Lamiya Siraj: Stories & Beyond
Author | Blogger | Motivational Speaker
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Latest posts
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Even for a Day
Sometimes the hardest question isn't why we fell, but why we were allowed to fly at all. "Even for a Day" is a poem written from frustration, honest and unfinished, for anyone who has ever wondered whether the sky is truly the limit.
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Regrets
Is it better to live with regrets, or to never risk anything at all? A short poem about giving so much of yourself away that the people closest to you got the least of your time.
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Unsent – #8: To the Person I Was
There is a version of me who existed before the writing. Before the books, the blog, the letters to strangers that somehow reached exactly the right people at exactly the right time. She was quieter than I am now. Not in a peaceful way. In the way of someone who has things to…
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Unsent – #7: To the Version of Me Who Almost Gave Up
I know what that season looked like from the inside. I know the specific quality of exhaustion that settles in when you have tried, genuinely, sincerely, with everything you have, and still arrived somewhere that does not look like progress. I know the particular loneliness of…
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The Things We Carry Lightly (That Are Not Light at All)
Someone asked me recently how I was doing, and I said, “fine,” and meant it almost entirely. Almost. That small remainder, the part that was not quite right, I folded carefully into a back pocket and carried on with the conversation. I have become very good at folding. I suspect…
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Unsent – #6: To the Friend Who Disappeared Without Explanation
There is a particular kind of loss that the world has not yet built enough language for. It is not death. It is not a dramatic ending — no argument that closed a door loudly, no confrontation that at least gave you something to hold onto. It is the quiet, inexplicable…
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The Rooms We Leave Behind: A Journey into Memory
The room at the end of the hallway had not changed. That was the strangest part.She stood in the doorway the way you look at a photograph of yourself from a decade ago — with a kind of tender bewilderment, as if the person in the image is both entirely you and someone you can no…
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Unsent – #5: The Apology I Owe My Younger Self
I have written letters to others. To the people I loved and lost. To the words I never said, the moments I let pass without ceremony. But there is one letter I have been avoiding — the hardest one. The one addressed to no one else but me. I owe you an apology. Not for the…
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Unsent – #4: Three Things I Never Told My Mother
There were three things I never told my mother. Not because I didn't love her. But because I believed — the way we all quietly believe — that there would be more time. This is the letter I never got to send. And everything I wish I had said out loud.
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Unsent – #3: The Chair by the Window
She placed a chair by the window years ago—reserved, untouched, waiting. Every evening, she opened the curtains and let the light spill in, pretending to be busy while the chair remained empty. She told herself she wasn't waiting. She called it hope instead. Seasons changed. The…