Damned!

Someone once told me that we are damned to remember the things that never really happened.
Those expensive sneakers I wanted as a boy, that motorcycle I wished I drove, that business deal I aspired to sign, that person I dreamt to share a roof with, and other thoughts were all engraved in my head like tombstones.

I walked through memory lane so many times, it became run-down like a pilgrimage passage. I was familiar with each pebble and every single piece of sand on that road. And I still walk it even if it led to the same way and even if we never crossed paths.

I hated her.
I hated her when she lied.
I hated her when she stopped caring.
I hated her for making me love her so hard.

I hated myself for pinching her whenever she made fun of me.
I hated myself for getting angry at her.
I hated myself for believing she'll be mine forever.
I hated myself for wanting her so bad.

I hated her and mostly I hated myself because we kept on choosing each other again and again, yet we gave up in the end.

Two girlfriends and five years later, I still love her.
And if they dusted my soul for fingerprints, hers are the only ones they'd find.

Redamancy

His sight followed her as she walked out of the store. She was busy but what a vision she was. Her dress hugged her bones and tiny curves, and her hair fell on her back flawlessly.
Her presence was peculiar. He had always admired her.
And he strongly longed for her.

He missed being contaminated by her energy, by her glowing aura. He missed how he felt around her. He missed her voice and the trail her fingers made on his face.

She put fireworks in his dark skies, played music in his dull halls and grew life in his barren lands.  He never believed someone was capable of doing so.

Also ... he missed how she loved him back.
Her redamancy was a mirth, a treasure. A treasure he lost. A treasure he let go of. A treasure he threw in the water for someone else to fish.

Regret ate him up. Each day of his life!
He didn't cease thinking about her. He couldn’t get her out of his system.

But little can he do.
She was now loved by another man. A man who holds her hand, who takes her out dancing and who squeezes her tight in his arms, like he used to.

10 Things I Value!

As a baby, I hated old people. I was fixed to a TV screen or a computer monitor most of the time. And I liked pens more than toys.

As a teenager, I spoke sarcasm fluently. I made fun of everybody, including myself. I pranked people, laughed at others and went crazy A LOT!
I turned down boys and wasn’t nice to them, for no reason! Even though I looked like Harry Potter in a wig.
I made stupid decisions but I created memories.

Growing older, I changed. I shifted into a more quiet person, a listener, a thinker. But most importantly, I started appreciating things.

February is my favorite month. Not because it’s cats’ breeding season, if you’re thinking it or if you’re hearing two cats burning some calories.
But because every end of this month, a year is added to my calendar.

For this reason, here are some of the most important things I value:

-          Do everything - and I do mean EVERYTHING , out of conviction.
Wear those orange jeans, eat that fattening sandwich, sleep all day! Do it, whatever it is, no matter how insane or logical, because you want so! Never let anyone tell you what to do or not to.

-          Never EVER regret anything you’ve done in the past.
Because at that point in time, it was exactly what you wanted.
So even if you dyed your hair blue, went out with a dorky boy or ate 4 burgers for lunch, don’t hate yourself for doing so. (Things are usually not that simple, I know!)

-          When people talk about you or judge you, it says more about them.

True character is stronger than reputation.

-          Always give people the benefit of the doubt.
Each person of us is fighting his own battles and demons. So even if someone hurts you, don’t put too much effort into holding grudges. Just forgive and move on.

-          Be thankful, and be happy over little things.
One rose tops a bouquet. A home-cooked meal conquers a fancy dinner. And a hug is priceless.

-          Talk about places, feelings, interests, hobbies, future plans, ambitions.... Just not people.
A geniune personality wins every single time! 

-          Be passionate! And enjoy anything you do!
Pour your heart out into that instant noodle soup! Sing your lungs out! Dance as if ISIS is gonna ban music tomorrow.

-          Create your own style.
Don’t starve yourself in order to buy a pricey purse. A bag, a pair of shoes or a shirt won’t make you fashionable. A sense of style comes from within you.

-          Never base any friendship, love or work relationship on fake feelings/words. Always stay true.

-          Work shapes you. Even if it didn’t kill you, I’m sure you wished it did.
The world is a jungle and WORK throws you in the heart of it. Learn from your mistakes, fight, work hard and create the best version of you!

I’m not trying to be wise or preachy. I still have a long path before I narrate my stories to my grandkids. But until I do that, I’ll keep on being sarcastic. I’ll stay crazy. I’ll always be an annoying student and I’ll create memories each day of my life!

I picked her!

I did not know where I was or who brought me here. It was dark outside or perhaps the curtains were drawn. I removed all the wires attached to my wrists and attempted to find my balance.
I gathered all the strength I had left and dangled my feet in the hopes of walking. I entered a large room with big neon ceiling lights.

