Toubib Or Not To Be

  أطفأت دموعي شمعة عيد ميلادي، و جلست أمام حلوتي و هي تذوب أمامي لأحتفل و لو مرة واحدة في العام..  فتحت رسائلي و أنا أدري أن التهاني ستأتي فقط مني، كنت قد أرسلتها السنة الفارطة، إعتدت أن أراسلني لأطمئن علي..  "عزيزتي سنبلة، أرجو أن تلقاك رسالتي و أنت لا زلت صامدة، أتمنى أن الرياح العاتية لم تكسر ما تبقى من أجزائنا و أن الأحزان لم تنبت بأراضينا كثيرا و أن تلقين من ينجح أخيرا في قطف الإبتسامة من حقل شقائنا" كانت هذه كلماتي قبل سنة من الآن و لم يتغير منذ ذلك الحين إلا الحبر الذي جف و لم تجف جفوني بعده، لا يمر يوم علي دون أن أعود لصور أمي الراحلة، ليس شوقا فيها بل رغبة مني في إيجاد الجواب كل سنة.. لماذا؟ لماذا قررت أن تلقي بي و تتركينني من بعد ذلك بسنوات، كنت تعلمين أن السرطان سيعود من جديد بعد أن تخطيته، سيعود لنفس الثدي الذي أرضعتني منه فلم كل هذا يا أمي؟ لا أدري إن كنت أنا المسؤولة عن عنائي أم رحمك يا أمي، الرحم الذي بدوره أبى أن يحملني لتسعة أشهر و قذف بي إلى الدنيا بعد سبعة فقط، حتى أنت لم تتحملي مشقة تربيتي و اخترت أن تتوسدي التراب..  يا أمي، أسألك في عيد ميلادي، ك...

  One usually knows when one was about to make the perfect kill, call it instinct or gut feeling, but I always knew that you would be more than just a conquest; you would be my opus, a swan song echoing the chapters of our shared history. Our tale, whispered in the winds and passed down through generations like a gilded heirloom, would eclipse time itself.   Amid the aftermath of a battlefield strewn with broken souls, we were the last soldiers standing in a coursing river of spilled life. Between us hung a thread of expectancy, a shared primal desire shone in our eyes, forging us into creatures meant solely for the thrill of the hunt and a need to inflict pain on one another. If Troy fought for something as futile as honor, the war we waged burned with a fire that transcended reason and bled of salt and tears; would you fight a war from which no winner would emerge, knowing that either way you would be nothing but a forgotten casualty amongst a mass of flesh, carrion for hu...

       His entire life amounted to this moment. Everything he did, and everything he didn’t do. The culmination of a lifetime riddled with difficulties, losses that he thought were terminal. He yearned for this day never so sure he’ll get to live it, but believing in the cause all the same. And it was finally within his grasp, a few hours away, his sweet, sweet victory. He couldn’t sleep a wink. Sitting at the balcony of his room, it felt abnormal to him that people were slumbering. They should be rejoicing, the streets full to the brim with celebrations. It was a historical night preceding a historical morning, and the state of his surroundings, still and ordinary, was anticlimactic.      By the time the first rays shone through the clouds, the lack of sleep was evident on his face. He went down to the hotel’s lobby, drank too much coffee, and got back to his room to get dressed. He looked at the mirror for a moment, taking a look at the man he was. H...

  By the residency of the morning my heart pumped blood into my blasphemous soul  I felt the liquid running through my veins to nourish my epicure vessels  my heart felt agonized and so unused to life; How can it win the war against my vessels? they crave life while it is drowning in greed and cupidity the feeling in my chest vacuumed my line of sight  I laid solemn on my bed, my stomach churning and my mind still darkened by the atrocity of yesterday  I asked myself : how can someone live in the shadow of sin? How can a person find so much comfort in pain and horror? it seemed that it was my only rescue to feel something  I loved the cold for its cruelty I prefer winter to summer  as if the gray sky revealed a bit of the rage that ran within me  I’d suffer, endure it, only to regain my senses   it brought life to me  it made me feel closer to god   it felt so hypnotizing when things got better  my wheels were stuck w...

  Dear brother, I’m writing this letter in a hurry, fearing that I might hesitate. Cutting you off was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. Cutting off a friend may be hard, but friends –although, we hate to admit it– are inconsequential. You can seek that feeling of familiarity and companionship in other people, yet a brother is a companion imposed on you by the universe. Maybe it was the shared experience of a dysfunctional household that made our bond unique, or the way a brother subliminally has to accept you as a sibling even though your personalities are so different that in an alternative universe, had he not been born from the same womb, he will not as much as glance at you. A bond– so strong that even distance and time can't snip the strings pulling you together.  I can’t remember the first time I saw you, but I remember all the times you tended to my wounds inflicted by the womb that brought us together, ignoring your own even though every time you moved, a...

  Dans l'obscurité oppressante de sa chambre, elle se tenait immobile, figée devant le miroir qui trônait dans un coin, tel un oracle énigmatique reflétant l'âme torturée qui se dressait devant lui. Son regard, empreint d'une intensité presque hypnotique, sondait les profondeurs de ses propres yeux, avidement en quête de réponses enfouies dans les replis de son être. Elle avait toujours eu une relation conflictuelle avec le miroir. Leur liaison tourmentée dépassait de loin la vanité. C’était une tragédie intérieure, un duel silencieux où chaque confrontation lui arrachait un peu plus de son humanité. Chaque fois qu'elle osait affronter son image, une vague de dégoût et de terreur déferlait sur elle, figeant son sang dans ses veines et étreignant son âme dans un étau de glace. Malgré cette peur viscérale, elle savait qu'elle ne pouvait fuir indéfiniment. Ses démons intérieurs exigeaient réparation, même si cela impliquait de faire face à l'horreur de son reflet. ...

 Ma vie n’est qu’une performance  Dans l'éclat des projecteurs, ma vie se déroule comme une performance, un acte continu dont les rideaux ne tombent jamais. Tel un comédien prisonnier de la scène, je navigue à travers les actes de mon existence, chaque jour un nouveau tableau, chaque émotion une réplique à déclamer. Les coulisses de mes pensées se mêlent aux feux de la rampe, dissimulées derrière le masque soigneusement arboré. Chaque sourire, chaque larme, une mise en scène habile où la frontière entre le personnage et la réalité se floute. Je me tiens là, sous le regard critique du public invisible, ma vie n'est qu'une série de monologues suscitant des applaudissements feutrés ou des silences pesants. Parfois, les applaudissements résonnent comme une ovation chaleureuse, le succès éphémère d'une scène bien interprétée. D'autres fois, le silence, lourd comme un rideau tombant, résonne dans le vide, une critique tacite de ma performance devenant une zone d’ombre où ...