11 Sep 2012

The Hard Mission

It was a hard mission till the time I could understand that the process of growing up was not easy at all. I have always professed I would be that so big one who was not but so ready to accept admirations from everyone else and was not but so busy to make friendships with everyone else. More precisely, I would so want to keep myself high and lovely in the other's eyes, I had learnt nothing more merit to work for, I was never good at other aspects, although I tried several , or maybe fewer, times to be so evil, but I failed, and I failed proudly.




That time, I was told that" he who makes no mistakes makes nothing", and I believed in it, and every time I failed I would pretend to pick up my success the next day. For a while, I was so busy with this, till my parents taught me about evil, and that everyone could be evil as how everyone could be good, they explained it to me many times, each time with a different way, till I completely understood what was going on with evil, and how "evil" evil was!





I have always pretended I would be that so lovely princess whose people would really enjoy being within her kingdom, who would do everything by herself, would cook, would study, would play with her dolls, and surely would rule the entire country with justice and peace. She would also share her army fighting against any invaders.




Right now, I very well can understand why fighting and army ideas have occupied a large area within the space of my brain that's already specialized for thoughts and creation, albeit I was still little, little not only before thinking about wars,but also little before even being able to care about myself independently I know by now, I would learn a lot about wars and guns, would hear and witness events pivotal around death and all kinds of misery –




I was that child who always waited for the time 2:30 pm every day to keep her eyes stuck at the TV screen thinking about the upcoming events of Sandybelle, Grendeizer or any one of those few – at that time- cartoon episodes I was in love with. As I would be so far deep within that lovely kind of imagining pegging out painting the pictures of peace and conciliation between goodness and evil, and how goodness would win at the end, I would found myself interrupted by the everyday very badly recorded video of كي لا ننسى"for we don't forget" series that the TV would always display before cartoon. It would carry plenty of scenes that belonged to the Iraqi-Iranian war in 80s. now I remember very well how frustrated I would be , and how a lot I hated war, and how a lot I didn't like Iran (War had always been a choice, that so bad and evil choice, and I was brought up to hate evil choices, but Iran was country and people, more precisely, for me, it was "a living thing" and my parents would really get mad if I used the word "hate" when I spoke about or dealed with living things, I would always like to forgive Iran and even America, for myself, we all could be friends and live on this planet, peacefully.




I have always pondered the new points of view I concluded every time I spoke to someone.
I have always liked to predict the future's upcoming, I have always disliked to be surprised.
I have always wanted to be panegyrized, I really loved how it has felt.




I, besides, couldn't explain any violently so creative idea regards the way I had to have my breakfast or the car driving me school (I've always wondered why we didn't have dinner first, then school, then lunch, then sleep then breakfast and many other types of arrangement that were absolutely so far beyond being palatable)everything has done nothing but spread all over me inwardly, giving me that so calm, so easily infuriated, so easily made laugh girl outwardly.








I never knew that day would help me much getting older, the thing I was eager , and so eager for, "if I was older, I would be able to travel everywhere I wanted, would buy everything I liked, and would work anything I dreamed of" I always told myself.




It was that night when the conversation between me and my mom has been somewhat desultory, desultory enough to be worth of saving in my mind. The weather, the somberness of the sky with randomly scattered clumps of the stars, the sloppy breaths hanging out over us, and the moonlight.




I would bend my head into my mom's lap, and drown into my thoughts, and that time, like every time the moon was complete, I would ask my mom how it really looked for her, or whose face was really drawn over, I really believed that the moon was someone's face.




My grandmother was sitting in the kitchen, and somehow she was overhearing me, till she got felt kind enough towards my strictly asked question, whose face that was.




She would answer " this is Ali's face".




I would run to her and kiss her, I would finally not have to wait any longer for the right answer, since my grandmother was right in everything she told me, and that was really one of the biggest things she did, for me, at that time.




I would wait for night of 14-15th day, the other month, when the moon was supposed to be complete again, but it would be cloudy, and I wouldn’t be able to see it, and I really was the most miserable girl ever. Later on, I could pass over that shock, moreover, I learnt new things about weather and clouds, I would bravely and so far patiently keep waiting, night after night and month after month, and when I would find myself staring directly at it, the moon face, with no boundaries between us, I would ask again " whose face are you?? Are you really Ali's?", right now, for me, it seems I didn’t trust my grandma's answer 100%, I really believed I trusted it, but right now, I think I didn’t , however, it could be Ali's face, it could be another one's face, could be no face at all, and that's what I've learnt from geography later on, the total issue was about topographic reliefs, like hills or so.




Perhaps if someone else, someone who had to be in my age, told me the same idea my grandma had expressed, I would 100% trust it confidently, since that time, I was so far away from the art of criticism that I may – and only may- like talking about people in my age or those who are a little older, their behaviors, deeds and ideas, sometimes.




I know, I was not supposed to work hard and contemplate these simple troubles deeply, I just had to hunt them down in their natural habitat, and exactly that was what happened.








