Merry Merry Merry Christmas to all my Christian friends, Iraqis and non Iraqis..
My lovely dairy,
I miss you so so terribly much.. And i am sure you share me the same feelings.. I..am..really..in..need..of..moments..away..from..the..professional..pretending..personalities..
AWAY FROM STUDY AND COLLEGE..
26 Dec 2011
17 Jul 2011
Pepsi is forbidden.. Pepsi is cool..
And I sit down wondering, what has happened to my voice, I just could hear myself, I just could hear my voice coming from the depth of the horizon, coming from the very far land, coming out of myself, out of its source, out of itself..
And its echo approaches, penetrating all the bodies, overcoming all the doubts, passing through all the burning sun rays without dissipating, amongst the clouds of all the smoke without being changed, and over all the true senses.
The echo is coming out of a doll, it's an echo of the sound of the doll, it’s a bending indirect echo, its coming out of itself..
And the voice and its echo together meet at angle 49ْ. The same angle at which I am taking a picture of themselves proudly, asking them to smile, and behave naturally.
The same angle at which I have always asked the photographer to photograph me from, I would always find myself the prettiest child I wanted to appear, angle 49..
And I don’t think of anything, I sense the folds of the quilts and folds of the silence one after the other.
I put my head between his arms, and pretend to cry, so, he, the little baby, feels worried, and starts wiping away my tears.
I find my head, that is thinking of nothing, drowning into his lap and his bared arm and hand keep touching my face spots, my eyelashes and my hair.
Oh you little kind man!
He always announces " I am not a tiny kid, I am a man.. I am a maaaaaaan" and all the surrounding environment is burst into laughing..
I keep listening to my heart, the heart that has often missed the perfect place, and this heart starts speaking quickly, and nothing is what I understand. However, I keep listening, keep hearing, and it keeps talking..
All the moving parts of me in this minute of highness, are my thumbs. All the world of silence is myself and him..
I can't either hear my nerves.
Oh my nerves! They always enjoy making me a joke beneath their shadows, enjoy making me as a violin exerting the echo of the sound of the doll. And I , my turn, keep playing, and my looks, their turn, gradually start out the fire.
I try to avoid the walls of his head, and the walls of my head, both are stiff, and the aspects of this stiffness are completely different.
" pepsi is forbidden.. no.. no.. pepsi is cool". It's the favorite sentence for this little 2 years old baby. And the favorite answer of my almost 19 years aged voice is "pepsi is only forbidden, pepsi is not cool", and he then shows a funny expression, by his lips, his eyebrows and his clapping hands.
The mist of their speeches tattles about the arrival of the joy , despite their hard work to hide the cheerfulness.
And the children try to discover whether the promise of visiting the amusement city is going to be done or not..
Suddenly, the very loud shouting surprises me, " they will take us" everyone yells!
Sara is like " Sandybelle! What's the problem with your sisters!", I grin and reply " it's a part of the story, story of my sisters and I , haha" and I hug him, the "pepsi is cool" little man, little man named Zain.
The moment out here,the sound of the little bubbles over the surface of the boiling tea catches up my attention, and again, I start thinking, "is it the voice of myself? should the voice of myself be understood or heard as bubbles? And what bubbles? Bubbles of this poor boiling tea!!!" I speak to myself.
The 42 minutes we spend along the way to the amusement city are wonderful , and the hero is the same, is Zain.
"my shoes are big, my shoes are big" Zain acclaims. And we are all like " hahaha, big, big, shoes ,shoes, haaaa".
Then, we, reaching near the garage, get out of the car, and enter, we are allowed to inspection and then, we are directed into the fun, the golden lights surround us, balloons, young people, children, and Zain starts dancing under the loud popular music, and people are enjoying this show, everything seems amazing.
We wander, from a game to another, we buy a rosy balloon and I am supposed to carry it.
The big machines are working, and the seats are booked, we are happy, actually everybody is happy.
Then, it's one minute, one minute I feel I am totally blessed, I bend to Sara's shoulder, and keep checking my mobile. Zain with his father watching him closely is playing, and I am recording a video. It's minute, no. 9820620 of my life. Will never be forgot.
In the chamber of the big windmill , within my eyes, the sky seems purple, or, gray to black, it's exactly as anyone can imagine even if it is quite different. It's OK, as if we imagine the golden points of lights as luminous larvae dancing over the pretending raucous silence, or as the same golden small glass balls we used to collect and count and recount when we were in Zain's age, or maybe little older.
