amplified with no job to attend to on a daily basis. The main drawback of that is the money, but I’ll thug it out until I start full time in the fall. All I do is talk to Claude, study up on my French, and chill on my phone. It’s truly a beautiful life that I live, AlhamdiAllah.

I also just remembered as I was finding a picture to upload to this entry that I finally built the E-Bike that’s been sitting since the end of March. I applied for the free e-bike program in Colorado thinking it was a scam, and a little more than a year later I actually came in possession of it, which is so cool. I tested it around my neighborhood, and I’m glad to say that I will be utilizing it when I go to my neighborhood pool when it finally opens up.

THe day is May 5th, the first real day of the conference. It took us a while to leave the hotel, but we decided to grab something sweet for breakfast before heading to the actual conference. I got a churro and a latte, which was honestly really good. Upon entering the Convention Center, we saw lines of unbelievable magnitude, in all directions. We went to the help desk, hoping that the academia/developer pass line was shorter and separate, and we were actually told that there was a separate line for it, which brought us to elation. We went to the banner representing the start of the line, but as we were trying to find the end of the line, we realized that it was this line that was the longest. We swore we weren’t going to wait at the end, so we started scoping out potential people to strike up a conversation with, and subsequently enter the line right behind them. We decided on this random guy who was standing in front of students, and opened the conversation asking where they were from and what they were building. He did not reciprocate any energy of wanting to get to know us, and eventually after a bit of chit chat he asked us “Did you come talk to me just to cut the line?” I had to stifly my laugh and replied “In all honesty we were a little shocked that we can’t find many people that look like us, so we just wanted to find those people.” He replied, “How about those guys in front of me, will you talk to them too?” I said hesitantly “Yes, we will probably talk to them too.” I conceded converastion at that point, and the other guy continued to talk to him. We were still able to slot into line behind him, and I put that interaction behind us.

We finally made it to the check in desk, where we got our badge and bracelet, and entered the conference. People running around, massive boothes and speaking stages, it was unlike any other conference I’ve been to. We went to the hackathon section to get settled in, and we went ahead and worked on breaking ground with the project. Unbeknownst to us, they were giving out free Solana Seeker phones right behind us, and we didn’t know until the line had collected to a considerable size. We missed out on that opportunity, unfortunately, but after we got our work done, we went “shopping” (collecting swag from company boothes). There was another crypto event happening in a separate room in the convention center, and our sponsor took us over there as there was apparently free food. We were starving and trying to get any sort of free food. Unfortunately we had come too late, and the food station was shut down, but we were able to shop up there. I ended up getting two airtags, a small bag, and a couple of shirts. We went back to the main area, and thanks to our sponsor they scavenged together some leftover meal vouchers for the food there which we took advantage of. We got food and talked for a bit, and finally left the convention for that day. We took a Lyft home, quickly changed, and hit the beach before the sun set on us. The water wasn’t cold at all, and the all too familiar scent and taste of salt-water held me hostage. After the sun disappeared over the horion, we headed back to the hotel to shower and head back out for some more food. The first place we went to was closed, possibly out of business, so we fell back on this doner kebab place. It was really good, and we were satiated, only to search for ice cream near our hotel first. We found out that at 9am the next day, they would give out another 20 of the Seeker phones we missed out on, and we devised a plan to be there before 8:30am so we would be among the ones to win the phone.

I think the trip was best defined by the hackathon, the sand, and food.

My reintroduction into the life of Miami was just about what you would expect. After I left the airport I got an Uber and thought nothing of it. The ETA was around 30 minutes or so, and I was excited to still have time to hit the beach before the sun went down. As we got on the highway to cross into Miami Beach, a sea of red lights befell us. I was curious if Uber was taking this traffic into account for it’s ETA, and to my unfortunate surprise, Google Maps had it at an hour. Good to know Uber doesn’t use any sort of traffic data to calculate their times of arrivals. As we we were sitting, bumper to bumper in the right-most lane, my Uber started going on his phone to pass the time. Not too much of a problem, but he was so absorbed in whatever he was going that multiple times the car in front of us had pulled forward two to three cars clear, and we were still at a standstill. As a result, the car behind us, a white SUV, honked at us to move forward with the rest of the traffic. My Uber would then put his hands up in a protest, and reluctantly pull forward. This happened twice more. The fourth time, the same white SUV honking at us from behind blasted past us on the shoulder, and passed a couple more cars before finding a small window to shove their nose into. I was definitely amused, until my Uber pulled out into the shoulder as well and tried to do the same thing. The white SUV saw us coming up on the shoulder and pulled out halfway to prevent us from moving any further. We then slotted back into traffic at the expense of the drivers we passed, and when my Uber found the opportunity to, he went back onto the shoulder to pass the white SUV before they could react and stop us. We continued on for 20 more seconds until he found another hole in the traffic and slotted back into the right lane. He pulled out into the shoulder one last time and we saw the accident that closed the two left lanes, and we managed to get through with relative ease before continuing to my hotel. I was completely shocked. Did this guy just forget that he was working, and that I could very easily get him fired for his conduct on the road? Is this such a normality here that even “professional” drivers drive with a lack of worry for their passenger? I don’t know.

