Europe? No- Thanks

Everybody sees different kinds of ghosts that emerge every night flying over the ceiling of the bed cover. Some see white ghosts with fluffy dresses carrying along a vision of a warm house, a tender husband , and extremely adorable kids. Others are visited by ghosts with big noses, wearing the custom of a wicked witch, that are waiting to rob them of their happiness. Others may prefer being fascinated before sleeping by observing some educated ghosts- nerds, taking flights to popular schools and reading books of the whole sciences of the whole universe. Obviously, these ghosts I am depicting are your wishes and your fears at the very same time, and the funny thing about this matter is that you find yourself being too creative to a level you yourself can not bear believing. First, you draw the ghost, you dress it up, and then you move it the way your heart desires. Taking myself as a living example, every night I go through this night work, I figure out how much I match having the job of a movie maker. My ghosts are classic but so VIPs. They’re very open minded, but they respect traditions, and the picking up of their clothes and colors reveals, paradoxically, a crazy but prudent taste. However, in Gaza, you got to have no competitor in portraying your ghosts because you have all the equipment required for the mission. Gaza is the primary factory for manufacturing this sweet product which  is fair enough to color anyone’s life with the utmost felicity. If you go to the beach, as an illustration, you may find a young, handsome, humble guy swimming; next to his right hand, there is a horse swimming as well, and very close to his left hand, you    may see a donkey enjoying the warmth of the sea water. And awkwardly, you will  be very much filled with a strange kind of happiness seeing them all enjoying their day, under the same sun and inside the same water and at the same spot, with the company of each other.

  Just have a walk at night in the streets of Gaza, and you will see the most number of soccer fans, spread  everywhere  out there after texting their friends, family members, grandpas, or probably their professors in order to have themselves all gathered in front of a small or big, slim-flat or an old black and white TV set to watch the match. Yes, they can not travel to watch it live from the playground, but they have built a wider playground over the land of Gaza. If a Gazan watches a TV ad, in which a highly tempting Smartphone appears, highlighting that he can afford it, then no problem sir. Tunnels have saved the day. Gaza has its own sort of lighting, which has surpassed Edison’s invention, electricity! Gazans have proved that what Edison invented is not a last resort solution. Candles can do the same job, and brining back the life aspects of that old era where candles were like governors is what distinguishes Gaza from other states and kingdoms as being a participant in reviving history… i am not being sarcastic at all.  what I am trying to say is that it is never the place that makes Gazans strong, but rather it is the spirit these mentally, emotionally, and religiously active people have. Their spirit is so high that it reaches  out their hands and pushes them to achieve what Europe itself could not achieve.

 

Alone but not Lonely

I’ve always known tears to be in one condition…sour! This awkward process of shedding these little, salty drops has always taken a big deal of my attention. I could find no convincing interpretation of why we occasionally and non occasionally produce tears, as neither happiness nor sorrow can form an obstacle  in the head of them. I cry when I am happy, afraid of losing this joy happiness brings to me. I cry when I show a grumpy face, afraid of it lasting for a long while  that could be “forever”!! In both cases, reversing the nature of tears is out of any one’s grasp. They’ll always and forever reserve their impact on the eyes of creatures. One consolation appears when a cat, a dog, a lion, and a human being share this one thing they all comprehend- believing it to be the only common resort to let out all that is in. A story of tears that deserves to be immortalized in every man’s memory speaks for itself. Behind the cold walls of a prison, there was a young man of twenty years, powerless enough to remain in silence  even within his prayers! Moving his lips would make him forced to act in the same way a sinner acts while waiting for his life- taking punishment.  Ahmed, holding his hope of feeling the sun rays touching his dry skin the next day, during which he couldn’t even differentiate the day’s periods, closed his  green  eyes  that night, after being dead tired of doing his everyday obligation of staring at the walls of his cramped prison. Few hours passed like seconds by Ahmed to find himself being informed by the officer’s shoutings that  his next day had come already  hours ago ” or seconds ago”! He opened his eyes, craving for death to visit him only after seeing the sun. However, his wish went away after re-remembering  the prisoner’s right not to have a right to consider wishes! He opened his eyes to receive something he could not think of but as a vision of a smiling ghost. There was another prisoner waiting ahead of his shocked body and non responding senses. The latter’s smile had given Ahmed what no treasures or even freedom could present  to a man. Finally! he had someone to stare with. The other prisoner was named Issa, and he was so fond of his name that he quickly delivered it to the stunned guy, passing his hand to shake it with Ahmed’s, who was still under what is called unconsciousness of the impossible incident. At some point, he came to lose faith in miracles, for no one occurred to him before. Now though, his faith had moved to a new transformational phase. He immediately touched the man’s hand and grasped it so tight, as if he were shaking hands with a father, or even a dearer person, if there could be a dearer person than a father, whom he longed to see for a very, very long time. Issa, accepting his new condition of being in imprisonment, had welcomed himself, guessing that Ahmed was too shocked to welcome him. A moment passed, and Ahmed’s tears got out of their nest. something new was born over his cheeks; a thing he had experienced only once when air came into his lungs for the first time. Twenty years had passed and not a single tear died over Ahmed’s lips. However, this godsend deserved tears to be shed over, just as the reason of life did. For the first time, he could make his own theory that needed no experts to examine its validity. Life granted him two reasons to cry over: the first started and ended when he was born and in pain, and the other when he was almost dead but then revived. Issa stood still, observing his fellow prisoner practicing “crying” without pausing. It was over after some time, they didn’t even count how much it was, passed. The jailer broke into the two men’s cell and put down breakfast, enough for a child. The meal appeared to Ahmed and Issa like a banquet, and the two guys sat together to enjoy the division of the one piece of bread and the only slice of cheese. From that day on, every thing was shared. Food, love, smiles, sadness, laughter, looks, whispers, and tears were split in two equal halves. Despite the power of silence that governed Ahmed all these years in prison, having no one to reveal to the unbelievable way of his staying in prison, he carefully stared at the walls of the only room he ever lived in and spoke: ” Here, I was born. Here, I took my first breaths, and here, I may take my last. Here, I had to say goodbye to my mom who passed away to leave me drawing her face on the walls of this cell in order not to forget her picture.” Issa needed Ahmed to say nothing more than he said, for what he already narrated was very enough for him to understand the rest of Ahmed’s life. To Ahmed, Life outside barriers and wires was no more delightful than life inside the prison as long as Issa was there to assure him that life with the company of someone could get easier and only then could darkness turn into light and tears be sweet…. To be continued