Mimo Khair Creative

There was a hot stillness that summer afternoon in Lebanon. The kind that quiets everything except the smallest details. That’s when I noticed it—clinging to the metal fence, a fragile husk. It was the exoskeleton of a cicada, perfectly intact, left behind after the insect had made its ascent into the air.

It felt like a moment suspended between two worlds: the one where this cicada crawled underground for years, and the one where it broke free to sing and fly. The fence, rusted and unmoving, framed a moment of quiet transformation. The cicada had moved on, but its shell remained behind as a record of its passage.

Sometimes we hold on to the outlines of who we were—roles, identities, ways of thinking—long after we’ve begun to shift. This cicada’s exuvia, translucent and unmoving, was once filled with life and purpose. Now it served as a silent marker of change already completed.

Lately, I’ve found myself in a place of personal transition. Things are moving, reshaping. I’m reminded by this moment from years ago that the process of becoming something new often takes time. There’s a need for patience, and for trusting that the shedding is necessary. That what comes next may not be fully visible yet, but it will arrive when it’s ready.