Both pictures are great. The most important thing, is that I still can feel the moment, the moment itself, can feel stings of the hot embarrassed dusty wind, and I am with the same faces, the same persons, and I am not changed even though they are, and they have the right to do so, they, like each of the "everything" in this world, are growing according to life theories and rules.
"this year was.. was a copy of the same nothing of each year. I had thoughts, some were like a yellow stone over the sand, and some were like a ball of grass over the anvil, many thoughts, like what happens at the beginning of each year, and I had wishes, also like what goes on each January, some came true, some still have not. In the beginning of each year is a wish, and at the end of each year is a rose, both are with the same faith" I respond to Sara's question about life. This response was made by my same voice coming out if its source, out of itself, and this response, is followed by a wonderful conversation between the two ladies, Sara and I. at each point, Sara comments " haven't you become a depressed girl Sandybelle?" and all I do is smiling.
"Sandybelle, this guy seems to be following you" Sara says. " who? Me?" I ask.
He is a tall man, with a perfect tanned Iraqi complexion, a while later, he sits next to my mom. And I keep laughing inside, it's like the same poem that I keep repeating, repeat and wonder about, it belongs to someone who has counted the ages and cultures, and this culture is the most beautiful ever.
Zain falls down, and I bend helping him get up, I am afraid he may cry, but he is the brave one who doesn’t do. And I hold his hand, following his father into a game specified for children, I ask them to let me in, i want to share Zain playing, they refuse, I loathe smilingly, and I am back to where my mother is sitting and to where the same young man is stuck.
And my head, that has already been thinking of nothing, starts thinking of the " I love you Shammosa, you! shammosa!" sentence Zain tells me.
In the middle of the ever- lasting thinking, we are going home, and Zain sits in my lap, and we keep talking.
At the door gate, we get out, and go in, out there, an old man with his children are standing, and I hug him, he whispers loudly into my ear " you are great, Shammosa you are great" , and they repeat, "you are great", and I keep contemplating, therefore, I am asked, "are you annoyed by this "you are great"? , I say " never", then,I am asked " so what's wrong, or what's right hehe", "It's nothing, it's just the same shammosa and you are great I have got before" I reply.
By another person, I am asked again the same way of investigation, " by whom???????", I laugh and answer calmly " colleagues in my college".
"Are those colleagues girls or boys mademoiselle ? "
"Hehe, who cares about the gender??!!!!!", and we all keep drinking pepsi , which is of the same advertising, "pepsi is forbidden.. pepsi is cool" .
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Note, recently, I have finished this second grade successfully, and I am officially a third grader. Nothing important has been happening except the daily routine, and tiring days of exams, lectures and boring college and colleagues.
Right now, all the things I want to be in touch with are my vacation simple, and very simple, projects and relaxation..
Also,I have had a wonderful time spent with one side of my relatives. I, for the first time, visited the city of Omara in the south of Iraq. and it needs another post to tell you about, and I will write as soon as possible.
Ramadan itself is knocking at the doors, and I am very shocked of realizing, how rapid the events are going on, and how rapid our days are expended! hope mercy, justice and charity will be our only dealings. And wish you all the best. Till next time I write , you all take care of yourselves, I appreciate every big and simple email was sent to me, and bow for every bit of worrying, caring and encouragement. you all blessed..
1 Mar 2011
Something worth living for
I am not that kind of person who deceives herself or deceives others , but I, from the bottom of whole depth of mine, belong to that flock of people, that great sad flock of people..
And I , from the bottom of whole depth of mine, believe that this chaos will not last for too long.
I just keep holding the bottom of the whole depth of mine..
The problem of a piece of land over there irks me.. It carks me.
It's smooth, soft and gentle that its hard to walk over, and it is not so high, not so far.
It has got a good type of mud, can be chilled, can be competed with both water and sand.
Embedded into the mud are small ragged remnants of roots.
It was said that people had stayed over there, had built over there, and had learnt over there, till it was time for pupils to explode and till time for emotions to lose the feeling of dawns' colours, just prior to when they turned to sleep , just to sleep forever..
Everything can steal its truth from your heart, and everything can be written down to your beliefs, like two banks of a so large imaginary river, like two edges of a limited narrow imaginary sky..
And you keep thinking of your beliefs, what are they? What are they for? Are they expressed into your speeches? Into your work?
