Took a shower, put my hair in rolls, trying to dry it out the natural way, fixed it with rollers waiting for the day to take its toll, clicking on the remote watching this and that. Because I am in the midst of enough crowd pleasing, enough trying to fit in, enough with straightening my hair, revolutionary phase. With a banner wrapped on my finger, an Arabic calligraphy that’s says I am enough the way I am, that says incomplete is ok, or more appalling that it is beautiful.
In the midst of news about bombs and unsheltered children, wars and sickness, I rebel with my hair all rolled up and sipping my English tea. I rebel.
I am also preparing my future place, maneuvering my way through the mazes of design and fabric. I who didn’t have a say at where the cupboard goes in my own room, or which side of the room should I place my bed. Yet colors, designs, and materials and a life that I need to choose.
And a job that I chose, yet isn’t quite matching with who I think I am, I am stuck in between of what I want and where I am.
And friends, who’ve grown too busy, perhaps sipping their tea, clicking on the remote watching this and that.
And I ridicule the smallness of my life, and wonder how this life can lead up to change anything anywhere, when the smallness of my mess is too big for me to move an inch out of my bed today, laying all too heavy on my shoulders and on my heart.