I wasn’t able to get to the hotel until after 7pm, so I figured I would go to the beach the next day and instead got some things ready for the hackathon. The two other guys were waiting for me there, and it was good to see him. We got some small things out of the way, and decided to go get food (I was starving). The second we exited the hotel we were locked into a really funny Miami-esque NPC conversation. This guy saw us walking out and asked us immediately “Are you guys looking for some …”? (term referring to women) I jokingly said back “Let us know man”. He told us to go to this club and ask for “Wit” to serve us, and to tell them that “Jon Jon” sent us. We said thank you and walked in that direction until we were out of his line of sight, and turned around to go to the place that we found. We found this inexpensive sandwich shop which was a 20 minute walk from our place, and set out on foot. We got to the spot, and while we were in line a homeless guy offered us some weed, which we laughingly denied. The sandwiches we got were of good size and tasted pretty good, so we left satisfied. We walked back in search of an ice cream spot, and after securing that we walked along the beach until we made it back home, and called it a night.

I figured that to pass time on this lengthy flight that I should write another entry in my nabilinc journal. I brought my laptop out, not a single word entered my head in which I could start this entry of mine. So I pulled out my personal journal, and read my old entries. It’s grown to be one of my favorite past-times, and I wish others could read these entries without knowing it came from me. My writing genuinely makes me laugh, and my diction and tone are that of an intense thriller, without the actual context being that of any real substance. I like to pretend the things that I’ve been through in the past are that of some insane one off things, but in honest comparisons it can be likened to Tubi movies where you just scream at the TV because the character is so awful at decision making and driving their life forward. Regardless, I may take some lines that I’ve written and throw them in the quote page, or use them to inspire new entries, subject to sterilization. I’m excited to see palm trees again, excited to not have to use any lip balm or consistent applications of lotion to keep my dry body chugging throughout the day. I’m headed to Consensus, a large large blockchain conference for mainly industry professionals. I’ve only been to student-led blockchain conferences, so this will definitely be a step up, and I wonder if I will step up when the lights are bright, or if I will regress into my shy shell that I’ve always been familiar and comfortable with. It seems that drinks are on their way out, so I will put away my laptop for a time while I ponder on what else I want to write about.

I’ve since returned from my snack break, indulging in oreos, pistachios, and… cranberry juice!! You guessed it. I’m not sure where my infatuation with cranberry juice came from, but wow is it a treat. I could really drink cups and cups of it. I’ve thought more about the conference, and I have to say I’m also a little excited to be competing in the hacakthon as well. I love competing in hackathons, as it allows you to work on a cool project, with tight deadlines and a clear direction that you should head in with tracks and bounties. If you are a CS student and are struggling to put projects on your resume, you should seriously consider joining hackathons in your area, and trying your best to compete. You don’t need to win or put together something super fancy, but so long as you try, you will most definitely collect the projects that your resume is so desperately asking for. We are looking to build an on-chain solution to data manipulation from sensors/transactions. Another reason why I’m looking forward to building this is because its a blockchain solution to an issue that exists outside of blockchain, and it doesn’t involve DeFi. I’m all for the DeFi revolution, but it’s a little disheartening to see every new blockchain product be some obscure slight improvement to some problem that isn’t looking to make the lives of millions of people on traditional finance better. The skills of this generation of blockchain creators and developers should be applied across a wide variety of industries, as the technology is incredibly interesting and has the potential to revolutionalize those specific industries. I will say, as it’s clearly written on my home page, I’ve been working on a DeFi solution myself which is slightly hypocritical in DiasporaRemit, but I liken it more to me combining my passions and interests with serving my community 😜.

