Friday, April 6, 2012

From My Gaza , To Our Olive Tree

Thank you for making my heart beat for the first time….
Thank you for the olive tree that you curved our names on ….
Thank you for the endless sea that you stood in front and told it that you love me …..
I sat on  my room's floor for hours , trying to answer that overwhelming question that conquered my mind. My busy mind that is almost impossible to conquer with all the stories , dramas , feelings and people who are doing their best to fill a small space of  it . Unfortunately , I couldn't get that question out of my mind , and I couldn't get rid of your picture that was engraved in my eyes.  

It was the first time for  my feet to touch the floor of my room in a long time , it was covered with piles of clothes that got used to be worn by it rather than my body. Today I decided to clean and organize all these clothes. It took me hours to decide what to keep and what to give away , what is clean and what is not …

I passed through all kinds of feelings . I was sad , depressed and frustrated  , but then , I saw it ……………the pink color.  I remember when my father called me crazy when I told him that I want pink wooden floor for my room .  When I first saw it , portraits of the past started to be formed in my head , the first flower I ever planted in my garden , the pink ribbon I used to wrap the box of my precious letters I got from my dead mother , best friends and ….you . It also reminded me of the pink wedding dress I have always dreamed of wearing one day…. One day.

Suddenly , and like a passage of light at the end of a enormous , long tunnel , I felt hope . I started packing the clothes more quickly , taking quick but firm decisions about what to keep and what to throw away. I don't know why , but I did  not stop for a second to  question myself . I felt that every decision I made was a correct one.

At the end of the day , it was clean . Finally , it was my room , not the place that belongs to me , but the place that represents who I am . I wanted to hit my head with something , maybe I after all of this exhaustion I can think of someone else but you , but apparently I was wrong.

Who are you ? A question was asked by the first tear that came out of my eyes . And that was the beginning of a journey that took hours.

It is four a.m. now , and still I am not able to answer this question . But this time it is different , I will not surrender without a fight , I will not let that question win as it has always  done. Just like the firm decisions I made regarding to my clothes , I will face my questions and answer them .

You are my past , a wonderful one . My first heart beat and first love , you are the reason that made me look at life differently , with hope , love and big dreams to achieve.  You are the strong man that told me once that a stupid siege between Gaza and the West Bank will never be a barrier for an endless love , a love that is as big as the endless sea you stood in front and declared your love to me .

You are my olive tree , that olive tree that you engraved our names on , the one that you promised me that one day I will meet in person . Yes , that olive tree is and will always be our friend, our friend that supported our love . Its patience to grow olives provided me with patience to wait for you no matter what , its strength inspired me to stay strong in the face of the craziest winds that would conquer my world.

You are my present , a very beautiful one , even though my hectic life does not give me the chance to think of you a lot , but somehow you manage to find your way through the siege around my mind and heart . When I think of you , I smile and I cry ……

But are you my future ? You will always be a part of my soul , of who I am , of every step I take in my life . And because I know that all you care about is my happiness , I believe that now the moment has came , where I say goodbye to you and continue my life .

I love you .

A letter written by a girl from Gaza to her fiancé from the West Bank who martyred two weeks before their reunion. She wrote it on the day that was supposed to be their fifth wedding anniversary !

(Written By : Ziad Bakri – 7/4/2012)
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About Me

Palestinian/ Freelance writer, translator and Trainer./ I believe that writing is therapy and that is why I write./ 26 years old.
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