Birth story: I have prey between two towers and two characters

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“Yahya..it’s your birthday when is it?”

I believe there is always a difference between the truth and the reality, there may not be one correct answer to this question, but it is determined by me how close and loving the person is to the questioner, if he is an employee who records data in an interest or a job interview, I will definitely tell him August 10 recorded in the birth certificate This intimate confusion was not born in these situations, but it is present in the question of the girlfriend or boyfriend, should I tell him my true date of birth, which I do not know precisely because of the delay in my registration in the birth certificate? I know it falls between the second third of July and the first third of August.

Perhaps I asked my father more than once, and his response varied. The first time was in a post-childhood, and I wanted specific, unfiltered information. Perhaps he told me a specific date that I do not remember, and again in my teenage years, where there is room for rediscovery and research on inherited information; He told me that he did not remember it exactly, but it was during that period that I mentioned.

I don’t know if my father is so wise, and know that the subject will become for me more than a number on a piece of paper, but rather like a search for a lost memory and identity. I don’t know if he actually forgot or pretended to forget, and is it my opinion that his interest in me is just by memory? I also don’t know if I want my exact date of birth, or do I feel inside that there are things that remain more beautiful as long as they are surrounded by mystery? Maybe that’s why I didn’t ask my mom who might have a better memory.

****

“Mama, who is this Yahya…Isn’t my name (…)?”

It was the natural sentence of a six-year-old, introduced to him by his mother in elementary school, who introduced himself with a new name. At first I did not understand the matter, as I was not sure that I could go beyond knowing what the names were. If the name changes, the person changes, how can I have two names? Have you two become human? Is my mother joking or has she been cheating on me all along, or does the school have a name of its own?

“Mama, who is this Yahya…Isn’t my name (…)?” At first I didn’t understand that I had two names, as I wasn’t sure I would go beyond knowing what the names were. If the name changes, the person changes… Metaphor

There was no time to answer all these questions from my mother in front of the student affairs employee, so she broke off with an embarrassed laugh and a reply directed at the employee, ignoring me: “Originally , that’s his pet name, and we don’t call him Yahya at home.”

****

“Yahya,” said my father, “that is your name.” Then he disappeared into the spiral passage of heaven.

The story can begin with a dispute between the father and the mother about the name of their third child. My mother wants to name me Muhammad and my father wants to name me Yahya. After a period of twenty days, my father makes the decision alone and present them with the fait accompli. Perhaps the dispute over the name was an expression of many differences, and perhaps it was the straw that broke the relationship’s back and led to the separation a few months after my birth.

This narcissistic and impulsive decision of my father is what made me reckon with the sign of Leo, although it is possible that I am of the sign of Cancer or a mixture of the two, and the last version, most likely or preferably for me, is that I fall prey between the two signs, and one of the good things about coincidence is that the name of the two signs is appropriate outside their framework. They have prey, a lion has its prey and cancer has its prey, but this is a negative interpretation but the positive interpretation is that the cancer looks like my mother while the lion is similar to my father. Perhaps my father, symbolically by letting me belong to the lion, would say to me: “I want you more cruel, because I will leave you in the forest and you must eat your crab before it eats you.” As if I was born on the instinct of cancer, and my father Pasedy.

Just like I have two names, I have two personalities that I swing between. I can sometimes use the appropriate character and fail another, and in rare situations I reconcile it like I reconcile my father over my mother. Cancer makes me a poet, I write what I like to be myself, and Leo makes me a seller of words, I care about what is popular and what pleases the most people with profit and loss accounts . Cancer is suitable for unconditional platonic love, knows fidelity and sacrifice, and Leo is suitable for transitory dungeness relationships. Cancer improves listening and quiet meditation, and Leo likes to show off and impress others. Cancer cries sincerely and a lion smiles a fake smile. Cancer is a moody businessman, and Leo is a productive professional. Cancer is introverted and has few friends who fill his quiet world, and Leo is social, loud and the friend of everyone to gather around him.

“Yahya,” said my father, “that is your name.” Then he disappeared into the spiral corridor of heaven…metaphor

Maybe my description suggests that I hate the lion and love cancer, but no. This is an abstract description and not an insult. Cancer by its spontaneity implicates me and the lion with its firmness saves me like an older brother saves a younger brother.

****

The older I get, the more I feel that I resemble my father the lion, and the more I look at my picture when I am young, I find that I look like my mother a cancer. Cancer brings me back to my childhood as it brings me back to my mother’s bosom, it’s like a pet name I didn’t mention at first because I refused to mention it in my teenage years and the beginning of proving my masculinity , because I was afraid of people’s looks after I became a man and mentioned such a name in the street, surely no one would take me seriously, but I might long for this name with myself in intimate times, and call myself by it, and I can remember the one I love and say to him, “That is my real name, you do not know me well, my friend. You know what I want you to know.”

Even in incomplete romantic relationships, and maybe the reason I didn’t rest is because one of them knew the full name or character, but when I find the girl I can fully move out with because she cares more about innocence than attractiveness, she will recognize this name alone, and maybe then I will also know my true birthday.

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