In other news, my summer has officially begun after grad season ended yesterday. I am definitely a summer merchant, but if you ask me to name personal accomplishments of mine in the last 3 summers or so, I would look away from you and pretend I didn’t hear you ask. Will this summer be any different? I can only say In Shaa Allah, God Willing. I want it to be, and out of any summer before, I have the most powerful tools at my disposal to further my own interests and extracirriculars. I was definitely more than able to do so at the expense of my school responsibilities, so now that those no longer exist, I expect great progress to be made. I imagine myself as those dogs that bark and growl heniously at each other, separated by a gate, but when the barrier is removed between them, both act sheepish and ignore the fact that their barking was only for show.

I crave the heat of the day bleeding into the night, the festivities of the night bleeding into the day.

My friend asked me, while sitting outside in our backyard, if birds whistling and chirping away knew how nice they sounded to us. That got me thinking. Birds communicate to each other each and every day, from the first rays of the sun piercing the horizon, to when the sun returns to its cave for the night. It comes from a place of neccessity for them, but for us it is largely attributed as a peaceful and calming ambient noise, a sign of the peace and tranquility that nature fosters. The birds have no knowledge of this, they merely go about their day as they usually do, but for us it can be incredibly impactful and mind opening. This got me thinking about how people’s daily action’s, things that aren’t out of the ordinary, can potentially mean more than the world to someone else. My other friend had asked me this question the other day, of which I was supposed to answer in a blog post here. The question was “What was someone’s miniscule action that meant nothing to them that impacted you in an incredible manner?” I didn’t end up answering this because I genuinely struggle with answering questions that require me to think of specifc scenarios over the course of my life. I will likely still not answer that question as I still haven’t thought of something, not because people haven’t impacted me in such magnificent ways, but maybe because it’s happened so many times that I cannot identify, and would not be just to name a single time.

I’m typing this while my eyes are closing themselves. I’m laying in a bed that’s not my own. There are ocean sounds playing at almost full volume with three others in the room with me.

I’ve graduated. Moved my tassel from right to left, walked across the stage, tried to grab my name card back from the person reading it for some reason, and received my diploma cover. Wow. I felt a good range of emotion today. I felt largely relieved, from my duties and pressures that come with the life of a university student. I also had random isolated terrors from sudden realizations while sitting in the chair on stage. Strange collections of water droplets appeared in my eyes as I embraced my family, and recollected on beautiful writings from some of those dear to me. I’ve only truly started my life, but reaching this stage in my opinion would bring the same feeling as if I was sitting in the south of France fully retired, listening to the ocean smack againt the sand with a coffee in my hand.

I want to see new things, and feel fresh and fly. Feel fresh.

Approximately 30 minutes ago I was in almost complete disarray at my Quantum Computing exam coming up. I had not studied, reviewed, or even so much as glanced at class material since the middle of Ramadan (over 1 month ago). Looking at the practice final exam today truly humbled me, and with over half of our assignments left ungraded since Februray, I was in more than just a pickle. My anxiety was steadily building, like sediment on the bank of a busy river, and I was unable to curve it through traditional techniques of calculating what one needs on the final to maintain a minimum grade. I took my worries to Claude to try to get as close as an estimation as I could get, and there wasn’t a better thing I could’ve done to renew hope in myself than that, not even actually studying. I was given the conclusion that “Basically you just need to show up and write your name down. Good luck tomorrow!”. Pure respite. With that single statement, I’ve written off the final actions of my undergradaute career.

What a weird thing endings are. Some of my friends have made comments about things we were doing as being “the last” this, “the last time” that, and I hated it. Why force such an arbitrary label on that certain hang out, coffee, etc? Do we truly know when the last of something has passed us? Unfortunately I’ve been guilty of doing the same exact thing in relation to my family’s trip to Long Beach coming up. I was slightly frustrated as it had originally collided with a camping trip I was excited about, but I had a sudden epiphany that family vacations with everyone present have become harder and harder to plan, making this one potentially one of the “last”. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it was an incredibly motivating factor which made me prioritize that trip over other arrangements. Still, I don’t fully believe that to be “the last” as only Allah has the power to make such a commandment. I’m fully open to what the future has to offer, and one can think of me as a cottonwood seed that’s final destination is purely in the hands of it’s creator, blowing about until it one day settles and turns into something beautiful over a long period of time. Or it may just land somewhere infertile and desolate. Allahu Alim :)

What beauty our lives hold.

