Winter Holidays

There is one positive side to departure. Shedding oneself can be rewarding, despite the scars ingrained in the soul. In departure, we become others. We wear the skin of who we dreamed of being, or someone who spares us the painful questions about who we were there. Shahinaz arrived in the country of asylum. She got lost in its cold streets and embraced them. Ghazlan loved its holidays and joyful lights. She forged an intimate relationship with Rawiya, built on a lie. Rawiya is unfamiliar with the streets. She inhabits her body silently and shyly, as she inhabits virgin land. Between the two girls lie vast worlds, much that remains unspoken, years of life experience, and only five centimeters between two beds in the single room designated to accommodate them. But they agree on their love of tabbouleh. And that's enough in the freezing cold of exile. And in departure, we remain, too. Searching for the executioner despite the new life we ​​have been granted. We have become accustomed to tasting life only with pain. Something inside us needs to be painfully dug out to breathe. Is it habit? Is it a disease inherited from the countries where we lived, gagged, in safety and under the shadow of the mighty giant? Or is it simply love? Perhaps it is all of this, and the bet is to recycle it under a new sky... Leaving has its silver lining. It offers a chance for detachment, despite the soul's lingering scars. When we depart, 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 chilly streets, fell in love with its festive gazelles and joyful lights, and formed an intimate yet deceitful bond with the narrator. The narrator struggled to adapt to these unfamiliar streets, much like one would approach untouched land.

Between the two girls lay unspoken words, years of life experiences, and just a mere five centimetres separating their beds in a room designated for their reception. However, they found common ground in their love for tabbouleh, which was enough to warm their hearts in the midst of cold estrangement.

Even in departure, we remain true to ourselves. We continue the search for what haunts us, even as we embrace a fresh start. It's as though we've grown accustomed to tasting life's bitterness through pain, as if something within us needs the painful excavation 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. Maybe it's a mix of all these, and the challenge lies in repurposing it beneath a new sky.