Morning Sleeper

Here we go again, waking up to another day that feels like déjà vu. Cold bed, pure loneliness – the usual morning blues. Now, what’s on the agenda today? Should I dive into learning something new or just lose myself in video games for the whole day? How do I shake off these feelings? Do I need a new partner, or should I just embrace self-love? Maybe grab that damn visa and start a new chapter somewhere else? Or should I hustle harder, drown myself in work, and chase that money?

These questions keep buzzing around, making my 30-year-old life in Iran feel like a constant battle. The weight of choices is real, pressing down on me like the scorching Shiraz sun. Ambition tugs at me while the allure of escaping reality plays its own tune.

Welcome to the age of uncertainty, where decisions morph into a maze, each turn presenting a new set of challenges. The rhythm of ambition pulls at me, urging me to strive for more, while the enchanting melody of escapism plays in the background. Morning shadows dance, mirroring the ambiguity of my path, as I strive to anchor my restless soul in a world draped in unpredictability.

The corridors of my mind echo with the persistent questions, reverberating through the ambiguity of purpose. With each unfolding day, I grapple with the uncertainty, seeking answers that can serve as beacons in the maze of life. The daily hustle becomes a quest to find meaning, a purpose that dodges me in the age of uncertainty.

On learning how to code and the future of this blog

A random pc photo

Hey there! 🌟 So, usually, I spill my guts on this blog, letting it all out and expressing whatever comes to mind. Lately, life’s been a messed up tomato soup, dealing with lots of mental pressure and studying for the PLAB at the same time. but guess what? I’ve conquered that hurdle, and now I’ve got a little breather for myself. 🎉 Time to dive into a journey I’ve been daydreaming about forever.

I’ve always had this itch to become a halfway decent programmer. I know, it sounds a bit nuts for a medic like me, but hey, who cares? Computer science has been my secret passion for ages. Initially, I had this grand idea about optimizing hospitals using queue management techniques and AI. Started learning Python, but life got in the way – job, relationships, you name it. But hey, now’s the perfect time for a comeback. It’s never too late, right? 🚀

Lately, my mind’s been buzzing with ideas about graph analysis and predicting prices in different markets, like the wild world of vehicle sales. I’m diving into scraping data from online sources, creating neat datasets, and using coding magic to analyze them. The catch? I’ve got loads to learn. So, I turned to ChatGPT for advice, and it pointed me to Codecademy. Checked it out, and it’s fantastic – career-level courses that unfortunately cost a pretty penny. With exams and travels looming, splurging on a new skill seems a bit bonkers. Reddit to the rescue! Discovered freecodecamp, a non-profit focused on teaching code to peeps worldwide. And it’s totally free! 🌐

So, here I am, kicking off my studies. They’ve got everything from web design to algebra with Python. I love their structured curriculum, so I’m taking it step by step. Over the next few months, I’ll be sharing my progress. Now, I’m not the most consistent person on the planet, and I battle with a wonky attention span and a slight video game addiction. 😅 But, hey, fingers crossed for the best!

First on the list: I began the “Responsive Web Design” course. I dabbled in HTML and CSS back in high school, designed my own website and all. But, time flies, and memories fade. The first two lessons were a blast, and I even whipped up a cat photo website and a beautiful online menu for a cafe later! Now, during the course, I’ll be starting a new project for my website – I’ll drop the link when ready so you can see what I’m learning. Wish me luck on this wild journey! 🌈

Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room: AI and machine learning. It’s the big thing now and in the future. As a doctor, having those skills in my toolkit is gold. Medicine’s in for a shake-up, and being fluent in both medical and computer lingo? Priceless.

My Achilles’ heel is consistency, but I’m determined to stay on track. I’ll spill all the details about this journey because, honestly, writing about it keeps my brain in check. Cheers to an awesome winter! ❄️

Catch you later,
Hossein

Nafas

I’ve lost the sense of direction again. The wind’s taste is bitter, and my moments slip away. Fridays hold no threat. My name is forgotten. These drugs are never effective enough. Intoxication persists; join if you wish. Autumn lashes with cold winds. I promised to run; you replied that everyone will run away eventually.

I protest red’s burning, blue’s coldness, and yellow’s separation. Living in this neverland is my only choice. Breath is just one word, i take it to survive the remaining sentences.

Leaves on this tree will fall too. If courage wanes, what’s left of me? Long live the one who picked the fruit. I am fresh but laden with rotten. A musician with a silent violin. This land is known for harsh earthquakes—who built our hearts this way? Me or you ?

