Notes I Won’t Reread

Oh well, folks. We are back with the “nothing happened today.” Yes. No blood. No noise. No mistakes. I know, I know. Boring, right?

I woke up. I existed. I didn’t ruin anything, and that’s what people call a “good day”, don’t they? I watched people do their usual routines: talking, laughing, pretending their little schedules mean something. Meetings, messages,” Plans.” It’s cute.

You can almost. Almost believe it matters if you don’t think too hard. Someone asked me how my day was, and I said, “Good.” That seemed to make them happy. Amazing how low the standards are. No one really wants an answer anyway; they just want noise that sounds right. So here:

bla bla bla bla bla text text text tex text text text click click click bla bla bla bla bla There that should keep you entertained, Are you having fun watching this? watching me rot on this page like it’s something meaningful?

There was a moment today where everything went quiet again, didn’t talk. didn’t move. just still Of course, that doesn’t count as “productive.” You can’t measure it, post it, or brag about it. So I guess it didn’t happen.

Successful day, did everything I was supposed to. Try not to be too proud of me

Sincerery, Ahmed

The ocean did what it always does: showed up. Made noise. Pretended it wasn’t trying. I went there for no reason. stayed for no reason. Watched waves repeat themselves like they’re proud of it.

People call it calming. I think it’s just honest. It doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t expect anything back. It just keeps coming and leaving like it owns the concept. I like that.

Sat there longer than I planned. Not thinking anything important. Or maybe thinking too much and pretending I wasn’t.

Water looked different today. Not better. Not worse. Just different enough to notice. Which is annoying. I didn’t do anything, didn’t fix anything, didn’t break anything either.

Still counts as a day, apparently.

The ocean doesn’t care, That’s probably why I keep going back.

I wrote this as I was there: ”The ocean is not quiet. People just lie in that matter; it’s constant noise. Not loud enough to be unbearable. Not soft enough to ignore. It’s just there. Repeating itself like it’s stuck on the same thought. The waves don’t come in evenly. Some are weak, some hit harder, some collapse halfway like they changed their mind. The water looks flat from far away. It’s not. It’s uneven shifts, never actually still. Just convincing enough to look stable. There’s salt on everything. Air, skin, eyes. It sticks whether you want it or not. It keeps pulling things in and pushing them back out. Doesn’t matter what it is. It doesn’t keep anything for long. People stand there staring at it like it’s supposed to mean something. It doesn’t. It just does what it does. And somehow that’s enough to keep them there. It hides things too. Not in a clever way. Just by being too big to check. Anything that disappears into it stops being your problem after a while. Not because it’s gone. Just because you can’t prove it’s not, no one’s counting. No one’s keeping track. It doesn’t return things the way they were. Sometimes it doesn’t return them at all. And no one really questions it. That’s the part people don’t say out loud, how easy it is to stand there and feel like whatever you brought with you doesn’t follow you back.”

Sincerely, Ahmed.

I’m drinking tea while writing this. Not coffee. I know, shocking news. Try to stay calm.

Which is funny, considering how much I’ve been writing about coffee lately. Coffee Talk. Dust and Coffee. Nine coffees, Zero Results. A whole series dedicated to a drink I don’t even like that much. That feels very on brand, honestly. Investing time and words into something overrated just because everyone else decided it matters. Meanwhile, tea’s been sitting there. Quiet. Patient. Not screaming for attention. Not turning itself into an entire identity. Tea doesn’t need that.

I like tea more than humans. And no, that’s not me being dramatic. Tea doesn’t talk too much, doesn’t pretend to be deep after two sips, and doesn’t act like it just solved life because it exists. It does its job and leaves you alone. And it’s not just one kind. Coffee enthusiasts may require emotional support for this information. Tea doesn’t trap you into one version of yourself.

Black tea? Solid. Green tea? Pretends to fix your life. I respect the effort. Moroccan tea? Actually has presence without announcing it every five seconds. Chamomile? Basically, a soft “shut up” to your brain. Works better than most people.

And many other kinds, I can keep going. Every version of tea does something slightly different, and none of them act like they just unlocked enlightenment because you drank them. Coffee, on the other hand, somehow became a lifestyle. Not a drink. A lifestyle. People don’t drink coffee, no, they perform it. It’s always “don’t talk to me before my coffee,” like they’re a malfunctioning device that requires caffeine to become human, which is. Concerning, I can say the least. And somehow socially acceptable.

Tea doesn’t need a warning label. You don’t see people posting “don’t talk to me before my chamomile.” Imagine. That would require self-awareness.

Coffee is loud. Tea is quiet. Coffee begs for validation. Tea doesn’t even notice you’re there. Coffee tries to wake you up. Tea just lets you exist without making it a whole event.

And I think that’s why I prefer it. I’ve spent all this time writing about coffee like it’s something meaningful, when really it’s just.. noise. Expensive, bitter noise with a fanbase. Tea, though tea doesn’t try to be anything more than it is. Which automatically makes it better than most things.

Including people. Anyway, I’m still drinking tea. It’s gone slightly cold now, which somehow makes it even more honest.

Sincerely, Try tea. Ahmed