Book Announcement

two books coming in 2026

Friends, I've been waiting to share this for a while now. The timing to celebrate this hasn't felt right with all that's going on in the world; the Palestinian genocide, the ledge of authoritarianism we are teetering on, and now the war between Israel and Iran. That's not the full story of the world though. There are also a million beautiful and miraculous things that happen each day, least of which is the fact of our being alive. So perhaps this is the right time to share and celebrate. 

This is a big milestone in my life, something I've sought and worked towards for a while now. The memoir is a four year work in progress that is quite literally a big piece of my heart. The poetry collection is more recent, but no less heartfelt and honest. It is the one way I know to process and respond to the condition of the world.

I've included excerpts; a poem and some words from the preface and introduction. When publication days near, I'll appreciate and value your support in sharing my work. Until then I'll keep sharing poems and loving the world alongside you in the way I know how. 

If you find this helpful, you can repeat these prayers I say everyday -
May all beings be at peace and at ease. 
Mall being know that they are loved just as they are.
May all beings find their true belonging.
May awareness dawn in the hearts of all beings.

under a cedar tree in Lebanon

Habibi Means Beloved
from the memoir

In the past, when I escaped homegrown war there was the expectation of return, the assumption that my travels served as temporary respite. This time, there was no talk of returning, only of visiting after I'd established myself. I was eighteen then and had just finished my freshman year of college at the American University of Beirut. I desired to emigrate in the hopeful possibility of freedoms not afforded in Lebanon, imagining the United States to be Mecca for the likes of me. I’d read of San Francisco and New York. I’d seen pictures of half-naked men unabashedly parading their joy under the providence of an inviting sun. I’d read of liberty and justice and freedom for all. I looked beyond the Mediterranean horizon as my last hope to leave behind a life hidden in the shadows of religious shame. This I could not admit to my family but held safely in my chest as the silver lining of forced evacuation, coupled with the guilt of leaving them behind yet again.
_

Had you asked me of my fate back when I was marshaled onto a helicopter by US Navy Seals, I’d have told you of a dream shaped by the allure of entertainment news and culturally misplaced desires. A dream I believed would heal the broken story I carried. Rarely can we foretell of our place in the coming days, though we do retain the will to steer towards the direction of our longing.

My longing tipped towards the promise of a more possible world. I found myself alongside my now former husband as a plaintiff in Kitchen v. Herbert, a landmark case that championed marriage rights for queer couples in the state of Utah.And somehow, through a series of fortunate events, I opened a beloved community restaurant in Salt Lake City, Laziz Kitchen, a culturally prominent safe space for the queer community.

The swing from the anonymous estrangement of a Lebanese immigrant on American shores, to standing on the frontlines of civil rights, community activism, and local leadership was unimaginable to me then. Looking back, I consider the privilege and luck of being among friends, teachers, and mentors that helped guide me to where I stand today. I also consider the inner spirit of resilience to accept and love the world, and my place in it, as it is.

Something Useful
from the poetry book

My grandmother has known war as a staple
in the pantry you never run out of,
like jasmine rice or green lentils,
or the thick viscous olive oil she harvests
which doubles as ointment for deep wounds.
She kept the blood at bay on her gashed ankle
by slathering the slimy blessing, placed a torn
piece of pita, wrapped it all in thin gauze.
Don’t ask me what the properties are and how
she knew. All I know is that it worked.
All I know is that when war is a staple in
your pantry, you learn what to do with it,
how to preserve it, how to turn it into
something necessary, into something useful.