Then, booh! Everything disappears, and the truths return to your heart, as deep as the bottom of your whole depth, and you keep carrying the bottom of your whole depth, and you find out that the total chaos was only to irk you, exactly like how the problem of that piece of land is only to irk me..
Around the piece of land , contents of dry air messages hover, past, footsteps, escaping dreams, palms' sighing and names without owners, events without witnesses..
And… And true words, as rare as true deeds..
As my bed keeps swaying within my nights, and as I keep making sure of the blanket covering all of my outside body, there is a start to recognize a smell.
Weird and repeated, warm and so warm, as it gets into my lungs, it begins to burn all of my alveoli.. and the realization comes as , such a deceiving smell, such a fire!! And I keep shouting next, and my voice doesn’t reach any. Finally, want to cough, keeps coughing. want to breathe further.. keeps breathing..
Then I keep waking up, to discover the reality of absence of this smell, keep praying, thanking the Lord for it was just another one of my bad dreams, and keep wondering consequently, do I have to keep drowning into these dreams as if I am living them? Am I living them?!
Maybe people are living my dreams!
I can feel it, can touch it by my eyes, the same smell invading their homes, and it is really preceded by smell of burying alive.
Smell of fire.. smell of freedom.
And perhaps freedom padded by cupidity's raid.
Smell of burying alive.. smell of tyranny.
And perhaps ever-lasting tyranny.
I wonder, did people of that piece of land try to reach the sources of these two smells to destroy them? Or they only preferred to keep arguing, choosing the wrong leaders, doing manners of lying and selfishness? like what I see nowadays!
And I am not that kind of person who keeps deceiving them, and I am that kind of person who belongs to them, desiring at this point to be just like them, just want to criticize them..
The closer probability is the latter and absolutely, it takes a time so long to achieve the former.
We were born like the glass that was made for water, to be free, to be happy, and we should keep filling the glass, keep drinking water.
Between my inner cells and my leaving breaths and the light reflected from above my retina are media .. very wonderful media, media involved in creating huge amounts of moment factors, all together work for letting my thoughts swim, letting my payers flow and letting my bad dreams become banished and my feelings be well mixed, well clarified.
Between people of my piece of land, and others of farther land, are also media, media involved in creating huge amounts of moment factors, all together work for letting those peoples be separated, their thoughts be poisoned, their prayers be weak and their bad dreams come true and letting feelings understand nothing but hatred.
And unfortunately , they keep following them, keep watching their tiny movements, keep believing them to be well pretending of being believing them, with absolute knowledge of the hidden truth, so, they participate in hiding the truth deeper, dropping it low, and this time, not as deep as the bottom of the whole depth of their owns, it's for somewhere lower, and somewhere so far lower.
Then, they become sorry, and find no ways for making things right. And this time, myself, as I belong to them, I fortunately don’t share them the sin, I just share them the faultfinding.
Then, they can realize how good parrots they have turned, good parrots for repeating what's said, without any attempt to distinguish right from wrong, and right and wrong basic ethics both are sculptured all over the inner surfaces of our inside bodies, they know that they have known that before, but maybe after time is over.
Suddenly, a spine stands up in the middle of the chaos, that we are all with our different appearances ,victims for the same carnivore.
People of my piece of land keep cursing many times, cursing others, instead of cursing destinies that led them here, at the edge of abyss, and instead of cursing the surrender that made them close to the death that they are scared of.
People of my piece of land, keep surprising me, they pass into the jungles every time they are allowed to, they keep walking along the embers, and keep crying for the mistakes, repeating the oath every year officially, and every month, every week and every day emotionally.
There'll be a man, as usual, looking for the losses in the depths of the victorious skies. Away from the planes' paths, in order not to create fear, in order to facilitate jobs of those planes in teaching children, teaching them to obey the true human goals, the true human manners,and the true human deeds, and these aspects can remain the only obvious, no matter how dark the underlying sky may seem, no matter how fearful echoes of shooting and injustice may sound..
And as I love to keep following the man and love to do and speak like him, I find that I must explain things about how I am not that kind of person who deceives herself or others, but that same person who belongs to that same sad great flock of people..
Sandybelle
P.S. I have spent good times in my first semester, i mean good and bad times :D, and i did my exams finally, and i did well :)
And I may write a post about that later on.
Thanks for everybody kept in touch, and thanks for everybody kept praying :)
And I , from the bottom of whole depth of mine, believe that this chaos will not last for too long.
