In The Army Then (6)

"We went through days that were darker than this black color" and he pointed at the black background of the name plate fixed to the office door.  He was talking about the war that broke out in 1962 and lasted few years. My heart clenched. I knew his life was not easy, so then to say he witnessed darker days meant something really gloomy. He did not seem distressed though, he said it in a matter-of-fact way. Lieutenant F was in his mid 50s and quite popular in the base. He had this calm wisdom that, I guessed, came from experiencing hard times. He liked to talk about his memories and I liked to listen. Being diabetic did not prevent him from smoking, and that was the only inconvenience about him, but then at that time smoking in closed areas was not a big deal. I was assigned to work with him after I terminated my initial 6 month training.

My military life entered an easier stage with a newly assigned clerical job. I had to translate articles from international magazines like Time, Newsweek and The Economist, but best of all I was instructed to work in the library which meant thousands of accessible books in my free time.

It was during that period that my relationship with this group deepened. My friend M was just few floors down and we could meet, talk and laugh whenever we had a chance.

In the base, there was time almost for everything; work, gossip, fight, laugh, romance, match-making and maybe even sex, like that long-standing rumor about a female officer who used to spend a lot of time in the office of the HR officer for allegedly unprofessional reasons, or that recruit who was also rumored to be willing to pay for hungry soldiers.

After 5 o'clock everything became more relaxed. Those among us who had no private accommodation in the city and had to live in the base were moving freely, and songs from the radio were coming out and loud from different corners. The hit songs of that period are still strongly associated in my mind with those long-gone days.

I do not remember who told me, few years after I completed my service, that lieutenant F. passed away from diabetic complications. Whenever I recall him I mainly remember that black background of the name plate and his blacker days.

Before Sunset

Something made us joyful but I did not know what it was exactly. The view of the grey ocean from almost a 300 meter high green cliff? The music played by a group of young men that had an oriental flavor (or it might have been my homesick imagination that listened to an oriental touch in it even if it was not there)? The cloudy but pleasant weather with a delicious cold quiver in the air? I do not know what made us joyful. 

Then we started to talk about what we wished for 2013, and what we liked and disliked about 2012. Yes, in that order although the opposite would have made more sense.

I got distracted, as usual whenever the slightest chance of distraction appeared, but then the chance was not in its slightest degree. Joggers, bikers, dogs, skaters, strollers, locals, foreigners, vendors, lovers, children and even the invisible sun was quickly taking its way back home. 

I thought all the pieces were almost there. What was missing was minor, or if it wasn't minor it was nevertheless replaceable. Was that the real reason behind the joy I felt and imagined that the others felt too? "But he is not listening" someone looked at me. I asked what was it, and they all looked at me and laughed. One volunteered to explain when a small yellow ball slowly rolled over close to me followed by a 5 year old boy running. I picked it and gave it to him. One of our group imitated a child's voice (as convincingly as a drag trying to pass for a woman) and said "Thank you, mister". The mister smiled and asked again "What was it?"

Nobody knows this little Rose --
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it --
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey --
On its breast to lie --
Only a Bird will wonder --
Only a Breeze will sigh --
Ah Little Rose -- how easy
For such as thee to die!

Emily Dickinson

Trees

Bougainvillea:

Falls of passion.

Memories of early years in the terrace of my family's house where 

a huge tree with red flowers stood and witnessed the different colors of our days.

Every time I see any of its different vivid colors I think I found my favorite color.

Palm Trees:

Poetry. Culture. History. Religion. Elegance.

Companion of life.

Mostly attached to my countryside memories where endless 

lines of trees grew on the banks of the eternal river.

Araucaria…Norfolk Pine Tree:

It was always where the sea was.

Majestic.

We met in a later stage of life and I immediately fell in love.

Now it is always here whenever I turn around.

Between The Ribs

Burden on shoulders, gloom in heart and shattered pieces of self stubbornly decided to not return inside the heart-shaped box. In that night, lights of cars and neon signs flickered in the streets, saddened and happy faces alternatively passed by me and smells of different foods sneaked out of noisy restaurants' doors. All followed like black and white pictures in an old silent movie that lacked intimate bond with the spectator.

