You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
THE EGYPTIAN OR ME? On my way back from a lucky-less interview I met an Egyptian man asking for directions to a pot shop close by. He had on this sorry look like a man who had just lost his job. When I think of it now, I think it was because I thought we shared a mutual feeling that was why I even stopped to listen to him. “I look for pot shop close here. You know?” He asked. At first I could hardly understand him until I noticed he was holding a photo of the pot shop in his hands. I pointed towards the direction, telling him the easiest way to get there. Suddenly, this short movie became annoying when this sun-tanned chubby looking man asked for my almost-emptied bottle of water. That bottle of water was my first meal, friend and companion after my horrific interview- an interview that I was made to wait for hours only to be told that the boss had traveled and won’t be back any time soon. That bottle of water helped me hide my tears as I drank it while I struggled with m...