If you seek light, I’ll shine like the sun. Forbid spring, and I’ll lay bare in winter. Clerics ban touching human flesh, burning naked. Yet, I’d buy every inch of the inferno for the sensation of your breath near mine. Let’s intertwine in execution. Fresh, yet rotten.

This land is known for harsh earthquakes—who built our hearts this way? Me or you ?

Sight

During my pre-op visit to my ophthalmologist, I was fixated on the worn tiles flooring the doctor’s office, contemplating life’s complexity like chasing a slippery hen. Last weekend’s shroom-fueled haze left kaleidoscopic patterns on the tiles, that shit was playing with my consciousness.

The following day, as the surgeon cracked my eye open, a peculiar image surfaced. I wished he’d tear apart my heart instead of my globe.

Kneeling to my mom, holding onto my dad’s hands, I acknowledged the inherent truth – it’s time to understand and embark on a journey. Soon I’m going to fly.

Addressing my Guardian angel, I sought redemption for my losses, wanting them to be safeguarded until I reach my cross. Bearing the weight, a golden trick of the world. Like Jesus. Jesus! sometimes depression lurks from behind, living in the dark, like a monster under my bed. Living my life in Shiraz, partying every night, wondering how nature can be a motherf****r.

Reflecting on the gap in my girl’s teeth and the warmth I feel, trying yo express sentiments , the needle of truth leads me forward. Born with blue veins, destined to grow wings, and then to take off. Soon I’m going to fly, and finally, I die, alone or with a family, in my home country or a faraway land.

So, I think I am a lucky one. You, like your name, are from outer space, my star in a dark night.

In a realm where belief is scarce, I found rare happiness in the connection between you and me. Some claim truth springs for hardcore seekers, but I believe truth sings to whoever listens. Born with blue veins, attuned to the song of life, destined to grow wings, and then to take off, like birds and dissipating smoke. The image on the surgery bed: Your entire body illuminated like a star, shining with a metallic glow.

Weird it was to feel blind. My sight, what a valuable thing! Yet there you were, blinding like always.

Lanka

In the heart of Sri Lanka, vibrant green coconut trees stretched as far as the eye could see, Sisyphus embarked on his ceaseless journey. He trudged along the winding road, one step at a time, acknowledging the small victories along the way.
“Well done mate” he said.

As he approached the precipice again, he gazed into the morning mist , clouds of vapour in between the green landscape, his heavy burden looming over him. Sisyphus pondered his choices. Does he dare leap into the unknown, embracing the failure, or does he surrender to the eternal cycle and push the relentless rock up again?

In that moment, he raised both fists, and declared “To hell with this!” With a resolute spirit, he released the colossal stone, letting it thunder down the steep slope.

The rock careened downward, going through the valley below. He had a house once, but it was a distant memory, lost to time. Sisyphus watched as the boulder descended, his never ending task fading away with each passing second.

He accepted the inevitability of his fate, embracing the relentless uncertain hardships of future , the punishments of disobedience. Sisyphus let the rock continue its journey, rolling down to the bottom.

The house that once held his dreams was now a relic of the past, a part of his history forever lost. “How do deal with these unprecedented sighs?” He wondered.

As the rock vanished from sight, there was this realization that he would rather face failure as a mortal than endure the burden of godhood immortality on a perilous cliff.

In a world where history favored the audacious, those who stood firm and unwavering in their resolve, Sisyphus made his decision.

Let it roll, let it crash down low! Sisyphus peered into the mist, a stone’s throw from the precipice, paused at the foothill .

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”-Isaiah 40:31 (NIV)

Where is my home ?

Homelessness goes beyond the mere lack of shelter; it embodies a sense of drifting in a world that has turned its back on me. Loneliness weighs heavy on my chest, an all-encompassing emotional void. Memories of happier times, of family, career, and purpose, slip further away each passing day.

I wander through unfamiliar streets, their lifeless pavements mirroring the bleakness of my existence. Warmth, both inside and out, is a distant memory. Regrets anchor my steps to the unyielding concrete.

Turning a corner, I stumbled upon a shadowy park, its swings were swaying gently in the breeze, A beckoning bench urged me to sit. I paused, gazing at the night sky, seeking solace in the distant stars, their brilliance teasingly out of reach.

Tears welled in my eyes, and for the first time in ages, I allowed myself to feel. The tears streamed down my cheeks, mingling with the mist, and I released a trembling sigh. In that solitary moment, I realized that finding my way home wasn’t merely a matter of direction. There was no home. Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve lost my home.

Walking away from the park, I couldn’t help but believe that, one day, I might stumble upon another home. A place where the void can be filled, even if the world outside remains unforgiving.