I sat on a bench in the nearest park staring at nothing and then remembered joyful moments in my childhood, my mother's emotion, the majestic bougainvillea in the family's house, memories of being bullied at school, the hallway in the house that looked narrower and darker every time I returned back home after long absence, my leaping heart during the telephone call in 1987 and..and..and...but what did ElSayyab's old poem say about Sindbad who finally found his treasure between the ribs? I couldn't remember. I tried hard but only few words accepted my forced invitation.

I arrived home and immediately ran to the shelf and picked up the book, but before I reached the right page, the words ironically saw their way to my memory...

As though I hear sails flapping

And the tumult as Sindbad puts out to sea

He saw his grand treasure between the ribs

He chose no other as his treasure-then he returned....

2012- What I did not do

I planned early in the year to visit the hometown of a close old friend whom I have known since the secondary school. He never lived in his hometown, but was just born there and then the family moved permanently to the city and left uncles and aunts still living there. After a very long absence some family business obliged him in the last few years to regularly go back in quick trips. 

The town is more like a village. It is in a remote region surrounded by the river on one side and rocky hills on the other, and the village itself is on the edge of the hilly part of the region. The train takes around 7 hours to reach the closest town and then a 30-minute bus ride is needed.

My friend showed me some pictures which were not actually very impressive, but what attracted me most how he talked about the village, although what he said might not be very different from what could be said about any small village any place on earth. Sleepy houses, dozens of families who knew each other and a continental weather of burning heat in summer and freezing temperatures in winter particularly at night. 

He said that ghosts' stories thrived in the village, and regardless of their credibility, he believed that the view of the fog surrounding the huge old trees in winter nights and until the dawn could easily feed the imagination to picture strange shapes and creatures moving between the trees. 

Whenever he arrived there he felt he cut off attachment with the world as he knew. It was like going decades or centuries back into history. Signs of poverty were also quite visible.

His family still owned an old house there that, despite being in a decaying condition, revealed remnants of old beauty.

We agreed last February to make the trip together, but then some circumstances impeded us from achieving the plan. It is sad that I am now thousands of miles away from my friend and his village.

This photo I took almost two years ago in a region that was not far from where the village is located.

Dream (November 4, 2012)

I was riding a big bus that looked from inside like a big hall and was crowded with passengers  A good looking blondish man in his late twenties stood up and started to argue with another person whom I could not see because he/she was sitting down among the crowd. The other passengers tried to calm him down but in vain. I stood up and tried to figure out what it was all about, and noticed that the blondish man had one arm much smaller than the other. The argument heated up again but this time the other person stood up and turned out to be a darkish man of the same age. He was also physically disabled with only one arm and a disproportionally big lower part of body. The argument for a moment was on the edge of turning physical, but then both men lowered the tone and continued to argue while they were sitting down next to each other at the back of the bus.

Moments later, an old woman wearing an orange colored long dress and a Muslim veil on her head started to shout at another woman. The other woman stood up, went directly to her and punched her. Many people in the bus tried to come between the two. The woman who started shouting ran around the seats and the other ran after her. I thought it was rather funny because she who started the fight was the one who got beaten and who tried to ran away to avoid the punches.

The bus was full of riders and not everyone seemed interested in what was going on. I wondered when I would get off.

Here and There, Now and Then

* Mama told me "Someday, you will regret it". Fourteen years later Mama passed away. And I regret it.

* I thought how wonderful and almost identical the stalagmites and the stalactites were, but then I overheard the guide saying something about the unbelievably clear water in the bottom.

* We ran to catch the last train back to West Berlin in that April night in 1988. A beautiful stranger started to talk in French with my friend. She said she was a former ballerina. Big talk about life, despair and the others was conducted. Faces of East Berlin train inspectors, cold weather and the dark-haired late thirties ballerina added a flavor to the ride.

* My friend and I were walking back to the hotel. We did not know exactly the road, but we knew we had to cross the dark park. Two girls, walking a few meters ahead, looked back at us and turned around. My friend said to me "They are scared of us. Two foreign-looking men and a dark park are no good equation".

* In 2012 I felt I almost lost 3 friends/acquaintances. Sadness, surprise or disinterest was the feeling that colored my reaction to each of those losses.

* "You missed me?" I answered "No". "You did not miss me?" I repeated "No". "Do you understand what miss means in English?"