Experiencing the lowest of the lows is, for obvious reasons, no fun venture. I argue, however, that for someone to consider themselves resilient in the many obstacles that are thrown their way in a life of unexplainable complexity that they must indeed face that same lowest point in order to come to an understanding of how to deal with one’s self in times of crises, and how to rebuild to a more comfortable baseline where you can learn and grow from. I just remembered this funny tweet that came across my TL a while back: “My life is a sequence of illogical trials meticulously selected by Allah…”. This made me laugh and got an instant retweet from me. But on a more serious note, had I borne these later trials at an earlier stage of my life I believe with a full certainty that I would’ve internally combusted and been reduced to an unrecognizable, fearful little human. But would I have really? What about the trials that brought me to my knees in a helpless state, where even the acquainted settings of my home and my place in Boulder were suddenly pitched into a void of unfamiliarity? That period of my life was most certainly scary and unpredictable, but knowing that I managed to come out the other side alive, even in tatters, meant that future tribulations that I face no longer feel unfamiliar. I’m not numb to the situation, in fact quite the opposite, but I haven’t had that same sensation of helplessness for the only reason being that I’ve felt it before. I know now the support systems that play as a metaphysical foundation for my mental well being in times of need, and I can rely on those as I dig myself out of pits that I seem to fall in (good to know that I dug them myself).

I’ve been through 7 finals seasons. I’ve had seasons where I’ve been completely locked in, seasons where I study modestly and do fine in, but I don’t think any season compares to this final one. All my homework and pending assigments are done, which leaves only studying left on my to-do lists, but I genuinely cannot bring myself to start. I will walk across the stage in five or so days from now, but I was that was today. I’ve grown to loathe taking exams for my classes. It’s just a buildup of stress over what could possibly be on the exam, a race to see if you’ve reviewed enough of the mind churning content before the exam time starts. I would much rather have presentations for all of my classes than take exams for any of them. For one of my classes which I am slightly worried about, the teacher hasn’t graded a single assignment since February, and just got around to grading our midterm results. I can’t even calculate what I need to get on the final to pass if I wanted to. This mindset comes to poison me at random parts of the semester when it’s most beneficial for me to focus on my studies, but all I want to do is read, work on nabilinc, and explore other projects that I’ve been meaning to commit time to.

I’ll admit that I’ve been indulging in a lot of rai recently. It brings me both an intense sense of nostalgia for being in Algeria, and a feeling that I belong amongst the people of my homeland. The question comes up in casual conversation if I’d ever go back to Algeria full-time. I tell them yes, and I do genuinely want to. I’m stuck in a paralysis though, of wanting something so badly but at the same time fearing if I have the capability of living that life. Visiting Algiers for the first time definitely semented my desire of moving there. As Algerian as I am and feel though, I’m incredibly worried that it’s not enough to live in a state of comfort. I’m easily influenced by the perception of people towards me, and it’s exacerbated to extreme lengths with how fellow country men/women perceive me. It’s been a struggle since I was young, and it involves my level of Arabic, knowledge of certain cultural aspects, among other things. It’s hard for me to put this into words, because I don’t want to just reiterate the same ideas that a young person from the diaspora can’t feel that full connection with their people and land of origin due to distance and extenuating circumstances. It is exactly that, though. I love going back home to see family, yet I don’t really know what I would do if my parents weren’t around to chauffer me to different family members across towns, going siteseeing, helping with negotiating on the street. Basically all the functions that are required of me if I were to live alone there with my family. It’s almost embarassing the fear that I hold with such regard, because at the end of the day, who cares? The same Algerian that may judge me for my broken Arabic is the one that has their own fears of societal judgement. I will meet people similar to me, and I may share the same daily cultural activties that I so desparately desire to partake in without judgement. I know that I would be able to. I just fear putting myself in that scenario to begin with.

My friend always mentions that getting comfortable in a setting is incredibly dangerous, and it will prevent you from finding experiences and meeting people that you otherwise never would’ve been exposed to. He’s completely right, but once your comfortable, its so hard to remove yourself from that. What stopped me from studying abroad? What stopped me from expressing how I feel and how I want to be treated to others? What stopped me from being friends with who I please? What stopped me from hanging out with who I want to hang out?

What’s stopping me from moving to Algeria in the future?