Creepy

Living as an Iranian constantly under the scrutiny of the morality police is akin to a surreal comedy, a delicate juggling act between vigilance and unrestrained laughter. On a memorable evening, I cautiously navigated my way to an underground gathering, a hidden soirée where friends and strangers united to break free from society’s stifling constraints.

The dark room felt reminiscent of your grandfather’s attic, filled with hushed laughter and music so rebellious like putting “Don’t Stop Believin'” on a continuous loop. It was a brief escape from reality, and my excitement matched that of a kangaroo on methamphetamine. I was acutely aware that at any moment, the morality police could burst in, as if auditioning for a high-intensity action movie.

I danced with a diverse group, straight out of a B-movie, their eyes reflecting the dreams of hopeful idealists. We clung to the belief that our actions could ignite change, enduring the monotony of our current lives for the promise of a brighter future, complete with free Netflix subscriptions and endless ice cream.

In my mind, I pictured the ultimate plot twist: the door swings open, and the morality police storm in, shouting as if competing for roles in an over-the-top soap opera. In an instant, excitement would turn to dread, and our dreams would vanish like a magician’s rabbit. And later as I sit in a cold, sterile cell, I would contemplate the absurdity of it all.

I understand that the rollercoaster of anticipation and emptiness in my life resembles the convoluted plot of a sitcom. But one thing remains certain: this tragic hope would keep me going, and in the hearts of every Iranian, the dream for a brighter future would persist as an enduring punchline, refusing to be silenced no matter how many times life attempts to cancel our show.

Haft

M

Well, that smell of s-ex ,Good like burning wood, The wayward lad laid claim to two thirsty girls who left a note when morning came. Play it seven times on the seventh day, seven lives, lead the way,
Rainbow’s seven hues shine bright, what’s up with gray’s relentless chase?
Back in 2011, I chose a path, sealed my fate, embraced,
Seven doobies in my pocket, eleven in my mind’s wild craze.

Stranger things unfold as my halo shines so bright,
Snow White with seven dwarves, what a mystical sight,
Heaven’s door is a quest, can’t escape its force,
No remorse, just time, roll the dice, of course!

Seven sides to me, no need to deny,
Aladdin’s third eye, let’s explore the sky,
Genie’s wishes, dreams soaring high,
Beginning, middle, and end, it’s all you and I.

Mind, body, and soul, the sweet breath of life,
Past, present, future, with no end in sight,
Yin and yang, balance keeps our journey on track,
Good and bad unite, it’s a timeless fact.

We’re all alike, yet our light is individuality,
Less chat, more silence, in this cosmic reality,
Am I right? I’m right, feeling as high as can be,
They say I’m unreadable, unbeatable, unreachable, that’s the key.

Nowadays, beginning my seasonal blues, contacts not so neat. Karma pays my dues, from youth to the street.

Nothing beats being here, in and out of booths,
But I must admit, yeah, still, I miss you.

Wait what ?

Ah, rhabdomyolysis, the silent ninja of the medical world, lurking in the shadows like a sneaky party crasher. It’s the ultimate muscle saboteur, breaking down your biceps and quads with the enthusiasm of a kid tearing open birthday presents. When it strikes, you can kiss your weekend plans goodbye!

Picture this: me, trying to dance on Sugar– it was like being a human lightning rod in a disco storm. The stimulant was like a tiny DJ in my bloodstream, pumping out beats of madness straight to my brain. I felt like a wild, caffeinated squirrel, completely unburdened by mundane things like gravity and logic. Cocaine was my backstage pass to the circus of “Who Needs Inhibitions Anyway?”

And then there’s whiskey, the drink of champions! It’s like a warm, boozy hug for your soul. One sip, and suddenly I believed I could conquer the world or at least the dance floor. The alcohol turned me into a dance ninja, fueled by liquid courage. It’s like my senses put on invisibility cloaks and I could waltz my way to greatness.

But guess what? My reckless rendezvous with these substances was a covert operation, sneakily sabotaging my life. Just like rhabdomyolysis, which quietly disassembles muscles, my little drug-and-drink escapade was sneakily dismantling my life plans, one disco move at a time. 🕺💃💥

It’s 5 AM Again

At 5 AM, the witching hour, I yearned for your presence, but the street-lamp outside only cast macabre, elongated shadows that danced like demons across the room, reminiscent of those nights when we delved into the darkest recesses of the human soul until dawn cracked. The silence, thicker than the ink-black night, was shattered by the mournful cries of the wind, a chilling symphony.

I shifted restlessly in the empty bed, gripped by an unyielding sense of dread, an unmistakable intuition that an unholy, ancient malevolence was lurking.