Like a drugged person who suddenly came into conscience I came back to my senses and realized what I said. I apologized and tried to explain that I was distracted because someone entered the office. It was true but I was really surprised though that the meaning of "miss" was blacked out in my mind for 20 seconds during the telephone conversation.

* The first thing I used to do in the morning was to go and sit beside him on bed and read the newspapers in a loud voice. Reading was his passion but my father almost lost sight and hearing in his last two years. Sometimes I felt bored or was in a hurry….If only second chances could be given.

* Mama and papa left us (sister was around 8 years old and I was 11 years old) with our grandmother and they went out. The three of us were watching T.V. in the living room when grandma suddenly asked us "Is your grandfather in the bed room?" We did not know what she was talking about because as far as we knew our grandpa was dead for many years, so we said nothing and thought there must have been misunderstanding somewhow. Seconds later she started to talk in her usual kind amicable way about persons and incidents we did not know and even she imitated sounds of roosters and cats while looking naively at us. My sister and I got panicked and we slowly went out of the room. The moment we were far from her, we both asked in the same breath "Did grandma become insane?"

* Under Eiffel tower I was stopped by a girl who asked me in English with American accent "It is a bit embarrassing, but can we have a photo together? My friend will take it" and she pointed at another girl holding a camera few steps away. I was surprised at her request, but then she added "Can we look a bit intimate in the photo?" I smiled and asked "How far intimate would you like us to get? She laughed and said "Not that far". We posed and I put my arm around her shoulders. They thanked me and walked away. I am neither a celebrity look-alike nor that stunning looking that a girl would go back home and brag about. What did she do with the photo..I do not know.

* He mastered his subject as a university professor and also had his efficient teaching tools. Nothing ever appeared unusual with him for almost two years. We had many chances to talk about matters unrelated to the class, so when the newspapers mentioned his name as a member of a strange cult that was under investigation by the authority, I could not believe it. The papers cited bizarre practices against the law. Members, including him, were sentenced for few years. I tried in the last few years to search him on the net but could not find any trace.

* Recently I found myself wondering in more than one occasion how could I be sure that some people are really as very nice as they seem to be. From the course of the events they are either genuinely nice or completely fake, and consequently I am either too naïve or very suspicious. Or we are both somewhere in the middle according to the old wise thought.

Yellow

Button in The Street

Two of my brothers-in-law passed away in 2011 and 2012. Two different characters and two different circumstances of death. Sometimes when a close relative or a friend passes away, I find a very little old memory of him/her flashes through my mind. It is not usually a memory that reflects a big or significant something, no, it is usually a simple and foggy situation that quietly sat down in my memory until it found, at a certain moment, its way out. It could be as significant as finding an old button in the street that vaguely meant someday someone passed by there.

One day when I was around 11 years old, the first brother in law, my two cousins and I were walking along a small narrow canal that ran through the green fields on the outskirts of my brother-in-law's hometown. When I picked up a small stone from the ground and throw it in the water, he asked if I knew how to throw it and make circles of splash waves next to each other instead of concentric splash circles. I didn't, and he showed me how to do. I tried few times and did not succeed.

The last time I saw him on the bed in the hospital after a long bitter battle with the disease and just few hours before his departure, I found myself recalling the cheerful young man who showed me how to throw a stone in the water in that very far breezy afternoon in the countryside.

The second brother-in-law got married to my sister in a much later stage of my life. It is common to hear praises mentioned for the dead, but here I find words stand unable to interpret my feelings toward him. He was one of the very rare persons who made life, for those around him, bright and worth-living. Once we had a calm talk in my room about a personal problem that put me through a difficult and critical phase of life. He did not try to lecture or to advice, but talked about little funny incidents that happened to him when he was teenager. 

His death made me wonder how a flame of humour, energy and kindness could get extinguished suddenly like this, and how a small grave could embrace what life seemed once not big enough to embrace.

Dream (September, 20 2012)

I visited my friend L whom I haven't seen for long time and noticed that his house did not look as big as he told me before. When his wife , whom I knew quite well, entered the room I was impressed by the change in her look. She was not the over-weighted long-haired ungroomed wife I always knew but she turned into slim, sophisticated and elegant in full make up and high heels. Her hair was drawn back in a chingon. When I asked her about the secret of the change she mentioned the pressure from her husband. She was a bit reserved and not as friendly as I always knew her. 