And there they stood; each and every single girl I had ever loved, cared for or had a crush on.
Their eyes shifted to my direction. Their bodies did not move. 

I wasn’t sure if my mind was playing tricks on me or if it was only an eye illusion. 

My head started pounding. I tried to hold on to a pole at the entrance of the room. Whatever they had injected in my veins was causing this. My grip grew tighter. I didn’t want to lose control. My brain was definitely hacked into.

And then, I saw her. HER!! She, who made everybody else seem dull in comparison. 
She was the one who lived in my unconscious days or years; I have lost count.

I walked towards her. She softened her gaze and half smiled. I wrapped my arms around her and at last I felt complete.
I did not care whether I will be damned or sent to heaven, as long as I’ll get to be alone with her.
She placed her warm lips on my neck. A kiss I could never become immune to. My entire body tingled. My heart fluttered.                 

                                                                                            
She murmured my name and wiped a tear I had shed. I wanted to tell her how I felt. But she already knew.
Even with a hijacked head, my heart picked her. I picked her. And we will always do.

At his touch...

“I crave you in the most innocent ways”, he whispered to her neck.

Her perfume was made of wild berries, which reflected her spirit. But whenever he rested his head on her heart, he smelled serenity and sheer love.
She was a childhood house’s memories, a rainbow after a gray sky - she was everything beautiful.
And he was positive he’s loved her in lifetimes before.

They’d park by the seaside, roll down the windows, stretch their legs out and stare at the August night sky. Stars shone down on them, blessing their companionship.
They sipped hot chocolate, smoked and listened to the waves wrestling the rocks.
In moments like these, they could’ve sworn they were infinite.

They were fragile creatures, stitched with shattered hearts and broken promises.
Yet, together their scars faded away and pain became a mere memory. Side by side, they were Sultans, they were monarchs - they were invincible.
Without any substance or alcohol, they were highly drunk off each other. She was his very personal brand of drugs and he was her supply of euphoria.
At his touch, hurricanes rose beneath her skin. And her embrace intoxicated him.

However, he wasn't hers to keep and she couldn't belong to him.
They both were not whole. Parts of their souls were forcefully torn away.
They were debris of human beings, ravaged by life.

Their racing heartbeats spoke what their mouths failed to. Love required some falling and the two were too afraid of heights.

Hunger hurts...

My waistline looks like I just swallowed whole a gigantic doughnut. I wish I did. My thighs are Siamese, glued together.  My breasts suffocate in a worn-out bra, and I got two chins for the price of one. 

I look nothing like the anchorwoman on TV who always talks about my hometown; or that other girl who interviewed me, sympathized with us and never came back.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My stomach is roaring. I’m starving. I haven’t had food for two days and my three kids had bread – only, yesterday.

I know he will be coming anytime now. My children rush out screaming happily: “Mr. Hero! Mr. Hero!”
To them, he is. He brings fresh milk, eggs, bread and sometimes candy. Today, he carries sandwiches, too.
He points to a small clearing a few meters away from the tents. The kids take the sandwiches and head there. 

As they walk away, he snaps his fingers twice, calls me “oil barrel” and commands me to turn around and bend down.

It’s clear to me now that he gives me this name because of my skin color and shape; and it only seems clearer that he doesn't like to see my face either.

He reeks of nicotine and sweat.
He lifts my skirt. It usually takes him fifteen to twenty minutes. My torture has a time frame.
My cheeks soak in tears, my body stings in disgust and my heart shatters in shame.
As he finishes, I wash myself, fake a smile and go eat with my babies.

To my kids, he is honorable. To me, he is extremely despicable.

The Beach...

All of my friends are wearing shorts. So I roll up my jeans and tuck the hem of my shirt inside.
Not even my clothes or my mom’s warnings to keep them neat and clean are going to stop me from having fun!

We race down to the beach. I make it first. I stand tall in front of all the other boys and give them a proud look. I had always been the fastest among them.

Taha takes a handful of sand and throws it on my face. Samir steps on my foot and I fall down. We all laugh.
Then we chase each other and start splashing water
Life to us is very simple. We enjoy little things and we are always happy.

After a while, we look up the sky and see something flying. We don’t live near an airport and I have never seen a plane this close. Then it comes closer and the sound becomes deafening.
We all start running. Our feet don’t touch the ground.
I live in Gaza so this means one thing.
I don’t look back. I run. We hide in a container. And I hear a missile launched.

I see the beach and my grandfather walking out of the water towards me. His skin is still wounded and his shirt has holes in it. But he is no longer bleeding. He is still dressed in the same clothes he wore the night I last saw him. A big smile decorates his face.
He touches my cheek. I go into his embrace and walk towards the depth of the sea.