Saudis under the Mask

في منتصف ليلة سوداء، وبينما كانت قطرات المطر تهطل بغزارة وتغيّر من تيّار الرياح، دخل طفل صغير وهو يبكي ويصرخ قائلًا "أمي تعبة وسقطت أمام بوابات المشفى،" ولكن لم يسمعه إلا قلة.   كانت تتهافت الأنفاس في وسط منطقة الطوارئ، ويتراكض الأطباء لإنقاذ المصابين ولَم يسمعه إلا ذوي المصابين في وسط حزنهم، لذلك لَم يستجيب أحد لنداؤه. بدأ يصرخ بصوت أعلى ويبكي حتى سمعه طبيب مناوب وركض لمساعدة أمه. تجمّع الأطباء والممرضات حول والدة الطفل الصغير لإنقاذها. بكى وهو ينظر إلى أمه التي بدأت تنزف دمًا من رأسها، ولَم يكن بيده شيء ليفعله سوى النظر إليها من بعيد.  استقر حال والدة الطفل الصغير بعد ساعة من محاولات شتى لإنقاذها من الموت. انتظر الطفل أمام باب غرفتها لساعات متواصلة دون أن يجلس، خوفًا من استيقاظ والدته دون أن تراه أمامها. انتظر الطفل حتى شعر بالنعاس وغفى دون قصد. بدأت صافرات تنطلق من غرفتها واستيقظ ابنها ورأى الأطباء يركضون لإنقاذها. كان طفلها يراها من وراء النافذة ويبكي من خوفه على أمه. بدأ الأطباء بإنعاشها ولكن باءت محاولاتهم بالفشل وانطلق صوت استمر طويلًا حتى سمع الطفل صوت الأطباء وه

قرأت مرة في كتاب دوستويفسكي أنه يُعاني من حُمّى التفكير فهو يفكر فيما حدث وفيما سيحدث وفيما لو قد يحدث.  بالنسبة لي فأنا أُعاني من حُمى التأمل، أقضي عدة ساعات في تأمل أشياء لا أحد يقف أمامها لوهلة، قد يطول بي الوقوف في شارعٍ طويل مُقمر أو الجلوس في مكان لا يعبرهُ كثير من المارّة، أُطيل النظر في ملامح ليست على حظٍ كبير من الجمال، أُعيد قراءة بعض الكتب لمرّات، أُراقب بداية هطول المطر على يدي بينما الآخرين يراقبونه خلف النافذة. لا أعرف ما الذي يدفعني للشعور بالأشياء أكثر من اللازم وطالما فضّلت عيشُها دونَ التفوه بكلمة واحدة كونُها لحظات ليس بوسعي وصف وقعُها كما هي في واقع الحال.

الساعة تشير إلى الواحدة والسادسة عشر دقيقة صباحًا، وما زال كل فكري عنك أنت وحدك، تبعدنا مسافة تقارب ثمانية الآف ومئتان وتسعين ميل. ورغم بُعد المسافة التي بيننا إلا أنك الوحيد القريب لقلبي. أحبك.. و سأحبك حتى نكبر ونشيخ.. حتى أرى تجاعيد وجهك.. حتى يشيب شعرك.. سأحبك إلى آخر أنفاسي، وسأدعو الخالق عندها بأن يهبني إياك في جنان الخُلد حيث ما لا عينٌ رأت ولا أُذن سمعت ولا خطر على قلب بشر..

I take a moment to close my eyes when I hear nothing. When I'm surrounded by silence. A place where I find my inner self. I travel through mind exploring its narrow streets and its crowded neighborhoods. I get lost in my head. I'm lost, then a sudden sound disturbs my tranquility. The calmness I find in me. And now I've lost the silence.