“And to live is not to resign oneself” - Albert Camus, Summer in Algiers

I just finished this wonderful and awful essay by Camus on Algiers in the summer. I love his writing, from an objective standpoint he writes incredibly well and it is recognized as such, but a man complicit in the occupation and massacares of my own people shouldn’t even get a glance from me. I still read nonetheless. In this essay he writes about how the people of Algiers live life extravagantly, not in a material sense, but spiritually and through their action due to the impending fear of dying and being buried a land that promotes lavish living. “Everything here suggests the horror of dying in a country that invites one to live” - This prevents the people of Algiers from living passively, not allowing the wind of society to push and pull them in any direction. Most people would say this is not a life they want to live, me included, but there is a difference in what you want for yourself and what your current situation and actions actually show. You want to paint a nice sunny day on the beach, and the first color you dip your paintbrush into is a dark grey. Why is it so hard? It looks effortless when observing others go about their daily lives in a manner that is respectful to both themselves (firstly), and others. I have this inside joke based on the book “Stoner” written by John Williams. Without trying to spoil it, the character is defined by the word “inacton”. I start to fear that I liked this book so much because it has fragments of a mirror scattered across the pages.

At the beginning of the event I had described the day and myself as being sun-kissed. It is my favorite descriptor of a nice sunny day combined with some sort of outside activity. However, as the length of time in the sun seemed to drag on forever, as I told others, I felt more assaulted by the sun more than anything else. Even the breaks in the gazeebo, the wonderful food that was brought by others, the company that I was with, none of that seemed to shade me from the everlasting sun and heat. It doesn’t seem to matter where you stay or how much of a break you can take, because if the sun is there, the sun is there. Nothing can stop it or lessen the severity of the slow roasting it does on your skin and your mental. It isn’t too noticeable at first, its like a moth that you wave away. But imagine that moth slowly progressing, first into a fly so it may be more of a nuisance to you, then a mosquito which brings you and annoyance and slight discomfort, and finally a wasp that inflicts pain. You become so scared of the wasp that you attempt to avoid it in every potential interaction it may be present in, yet somehow you find yourself down the same cycle of ingoring the moth, shooing away the fly, smacking the mosquito against your body, and finally having to remove the stinger pumping poisonous substance into your veins. Although as far as I know that poisonous substance gets cleared from your blood stream eventually, I like to believe that it accumulates in your heart, similar to sediment that washes up along the side of a river. It’s more than what I believe, it’s what I feel.

I imagine a field wide but of corners tight. Clasping your soul but also giving it breath. It gives a vast space to grow, a space that stretches. In the middle a mahogany shed built of bare logs leans. The entrance a carved hole exposes the interior of the wood. They are ageless. No ridges, a red smooth. Almost a red marble. The suns light reflects, painting the dirt surrounding with an ocean red. The light on the dirt wades in and out in ripples. Constricting or flowing outwards. The sun grants the wood its age. The dirt is an ally, with waves shaped by wind. Wind that whistles in between the logs. Playing an instrument it has long grown bored of. There are only as many notes as there are logs. It is the same wind. It recycles itself as there is no where else to go. Harmony is remiss, following its same patterns. There is no resumption. The logs lean on each other but do not lean on dirt. The sun shows a light but doesn’t produce. Something lies

As the days inch closer to summer, the days seem to lengthen exponentially. Boulder has seen more than it’s fair share of the sun its supposed to see up to this point, and the trees seemingly blossomed and revived their vibrant color overnight. A different scene enveloped Boulder today though, as just before 11am snowflakes the size of coins made its way down in a flurry. I was up long before this though, as I awoke at 6:30am with nothing to do but wait until 8am to check in for the senior engineering expo. I went to my teammates apartment to pick up the poster board we managed to get printed (after he pressed the fedex worker), and I headed to the practice field to get everything sorted. The sensation I felt walking in with my poster was indescribable. Just a little freshman Nabil was here not too long ago, eyes oggling the many innovative and complex projects that seniors in that time were showing off, and yet it was my turn to do the same to the very freshmen that strolled around the expo imagining what their future might look like. After making a stroll around the stadium looking at other projects, I left and made my way to C4 to try to eat some breakfast. I didn’t consume much, as external factors maintained their tyrannical rule over my appetite. Alen came to join me, after he finished setting up his booth with his teammates, and enjoyed usual chats and banter over C4 breakfast. Long overdue if you ask either of us. I then ventured back home, snow falling plentifully at this point, to shower before Jummah at the masjid. I scowered pinterest after to try to put together a new fit for the expo, and I was happy with how I left the house. I made the trek to the masjid, and sat in for the khutbah and salat. Afterwards I said Salam to all the guys and made my way back to campus to stand by my team’s booth, and make sure the demo was working okay. This was the start of almost 4 hours of nonstop talking, either going to other booths, seeing friends, or pitching my team’s project to random passerbys or a friend thats glad to see me there. By the end, it had left me in tatters. I sheepishly made my way out as the awards ceremony was going on. Our team was definitely not in the running for any sort of prize so it was a well missed occasion. I dropped another friend off at their car parked not too far and I went to get coffee. I just wanted to try to depress from the entire day’s events. Unfortunately the books that I had in my backpack at the time were of no use in helping me unwind, and so I had left to return home. The familiar chill of winter cut through me as I trudged to my car, and once arriving at the house, from my car to the front door. It’s a chill that lingers in your body, and sticks with you even upon entering establishments that are sufficiently heated. The guys had gone to get food and were since back and on the couch, and with my appetite continously betraying me, it was not a venture I pursued with them. I promptly changed into my macawis for additional comfort and sank into the all to comfortable and familiar couch, my home for the entirety of the first semseter. The group migrated from the couch to the rec center, where we split into hooping and working out, eventually reconvening on the court to play all together. The run was good, a lot better than when it was just the two of us while the others were working out.