The couple introduced me to their two beautiful daughters. After awhile a 5 year old son entered the living room from the terrace. I was a bit surprised because what I knew before that they only had two children. The boy looked very different from his sisters. He was dark and had the face of a rough grown up man.

Buffet food was served and at the same time the son came to talk and play with me. Everyone started to eat except me because I did not know how to leave the child and go to the food table. I was irritated that the parents did not tell their son to stop and let me have my share of food. Finally I could not resist my desire to eat and asked the child to stop talking and playing and to step aside. 

I hold my empty white plate and headed to the table but the food was almost finished. Ugly looking pieces of steaks only remained in the serving dish. I felt frustrated although the wife tried to find me something to eat and filled my plate with some rice.

Later I went to one of the bedrooms in the house to get some rest. I wore a pyjama and laid on the bed but a black maid entered the room and said it was the time to clean it. I stood up and left the room and noticed in the dark hallway another black maid and said to my self 'aha..so they have two maids'. 

I could see the family still sitting in the bright living room as the hallway, where I was standing up feeling uneasy, was dim. 

Grey

I looked at the foggy pale grey ocean and asked my companion “Does it get blue in summer?”. “Yes”, it gets blue in summer” He said and added “but not our blue”. The astonishing turquoise color of some Mediterranean shores flashed then through my mind. 

Neighbors

As I was growing up, we had neighbors, a brother and sister, living down the street. My sisters, who are much older than me, used to call the brother “baldie”. He was, as it said, bald, tall, thin and slightly lame in one leg. He must have been over 60 years old when he and his sister started to attract my young attention. The sister, who was a few years younger, had wide green eyes and looked distinctive for two main reasons. She always wore a coat even in the hottest days of summer and she had unmistakable outdated sense of fashion. I was not able to identify these two features in my early years of curiosity about them, but as I became older the coat and the old-fashioned look marked her off in my mind.

He apparently had no steady work. I used to see him walking around in the neighborhood in the afternoons with slow steps and serious, even grim, face. The sister, on the other hand, was going out and coming back home on fixed hours.

They could have been the-bit-weird-neighbors anybody could have, except for what my sisters told me about their past. The brother and sister had had another younger sister and they used to be very rich. They had been hosting lavish parties at their house for many years, and baldie was engaged to a beautiful woman. My sisters insisted that baldie himself was very handsome although I could not trace, in his shape at the time I was growing up, signs of old handsomeness.

According to my sisters, all changed dramatically in a short period of time. The young sister passed away, the parties stopped, the fiancée disappeared and the signs of wealth gradually faded. The brother fell ill and became paralyzed for a while before a recovery that left him with one lame leg.

Neither in their prosperous years nor in their austere times the brother and sister cared to extend social bridges with other neighbors, so we never knew the reasons behind the change in their life. My sisters' stories about the past were fascinating since I only knew those neighbors as the old poor silent brother and sister living down the street.

I recall an unusual incident that took place few years later. A loud part-time maid who used to clean their house, and other houses in the street as well, claimed one day that the brother exposed himself to her and decided not to work for them anymore, but the credibility of her claim remained debatable.

As they were discrete in life, they were in their death too. We did not know when baldie exactly passed away. The news spread that he died few months after his exact date of death. The sister lived alone for a while and then disappeared. She might have moved, passed away or just vanished. The house remained close for years before new residents came in.

I mentioned them to one of my sisters recently who she was quite surprised that I still recall them. I tried to remind her of some details but she said her memory was too cloudy to remember what I was saying.

D for Departure

As I feel anxious to leave soon, a small part of me clings to everything here. I do not know why. Nothing emotionally prevents me from flying away but this small part is nevertheless hanging on.

Is it just the lazy desire to stick to what is known and familiar instead of meeting the semi-unknown? Is it the warmth of family gatherings and the old friends' get-together occasions that I will miss, knowing I will not see them again before few years pass and few wrinkles appear? Or maybe this clinging small part is hesitant to leave a country that struggles under shades of infant democracy, religious hallucination, fascism, surviving liberalism and chaotic state of mind. Shades that conflict, fight and polarize leaving us torn between hope and despair.

I do not know. What I know is that a new beginning ahead of me nods, with a discreet smile on the face, saying in sign language the word "welcome".

