Where’s my nationality? 

She stood but not tall, bending. Palm trees with their strength and stability fall from wind storms sometimes. But she stood, to show herself that everything is taller than her small grief, her shade dominated the wall. Her nervous fingers were tinkling, for a moment she ran out of nerves. She saw cruel things, unrealistic to a small vision like hers. She hugged her doll, a weird feeling crossed her body, not because it’s their first hug, but it has been a long time since anything accepted her request.

She walked miles alone, with the doll, and her long hair. She tried to breathe the circumstance. For a portion of forfeiture and a blown memory. She lost patience, but did she ever know what patience is? She lost many things; her favorite novel, but could she read? She sat under a shading tree hoping to protect what is left inside her.

For the time she stood again, she controlled the uncontrollable. She talked to her memory not to help it fade. She thought and even was taught that every smell could be godforsaken but the smell of hope, that smell of spirit. She believed anything could loot it away as the sky took birds to different discoveries in many destinations, any small power as hers could steel the essence of it, the root. Even sunrays, even rain drops, especially travelling wind. She accepted the ghosts because the ghosts didn’t care to ask for permissions. She focused her eyes, scabbed to tie up her sleeves, as she closed her eyes, the foresight woke up. As she sheltered the memories in a dark place, as she closed her eyes hardly, harder than ever, she saw her mother.

She saw her gathering candies in a broken jar with both of her hands that the candies seemed like golden coins illuminating an antique box. But her hands smelled like bread and thyme; the only meal she witnessed her cooking. She was her favorite memory and the bitter taste of it. Peopl has been to everywhere, and in some places she saw wars of hate eating minds.e saw the good side first, and the worst dove gradually to prove the deficiency in every sincerity. She opened her eyes, and let the truth be displayed in front of the trees, stones, atoms, ants, worms and snails. They turned expecting an art exhibion, at the end for their delusion; what would a young girl with tied sleeves show our tears? How far would she dance with the doll? Or for an else probability would she hug it? Throw it?

She saw her tickling her long hair, recumbent. She always loved red roses, she thought, how would a red tincture overflow from her mouth? Was my mother eating the petals but they didn’t taste as good as she thought? She widened her eyes, to look closer on her mother, her betrayer. Maybe she slept, the girl thought, and forgot to sing me something. But she knows I can’t sleep alone without some peaceful lyrics to impress my ears. Why did she ignore my will? Where’s my candy jar? She waited to see her mother’s eyes, their blue color, color of the sea she never saw. For the first time ever she watched the sunset and sunrise sequently. For the first time she didn’t have dinner, lunch or breakfast. For the first time she lost enthusiast for candies. For the first time she hated red, it blew up her mother’s mind, took it to another station. She gave up, on her mother, on her loneliness.

She moved on, as her mother had been telling her before. She moved to meet other women and children her age wearing red. Red was a happy color, but these red things she saw were not happy. They were mixed with violation, something not straight.

She couldn’t impress her nationality. She wasn’t travelling through ages and nations, she is still; a regulated girl who has been Syrian, Iraqi, Afghanistan, Circassian, Borman, Egyptian, African, Palestinian, Bosnian, Yemeni, Pakistani, Somalian, Sudanese, Lebanese, Turkish. She has been to everywhere, and in some places she saw wars of hate eating minds.


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