September 2024
I have lost much and missed even more.
Yet, I’ve never once searched for something I’ve lost; I always stumble upon it by chance.
After graduating from sixth grade, my father gifted me a golden “necklace” with the first letter of my name. By the time I turned twenty, I had lost it and never searched for it.
The day my father gave me that necklace, I saw a sparkle in his eyes as he moved between me and my sisters, handing each of us a gift.
I was the only one who lost her gift at twenty. And every time I saw rainwater pooling on the ground, I would think of that necklace that holds the first letter of my name.
One winter passed, and when the second came, I found it by chance, buried under a pile of dust.
I never wore it again. Instead, I hid it away and began deliberately walking by winter rain puddles, just to remember the sparkle in my father’s eyes.
This became my way of dealing with loss.
Everything lost will be found eventually; I will stumble upon it, sooner or later.
My mother was in her thirties when she passed away, and I stood before her lifeless body, refusing to believe she was gone.
I would seek out every face that resembled hers, searching for her in their features.
I wore her dresses, stood in front of her mirror, and whispered:
“I miss you”.
Whenever I felt lost, I would run to her bed, take her spot, and fall asleep.
Whenever anxiety or restlessness overwhelmed me, I would sit in her kitchen and grind cardamom.
The house carried the scent of her beloved cardamom.
I refused to say, “My mother is dead”.
My friend told me that I waved goodbye to her body as it was carried out the door.
But I denied it, striking her chest with the same hand she claimed I had waved with.
I’ve postponed so many tears since that day.
The women back then said I was stronger than my siblings.
They never saw me cry.
But I am the weakest of them all… perhaps the weakest of all women when it comes to farewells.
Farewell is a monster.
A massive, terrifying monster.
I fear it.
I, always, run away from it.
My teacher once told me, after I finished reading a passage: “You describe every moment so perfectly!”
I replied: “Except the moment of farewell!”
Women weep…
They chant a lament…
They whisper prayers….
But I surrender to a wave of silence.
And let it drown me.
And drown in it!
The war took my friend Hanadi “the mother”… leaving no grave, no body to mourn. It’s as if fate is punishing me for my stubbornness in the face of farewell.
I remember once, Hanadi borrowed a dress. When she learned I’d be at the same event, she hid from me, trying to avoid being seen.
Since then, I’ve been waiting for Hanadi to reappear, peeking out from behind her sister, smiling, and asking:
“How does the dress look?”
And here I am, still postponing my reply to her in that dress!
for nearly a year now!
#Seasons_of_Woner_and_Attempts_to_Survive
Fida’ Zayyad
September 11, 2024