1:16 am ... I wake up drenched in sweat. Your face, voice, smile they all haunt my dreams. I lay awake feeling paralyzed. ... The fact that I didn't get to say goodbye still torments me. You just left us so suddenly. My eyes wouldn't stop shedding tears. ... You know what hurts the most? I forgot. ... I forgot your voice. I forgot your laugh. I forgot the way your eyes would crinkle whenever I told you a joke. ... You were so young. So naive. So fragile. ... I miss you. I still love you. I need you. … 1:16 am

Locked in a windowless room I sat in the pitiful dark, drowning in silence. I waited for death to take me away, for death seemed to be my only asylum from the atrocious, ghastly silence that is slowly driving me to insanity. They say that silence is the most powerful scream, I could not agree more, though it cannot be heard, it can be felt. I felt my body slowly burn. A drop falling from my forehead to the ground It is slowly, painfully dissolving my skin, making me nothing but a melting mixture of flesh and blood in the deathly dark. I look at my hand, slowly perceiving my hot skin as my scarlet muscles appeared. My nails slowly detaching from my fingers, falling off one by one, then my lips quivered in trembling fear. As both are about to be the maddening silence's next victims, it lingered onto them, filling them both with loud and deafening screeches, making them crumble into the pitch black ashes on my lap as it dissolves into the darkness. My eyes were next

Have you ever decided to speak, but went against it because you know no one would listen? Have you ever tried to make friends, but went against it, afraid you will be rejected? I have and it hurts. I used to think that I need to change my personality to make people to like me and maybe I would be able to make friends, to stop being shy and try a new personality, but this wasn’t the case. Life isn’t like that, it's not the same as we see in movies where people would like you if you change yourself and became what they want. I began to speak less, to show myself less. I began to be silent. Surprisingly, It wasn’t that bad. Silence isn't as bad as everyone thinks, I found peace. I found myself again and I began to like silence, I became more fond of my silent self. To not be able to care? To reply with silence when someone yells at you? To shut them with silence? How wonderful can that be! How powerful does that sound? To have that power and b

1:16 a.m The night came and she was still in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection aimlessly. She sees herself and started to count her flaws; How unpretty she was, How unlucky she was, How she felt unloved not even by her own family, She hears the voice, the one she always calls the devil, in her head telling her things, things that only hurt her and made her feel small. A tear fell down her cheek, felt like a hot drop in a cold water. More tears started to fall, knowing that what he says was true. 1:16 a.m has been marked in her memory as the time where she would do the same and each time she would cry, but with each time, she hopes that  she would hear another voice, a voice that would tell her how imperfections can be perfect in a world full of perfectionists.

Funeral. They took me into a room of white, the only thing that broke the brightness were figures as dark and motionless as stone. Their faces bared no feelings, their lips didn't make a sound. I had so many questions to ask so I start heading towards a face that seems familiar. "Hello, is everything okay?" And my only response was a slow stare from the ground, going to my feet, legs, chest and ended up poring into my eyes. As I stare back I see nothing but the hollowness of a cave inside its black pupils. I staggered back and looked for another familiar face I could calm myself with. Suddenly, something grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into the depth of it. A squeal is all I could get out as it devours me to a hollow space within, then I stop panicking and listen to a sound like a deep sweep of a violin, a sound that seems to reach out for me, for hope and help that I could not give. "What's wrong?" I ask, but the voice only gets louder so I try to untan

An ode of silence (with a little bit of words). Come now my darling, lets show them how we speak silence so fluently we are so eloquently quiet for when we speak, the noise distances us apart  and the words get caught into a net of misunderstanding when we bask in the sound of nothing we don’t need to stir words inside our chipped cups of tea for it to sound a little less bitter they say, some day the silence will grow like tangled shrubs between us, coming to strangle us but I say it keeps all the regrets at bay and the only silence I can’t bear is the kind when your laugh doesn't go all the way through the kind of silence when the car ride home becomes trail of gasoline bound to explode as soon as a lighter is held up too close to home the kind when the silence becomes a library shelved with books of all the things we cannot say that is when the silence becomes a song for sorrow  silence is a language when it hurts to speak and it is best spoken it

1:16am. It's always that exact number. Same time, every single night, for the past two weeks. How do I begin to explain how much that number terrifies me? I haven't slept for days. I haven't been eating lately. I've been living off of strong black coffees and energy drinks to keep me up. I don't want to sleep. I can't sleep. I remember the first time it happened. I was on my laptop when the clock struck 1:16am. The closet creaked open and the air went cold. Something was crawling out of the closet and coming towards me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. It hovered over me and I saw those cold, dead eyes glazed over with a thick mucus. It sunk its long, sharp claws deep into my flesh and tore me apart as I screamed in agonizing pain. But I couldn't make a sound. Nothing was coming out of my mouth, and I couldn't move. Blood soaked my bed sheets and my clothes and flesh were ripped. The torture went on for what seemed like forever, but was