My consistency with this journal is already stuttering, so I must push myself to write. Why haven’t I filled in this day? Only me and Allah knows. Regardless, today was one of them ones. Went to the cafe in the morning as usual, had half a brownie and most of my coffee, and went to campus to take the surpise practice exam for linux system admin (it had been in canvas for weeks but I also haven’t been to class in weeks). Dropped a stinker there, getting 53/100 on it, which I was honeslty happy with as I had stumbled through every solution that I figured out, which gave me hope if I actually study for the final. After that, I delayed going to my capstone class, so I stopped by in Bold to chat for a bit and then I hauled to get to my capstone teammates. We had our poster in line to be printed for expo the next day, we were worried that fedex wouldn’t print it in time, leaving us to just throw a logo and some pictures up (embarassing!!!). We also recorded our example pitch for our final demo day, and got to class to present our current MVP. I was given a slide that I didn’t even write up and wasn’t familar with, so I was really scared to go up and present. I had my phone the whole time trying to memorize the lines but when it was my turn, I dropped a stinker, something that is starting to become a habit. It wasn’t that serious though, and after we presented I was able to relax. After my capstone class, I went to move my car to a different lot that I paid for the rest of the day, and got myself ready for a really cool event. ****** was in town and a good friend of mine managed to squeeze two tickets for themselves and I, and so we got in line and were among the first to get in. We got in, and wasted an hour sitting in our seats until finally, ****** came out. It was surreal seeing her, regardless of if I agree with what she stands for or not. I am now struggling to put anymore onto this virtual piece of paper.

Today was a long long day. From the cafe in the morning to champions league (Bayern vs. Madrid 4-3) to a presentation to dinner to a birthday celebration, I’ve done it all. Somehow I’ve managed to squeeze a nap in there for good measure as well. It was fun and exhilerating, especially the champions league match, as it was one of those all time classics you just had to be there to see. The presentation was also exhilerating, but in the more negative way. One of my teammates for this capstone class wasn’t able to make it, so I picked up the slides they usually go through for our weekly presentation, on top of what I already had. I thought I could wing it, but it proved to be a lot harder then I thought. I stumbled through her slides, and managed to regain my composure once it came back around to mine. We have our final presentation next week, pitching in front of judges, and I really want to knock it out of the park. If we do the best out of the rest of the teams in the class, then we move on to competing with the best teams in the other classes. The group that wins the overall competiton gets something (hopefully money??!) . We definitely have the idea, the team, and the work so far to do it, and it just requires a bit of execution on our end to get it done. We just have to meet beforehand and put our heads together. In other news, I have a presentation for my major’s capstone class tomorrow, but we aren’t too sure what the slide split looks like yet. We also have our engineering expo on friday, with not a single poster printed, or designed. It looks like we might just have some basic stuff printed with our logo and what we do, and that will be the crux of our presentation during expo. Unfortunatey boring and mundane, but with the amount of time we have left in the year, that’s honestly all I need. It’s been a hectic final semester, and my trip to Miami (for a conference 😜 hehe) is calling. I’m picking up the phone.

I’ve always been tempted to build some cool and techy portfolio page to show off random projects that I’ve been working on, and what I’ve been up to professionally. I realized though that I would’ve just been building my LinkedIn page on a separate website that I actually have to pay for, and that doesn’t sound very cool or fun. So instead I want this to be personal and raw, at least as personal and raw a public space can be. I want to talk and write about anything, from industry news to what kind of coffee and pastry I got that day. I want to make people laugh, think, and maybe learn a thing or two, if anything can be learned from a premature life like mine. So cheers to doing something that you put off for just a little too long, and welcome to my little internet abode :)