Jasmine Warga Quotes

I love the way music holds and enhances our memories. Certain songs can always transport me right back to particular moments in my life. It's like magic.

Just like I am no longer
a girl.
I am a Middle Eastern girl.
A Syrian girl.
A Muslim girl.

Americans love labels.
They help them know what to expect.
Sometimes, though,
I think labels stop them from
thinking.

The inside of my mouth fills with the sour, metallic taste I've come to know as humiliation.

I wonder what it will feel like when all the lights go off and everything is quiet forever. I don't know if it will be painful, if in those last moments I'll be scared, but all I can hope is that it will be over fast. That it will be peaceful. That it will be permanent.

I don't know how to describe it, but the more I stare at him, the more I see his grief wrapped around him like shackles he can never take off.

I think he's looking for comfort, but I don't have any to give.

Do you believe in other universes? Do you think there's another dimension where we're happy?

I don't like the idea of other people poring over my secrets. I don't even know if I have any secrets.

There's something poetic about the fact that the first boy to ever ask for my number is the same boy I'm going to die with.

I wish I could draw you how I see you. I'd draw a boy with the most magnetic smile, and the kindest hands, and eyes that are gloomy, but can sometimes be bright. I'd draw a boy who deserves to see the ocean.

Everything is subjective in the human mind. Our emotions, our opinions, they're all relative. It all depends on perspective.

No. I think you are crazy in completely different way. In a beautiful way.

Comfortable is different from beautiful.

You're like a grey sky. You're beautiful, even though you don't want to be.

Life can seem awful and unfixable until the universe shifts a little and the observation point is altered, and then suddenly, everything seems more bearable.

Watching you be so happy when you think about science. It makes me kind of... happy." He slouches his shoulders and shuffles his feet. "And that's confusing.

She sits down at the end of my bed again. "Who were you with? Do you have a boyfriend now or something?"
I can't help but laugh. If I have a boyfriend, his name is Death. And I'm pretty sure Roman is in love with him too. It's a love triangle gone wrong.

Hoping,
I'm starting to think,
might be the bravest thing a person can do."
-Jude

When I come back to reality and glance at him, he's staring right back at me. 'Oh, hey. You're back. Did you come up with some pressing physics problem you had to work out or something?

... he thought Sufjan Stevens was overrated, which was basically a declaration of war, as far as I was concerned

I want women like Aunt Michelle
to understand
that it is not only women who look like them
are free
who think
and care about other women.

The pitter-patter of wishes, desperate wishes.

With my dad, you always had to tread lightly, like you were walking on icy pavement–it was so fun when you were gliding, but it was very easy to slip.

Everything used to seem to final, inevitable, predestined. But now, I'm starting to believe that life may have more surprises in store than I ever realized.

I wish gravity would go away and just let us all be a big mess.

Sometimes talking
to Mama reminds me
of a feather duster brushing dirt
away from a mirror.
She doesn't give you anything new,
but she helps you better see
what is already there."
-Jude

Because loving you saved me. It's made me see myself differently, see the world differently. I owe you everything for that.

Sometimes I wonder if gravity is the problem. It keeps us all grounded, gives us this false sense of stability when really we're all just bodies in motion.

That's my girl." My heart jumps a little when he says that and I remind myself to get a grip.

You seemed lost and found at the same time. And that's how I usually feel too.

I don't like songs about wanting things. I like songs about letting go, saying goodbye.

I once read in my physics book that the universe begs to be observed, that energy travels and transfers when people pay attention. Maybe that's what love really boils down to--having someone who cares enough to pay attention so that you're encouraged to travel and transfer, to make your potential energy spark into kinetic energy.

I'm not asking you to live for me. Even though that would be nice because I'm in love with you. And yeah, yeah, you can tell me I'm misusing that word, but I don't care. That's how I feel. But this isn't even about me, or how I feel about you. I want you to live for you because I know there's so much more waiting for you. There's so much more for you to discover and experience. And you deserve it, you might not think you do, but you do. I'm here to tell you that you deserve it. And I know I sound cheesy as hell. Believe me, six weeks ago, I would've slapped myself for saying shit like this, but knowing you... Knowing you has helped me see things differently. See myself differently. And all I want is for you to see yourself the way that I do.

It's funny -the things we do out of habit.

I can feel everything. And I want to keep feeling everything. Even the painful, awful, terrible things. Because feeling things is what lets us know that we're alive.

Depression is like a heaviness that you can't ever escape. It crushes down on you, making even the smallest things like tying your shoes or chewing on toast seem like a twenty-mile hike uphill. Depression is a part of you; it's in your bones and your blood.