As I battled to surrender both body and mind to the sleep, a sinister, nearly imperceptible whisper reached my ears. This unearthly voice originated from the deepest, darkest corner of the room. My heart pounded like a funeral drum as I jolted upright, anxiously scanning the impenetrable shadows. No physical presence revealed itself. I dismissed it as the product of my tormented mind, a fleeting illusion, as I struggled to cling to the embrace of sleep.

Terror ensnared me as I realized the absolute solitude of the room, and yet that strange voice, undoubtedly yours ,was emerging from the very spot where you liked to sit.

Clutching the bedcovers, I gasped for air, each breath a jagged shard of my fraying sanity. “Who are you?” I stammered, my voice trembling in the face of mortal fear.

The voice inched closer, an unnatural presence by my side, an icy, deathly breath brushing against my ear, a clammy hand caressing my cheek. “I’m with you,” it whispered, intimately malevolent. “I have never departed.”

I recoiled in absolute horror, ensnared by the ghastly specter, unable to wrench my gaze away. “No, this cannot be real,” I muttered, gripping my phone with white-knuckled desperation.

As I tried to dial for help, the room twisted and contorted around me, the very walls closing in, the voice whispering my deepest fears and darkest secrets, imprisoning me in a nightmarish frame. Escape was a mirage. My hands were not responding to my commands .

With the very first rays of dawn, salvation finally pierced the window. The terrifying specter of you unraveled like ethereal smoke. As the room reverted to its mundane, I was left breathless, it was my first ever panic attack and i hated it .

The Old Man

Considering myself a determined being, I try to stay laser-focused, like a dog chasing a squirrel, on the prize that seems as elusive as the TV remote stuck between the couch cushions. The path I follow is tougher than a two-dollar steak, with challenges that make me wonder if I’d stumble into a cosmic game show. But I have this stubborn belief that a man might get knocked down, but he should never surrender. It is all about the relentless fight, and being willing to give up even your last piece of bacon to reach the peak of your dreams.

Most people are ignorant about turtles. Did you know that a turtle’s heart will beat for hours after it has been cut up and butchered? I think I  have such a heart too. In this I see a reflection of myself. I have a soul that just wouldn’t throw in the towel, a determination that refuses to take “no” for an answer.

But what if, after all my blood, sweat, and coffee-fueled nights, I find out my big goal was about as meaningful as a rubber chicken at a formal dinner? Should I surrender and binge-watch cat videos to avoid the ultimate faceplant of disappointment?

In moments of doubt, I remind myself that this isn’t the time to play “Where’s Waldo” with the missing pieces of my life. Instead, I take a lesson from the early birds, those fuckin old men who wake up with the roosters. They don’t rise just to add more hours to their bingo nights. No, they do it to squeeze every drop of opportunity from their limited hours remaining on this floating rock we call Earth.

Whether I end up finding that elusive TV remote or not, I’ll keep going, knowing that life’s greatest rewards often come to those who persevere through the toughest challenges. Like a turtle’s heart, mine will keep beating, no matter what obstacles come my way, and I’ll emerge from the cosmic game show, not as a spectator, but as a champion of my own destiny.

Junior

In my early thirties, I returned to my hometown, embarking on a path I’d always longed for. An old song’s lyrics echoed in my mind, reminding me that life’s journey exceeded my initial expectations.

Every day, I carried the weight of responsibility as I pursued my career as a junior medic. The faces of patients, friends, and family blended together, each seeking something elusive. Nevertheless, I assured them that there was room for everyone at the summit.

With boundless energy in my heart, I embraced my community, despite living under a totalitarian government. As I listened to birds’ sweet melodies and wiped away tears of gratitude, I grasped that sometimes, you may not obtain what you desire, but you can provide what others require.

In the end, despite trials and triumphs, I whispered a heartfelt “hallelujah” to the journey that had led me to this place of healing and love.

“And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” – Galatians 6:9 (ESV)

Random Memories From Boushehr

As the sun staged its grand exit below the horizon, my tiny room threw on its dramatic cloak of darkness, setting the scene for what promised to be a slapstick night, brought to you by the universe’s comedy hour.

The guy next door fired up his nightly “complain o’clock” routine like it was the opening act at a stand-up comedy club. Seriously, if whining was an Olympic sport, he’d have a gold medal by now.

Speaking of time, my wall clock kept up its relentless tick-tock symphony, as if it were auditioning for the world’s most persistent drummer. I swear, that clock was in cahoots with time itself, and neither of them was letting me catch a break.

