I know the conventional wisdom says you should tell your readers something about yourself. For me, though, I’m just Hayat. But if you’re curious about the details, let me ramble a bit. It’s sometimes therapeutic, and since I’m wide awake anyway, why not? I might bore you to tears—or to death, depending on your tolerance for monotony.

Honestly, I never know how to begin these things, and talking about myself isn’t my strong suit. That’s why I dread interviews. There’s nothing worse than having someone hold your resume, smile, and then ask in a cold tone, “Tell me about yourself.” Well, my “self” prefers direct, specific questions.

So, instead of droning on about my childhood, education, and job, let’s start with something more intriguing—my aunt’s room. It might seem irrelevant, but I have a soft spot for it.

Auntie had this charming little room in my grandfather’s old house in Yemen. It was modest, with a wardrobe that was more of a small recess in a thick, short wall. Her bed was a raised stone box covered with cozy duvets and blankets. There was a mirror on the front wall and a window on its left side, overlooking the yard. The yard had peach and fig trees surrounded by peppers, jasmines, and wild basil. Every morning, cows, roosters, and hens wandered about. To me, that was heaven!

What enchanted me most was the tiny shower nook in the room’s right corner, accessible by three (or maybe four) steps. It had a small shelf for soap. My aunt lived alone in that room, which remained untouched by anyone until she passed away early in the hijacked revolution of 2011.

I’ve always dreamed of having a simple shelter like hers. I believe loneliness is preferable to the company of worries, grief, and bitterness.

Although my family hails from Sana’a, I sometimes feel disconnected from everyone, every place, and every time. My grandparents moved to a village near Sana’a, in Thamaar, and when I was seven, my father relocated to Saudi Arabia about 60 years ago. He settled in Riyadh, where my siblings and I were born. But… hey… enough about ancient history. Let’s dive into another “scene” of my life—the saga of my residency card in Saudi Arabia, a rich source of black humor.

I will never forget when the clerk at the Passport General Department printed my name on my first residency card. He misspelled it, and that mistake lasted over 15 years before I finally visited them to correct it.

When I arrived, another clerk gave me a dismissive look and said, “Your sponsor is the only one allowed here, not you!” She was unwelcoming and, for no clear reason, upset. As soon as she finished her sentence, she turned away, leaving me feeling more like a foreigner than ever. I felt like an outsider for years, even though I was born in Riyadh. I probably lived there longer than she had, as she looked much younger than me.

But maybe I like being an outsider. It allows me to inhabit my own world. I’m a good friend to nice people and animals alike. In fact, I prefer animals, as they’re kind, productive, and relatively smarter than many humans I encounter daily.

Okay, now it’s time for some of my “pearls of wisdom.” I believe we remain distinct despite our similarities, and much of our discord arises from not accepting this truth. It wasn’t easy for me to learn to appreciate our differences, which I once viewed as problems. But acceptance is crucial for peaceful coexistence. I learned this the hard way because I am undoubtedly different from many people I know.

One more thing about me: I smile a lot, and I’ve always suffered because of my confident, spontaneous smiles. It often leads others to think I’m rich and arrogant, which prompts taxi drivers to hike fares and beggars to target me. At work, it results in me being overloaded with responsibilities I gain nothing from. Some people perceive me as evil or demonic. This has its perks, especially in the workplace, but it also means that men often get disappointed with me, some women like or dislike me for various reasons, and, most importantly, children can always use and abuse me, but I’m fine with all of that.

After a short time of interacting with me, you’ll notice how I can be chaotic, especially when chaos is a form of bliss. While I’m not proud of this, I find it beneficial. It is indeed a positive trait at times. People with neatly organized spaces both impress and unsettle me. I’ve always wondered how my younger sister manages to keep everything in order without some supernatural aid. It’s a mystery!

I’m straightforward and value clarity, honesty, humor, and simplicity. I struggle with rigid, negative, judgmental, and ill-mannered sophists—and there are many of them. I’m also highly allergic to stupid people, including nationalists, chauvinists, racists, materialists, sexists, and McCarthyists. If they can’t embrace silence, I can’t enjoy their company. I hope that’s clear enough.

I once dreamed of contributing to an unbiased Arab media project to unravel the mysteries of our sufferings and conflicts. However, I’ve lost faith in this dream, given that many people seem more interested in trivial matters than in meaningful discourse.

Writing is my destiny, not just a beloved hobby. It chose me before I chose it—unfortunately? Fortunately? Maybe both. People like me can’t stop writing, whether we want to or not. When I’m weary, I find solace in poetry, escape reality through photography, and, when overwhelmed, I paint or take walks with my camera. Although crowds, pollution, and noise can be overwhelming, I return home reflecting on the similarities and differences between my surroundings and what I might see in a neglected zoo.

I may not be interesting or impressive, but when I do have spare time, I hope my thoughts will at least provoke some questions.

So far, what you’ve read above is “me.”