“I always smell something burning” … I think it’s my life


All dreams, colors and words

You took a place in my heart to hide

In my hands I am not in the hands of others

I grabbed a knife and cut a wound in my chest

Behind my ribs I hid a secret

I held my breath, wiped myself, drowned my soul

The fog surrounded me, but I never told anyone

I continued the road alone

Night and day, mountains and rivers, days and years

I ran, jogged until I got there

And when my steps are done

I stopped walking, opened my heart and could not find my words

Scattered along the way I lost them

I do not know anyone and no one knows me

I left nothing but silence and my frightened soul

Strange, and alienation is my abode.

“Tell me about your Uncle Hussein.”

I asked my friend Tariq while I was eager to know more about that person who influenced his life and always mentioned him in his conversations. He described him to me: a young man with a slim body, with the leaning into his hands and slapping his fingers on the strings, his eyes bright and his smile bold, dreamy.

But that was 1986, and a year later everything changed. He decided to travel to the Gulf, to help the family with the cost of living, and he swore with the highest oath that he would return to become one of the greatest composers in Arabic music … What happened then? ?

“My uncle Hussein has disappeared” … Tariq said in a suspicious voice, and then continued: “He has been traveling for years and will come back until he is suddenly dead while alone in Kuwait.”

We sighed and a long silence fell over us, because we know that all things happen “suddenly”, from illness, death, separation … It’s like an earthquake hitting us without prior appointment, a sign that we are not safe or insured, so why do we always insist on not trying our way? Why did Hussein do that and leave the lute and melodies behind his back and leave?

I tried to break the silence and asked him, “How do you remember him?”

“He laughed, pushed me and folded me. At that point I was six years old, but my uncle Hussein never forgot. He was a beautiful man. When he made me sad, I listened to the cassette tapes that he sold., “he said, as his voice changed with every cassette tape he sent, he would first say,” What is the country’s condition? They say the prices have gone, like the weather here, very hot and so closed. “

“Yesterday I listened to Hamid Al Shaeri’s new band. This is a bar, it’s not unrefined … but it does not make me happy when I come, I will teach them the music about its origins.”

I do not know anymore … I feel sorry for holding my breath. I do not want this form of life. I want to scream. I will come back. I have to go back … but now I’m going back to work … Succeeding at place 22

“The money I sold was good or not? Tell me, do not forget, the origin of the work is good … I do not know if I will be able to return to my country.

“Didn’t I bring a new lute? I was ashamed to hit him. But the old lute is nicer.”

And in the last volume, he did not say much, but only a simple recommendation: “Wade, Tariq, keep the old one clean, not dusty … Take care of it until I get back.” But he did not return.

Maybe he got lost and did not know the way back, as Tariq describes him in his dream: “When I was young, I dreamed of him … He was standing in a street surrounded by a lot of smoke, or maybe miss. .. I do not know. But I could not see him. “And that is exactly my opinion: Hussein is not dead or gone. But alienation swallowed him up. It approached the degree of adhesion, and I loved it and hid it inside.

I can now imagine him curling up in his room, wandering around the streets of a country with which he has no feelings or memories, leaning against the wall, staring at the faces around him with a dull eye. Looking for his family, his homeland, his dreams, his language. He does not get them, he forces himself to work, you have to stay busy until you are tired, he takes work as a legal drug and sleeps as an escape, then wakes up and asks, “What am I doing here? I am late! How do I start now what I left behind years ago? I want to talk to someone. ” Who am I? I do not know anymore … I feel miserable to hold my breath. I do not want this form of life. I want to scream. I’m going back. I have to go back … But now I’m going back to work. ”

Self-deception is easy, simple, does not require effort, but it is painful, the pain of which will turn you into a dead man walking among the living until the end of your life.

This is the price we pay when we hide and refuse to confront.

Alienation has other forms, as Alia says, “I do not feel that I exist. There is a wrong need and no one among us talks about it at all.”

She and her husband have an empty chair between them and they never try to move it, and when she gets too upset, her favorite game begins: distraction. She opens the closet, arranges the clothes, irons the sheets, picks up the children’s toys, combs her hair, rolls aimlessly from room to room, cleans and cleans and cleans, then she has only one last card in the game … the fridge. She goes to her and eats anything, watches TV and is completely separated from him. She tries to calm the pain in her chest, but in the end she gives up hope. She hid in the bathroom and cried in a muffled voice, then washed her face to come out with a perfect face that pretended everything was fine.

When I was growing up, I realized that the game of hiding did not help me, because with all the years of silence, I realized that I was just bothering myself, and I got an answer to the question I always had. : Do you know what alienation is? … Metaphor

And so the days go by, and she repeats, “My inner needs are the needs of Mdiqani. I make bedding and macrames. I originally loved making threads, but he does not know him, I think he is interested.” How does he care if she hides her in a corner of the house for him, and then wants him to find her without him knowing?

But he also has a way of escaping.He once came back from work with a cut in his leg.He told her he fell into the street but he is not normal. He sat alone in his room. He hid on the balcony and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes, then fell into a long sleep without saying a word, but Alia happened to know by a WhatsApp message he sent to his friend, that he was robbed that day.

“That day he was full of them. Imagine how little I felt!” She said this in surprise, as if telling him the smallest details about herself. Of course, her husband had a feeling of helplessness. He felt weak and could not defend himself. Silence surrounded him and the smoking of cigarettes suffocated him, so he also gave up. Sleep was his refuge to bury his feelings of shame and pain, both of which would rather keep their dreams and pains to themselves than to share.

“I always smell something burning, I start to doubt if this is our life,” she says and laughs.

But I believe that everything has its own smell, and alienation definitely smells like fire, because it eats the soul, nourishes it until it turns into ashes.

I’m with you too. The cycle of alienation has always suffocated me. It was there for many years.

When I was younger than thirteen, one of the teachers said out loud to me, “Your girl, your voice is a monster! Laugh and make your voice loud again!”

I remember in that time that I stayed touched by his words for weeks, and I avoided raising my voice to not disturb anyone, and of course I hid it all in me. I hid, but when I grew up I understood that the game of hiding did not help me, because with all the years of silence I realized that I was only bothering myself, and I got an answer to the question that I always had: Do you know what alienation is?

It is the sunset when the sky changes to an overlapping palette of various colors, between violet, red, cyan and white, and the sun disk glowing in an orange color that steals the eye. Stunning beauty. Gradually everything disappears, until that moment arrives. Suddenly the light turns into darkness.

That’s what we do to ourselves all our lives, we hide within ourselves the most beautiful moments, words, dreams and perhaps the most cruel mistakes and deepest pain. We meditate on it without sharing it with anyone, and we hold it tightly to our chest, under the pretext that we are afraid that we will reveal it in public, and we will be punished by rejection, exclusion or injury.

We jog keep going on the road alone. Each of us protects himself for himself, and in the end comes that moment when we lose all the colors we have hidden in us, like a candle, extinguished from existence, swept away like the sun, and then for always disappears.

Silence triumphs over life and claims it’s safer … A big defeat, right ?!

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