I just keep holding the bottom of the whole depth of mine..
The problem of a piece of land over there irks me.. It carks me.
It's smooth, soft and gentle that its hard to walk over, and it is not so high, not so far.
It has got a good type of mud, can be chilled, can be competed with both water and sand.
Embedded into the mud are small ragged remnants of roots.
It was said that people had stayed over there, had built over there, and had learnt over there, till it was time for pupils to explode and till time for emotions to lose the feeling of dawns' colours, just prior to when they turned to sleep , just to sleep forever..
Everything can steal its truth from your heart, and everything can be written down to your beliefs, like two banks of a so large imaginary river, like two edges of a limited narrow imaginary sky..
And you keep thinking of your beliefs, what are they? What are they for? Are they expressed into your speeches? Into your work?
Then, booh! Everything disappears, and the truths return to your heart, as deep as the bottom of your whole depth, and you keep carrying the bottom of your whole depth, and you find out that the total chaos was only to irk you, exactly like how the problem of that piece of land is only to irk me..
Around the piece of land , contents of dry air messages hover, past, footsteps, escaping dreams, palms' sighing and names without owners, events without witnesses..
And… And true words, as rare as true deeds..
As my bed keeps swaying within my nights, and as I keep making sure of the blanket covering all of my outside body, there is a start to recognize a smell.
Weird and repeated, warm and so warm, as it gets into my lungs, it begins to burn all of my alveoli.. and the realization comes as , such a deceiving smell, such a fire!! And I keep shouting next, and my voice doesn’t reach any. Finally, want to cough, keeps coughing. want to breathe further.. keeps breathing..
Then I keep waking up, to discover the reality of absence of this smell, keep praying, thanking the Lord for it was just another one of my bad dreams, and keep wondering consequently, do I have to keep drowning into these dreams as if I am living them? Am I living them?!
Maybe people are living my dreams!
I can feel it, can touch it by my eyes, the same smell invading their homes, and it is really preceded by smell of burying alive.
Smell of fire.. smell of freedom.
And perhaps freedom padded by cupidity's raid.
Smell of burying alive.. smell of tyranny.
And perhaps ever-lasting tyranny.
I wonder, did people of that piece of land try to reach the sources of these two smells to destroy them? Or they only preferred to keep arguing, choosing the wrong leaders, doing manners of lying and selfishness? like what I see nowadays!
And I am not that kind of person who keeps deceiving them, and I am that kind of person who belongs to them, desiring at this point to be just like them, just want to criticize them..
The closer probability is the latter and absolutely, it takes a time so long to achieve the former.
We were born like the glass that was made for water, to be free, to be happy, and we should keep filling the glass, keep drinking water.
Between my inner cells and my leaving breaths and the light reflected from above my retina are media .. very wonderful media, media involved in creating huge amounts of moment factors, all together work for letting my thoughts swim, letting my payers flow and letting my bad dreams become banished and my feelings be well mixed, well clarified.
Between people of my piece of land, and others of farther land, are also media, media involved in creating huge amounts of moment factors, all together work for letting those peoples be separated, their thoughts be poisoned, their prayers be weak and their bad dreams come true and letting feelings understand nothing but hatred.
And unfortunately , they keep following them, keep watching their tiny movements, keep believing them to be well pretending of being believing them, with absolute knowledge of the hidden truth, so, they participate in hiding the truth deeper, dropping it low, and this time, not as deep as the bottom of the whole depth of their owns, it's for somewhere lower, and somewhere so far lower.
Then, they become sorry, and find no ways for making things right. And this time, myself, as I belong to them, I fortunately don’t share them the sin, I just share them the faultfinding.
Then, they can realize how good parrots they have turned, good parrots for repeating what's said, without any attempt to distinguish right from wrong, and right and wrong basic ethics both are sculptured all over the inner surfaces of our inside bodies, they know that they have known that before, but maybe after time is over.
Suddenly, a spine stands up in the middle of the chaos, that we are all with our different appearances ,victims for the same carnivore.
People of my piece of land keep cursing many times, cursing others, instead of cursing destinies that led them here, at the edge of abyss, and instead of cursing the surrender that made them close to the death that they are scared of.
People of my piece of land, keep surprising me, they pass into the jungles every time they are allowed to, they keep walking along the embers, and keep crying for the mistakes, repeating the oath every year officially, and every month, every week and every day emotionally.