1:16 AM ما أعرفه هو أنني سأظل أكتب لك العديد من الرسائل وأحدثك عن التفاصيل المهمة والغير مهمة وستظلين بعيدة. إنه الشتاء يبدو قدومة باكرًا بعض الشيء وأشدُّ برودةً من العام الماضي هذا ما قرأتة في الأحوال الجوية. إنني أشتاق لحديثنا الذي يطول حول المدفأة ليلاً وأعتقد هذا هو الرابط الذي بينك وبين الأوقات المُتأخرة التي أكتب لكِ فيها دائمًا. كيف تمضي معك الايام؟ وكيف تُعِدِّ قهوتك صباحاً؟ بالمناسبة كوب القهوة الخاص بك أحتفظ به حتى الآن. اكتبي لي أغانيك المفضلة لهذة السنة ولو أنهُ على حد علمي بأن قائمتك لاتجدد كثيرًا، كلماتك التي تُقويّك كُل ما أحبطك الواقع، شخصياتك التي تُفضلين مُشاهدتها، كتبك التي تُعيدين قراءتها، قد تبدو لك هذة القائمة سطحية للغاية لكنها في الحقيقة تنقل لي كل ما أودّ معرفته عنك وأكثر.

ابتداءً من الذات، يجري البحث عن السكون. ابتداءً من عقلٍ أنهك بضوضاء فكرٍ مستمر، من عقلٍ جاهل بماهية الرخاء و طبيعته. السكون، قدرة العقل على التحرر من قيوده- قدرته على الاستقلال من قيودٍ تجبره على تحليل الماضي و تخطيط المستقبل؛ من ندمٍ لحق به جراء تصرفٍ عفوي لم يع به سواه من خوف إعادة خوض تجارب باءت بالفشل. السكون، قدرة الشخص على إغلاق عينيه دون أن يشعر بصدى ضميرٍ يؤنبه أو آخرٌ يشجعه. السكون، و لو مخالفةٌ لمدارس النحو؛ علامة وقف. السكون، دواءٌ لكل داء. السكون، غذاءٌ للعقل و شفاء. السكون، نتيجة رحلةٍ تبدأها الذات في سبيل التخلي عن الشقاء و البحث عن الرخاء.

1:09:57AM - Wires. Red, blue, yellow, and white wires. Codes that my brain could not understand nor comprehend. A digital clock ticked, indicating my time was coming to an end as this is my last clue. 1:11:11AM - Other contesters rushed into the theater, loud cheers signaled their joy as they got closer to the finish line. I smiled, no one got as close to it as I got. I stared at them from the balcony and traced the wires with my eyes, they terminated at the center of the theater and got lost between the rows of seats. 1:12:29AM - It's a bomb. 1:13:00AM - Three minutes for evacuation, or we all die. 1:13:01AM - "It's a bomb" I whispered. "It's a bomb!" I yelled. Everyone looked for the source of my sound. "Trying to throw us off, aren't you?" "If you're so sure it's a bomb, how come you haven't run for your life yet?" "Reveal yourself, it’s been a tough road getting here, we won

وعلى الرغم من بُعد المسافات بيننا، إلّا أنها لم تكن عائقًا لما بيننا يومًا ما… لم يكن هناك سوى عائقٌ واحد؛ الصمت. فأنا لم أعد أعرف كيف أفسره؛ لم أعد أعرف علامَ يدل… أصبحتُ أصبّر نفسي وأواسيها بمواعيد وهمية، لا وجود لها… غدًا… غدًا ينتهي الصمت، غدًا يُكسَر ذلك الحاجز الذي بُنِي بيننا دون سابق إنذار، غدًا يموت الكبرياء ونلتقي… ولكن للأسف؛ صبرت لوقتٍ طويلٍ حتى وصلت لعامي الثالث الذي أصبّر نفسي فيه بالكلمات ذاتها، ولا نلتقي… وعلى الرغم من ذلك، فمازال بداخلي قليلٌ من الأمل، مازلتُ أنتظر ذاك اليوم الذي سيُعيد لي الحياة... اليوم الذي سيُغيِّر الكثير فيّ، وربما في ما فيك أيضًا… أعِدُك أن أكتفي بسماع صوتك وهو يتفوّه بكلمةٍ واحدةٍ فقط، وإن كنت ستعطيني مطلق الخيار، فسأختار أن أسمع اسمي.