And August

August has approached with a menacing look in his eyes. The long sweaty days linger as I prepare my bags of departure with an exhausted and slow-motioned soul.

Growling August will pass soon, and my homeless soul will wonder for a while before settling down, in a cool breezy September moment, on a new land.

July

My friend dropped me off at the bus station and left. I took my position in the long line of passengers waiting for the arrival of the bus, and as we tend to open our eyes widely when we are in a foreign land, I noticed that the passengers were mostly white young men and women. In front of me stood an old couple with their twenty something stocky son who wore a kippah. They were talking in Hebrew and when we were about to ride the bus, the son bid them farewell. 

My seat turned out to be next to the father, and the mother sat a bit far. Minutes later before the bus moved, the female driver or an employee came over and addressed the father saying something like "you should thank the gentleman for accepting to exchange the seat with your wife". She pointed at me. Apparently the wife told the employee she wanted to sit next to her husband . I was surprised the employee talked directly to the father as if I have already accepted. Not that I intended to refuse, but....anyway I did not mind to move although a window seat was, for a foreign traveler like me, a sort of joy.

I moved to the aisle seat beside a skinny thirtyish lady. She was wearing a short skirt and looked somehow skanky. More than once she put her hand under the skirt to rub itchy skin. Fortunately she minded her own business and talked several times in her mobile during the five hour trip. On my part I avoided looking in the direction of the window for fear she might think I was looking at her. 

When the bus passed by Newark airport my friend called me asking if I have arrived or not. He mentioned that his colleague has just told him he had stayed before in the same hotel in which I made my reservation, and that he did not recommend it at all. I said it was a bit too late for this piece of information because my online reservation was nonrefundable. I tried to solace myself saying that all I really needed was a clean bed since I would be out sightseeing the whole day. Besides, the very reasonable price and the excellent location would make up for any inconvenience. 

I got off the bus at 33rd st. and walked with my rolling bag few blocks to the hotel. It was not the first visit to the big city, but some cities get us excited no matter how many times we visited them before.

Sightseeing and meeting up with two old friends of radiant characters, but nonetheless as different as they could be, were basically what I have done in my one week stay. 

Two indispensable things that I always do in big cities. Walking until my feet almost bleed and positioning myself in a park, cafe, crowded square..etc where I can watch people. In the past when my mother used to visit me where I was living back then, and whenever I became too busy to go out with her, she would ask me to just drop her off in a busy  corner in the nearby park in order to sit somewhere and watch people. 

The week went very well. The last night I sat on the steps around the bottom the column of Colombus. Weather was perfect. Many couples were dancing tango. Lights were sparkling everywhere. Life at that moment seemed beautiful. Stunningly beautiful and satisfying.

July 2008

June

As the daytime became boringly longer and the heat unbearably shrewder I started a 3-week-vacation. It will not take me anywhere except maybe a weekend by the sea, since it is mainly devoted to the preparation for a new stage of my life where new territory will be stepped into, new challenges will be faced and new faces will be met. Travel never ever failed to fill me primarily with joy and excitement  before any other feeling might or might not appear.

And while June is passing through I can not recall a special place of this month in my history except for two reasons.

It was the month in which I received a phone call from my sister 11 years ago breaking the news that my father passed away in our summer house by the Mediterranean coast. He, Mama and my sister went there in mid June to open and clean the house before the rest of the folks would follow in, but in that June morning the crying and quivering voice of my sister came as a first blow to our family. I still remember my first worry after the call was how mama felt and how she would face the life alone after being one of two for more than 45 years. Amazingly the course of time after the death showed her much-more-than-expected strength and independence.

Without being a big believer in astrology, a Gemini hurt me! That happened long time ago and although the scars became, in a reasonable span of time, completely healed, the illogical in me still find some correlation between June and pain. Some very foggy and distant correlation I barely recognize but hardly forget.

In The Army Then (5)

My friend M approached my bed in the middle of the night and almost whispered in my ear "Do you smell the hash?" I was not fully asleep, so I got easily alerted by the question. I thought it might not be the best moment to tell him I did not know what the hash smelled like, so I just said "Yea, I think so" He sneaked back in silence to his bunker bed. 

In the morning he opened it up with me again, adding that had the junior officer or even the sergeant of the sleeping hall smelled it, we all would have been screwed up. We guessed N must have been the hash smoker. 