Downstairs, in the apartment below, a young woman was apparently auditioning for the role of “Most Dramatic Crier in a Soap Opera.” Her sobbing echoed through the floorboards, making me wonder if I’d accidentally wandered into an emotional opera house.

And then, like a comedy sketch timing its punchline, the room plunged into darkness. I contemplated my next move, and after the lights went out, I braced myself for the night without you, my dear love. It was like my room was trying out for a part in a spooky thriller.

Outside my window, a pigeon had taken up residence, probably thinking it could find solace in my personal emotional trainwreck. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had its own relationship drama going on, just like us.

In that moment, as I sipped my tea and gazed out at the pigeon, I realized that life’s complexities and dramas were not confined to my own heartache. We were all players in this grand theater, navigating the comedy and tragedy that unfolded around us, each with our own stories to tell.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”-Psalm 34:18

The Raven

Every day, I witness the struggles and injustices that afflict our society, and I can’t help but wonder how to heal this fractured world. It’s haunting, as if the weight of the world rests upon my shoulders, and I’m just one person, seemingly powerless to change even my own life.

As I live my daily routine, I’m doomed by unexplained anxieties that sneak in. They whisper in my ear, reminding me of life’s fragility and the unpredictable nature of the future. It’s as though uncertainty is my constant companion, a shadow that never departs.

Amid this chaos, I often question myself, “What do I truly desire, and what do I genuinely need?” The answer remains elusive amidst the relentless noise of a world that never pauses. I’m caught in confusion, torn between the longings of my heart and the realities of life.

In a divine revelation, an angel conveyed to me: “You, my friend, need not fear anything, except one thing: love. You are like a mole, blind even to the darkness, where you truly belong. In the light, hungry crocodiles dance, but what lies beyond the night’s obscurity? Forget them; darkness is where you shine, where underground tunnels extend limitlessly. To love is to pretend, and I understand your mourning, for it is the cruelest of pains.”

Just as I had decided to distance myself from the complexities of love and commitment, fate had different plans. It was an accidental encounter, one that would forever alter my life’s path. Amidst the ordinary, there she happened—a girl with raven-black hair, a charming and enigmatic presence that defied my intentions and expectations. Her captivating allure and the mysterious aura enveloping her drew me in like a moth to a flame. Little did I know that this chance meeting would unleash a whirlwind of emotions and desires, reshaping my world in unimaginable ways.

Her hair, as dark as a moonless midnight, flowed like a waterfall of obsidian silk down her back. Each strand whispered secrets, a connection only she and the night shared. Her eyes, twin orbs of onyx, held a mysterious depth, akin to the infinite cosmos. She moved with a grace that mirrored the flight of an eagle, her presence demanding attention yet wrapped in a puzzling attraction that left me spellbound, lost in the depths of her look.

The path ahead remained uncertain, our destinies intertwined by a force beyond comprehension. It was a beginning, or perhaps an end, in the making, leaving the story of our connection to be written by the whims of time and fate.

“For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”-Corinthians 13:12

Crime Scene

My corpse was laying there on the cold, unforgiving ground. I was standing there watching my lifeless body. The flashing red and blue police lights painted the night sky, casting a colorful glow over the scene below. People had gathered, their faces etched with curiosity and fear, forming a restless crowd that bordered the chaos unfolding beneath them.

I felt weightless, as if gravity had lost its grip on my form. My newfound freedom allowed me to glide effortlessly through the scene, passing through cars, walls, and windows as though they were mere illusions. The sensation of being untethered, of no longer being bound by the limitations of a physical body, was exhilarating.

I had seen ghosts in countless movies, but never had I imagined that death would be this liberating. It was like a secret I had unlocked, a hidden dimension I had stumbled upon. As I moved through the crowd, I noticed the detectives meticulously collecting evidence, their faces drawn with determination. Yellow tape marked the boundaries of the crime scene, and the chalk outline of my body on the cold asphalt was a haunting reminder of my former existence.

The coroner’s voice echoed in the night, stating that my time of death was approximately seven hours ago. I had been murdered, and my life had come to a tragic end. Yet, strangely, there was a sense of peace in this spectral state. I was no longer confined to the worries and anxieties of the living.

With each passing moment, I became more attuned to the invisible threads connecting me to the world I once knew. I could feel the memories and emotions of those who had gathered to witness my demise, their thoughts and fears mixing up with my own.

And it was how you murdered me in the back of your mind. Farewell, my beautiful murderer.

“Because of that, We decreed upon the Children of Israel that whoever kills a soul unless for a soul or for corruption [done] in the land – it is as if he had slain mankind entirely.” -Al-Ma’idah (5:32)