The lights are mostly off except for the dimmed ones on the bedside table. The bed is cold & the pillows seemed more sinkable this afternoon. The house is dead quiet, and the rooms are secluded in darkness with the people I love the most in deep slumber. And yet I toss and turn.   A thought drags another restless thought. I grab the phone & look for any attempt of communication at this late time but no, everyone's dead asleep or dwelling on their own thoughts. So I toss and turn.   All of God's land is relentlessly beautiful at night with the stars gazing down yet it's so very lonely and abandoned. The streets are empty, the shops are closed, the sidewalks are transparent, the air is clear, and the beds are filled. So I toss in turn.   I toss and turn till my body grows tired of the shape it has taken on the bed beneath it. I get up and get ready. What for? You might be wondering. It's not daytime yet. Well, I get ready for the skies. The divine skies are

Is silence just a complete absence of words? Or is it just our mind speaking louder than us? Everything tells us a story there’s no such thing as a complete absence of words, in my opinion, it’s not complete silence your mind is thinking about something. We have such a wrong idea about "silence" that when we are out of words, people can’t hang out with each other. “Keep the ones that heard you when you never said a word” the ones that heard your mind speaking when your mouth failed you. If nature can speak to us when there are no absolute words if the world can speak to us, if pictures speak to us somehow, I think we should understand a person’s silence. My mind… I can hear you speaking louder than everyone else, I’m so focused on what you’re saying to me that I can’t hear anyone around me, everything else looks like a blur, you are reflecting my absence out there. It’s like you took me to another place, a place where I’m alone, where you are speaking but out there my

Your effervescence, the way it encompasses me, like the rays of the sun, sheltering me between your ribs, and enveloping me amid the dark chaos. I was left alone, stranded under the storm, with no safe haven. Standing here, in this merciless, earsplitting silence, and I call for you, but there’s no answer. Your warmth, now nonexistent, is replaced with a dark cold, sending shivers down my body, all caused by your absence. Your silence.

01:14:06AM        This was the last thing I ever expected to happen to me. At least, not right now. As I was restless and preoccupied with my train of thoughts, a jolt of panic went back to my head, questioning my existence and what I’ve done throughout my time here. I, for one thing, am an overjoyed person that can hardly suppress his laugh towards any possible joke. I, for another thing, can barely overcome my tears. I, a human filled with raw emotions, have failed to cover my feelings during all times. 01:14:55AM        I was lying on my bed when I looked outside the open window; my face became aghast with unsettlement when a thought occurred to me: the night’s darkness will envelope me in a few minutes, and I will be gone. Breathing in heavy intakes of air, I shot up from my bed and reached for my mother’s notebook. My engagement ring glinted in the dark as I flipped through the pages, and my voice hitched when I said my fiancée’s name through tears. I told her that she’s the b

I try to relive what it was like when you were here, but I can only see fragments of that. I see glimpses of you, but you never fully appear. I fight the sleep in my eyes just so that maybe one night I'd finally hear your soft whispers. I turn in my bed 26 times before the tears come running down my face, and right there and then, I can almost feel your fingers wiping away my tears. But then again, you're hardly ever here, you never fully appear.

ما يحول بيني وبينك الآن. أكثر الأماكن وحدة وأقلهم سوداوية في هذه الحياة، كونه أول علامات التخلي في رواياتنا. هذا الحيز الصغير الذي نتخذه حال ما زادت مشاعرنا وحال ما غُلِبت مفرداتنا لقوة وضجيج ذلك الشعور الداخلي. عندما يبدو الكلام بلا جدوى، وكل عتاب يُصبح كأنه قصة طال تكرارها لأجيال لا تكترث لأساطير الأولين. هذا الهدوء المزعج الذي لا تُحل عقدته، إن طال فلا مخرج من صخبه، وإن قصر فليس الكلام أكثر رحمة منه