Sunday, August 31, 2014

After the War: Am I Ready to Move On ?

Sitting on that broad chair and talking non-stop about your life and inner secrets to the doctor is one way of therapy. For me, therapy has always had a much wider concept, therapy is music , writing and cleaning my room! Yes! Cleaning my room ! Being a busy guy (and a lazy one too) led to my room being always in a disastrous shape, clothes everywhere, my laptop, chocolate and chargers ‘sleeping’ on the bed next to me (that is where the backache comes from!) and books scattered all over the place.

I remember one day passing through a very tough time in my life, and for no reason I started cleaning my room, it took me almost the whole day. When I was done, I felt that if I can clean this whole mess, I can definitely clean the mess of my life and get control over it… since then, and whenever I am facing a huge problem, I turn my mobile off , turn on the music and start cleaning and organizing everything in there.

The war is over and my room has never been messier, just three days before it ended a huge residential tower next to our building was hit, we literally flew in the air, tasted dust, broken glass everywhere and for a couple of minutes we thought that we have lost my mom.

The war is over! And the secret button has to be pushed! In Gaza, you do not have time to grieve , you just stand up and start working! The end of the war was announced at 7:00 pm, at 8:00 pm everyone was talking about what to do the next day, will they go back to their work? What needs to be fixed? Registration in universities for the students who finished their high schools …
I  spent the first day after in my house, for some reason I couldn’t go out except for half an hour to tidy my beard  at the barbershop. I remember walking so fast when I was done, I wanted to reach home safely…for no reason I felt that I will die that night !

The next day I woke up and made this HUGE to-do list, OH MY GOD, the number of things that need to be done! Going back to work , preparing all the documents, paper and stuff, many visits to doctors, going back to the gym, meeting my friends, meetings , meetings and more meetings.

For those who don’t know me, I am a busy bee! I never stay at home! But after 51 days, leaving the home was emotionally exhausting and physically too. I remember arriving home after a long day, tired, with the need to cry! I had some meetings and I met my friends that I LOVE, yet I wanted to cry… I was able to walk again in the streets with no bombs and attacks yet I wanted to cry..

I keep going to my room and look at it, should I start cleaning? I pick a t-shirt off the ground then I throw it back. My mom keeps begging me to clean it or let her do it, but I refuse. Sometimes, I just stand by the door and look around, and ask myself a question :”Am I ready?”

I AM NOT READY TO MOVE ON!

I AM NOT READY TO STAND UP !

I want to grieve yet I find no way out !

I need time by myself to think, just think .. and cry, just let it out…

I AM NOT READY TO SMILE! Simply, I AM NOT READY TO BE HAPPY !

I wish I could hug every mom who lost her child and cry with her!

I wish I could stand by every man who lost his house and scream with him!

I wish I could offer a shoulder for everyone who got injured, whose dream was killed or who lost something deep inside to rest their head on it…

I just wish ….


1 comment:

  1. Yes Ziad, it is not so easy to get back to normal life after what you had to undergo. Take a good breath, take your time. Instead of vacations, the kids in Gaza had bombs and summer was not a nice time. But the war is over and worldwide people are getting more and more aware the masacre Israel has been doing against Gaza once and again. There can't be a next time as Israel is losing all its reputation and gaining one as "Zionazi". From Costa Rica in Central America, we pray for you, we want you to have the strength and will to move on.

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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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