Skip to main content

Vignettes -- #1: Memories

Vignettes is a current writing project of mine, mainly a few short stories - some of them fictional, some of them real, and some just random musings about the state of the world we live in. 
It’s one of those things you find hard to forget. Even if it does evade you for a little while, it still finds its way back to the forefront of your memory, sooner or later, and you decide to document it, if only to acknowledge that you do recall everything, down to the very details. The thoughts, the feelings; they all come alive in your head once more, and there’s nothing quite like it.

This happened to me a few years ago, though the exact date eludes me. It was Friday, I believe, and I was just about done with Friday prayers. I was on my way out of the mosque, tying my shoelaces, when an old man walks over to me and starts putting on his shoes as well. Being the introverted recluse that I am, I really do not pay attention to the man, keeping to myself instead until I’m done and ready to leave. Turning towards the gate, I start to make my way to it when an old, craggy voice stops me.

“You know, it’s very different now.”

Turning again, I find the old man – dressed in his plain galabeyya and ‘Emama, his battered face a crisscross of wrinkles – standing next to me by the gate. He’s looking at the vast garden encircling the mosque, clearly lost in thought, and maybe even time.

“Sorry?”

“Everything’s different now. This garden, it should be green and beautiful. There ought to be kids running around, playing frivolously. There should be families sitting in the shade, men and women at every bench. But, look at it now, unkempt and dirty, with all those youth straggling around, doing nothing at all. Why don’t they play a sport or something? Where are all the youth centers?”

“Well, there are youth centers and clubs around, hajj.”

“I know, but they’re nothing, shadows of what they used to be. I recall the times of the king…oh, you young people, you’ve truly missed out on those times. Princess Ferial, Qasr El Nil club, the parks everywhere…those were the good times indeed.”

“Eh, I guess things just change, you know?”

“Oh, yes, they do. I just wish the change was once, just once, for the best.”

And with that, he just smiled and walked out, leaving me there to ponder his words.

I just wonder, when I’m his age, what memories will I have to recount to my kids?


Oh, well. I'm sure I'll think of something.

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

In Dreams

This was initially triggered by a six-word suggestion from a fellow Twitter user. Thanks, Amenah. This is also dedicated to Adly , who was one of the first people to encourage me to start this blog, and who's leaving the country soon. You shall be missed! ----------------- You were in my dreams again yesterday. You stood there, clutching that lace umbrella you loved so much. I watch in awe, as you twirl it playfully in your hands, and I can see you’ve painted your nails blue, that brilliant azure color that I’ve always loved so much. I smile, you’ve always had a thing for all things Victorian; you called them regal, austere, beautiful. 
10 comments
Read more

Initial

I may have once been pegged as a writer, but for the longest time now, I’ve been unable to conjure anything worthwhile to write. Perhaps my inner editor has evolved to the extent of being able to strangle my thoughts in their infancy, so that nothing’s left now. It is a thought that scares me, often to the extent of mental paralysis, but it is one worth noting nevertheless. It is for this exact reason that I am writing now, to see if I am still capable of doing so. One might argue that I never had the capability, but people also say that they used to enjoy what I had to say in writing. I will not lie and say that it is for them that I am making these attempts. They are for me. Perhaps it is selfish, perhaps it is narcissistic, and perhaps it is none of these things. I do not know, and I couldn’t care less. So, here I am; writing, ranting, observing, telling, hiding and - perhaps not in the literal sense - speaking. I sometimes feel somewhat pretentious when I write, though my words ar...
7 comments
Read more

Random Thoughts (I)

- Few things rival that feeling, when nostalgia creeps up your spine, and finally reaches your eyes. There's then this faint squeeze upon your eyeballs, and before you know it, you're all teary-eyed. - More often that not, I can trace where a relationship has gone wrong back to an exact phrase or expression. It is not a good talent to have. - Relevant to the prior point: I spent the entirety of my teenage years wishing I had a time machine to rectify mistakes in my exams, or in conversations with my parents. I often went to sleep wishing I'd wake up to repeat the prior day. I was a weird kid. - When I was reading Half Blood Prince , I could feel my face grow red when Harry kissed Ginny. It was not lust, it was a feeling of jealousy that I'd never experienced in real life. (You can get the Forever Alone jokes out of your system now. Done? Good.) - I rarely curse in Arabic, and when I do, I feel awkward afterwards. Same thing regarding dirty jokes. - I have a v...
4 comments
Read more