There'll be a man, as usual, looking for the losses in the depths of the victorious skies. Away from the planes' paths, in order not to create fear, in order to facilitate jobs of those planes in teaching children, teaching them to obey the true human goals, the true human manners,and the true human deeds, and these aspects can remain the only obvious, no matter how dark the underlying sky may seem, no matter how fearful echoes of shooting and injustice may sound..
And as I love to keep following the man and love to do and speak like him, I find that I must explain things about how I am not that kind of person who deceives herself or others, but that same person who belongs to that same sad great flock of people..
Sandybelle
P.S. I have spent good times in my first semester, i mean good and bad times :D, and i did my exams finally, and i did well :)
And I may write a post about that later on.
Thanks for everybody kept in touch, and thanks for everybody kept praying :)
31 Dec 2010
Maybe 2011 drops..
This morning, I mean morning of the 31st of December, nothing dared to seperate myself from the outside falling raindrops .... Except the glass.
I seemed hopefully trying to count the drops, and I assume I have missed so many of them. They were everywhere I turned my face to, but the most beautiful spot was that one placed at the top of a green leaf, and the latter was placed at the top of the tree, the green tree.
I was surprised how a piece of glass could keep me away from my goal of catching the raindrops, and I kept contemplating the situation.
Later, I found out something, my will really could destroy the glass, and could get a huge number of drops. Besides, the glass was clear, clean and gentle.
The glass resembles the difficulties I have faced within the past 365 days and earlier to a great extent.I believe I have got parts of my goal,and I've missed others.
I also believe that the missed drops will be formed again,like my missed goal parts, only from their own vapor and sunrays..
And there will be a rainbow..
YOU ALL MY DEARS, BE SAFE, BE HAPPY, AND BE HOPEFUL ,BECAUSE YOU ALREADY HAVE THE POWER SO FAR ENOUGH TO ACHIEVE SO MUCH MORE..
AND YOU ALL, ENJOY YOUR NEW YEAR.. HAPPY NEW YEAR..
Sandybelle
18 Nov 2010
You are my Eid
The first morning, they called me, and kept asking for singing..
We kept singing, you are myEid.. You are my Eid.. Keep shining my days.. Keep it up..
We laughed, we wished so much and remembered.. We made a promise that we will never give up..
We love Iraq.. We love our jobs.. We are for each other.. For our deeds and manners..
And I'm here to say, "YOU ARE MY EID".. You are my hapiness..
Sandybelle
P.S. I have so much to say.. I'll write as soon as possible.. And I love you..
We kept singing, you are myEid.. You are my Eid.. Keep shining my days.. Keep it up..
We laughed, we wished so much and remembered.. We made a promise that we will never give up..
We love Iraq.. We love our jobs.. We are for each other.. For our deeds and manners..
And I'm here to say, "YOU ARE MY EID".. You are my hapiness..
Sandybelle
P.S. I have so much to say.. I'll write as soon as possible.. And I love you..
25 Sept 2010
The Nexus
I read it, couldn’t trust it to believe it, and I seemed to be staring at it.
I was staring in the faces of others of my same age and others who were older and they all were busy talking and laughing.
That happened in a garden. One morning of one day of my past.
The garden's grass was telling the water drops how to dance gently, and the surrounding trees invited the sparrows to gather together happily.
Then, I stared at it again, it was spelling out the same paragraph I had memorized from another book, by the help of my parents, overcoming my stubborness " i can read it by myself", trying to make me understand the difficulty that any person might face in the beginning of learning reading. I would just open that book yearningly because I trusted it and believed it, and was sure it always kept the paragraph in a perfect way.
That book had the same name, was located at the top of a very beautiful table in my parents' room and appeared so much different from the one in my hand.
The book at home was big, with a very thick cover and so clear and big words written in a wonderful way. And the book in my hand was thin and its writing was normal and I could understand the words after tries of collecting the spelling of the letters.
My father was always teaching me the pleasure of writing, and he would always draw the letters as nets of points that I had to join together. So, I drew, wrote, spoke and enjoyed.
I couldn’t find out the difference reason between those two books, besides, they had told me that the celestial books could never change!
I ran to the teacher, who was sitting at a point out of a semicircle made up by girls and bags.
I asked her what that book was and she answered me that it was the Qur'an, I asked her back how, and this time, she gave no answer, she just kept gazing at me rising up her eyebrows, and trying to understand the continuation of my talking, which was mixed with discomfort, worries, queries and big desires to know.
