Love, Hate and Other Filters

by Samira Ahmed

You are still young. Free . . . Do yourself a favor. Before it’s too late, without thinking about it first, pack a pillow and a blanket and see as much of the world as you can.

Filming calms me. I said before that my camera is my shield, but when I’m hiding behind it, I’m also in control.

I’m alone. Literally. Metaphorically. And in all the other ways I don’t know quite how to name.

we all have secrets, hopes that stay locked deep inside, trapped by our fears of the world’s judgment.

Maybe being a virgin is going to pay off after all. Virgins always survive.

I know I push her away because I can’t be the daughter she expects me to be and still be what I want to be at the same time.

Burnt, charred offerings. Words of the dead, drifting down from the heavens like feathers from birds in flight. Remember me, they whisper.

My body remembers what part of my mind wants to forget—because there are times when I struggle to reconcile what I gave up to be here, in this very moment, despite how much I wanted it. How much I do want it. The past may be prologue, but it’s with me, every day.