The airport. The plane. The pain. The people. The hours. The goodbye. The tears. Everything was collapsing around me. Everything was crashing down and coming back up. Everything was screaming at my face. Come on. I’ve done this before. I’ve been doing this for three years now. No tears. My brother knows me too well. I remembered what he had told me earlier: “I don’t want you to cry”. He knew i would feel it all. He knew i would want to cry. Making eye contact with my mother became impossible. Hugging her felt like giving away a piece of my heart. I could feel the tears trying to come out of me, and something else trying to hold them back. And that was it. I was there. I let myself be in the confusion of that moment. The Goodbye.
Coming home is always a good idea. Fez is where i can see my family again. Fez is where i can feel home. Fez is where i can speak arabic again. Fez is where the magic happens. It’s where the drowning in my mummy’s kisses happens. Rapping on Iggy Azalea with my sister. Brofisting Pewds with my brother. Hearing the muezzin calling to prayer. Living life like every day is made of gold. Living in a dream. Waking up from the dream is the part that i never like to think about. Until it has to happen. Waking up is saying Goodbye. Living the moment of separation one more time, no matter how painful it can be. It had to be that flight. I had to land in Casablanca, and wait for five hours before getting on the plane that would take me to Paris.
I had to be that girl. The girl who chose to leave home at seventeen because she wanted to study abroad in France. I had to be that strong independant person who could be touched but not destroyed by this moment of weakness. Or at least play the role of that person. I still don’t know. I still don’t know what i’m doing here. I still don’t know how to get out of the illusion i have been having. The illusion of being a person who has to go somewhere and want something in order to be someone. I still don’t know how to get out of it. I don’t even know what it means to get out of it. I don’t even know if i’m forcing myself to ignore something that i already know. What if i am only pretending to be that girl? The girl who doesn’t know.
It’s always about being that girl. Or pretending to be that girl. The girl who left. The girl who wrote poems. The girl who became sick. The girl who fell in love. Do i really need to be that girl? Do i really need to stay in her past? Do i really need to play by her rules? What if i don’t want to be that girl anymore? What if i don’t need to be in control all the time? And who am i, really? I am an ever changing breeze. Everything makes sense, until it doesn’t. Words play tricks on me all the time. Change of plans. I am life. I am presence. I am consciousness. I am this. I am that. Does it really matter? Does knowing matter? Do the words matter? My words are empty. My words are not enough.
I have no idea how this is supposed to happen. I hate lying to myself. I have been lying to myself for so long that i forgot how to feel. I forgot how to let myself be whatever i am. My spiritual search started with a book, and saved me from my fears. I’ve been to places i never thought even existed in me. My spiritual life is still saving me everyday. I am still waiting every single day for something new. My spiritual search will never end. There is always space for more. Maybe i am the almost place. Maybe i almost got it. It’s all about getting it. It’s not even about understanding and saying yes, it’s about calling that deep place in my soul for something new, and watching the light of that. Contemplate it. Slowly, carefully. Watch out. A millisecond. It’s gone.
Small glimpses. That’s all i have. Glimpses. I am not disillusioned. I am not there yet. I don’t know anything about anything. And knowing that i don’t know is the only kind of knowing that i can do right now. Maybe someday, i will say that time does not exist, and actually mean it. I will know it for sure, and it will be the kind of knowing that i can’t say anything about. It will be the same kind of knowing as the one i have heard about. It’s not that i need to stay with the not knowing. I need to stay with what comes from inside me. I need to be with the things that i won’t need to reach for or to pretend reaching for because they will come to me. They will be there. I don’t want to create anything. I want to find this. This. I want to find it in a multitude of distractions and countless rivers. Rivers of thoughts.