I ran back to my place, then , I changed my mind and headed for the fence, which was engraved by shapes of squares and triangles which helped me to climb it up easily, I wanted to go into the outside world to find the answers I was willing to get.
I kept running, and I started coughing soon. The sun was facing my forehead directly, as if it was leading me the way. When I passed the corner of the road I found myself in a place higher than the houses before me, and the sweat dropped down my whole face. It was so beautiful to see my home fixed down there, amongst many others, I picked the information of the opening door but after a short while, a nightmare woke up.
I turned back afraid, and I stopped wanting to run. I began walking cattily, that no creature had to hear me coming.
Suddenly, I caught noticing its shadow before its body, and its barking before its fur. It was the same street dog again, and of course it was willing to attack me as usual.
I quickly decided to return to the masjid, but I found myself breaking through the air down to our house.
The dog almost caught me, but I cried and cried more and more, and it ran away!
I entered terribly. When I saw my mom, I burst into tears, and hugged her so tight. She was shocked, and kept asking me what was wrong, I was out of speech, and she did her best to conciliate me. She succeeded.
Later, I told her what had occurred, and she chirked me with a voice lighter than the breeze for I broke down my fear against that dog. She also, represented something about that book, and she said the Qur'an consisted of 30 chapters. And It was easier to divide it into booklets for each chapter to facilitate reading it for children like me.
I understood after listening so well, and after making her repeat it so many times.
In the afternoon, the teacher visited us to make sure all was fine, and I pinched my mom while she was talking to her, since I didn’t want the teacher to know anything.
I always smile widely when I remember that day, and I thank God sincerely for he gave me that great mother.
In the ends of that same Summer, I went to school, and it was my first year in a location like this. I found it so amazing, and I was always doing my homework with no loitering.
I came to know many new friends who carelessly shared in building my personality.
I so well still remember Mina.
Mina was a tall girl, with a brown wavy hair, and dark blue eyes. We liked each other, and we became close friends although she was older than me with perhaps 3 years.
We always shared food, juice, notebooks, puzzles, stickers and toys.
We were like one soul seperated into two bodies.
She said she was Christian, and that made no sense for me, since my mom's best friend had been Christian too and that had made no sense for my mom.
We were chalking a big map on the ground once ,when she told me she always went to the church on Sunday, "to say prayers and renew the emotions" I so far well remember her sentence. And inside me, I loved the idea, and planned to accompany her, I would take that little Qur'an ( I had named the one of my parents as the big Qur'an and my own one as the little Qur'an) and go to say prayers too.
Something happened that Thursday and made me forget telling my mom about my plan, but I surely told Mina, I asked her to teach me the church name so I would ask my mom to bring me there if she would have the spare time, and so, I would be with Mina renewing my emotions.
I showed Mina the little Qur'an, and I took the floor, until I noticed she was looking at me with a big surprise all time long.
There was a pause during which I was thinking of what to do.
Mina interrupted that pause, and said with a contement " you can't accompany me to the church. You are Muslim, you have to go to the masjid and say your prayers, you are not a coreligionist of mine dear" and she kept backslapping me. That baffled me, and gave me no chance to state I couldn’t understand her point.
The air surrounded us both warmly, but it made me feel its coolish masses too. That caused a banked load as I was trying to contradict those annoying lying doubts.
When it was time to return home, and after the bell rang, I ran to the school yard, and couldn’t see Mina amongst the crowded people.
Sadness tails were hard to pull, as though my limbs were crawling so hard culling me to be cumbered violently but able to walk over the holes to get into the car unawarely.
As soon as I got home, I found no hand to condone those tails or those holes.
My mom, the best conversable, with the same voice tone of early Summer, kept calming me down, and I can assume she became so tired trying knowing the main depth of the problem.
And that day, she told me something I had not known before " Sandybelle, people are many, and they are different too. Although they seem to be alike many many times. They love, dislike, want, and dream. Their feelings differ according to the situation. And sure, they need to refresh their emotions from a time to another. There are many ways to do so, and one of them, is saying prayers. The main purpose, is to talk to God in a formal way, explain their deeds, sins and goodies.
The prayers differ according to the religion. And there are many like Islam and Christianity. Each religion has got its own teachings, but they all originally are here to serve man and felicitate life and love." that was so much for my realisation ability, but I can say I guessed what she meant. " you shouldn’t be sad ever. As much as you love God and love Mina. Don’t worry about it, just trust the thing you do" she added.
