Yesterday, I slept with my windows shut. I’ve been wearing a hoodie when sitting outside for around two weeks. I’m about to replace my summer sheets with thicker winter blankets. I will get my car’s heater fixed next week.

It’s the last days of summer, and while I am looking forward to the cold season, I am also reluctant to accept that another year has passed.

Now that I’m in my late 20’s, I’m starting to feel the tug of age. The years are shorter and the days pass quicker, and I’m always aware of the fact that this moment will never come again. Hard to believe that I was a month into my 19th year when I started this blog.

And now, the summer is ending.

I’ve always been a summer person, but I’ve lately begun appreciating the cosiness of winter. I like the empty streets. I like the smell of the rain. I like the fact that most people choose to stay at home (making life easier for those of us who never remain indoors, regardless of the season). I even like winter fruits.

Maybe these things reflect the fact that I’m growing older? Probably.

Yet regardless, fall is a pretty season. I’ll never forget my first fall in 2003 at the University of Jordan. Nine years on, I still catch myself in moments of minor shock at the fact that there really are four seasons in this world, and that it’s not just Hollywood’s way of making life look pretty (or scary, depending on their marketing purposes).


On Octover