Then the rumor spread out that the junior officer himself was smoking hash with N that night. At hearing the rumor it did not sound very unlikely, since the officer seemed to have a sort of friendly bond with N who used to give us, every now and then, interesting information about the officer himself like he never kissed his fiancée saving their physical intimacy for marriage, or information about the his family in the coastal hometown. The officer was very tough and strict with us though. Of course he never imagined that N circulated personal pieces of information about him. That if we supposed they were true. 

The talk about the incident faded away after few days as we became more preoccupied with the rigorous training for the ceremony of the end of the first phase of the service. The ceremony itself came as a complete disaster, but that was another story.

Banal Memory of a 10-year-old Fan

Finally he invited me at home. I was thrilled. I knew where he was living since the big building with the bright green shutters could not be missed in my daily morning and afternoon walks to and from the school.

What excited me was that I would see his aunt, the famous actress. He gave me a signed photo before and promised to let me see her. And there was it, the invitation.

When we entered his room he mentioned something about his grandmother and I asked if she was the old lady sitting in the living room watching TV. He said that was the sister of his grandmother. He, his elder brother, his grandma, grandma’s sister and the famous aunt were living all together. His parents and his younger brother were living abroad where his father worked as a newspaper correspondent.

In my tender age, they struck me a bit as an unconventional family, at least compared to mine. He was the first in our group at school who talked and bragged about having a girlfriend. He traveled a lot with his family and came back with new stories about the places he saw in summer vacations. He talked freely about his aunt’s boyfriends, and his grandma’s criticism of his aunt’s attitude towards her last rich boyfriend. His answer was vague whenever he was asked about his religion. Even as young as I was, I felt that what I knew about his family did not lie well within the sphere of the “family values” my family adopted!

And there I was in their home anticipating seeing his aunt. She was asleep when I arrived and my friend told me she came back home very early in the morning. I saw her for few minutes when she waked up. Tall, thin and blonde. The grandmother’s sister pointed at me and told her “He has been waiting long in order to see you” She smiled and asked her nephew “Did you give him photo?” She disappeared and I saw her again on her way out in full make-up and wearing a black suit. She seemed beautiful and glamorous, or that what my young brain told me back then.

The following year my friend left the school and nobody knew where he went. I never heard of him until maybe 20 years later when the media started to talk about him as a promising movie director. Ho got married to an actress who was (and still) known for her daring roles. It felt funny somehow to try to match my memories of this slim blond boy with the bony cheeks, with the image the media gave him. He witnessed few years of success and fame, but then at 39 years old the news of his illness spread and within one year he passed away.

The aunt is still now on the screen. Old with almost no trace of beauty, but the memory of seeing her is very alive. 

*A business trip last week gave me a dear chance to see old friends. I thought it would be exciting to revisit the city I used to live in for years after two-year absence, but in fact I found out that the level of excitement was overestimated. I saw what I used to see, so there was nothing new. In addition I felt missing the intimacy with the streets, objects and people that once developed through the daily life.

*Three separate cases of death of relatives and acquaintances occurred in the last two weeks. The reasons were sudden heart attacks. It is the first time I feel so intensively surrounded by death cases.

*“Frustration” is the best qualification of my feelings towards the historic presidential elections in Egypt. After the dramatic events of last year, did everything come down to this race between hopelessly mediocre candidates?

*The shot was taken from the plain window while flying above the meeting line of the desert and the valley.

Dwellings

* One time I slept in a linen cupboard. It was my first night in the completely empty and newly-rented house. First, I spent the night lying down on the carpeted floor. After an hour I was shivering from cold and I thought that inside the cupboard/ closet it might be less cold. The closet was narrow and I barely could tuck my whole body inside till the morning.

* In my first days in the hostel room, I found out a small closed door behind the head of the bed. When I opened it and bent down to go inside, I found a dark spacious store-like room that contained nothing but a small size refrigerator. The front office of the hostel said they knew nothing about the room or to whom the refrigerator might belong. I closed the door and moved the bed back to its position and never opened it again. A friend with stretched imagination said the secret room could be ideal to keep body remains.

*A psychic handed me a small piece of paper, asked me to stand up facing every corner in the 5 rooms, 2 bathrooms and one kitchen house, and read what was written in the paper in an audible voice. He said that was the way to get rid of the bad spirits in the house. I nodded, and the moment he turned his back I threw the paper away in the bin.

