Same Old, Same Old
written by: Griffin
“How was Eid?” I ask over the phone, my voice steady,
expecting the answer even before he speaks.
“Same old, same old” he says, a small chuckle,
like he’s trying to make it all sound
less empty than it really is.
No guests, no laughter,
not even the sound of the TV humming softly,
the quiet wrapping around him
like a second layer of skin.
I nod, though he can’t see me.
I tell him I understand.
And I do.
God, I do.
I’ve spent years wanting this,
dreaming of a time where no family knocks
where no family asks why I look tired,
why I don’t eat more,
why I don’t smile.
A time where I sit alone
with nothing but a book, a screen, cup of tea
my own thoughts, undisturbed
no forced conversations
no faux displays of family warmth.
I wanted it.
Still want it.
But hearing him say it the way he did
“Same old, same old”
it sounds…so small and pathetic.
His once vibrant life shrunk down to a mere whisper.
And I wonder
“Is this all that I’m running towards?
Is this what freedom tastes like?
Silence? A warm meal left uneaten?
A chuckle that tries too hard
to sound okay?”
“You should go out sometimes,” I say.
I don’t know if I mean it.
I don’t know if he wants to.
But for a moment
I picture a time
where the quiet feels less heavy
where I sit alone in my room
not talking much
not thinking much.
And maybe
just maybe
that wouldn’t be so bad.
- Same Old, Same Old - July 3, 2025
