Too busy to write anything of purpose to you, suffice to say that I am undergoing major personal changes in my life and is feeling too awestruck to organize my newfound feelings into ordered sentences.
So, in return for your dedication , I shall give you the first of my two unpublished NY posts, which got omitted for technical reasons.
More details about NY and my new life later, but very soon.
This post was supposed to be published by Eid, but due to tech probs it didn't get there on time.
I woke up. It was cold. The room felt small, decided to sniff out some air in the backyard.
I got out, if I smoked, I would have taken out a cigarette at this point.I looked around, I might as well have stepped in Wak Wak Islands.
'What shall I do now?' The knife in his hand was dirty, but its tip looked effective. He looked at her flexingly with an uneasy will to please.'There are four of them,' I looked around to check - four, all right not knowning what's coming to them, after all they don't speak the language -
'this one is weak - spare it for the last' She said.
'Your words are orders' and with that, he knelt down to slaughter like he's born with a dirty spitshined knife in hand, his face grim and determined, working silently - he held the first from where the hair would be, and passed the knife along the throat easily, blood responded and oozed on the green grass, he kept thrashing, here, there, left, right, center, until there was nothing left to gnash at. I watched curiously as a living thing is being transformed right in front of my eyes into so much strawberry jam, amongst other things.
It was horrible ; He looked at her at last.
'That will do' She observed, with grim satisfaction.
In general, I was unimpressed, I left the garden and went for a wash-up.
She was my grandmother, the four were sheep.
Eid Al Adha is the celebration of the fulfillment of the pilgrimige season, Much to the dismay of Bridgette Bardout, one of the Eid's favorite islamic customs is to slaughter a sheep and distriubte the meat on your relatives and the poor people around u. My grandmother slaughtered four sheep, one for her, the other three for my uncles living abroad, who felt that the meat should reach the people who really need it in disaster-stricken Iraq.
Many of my friends didn't slaughter anything, I myself wasn't a very big fan of anything slaughter-wise. But the meat tasted wonderful when i rolled it into my traditional khubuz (bread) and bit into a tasty kebab.
Other than that, it's the usual so & so day in Post-Saddam Iraq (Iran?)
I was in Palestine Street today, it was filled with people, their faces maintained the social distance of a passerby, but look closely and u shall see a hidden will to live and enjoy life at any cost, despite everyone's conspiracy to the opposite. If the carbomb hit u, u r a martyr, if not, u thank god and walk away. THat's how most Iraqis managed to survive the unbearable conditions...
'Saddam is the manhole cover, and once he has been removed, the sewers have flooded'
- My Grandmother
Saddam held the Iraqi by the throat and kept punching him with quick jabs left and right in an everlasting boxing round until the world felt numb and funny ; under the anasethesia of continous delirium ; it is no wonder that we can stand the conditions - they get blacker and blacker and no-one really complains...
all of a sudden, people started to scuttle inside their shops and cars- not from a nearby explosion like u usually see them run away from but this time away from the rainbullets of God. I felt a yellow happiness seep inside me at the sight, rain has come down to wash away the blood that has smeared the sad capital of Al Rasheed. It's tragic that very little of that blood is sheepish in origin.