I shrugged me shoulders and remained speechless.
Two weeks later, my mom took me to a convent. And it was the first time I entered a place like that.
I loved the masjid and the convent both. And never asked about that subject again. Perhaps because life brought much more and it was too enough and more important than talking about the difference, or perhaps I avoided talking about it because I was afraid I might not understand well again.
Mom also told me " the prophet Mohammad is for Islam. And the prophet Jesus Christ is for Christianity. Moses too was for Judaism"
By time, I learnt about sects too. And whenever I learnt a new thing, parts of my ignorance corroded and died out, and I felt more confident.
And I thought the question about the difference shouldn't be answered though, since as the answer tried to be complain, man's conceit turned caliginous and the beautiful truth's face soon hid behind the wisdom body.
"And the equality will just appear in the endless world, where we do never have to choke or fear.." the old man said " nothing to worry about, as much as we think deeply of the real necessary duties we've got to do today, or will do any other day. There's the big humanity, when the religions prostrate humily for man, and the greatness of Allah appears purely " he added as he held up his grandchild , and looked straight into a far distance,maybe he was thinking the same thing, of how much man loved life but chose being away from it.
The distance stretched along the sky, and maybe longer, and helplessly ended to an endless horizon,where the image of the little and big Qur'ans appeared, and the two books were held in Mina's hand...
Sandybelle
P.S. my college will start this Sunday. And I may not be able to write often, so, for any expected :) absence, give me the excuse. and remeber that I love you..
I was staring in the faces of others of my same age and others who were older and they all were busy talking and laughing.
That happened in a garden. One morning of one day of my past.
The garden's grass was telling the water drops how to dance gently, and the surrounding trees invited the sparrows to gather together happily.
Then, I stared at it again, it was spelling out the same paragraph I had memorized from another book, by the help of my parents, overcoming my stubborness " i can read it by myself", trying to make me understand the difficulty that any person might face in the beginning of learning reading. I would just open that book yearningly because I trusted it and believed it, and was sure it always kept the paragraph in a perfect way.
That book had the same name, was located at the top of a very beautiful table in my parents' room and appeared so much different from the one in my hand.
The book at home was big, with a very thick cover and so clear and big words written in a wonderful way. And the book in my hand was thin and its writing was normal and I could understand the words after tries of collecting the spelling of the letters.
My father was always teaching me the pleasure of writing, and he would always draw the letters as nets of points that I had to join together. So, I drew, wrote, spoke and enjoyed.
I couldn’t find out the difference reason between those two books, besides, they had told me that the celestial books could never change!
I ran to the teacher, who was sitting at a point out of a semicircle made up by girls and bags.
I asked her what that book was and she answered me that it was the Qur'an, I asked her back how, and this time, she gave no answer, she just kept gazing at me rising up her eyebrows, and trying to understand the continuation of my talking, which was mixed with discomfort, worries, queries and big desires to know.
I ran back to my place, then , I changed my mind and headed for the fence, which was engraved by shapes of squares and triangles which helped me to climb it up easily, I wanted to go into the outside world to find the answers I was willing to get.
I kept running, and I started coughing soon. The sun was facing my forehead directly, as if it was leading me the way. When I passed the corner of the road I found myself in a place higher than the houses before me, and the sweat dropped down my whole face. It was so beautiful to see my home fixed down there, amongst many others, I picked the information of the opening door but after a short while, a nightmare woke up.
I turned back afraid, and I stopped wanting to run. I began walking cattily, that no creature had to hear me coming.
Suddenly, I caught noticing its shadow before its body, and its barking before its fur. It was the same street dog again, and of course it was willing to attack me as usual.
I quickly decided to return to the masjid, but I found myself breaking through the air down to our house.
The dog almost caught me, but I cried and cried more and more, and it ran away!
I entered terribly. When I saw my mom, I burst into tears, and hugged her so tight. She was shocked, and kept asking me what was wrong, I was out of speech, and she did her best to conciliate me. She succeeded.
Later, I told her what had occurred, and she chirked me with a voice lighter than the breeze for I broke down my fear against that dog. She also, represented something about that book, and she said the Qur'an consisted of 30 chapters. And It was easier to divide it into booklets for each chapter to facilitate reading it for children like me.
I understood after listening so well, and after making her repeat it so many times.
In the afternoon, the teacher visited us to make sure all was fine, and I pinched my mom while she was talking to her, since I didn’t want the teacher to know anything.
