Today, I made my way to the governmental office of registration. My steps were unbearably heavy, as if carrying a whole history of fear and endless waiting. I went there to issue a slip of paper needed for my identity card. Supposedly, this is a simple procedure, however, I was feeling very angry. In my case, this is much more than just a piece of paper, or a photograph.
I stood before the clerk. I asked him the question whose answer I already knew:
“If I request a new slip, will the name of my son, Karim, disappear?”
He looked at me and replied: “Yes.”
His words fell on me like a cold blade.
I pulled myself backwards. I felt the ground shaking beneath me.
I felt confused. My heart was revolting inside me. Voices were chasing me. What shall I do?! Shall I affirm that I exist based on a slip of paper that erases the name of my son, Karim forever, or keep my old torn identity card which has Karim’s name?!
After hesitation and failure to make up my mind, I decided to turn my back and leave. I walked away carrying my own identity with me; the Identity which no office or institution will be able to understand, and that is of a father who bears his son’s name in his heart after it had been erased from governmental, official records. A son’s name who shall remain deeply rooted in his father’s memory, blood and soul.
Mohammed Abu Shmala
24 August 2025
