mimok

[mimok]

Changing Course~

There are moments when life taps on the shoulder and says, “It’s time.” Today feels like one of those moments. For almost six months now, I’ve shown up daily, posting images and thoughts as a practice of presence and discipline. But something has shifted. As Saturn makes its return, it feels like a strong inner tide has started to turn, asking for a different rhythm. Instead of structuring my…

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When the City Dances~

[mimok]

The Turning Point~

My daughter this evening~ Image visualized with AI Today marks a shift, subtle but unmistakable—the summer solstice, the longest day of the year in Germany. There is something nearly imperceptible that begins to change with this day. We are at the apex of light, the furthest reach before the slow retreat back into longer nights. It’s a strange comfort, this knowledge that time keeps moving, and…

[mimok]

The Red Umbrella Dance~

We had no plan that evening, just the sea, the sand, and the last light of day brushing everything with warmth. My daughter picked up the red umbrella we had carried for shade earlier, and without a word, she stepped into the water and began to dance with the wind. It was one of those simple moments—unexpected, light, and full of movement. She spun, the umbrella tilted, and the waves timed their…

[mimok]

Half-Told Stories~

There are times when an image surfaces in the editing process and stops everything. This man’s face did that. I remember taking this photo in Beijing years ago. His expression held something quiet but complex—like an unfinished sentence left lingering in the air. There was a strength there, but also a trace of something lost or misdirected. Not defeat, but a story that did not land where it was…

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The Viewfinder and the Road~

[mimok]

A Portrait in Pieces~

This image began as a self-portrait, one I chose to deconstruct and rebuild—layer by layer—until it felt more honest. What emerged was a portrait of the fragmentation that creeps into daily life. Thoughts scatter, needs collide, responsibilities tug in separate directions, and through it all we keep moving. The visual noise reflects the inner one. There’s a kind of invisible choreography that…

[mimok]

The Shape of Hope~

There are days when the world feels like it’s teetering on the edge, and today was one of those days. The news cycles are thick with conflict, leaders posturing with threats, and the weight of what might come next sits heavy. Yet in this image—my daughter’s hand holding a starfish against the golden sky of Lebanon—there was something grounding. It was a quiet reminder of simplicity, of the kind…

[mimok]

Walking into Structure and Sky~

There’s a particular rhythm to climbing stairs that seem to lead directly into the sky. At Halde Norddeutschland, the ascent begins with the Himmeltreppe—a long, steep staircase that takes you straight up the hill, cutting through the landscape with determination. With each step, the ground falls further away and the horizon opens wider. At the top, the metal structure comes into view—an outline…

[mimok]

Pedaling Joy~

I walk the streets every day with a quiet longing—for joy, for a glimpse of something real. There is so much noise in the world now: conflict in the headlines, division on our screens, and a steady stream of content that rarely touches the heart. In all of that, I find myself searching for moments of humanity. Sometimes, all it takes is one genuine smile to shift my day, to remind me that hope…

[mimok]

Rings of Stone, Sky of Memory~

In the summers of my childhood in Lebanon, we would sleep on the rooftop under the open sky. It was a gift of the season, when the weather turned warm and steady, and rain was no longer expected. I remember the thrill of carrying our bedding up the stairs, the way the night air felt different on our skin, and how the stars seemed impossibly close. We’d lie there, wrapped in our blankets, the…

[mimok]

Carrying Weight~

Today’s image is from India—a young girl balancing a heavy sack on her head, her eyes calm, her posture focused. There’s a quiet dignity in the way she moves forward, as so many children do—carrying more than what we can see. It’s a photograph that speaks to resilience, not just in her world, but in all corners of our shared planet. I rarely watch the news. Most days, I choose to stay close to…

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Egypt Remembers ~

In 2022, I returned to Egypt for the second time. It wasn’t just another visit—it became a turning point in my life. What happened before and after that journey shaped me in ways I am only beginning to understand. This post is the beginning of a thread I’ll keep following in coming writings, pulling gently at the fabric of a year that felt like a passage. This image was taken in the Valley of…

[mimok]

Into the Melt of Light~

There are moments when the world softens at the edges. When the sun leans low enough to scatter gold across the water, and everything is a blur of presence. I stood there watching, unsure if I was dissolving into the scene or if the scene was becoming me. Waiting. Reflecting. Searching. Being. There is a stillness that is not quiet. A pressing weight behind the calm. The silhouette walking…

[mimok]

Through the Fog and Between the Frames~

Some mornings present themselves like quiet whispers. In Xanten, on a day cloaked in fog, I walked along a lake beach and came upon a gathering of people by the water. It wasn’t the season for swimming, and it wasn’t warm, yet there they were, dressed in wetsuits and preparing for something purposeful. A race, I later learned. But in that early moment, with visibility reduced to outlines and…

[mimok]

The Mirror that Remains~

I came across this image today, one I took in Shanghai many years ago of my daughter when she was about eight. I remember the light that day, the quiet moment we shared, and the way her face softened into stillness. I decided to revisit it, editing it to bring forward a sense of duality—perhaps even a confrontation between the self and its shadow. What stayed with me, as I worked on it, was the…

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The Sea, Always~

There are places that never leave you, even if you step away. For me, it’s the sea. I was raised near the Mediterranean, and more than half of every year was spent at its edge—with family, in sun and salt, in rhythms shaped by tides. We played from morning until night, sometimes even swimming under the moonlight, our bodies suspended in the water as if it were the most natural thing in the…