Don't you ever think about that? What if this isn't the end and we just go on to a place even worse than this one?

It's hard to see where we're going since it's now dark, and I wonder if in some ironic twist of fate, we'll soar over the cliff without even realizing it. Like the universe's final joke: you can't plan your death, even when you try.

The two of them fitting, interlocking, like mothers and daughters are supposed to. Fitting in a way that I never have. My edges have always been too sharp, my grooves too deep.

There is a long break.
I have learned Americans love to say you know and then
stop
talking.
They force you to fill in the hard parts,
the things they are not brave enough to say.

It's funny how once you like someone, even the unattractive things they do somehow become endearing.

It's like your sadness is so deep and overwhelming that you're worried it will drown everyone else in your life if you let them too close to it.

Sometimes it takes watching someone else observe how you live to realize exactly how you live.

But just because it's cowardly doesn't guarantee it's going to be easy.

My body is an efficient happy-thought-killing machine.

There's no saving him from his deep hole. There's no saving me from my black slug.

I spend a lot of time wondering what dying feels like. What dying sounds like. If I'll burst like those notes, let out my last cries of pain, and then go silent forever. Or maybe I'll turn into a shadowy static that's barely there, if you just listen hard enough.

Sometimes for me, it feels like my grief is eating me alive. I always thought that the hardest moments would be when I remember things about her, but that's not true. The hardest moments are when I miss her in the future. Sure, holidays are hard, but I'm talking about the small things [...]

Something inside me clicks. It's like I've spent my whole life fiddling with a complicated combination only to discover I was toying with the wrong lock.

I wonder if it is exhausting
to be a tree.
To lose something,
year after year,
only to trust that it will
someday grow back" -Jude

..because never in my life have I ever been picked when there was another alternative.

There is an Arabic proverb that says:
She makes you feel
like a loaf of freshly baked bread.

It is said about
the nicest
kindest
people.
The type of people
who help you
rise.

And this time, I can feel my hand. I can feel everything. And I want to keep feeling everything. Even the painful, awful, terrible things. Because feeling things is what lets us know that we're alive.
And I want to be alive.

My change of heart isn't about flaking out; it's about fighting back.

I know it's all in my head, but some feelings are harder to shake than others.

Mama says the word cake like it's just an ordinary food
which is strange since everyone knows that cakes are
made of magic.

That is something powerful enough to transcend oceans:
a mama's ability to say something
without actually saying it."
-Jude

You will belong here. . .You will make anywhere beautiful.

He knows what he'll find if he digs deeper. there's no rush to unpack my insides. he understands there is nothing special about emptiness, nothing interesting about depression.

I think the problem is that sometimes when we love someone, we see a certain version of them. and we get attached to that version. Convince ourselves that that's the only version, true version.

Back home, Mama always made us
laugh.
She wasn't funny in the way Issa was.
Issa's funny is like an elephant,
impossible to miss,
you know when he wants to make you
laugh.

But Mama's funny is more like a cat,
slinking around,
hiding out in corners,
brushing up on you by surprise.

Guidance counselors always love to say, 'Just think positively,' but that's impossible when you have this thing inside of you, strangling every ounce of happiness you can muster. My body is an efficient happy-though-killing machine.

Maybe the sadness comes just before the insanity

This may sound weird, but there are certain songs, like really great songs---you don't just listen to them, you know? They make you feel like they're listening back. Like the person who wrote the song heard you. Music makes you feel less alone in that way. It's proof that someone out there has felt the exact same way you do and they've managed to capture it in this perfect blend of words and sound.

I like other people's words. They fill me up.

I wish someone would give my heart a polygraph; it keeps lying and flipping and changing its mind.

I've been thinking a lot aboit the energy of the universe. And if energy can't ever be created or destroyed, only transferred, what do you think happens to people's energy once they die?

The tricky thing about love is learning to accept and cherish all the versions of the person you love.

I try to imagine him without the grief, without the heaviness, without the frozenness, but it's hard to see him as anything other than desperately sad. Yes, he looks like someone who was designed to be popular and successful, but he also looks like someone who was made to wear grief.
He wears it well.

I'm like a grenade made of ceramic -solid and dense and cold- but still fragile.

Be careful," he says.
"Why?" I'm not thinking about being careful. I'm thinking about one last push, of letting go, of flying, and of falling.
"You aren't allowed to die without me," he whispers.

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the only time you get lucky is when you're planning your suicide, it's definitely time to go.

He squeezes my hand so tight, I can't feel it anymore. I wish someone would do that to my heart.

At least in physics my classmates aren't desperately trying to make uncomplicated shit complicated. Nope, in physics, we're all trying to make complicated things uncomplicated.