* My father’s family countryside house was majestic. Huge with very high ceiling. Walls were of dark color that I could not tell if they were dirty or just old. I only visited it once or twice, but later it fell to my share in the inheritance. The surrounding of the house was too seedy and ugly to be overshadowed by the beauty, so I decided to sell it when the chance came up. The offered price was low but I sold it though. Sometimes I regret my decision but when I remember the location I feel a bit at ease.

* The real estate agent was petite, cute and a bit nervous. She could be easily mistaken, from the first look, for a 15 years old girl. The moment we entered the building to see the available apartment, she started to talk to herself in a low but audible voice reciting the steps she should take, such as meeting the concierge, taking the key from him, showing the apartment to the client and so on. It was funny. She later mentioned casually that it was her first day in the job. While driving our way back, she realized late that the traffic sign turned yellow, so she had to stop on the edge of the zebra crossing and was so ashamed of what she did that she covered her face with her hands to avoid the pedestrians’ looks.

*The fiftyish landlady said on the phone she would come and bring a repairman to fix the broken fridge. The repairman turned out to be quite old. He and I found out we were of the same ethnic background and started to talk in our mother tongue. She left us in the kitchen to talk on her mobile, and while he was doing the job we talked about different subjects related to our home countries. We discussed politics, immigration, Europe and the Middle East. I was surprised by his outdated political vocabulary and opinions. He talked about issues like colonization, non-aligned movement and other nationalistic views that prevailed in the developing countries in the fifties and sixties of the last century. I attributed it to his detachment from the Middle East since his migration to Europe.

He was holding the fridge door when the landlady came back to the kitchen and stood very close to the door that his fingers touched her breast, and then he started to discreetly stroke it. He did not stop and she did not object. I felt embarrassed and pretended doing something else to avoid standing there idle watching them. It lasted less than a minute before he said “Job is done. The fridge is now just fine”. “You always do a good job” the landlady commented.

Shadows of Us

My sister sent me an e-mail attached with more than 80 old photos of our family. Late parents, brother, sisters, uncles, aunts and grand parents. The time span of their dates extended from late 1940s, before my parents got married, until early 90s. She collected the photos, that were taken in different occasions like family gatherings and summer vacations, from different sources. Some of them were found in my father’s desk after he passed away, and others were among mama’s belongings that she kept in a small leather bag.

A treasure of memories and happy moments.

I saw some of them before, but now I see them with new fresh eyes.

My father never smiled in the photos. Mama always showed affection either to papa or to us by holding our hands or leaning her head to touch the person next to her.

Even as young as being 4 or 5 years old, I posed for the photos and smiled.

One of my sisters, who hates now being photographed, avoided back then and despite her very young age looking to the camera.

I wonder who took my mother’s very early photos in her parents’ home and farm. He let her “pose” by looking up to the sky, or by diverting her eyes look to one side even if the shot was taken up front.

Is it a cliché to say people in the past were more elegant? That what caught my attention. Even on the beach smart dress prevailed

Some distant relatives in the photos, whom I barely remember, awaked up almost-forgotten situations and incidents, but other relatives, whose memory is as elusive as ghosts in dark alleys, remained only faces and names.

One photo particularly warmed up my heart. A lovely one in which mama, with her beautiful face, black hair and capturing smile, carried the toddler me in her arm in a shiny day in the garden of the family’s house. When I see this photo now I almost feel mama’s warmth and tenderness are still radiating from the photo.

Fly Together

Migrating birds in the last weeks of winter.

The photo was taken during a family gathering in a small town on the shore of the Red sea, where we, brothers and sisters, decided to meet in a siblings-only weekend without spouses or significant others. A rare occasion for Laughs and memories. Lots of memories.

Dream (February, 22 2012)

I walked with my brother and sisters in the streets leading to the old city. An old beautiful, but plain, building caught our attention. I was particularly taken by a bare tree with one big stem without branches that stood next to the building. I wanted to take photos of it with my mobile phone, but as the building looked like an embassy I wondered if it was allowed to do so. Then I decided to take the picture without including the building in it, but I found the pictures taken could not capture the majesty and mysteriousness of the tree though.