Still it is, a hard mission to precisely decode those chicks' squeaks. Throughout all my visits to the hatcheries, where my dad used to take me for fun, I kept listening to the chicks' , squeaks, as if they were a special kind of music coming out from the unknown. I would keep wondering , every time I entered a hatchery , after I had pressed on a sterilized piece of sponge located next to the door, to sterilize my feet, were these squeaks laughs, joyful or saddening songs? Or even intermittent whines??Although I heard the same trend of sounds in all directions, but a close examination of the vibrations of these squeaks would show huge differences among each other.




I would run amongst them, help the workers feeding them, and I would tell them in secret to eat a lot, so they would grow faster, and then , be able to do everything they wanted to do.




In sorrowful complaints, I would also ask my dad why they were crying, and he would be busy checking out the entire environment they lived in, and giving instructions to everyone was out there. I find it so highly appreciable, I didn’t feel any jealous for that big care he offered them.




I found myself to realize later, that those chicks' destinations were the same, they all would grow and grow till they would weigh enough for slaughter , then we would eat them. I cried many and many nights for that horrible destiny, and I "didn’t like my dad" any more, till I grew up a little more, to accept the idea, they were made for this reason, God had already permitted their slaughter, for our benefits, but surely God had not allowed slavery, humiliation and low demeaning life.




Right now, I really wonder, were or are chicks aware of their entrée into this mortal world? Into death penalty and life imprisonment until the execution? Were or are they careless or clueless just like newborn?!




It seems like I, like everybody else, ever since came to this mortal world, I dreamed of being older, probably because those who were within my sight horizon were my parents, whom I trusted, whom I depended on totally and most importantly, whom I loved till I never knew any borders for that love, and still I do, if there were any boundaries for love, I have not reached them yet, I'm just drowning and drowning, nothing more, nothing less.






It happens , its natural perhaps, for man, since childhood, to imitate others and continues to do as a principle component of his daily life. To mention all the things that man chooses to copy would constitute a book of many volumes, and although I may find a spare time enough to think about that imitation , I just cannot be included within a kind of chaos life again , or let's say, I don’t want to be messed up anymore.




Since 2003, when everybody expected the true changes, things have started to be ruined all over again, one after the other, we were deceived by their outwardly patriotic intentions, and their masters' blond hair and blue eyes, I was deceived too.




I also was deceived by the idea of being a doctor, life is not as white as I have imagined, people are not as nice as I have polished my thoughts for.




And I wonder again, are chicks of today the same as chicks of the last date of my visits?




I appreciate their being so far different. Why not to be, since all personalities to abe figured out must primarily depend on the surrounding environment ,in addition to the conscience. And for this matter, all the factors seem to be different, or somehwat not that alike.





The former are those who belong to era of living amongst sounds of explosions, tanks and bombs, and they are dying without knowing who's killing who, who is destroying who, who is using explosives? For whom? Why? Till when? Where to?






Their sounds must be a trend of crying, crying for themselves, for their brothers, and for they live in the presence of injustice , darkness, ignorance and blackout.






The latter, are really those who lived in a relatively outwardly noiseless area, with tiring wars already had occurred, that happened and they must have suffered from hunger and confusion. They must also have cried for their being imprisoned in very tight cages, which didn’t allow minimal movement. They only saw darkness, and didn’t know, if it was the shinning sunlight or the warm moon light as they were barely able to see their food and water.






By time, I understand and to a higher degree, what Iran really is, I also understand what Israel is, and what are the spices of KSA, Qatar and Turkey, and what Arabs are really about. After I lived amongst, I also understand the meanings of being different, in the way you speak, the way you walk, and the sect, religion and nationality we originate from and I reach a conclusion, "difference is the rubric of the universe".






But this cannot and does never satisfy me, it is the same reason why the earth doesn’t calm down, and why man doesn’t understand it, this word itself could be a matter of confusion, especially for those who keep repeating and imitating, for the matter of living and imitating itself, only.





*if pessimism hits us, God will take away the ghost of hopelessness… God is always listening and responding in many and many ways.*

Amongst the dreams, the real awake lives, amongst study materials and bombs outside, amongst wishes and hopes inside, and in between the first time I came to this mortal world, and the last moment i will be in, when i will finally examine the true taste of departure, and after I have learnt and learnt and learnt, I decide I should have no longer looked for any meanings for breakfast or dinner, school time or squeaks, moon face or evil, and I am that very person who is really sorry because of wishing to grow up , I am really so sorry to grow up.







Sandybelle






Note : my school will start on Sept. the 23rd, i may not be able to write often, although i already was thinking of leaving blogging or even to make it rest for a long while.



2ndly, I bought a new notebook and i am thinking of how to start filling it up :D



3rdly, I feel i want to add this :D I miss Baghdad a lot, and I miss Chicago a lot .



4thly , I didn't enjoy this Summer vacation, but thank God anyways.



5thly, I am so worried about school and the next years, i am scared of the upcoming days, scared from study and mot importantly, exams :D



6thly, and most important to happen I will miss you my lovely readers. Don't worry, I'll be checking my e-mail and respond to all messages whenever i have an admirable spare time :D



BE BLESSED....