I always smile widely when I remember that day, and I thank God sincerely for he gave me that great mother.
In the ends of that same Summer, I went to school, and it was my first year in a location like this. I found it so amazing, and I was always doing my homework with no loitering.
I came to know many new friends who carelessly shared in building my personality.
I so well still remember Mina.
Mina was a tall girl, with a brown wavy hair, and dark blue eyes. We liked each other, and we became close friends although she was older than me with perhaps 3 years.
We always shared food, juice, notebooks, puzzles, stickers and toys.
We were like one soul seperated into two bodies.
She said she was Christian, and that made no sense for me, since my mom's best friend had been Christian too and that had made no sense for my mom.
We were chalking a big map on the ground once ,when she told me she always went to the church on Sunday, "to say prayers and renew the emotions" I so far well remember her sentence. And inside me, I loved the idea, and planned to accompany her, I would take that little Qur'an ( I had named the one of my parents as the big Qur'an and my own one as the little Qur'an) and go to say prayers too.
Something happened that Thursday and made me forget telling my mom about my plan, but I surely told Mina, I asked her to teach me the church name so I would ask my mom to bring me there if she would have the spare time, and so, I would be with Mina renewing my emotions.
I showed Mina the little Qur'an, and I took the floor, until I noticed she was looking at me with a big surprise all time long.
There was a pause during which I was thinking of what to do.
Mina interrupted that pause, and said with a contement " you can't accompany me to the church. You are Muslim, you have to go to the masjid and say your prayers, you are not a coreligionist of mine dear" and she kept backslapping me. That baffled me, and gave me no chance to state I couldn’t understand her point.
The air surrounded us both warmly, but it made me feel its coolish masses too. That caused a banked load as I was trying to contradict those annoying lying doubts.
When it was time to return home, and after the bell rang, I ran to the school yard, and couldn’t see Mina amongst the crowded people.
Sadness tails were hard to pull, as though my limbs were crawling so hard culling me to be cumbered violently but able to walk over the holes to get into the car unawarely.
As soon as I got home, I found no hand to condone those tails or those holes.
My mom, the best conversable, with the same voice tone of early Summer, kept calming me down, and I can assume she became so tired trying knowing the main depth of the problem.
And that day, she told me something I had not known before " Sandybelle, people are many, and they are different too. Although they seem to be alike many many times. They love, dislike, want, and dream. Their feelings differ according to the situation. And sure, they need to refresh their emotions from a time to another. There are many ways to do so, and one of them, is saying prayers. The main purpose, is to talk to God in a formal way, explain their deeds, sins and goodies.
The prayers differ according to the religion. And there are many like Islam and Christianity. Each religion has got its own teachings, but they all originally are here to serve man and felicitate life and love." that was so much for my realisation ability, but I can say I guessed what she meant. " you shouldn’t be sad ever. As much as you love God and love Mina. Don’t worry about it, just trust the thing you do" she added.
I shrugged me shoulders and remained speechless.
Two weeks later, my mom took me to a convent. And it was the first time I entered a place like that.
I loved the masjid and the convent both. And never asked about that subject again. Perhaps because life brought much more and it was too enough and more important than talking about the difference, or perhaps I avoided talking about it because I was afraid I might not understand well again.
Mom also told me " the prophet Mohammad is for Islam. And the prophet Jesus Christ is for Christianity. Moses too was for Judaism"
By time, I learnt about sects too. And whenever I learnt a new thing, parts of my ignorance corroded and died out, and I felt more confident.
And I thought the question about the difference shouldn't be answered though, since as the answer tried to be complain, man's conceit turned caliginous and the beautiful truth's face soon hid behind the wisdom body.
"And the equality will just appear in the endless world, where we do never have to choke or fear.." the old man said " nothing to worry about, as much as we think deeply of the real necessary duties we've got to do today, or will do any other day. There's the big humanity, when the religions prostrate humily for man, and the greatness of Allah appears purely " he added as he held up his grandchild , and looked straight into a far distance,maybe he was thinking the same thing, of how much man loved life but chose being away from it.
The distance stretched along the sky, and maybe longer, and helplessly ended to an endless horizon,where the image of the little and big Qur'ans appeared, and the two books were held in Mina's hand...
Sandybelle
P.S. my college will start this Sunday. And I may not be able to write often, so, for any expected :) absence, give me the excuse. and remeber that I love you..
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