 A blonde woman and a darker man came out of the building and spoke to me in a foreign language I could not recognize. The language sounded east European and I wondered if the two persons were Romanian. I asked them in English if the building was an embassy, a cultural center or a restaurant, and they murmured in their incomprehensible language.

I walked away and approached the main gate of the building and there was a restaurant menu stand that I haven’t seen before. Beside the menu and on the margin of the page there was information mentioned the name of Kosovo. I wondered about the prices of the items in the menu, and tried to take a glimpse of what was inside through the windows but to no vail.

Validation

We met for a late lunch last week in a new spot in town, or precisely out of town. A new suburb where air is less polluted, streets are calmer and noise is on decent level.

We haven’t met for long months although our telephone contacts are regular and our care for each other is genuine, but busy life takes each of us to a different  world.

With no much details about private lives, I can say we are different in character as well as in the course of our lives, but some bond always tied us together. A wise bond that did not drive our friendship to the burning heat of the closeness or to the downhill road of death.

Three dishes were ordered. Masala beef, Thai seafood noodles and mushroom burger, and the drinks included beer, juice and sparkling water.

Afternoon sun sent warm rays through the glass front of the restaurant, and bit by bit outdoor tables were deserted as customers preferred to go inside to avoid the chilly wind.

Love, sex, marriage, divorce, children, cheating, money, careers, politics, fundamentalism, Europe and Latin America were the vocabulary of our talk.

We agreed and disagreed. Each explained where he is and where he should go. By the end of our talk, I think each of us felt some sort of self-satisfaction. Maybe we just needed the validation of our lives by identifying each others’ less fortunate aspects of lives.

No desert. Coffee was the final order. After we paid the bill, a visit to the toilet was due.

In the car-lined street we stayed few moments paying farewell to each other. Our destinations varied between the home where the family waited, the gym in order to curb the calories and the silent empty apartment.

“Cold in this winter was painful” one said and the others agreed. “Shall we get together again before spring?” One wondered. We were not sure but agreed to try to do.

Dream (February 15, 2012)

My mother carried me on her back and flied away in the sky. First we thought we were flying over a foreign city but as I watched the buildings and the streets down there , I felt they looked more familiar, and then I realized we were flying over our old neighborhood but with the time machine turning 40 years back.
We landed down in the street where my family house existed, and we started to walk around the neighborhood that looked very different from how it looks nowadays.
We commented on every change that we knew would happen in the future, like the house that would be demolished and the high-rise building that would be constructed in the same location, or the pedestrian square would turn into a parking lot.
I found a small toy in the street and I bent down to pick it up when a woman with a 3 or 4 years old son asked in an unfriendly tone "Does this toy belong to you" I was taken back by her attitude and replied no. She snatched the toy from me and went away.
The pedestrian square was busy with the people coming and going. We were walking around looking at everything and with our flash forward vision turned on, we knew that everything will get demolished and rebuilt in a different way in the years to come. We yearned for the past of our old neighborhood.

Vent

Since this is my little corner for giving vent to my feelings, I am just saying now that I am so stressed, pressured and preoccupied. 

Nothing more wishful than friendly breeze blowing from somewhere… anywhere.

Dream (January,19 2012)

 

I participated in a demonstration in the street and the situation turned chaotic. I ran away in the direction of my parents’ home, but I changed my mind and preferred to go back to my house instead. But then I felt I missed my parents so much that I had to pay them a visit. Their house was in a multi-story building. I started going down the stairs instead of going up. I found the entrance of some floor messy and a lot of works were going on. A modest family who lived there came out to receive me in the long, narrow and unfinished hallway. I continued to go down and found another apartment in a better condition. Three persons welcomed me there and they were an old American couple and their female friend. I went down again and reached my parents’ apartment. The entrance was tidy and clean but looked old. So many lanterns were turned on. I saw my mother arranging something and preferred to keep silent and unnoticed until she finished. Without being able to recognize her face I hugged her. I was overwhelmed by her warmth and tenderness. I felt happy. So happy.

2012, Love Me Please

Apart from the common wishes for good health and happiness at the head of every new year. 2012 is going to be a landmark nationally as well as personally. A lot of expectations and unanswered questions shroud the year. No amount of speculation or guess can ease the mind, so I have no choice but to wait and see how this year will treat me/us. I only hope it will love me enough.