her hands, they are rough and have seen life. cancerous mother, dead father, i don’t remember the others…. she is the rope that everyone clings after. look at the way she carries herself, as she struts proud in her gait, composed, prepared to meet life, not undulated, hardened, stiffened. i try to spark some interest in her but to no avail.
of course she fascinates me when she tells me of writhy alphabets, the three letter bases that give rise to many different layers of meaning and uses. i tell her i am no longer used to learning a language, and that i, have abandoned my french, german (or even latin for that matter) buried beneath the dust, only to be picked up for the scarce visitors that i receive. they ask me, oh mai, are you learning this? i say, i used to, don’t ask me a thing.
Bert shall be disappointed I haven’t picked up and read any Baudelaire.
but look at her as the many people squirm around her and ask for translations and differences between what . she explains them perfectly and with great ease. now that, maisarah, is, useful knowledge. one that can be extended towards others. on the other hand, no one gives a shit whether or not you have read Goethe’s Faust. you want to translate Rilke? learn German, dear.
just like knowing and understanding English and its nuances can gives us a way to open up to many types of literature and a new understanding, one can begin to acquaint oneself with more meaning and ideas, and so is the case with the Arabic language. it is the stairs towards a new attic with hidden treasures. no i haven’t got the quote with me at the moment.
and one has to understand every word of the imam when he recites and weep. and i know nothing. nothing but connectors and common verbs and nouns. i weep for myself. when shall i learn?
i must i must i must.
***
and he says i have to chill out and relax and switch off, so to speak. that he does not know i manage to keep up with all this. honey, i have no time to rest. i shall die if i run dry. it is a curse of the gifted. if i am stagnant, my mind shall run rampantly ill and dark thoughts shall secretly make its way into my head. and i’d rather die of exhaustion than slowly die and be nothing.
perkaraperkara 