Winter holidays

There is one positive aspect to leaving. Shedding one's skin can be worthwhile, despite the scars that fester in the soul. On the occasion of leaving, we become a charity event. We wear the skin of who we dreamed of being, or who hosts us with painful questions about who we were there. Shahinaz arrived in a country. She wandered through its cold streets and embraced them. She loved the gazelles of its celebrations and the lights of its joy. And the multifaceted relationship between a lie and a storyteller. A storyteller who is unfamiliar with the streets. She inhabits her body silently and shyly, as if she were inhabiting virgin land. Between the two girls lie vast worlds, much that is unspoken, years of life experience, and only five centimeters between them in a single bedroom designated to receive them. But they agree on their love of tabbouleh. And that is enough in the harshness of exile. Leaving, we remain loyal to ourselves. We search for the executioner despite the new life that has been granted to us. We have become accustomed to tasting life only with pain. Something within us needs to be painfully dug out so we can breathe. Is it habit? Is it an inherited disease from the lands where we lived gagged, safe in the shadow of the mighty giant? Or is it love in every sense? Perhaps it is all of this, and the challenge is to reshape it under a new sky… Leaving has a silver lining. It offers a chance for detachment, despite the lingering scars of the soul. When we leave, we can transform into someone new, shedding the old skin of our past selves. Shahinaz arrived in a foreign land seeking refuge. She wandered its cold streets, fell in love with its festive deer and cheerful lights, and formed an intimate but deceptive relationship with the narrator. The narrator struggled to adapt to these unfamiliar streets, as if approaching untouched territory.

Between the two girls lay unspoken words, years of life experiences, and a mere five centimeters separating their beds in a room designated for them. Yet, they found common ground in their love of tabbouleh, which was enough to warm their hearts amidst the cold loneliness.

Even in departure, we remain true to ourselves. We continue to search for what haunts us, even as we embrace a new beginning. It's as if we've grown accustomed to tasting life's bitterness through pain, as if something within us needs the painful digging to breathe. Is it habit? Is it an inheritance from the land where we once lived in silence and shadows, under the protection of a powerful genie? Or perhaps, it's simply love. Perhaps it's a combination of all of these, and the challenge lies in reusing it under a new sky.