August woman…it must be Insomnia !!
It is five A.M. I woke up after an almost one hour sleep on the barking of the dogs and amid a quite strange dream.
A dream where somehow I was about to wear some perfume. And I just hopped on the sound of the dogs sweating and feeling that it was time to wake up.
It is true that it is the first night I try to sleep before six A.M. In the last weeks it became a part of a lifestyle. Staying up all night switching from TV to breaking news on the Facebook timeline or twitter. As if making sure everything on the TV screen is updated enough.
But tonight I could close my eyes to some rest. It is a cease-fire for 72 hours. I can finally rest.
I am just a lousy spectator sitting on the couch trying to make some sanity of the injustice before the screen. Like many others probably, emptily analyzing, criticizing, imagining solutions, climbing the ladder of hope, ascending to heroic illusion and desperately praying loud and in silence for some real peace for those suffering thousands of times more than me.
Ok, it is 72 hours of quietness for me. I should start thinking of something else. But how could I, tomorrow Gaza will be searching in the rubbles for its victims, dead and alive. Tomorrow more tragedies will be unveiled. Tomorrow there will be better opportunities for the still living journalists to get out of their safe places and see for themselves the destruction. Tomorrow journalists will be able to interview people, to catch a story here and there and there are many that can be catchy and appealing to their readers back home. Tomorrow hospitals will able to open the windows for some fresh air. I am not sure how the air in Gaza is. Workers will try to fix something about electricity. But it is already damaged. These people invented rockets they can find a solution to electricity and gas. Gas… the hidden treasure of Gaza and the undeclared reason of this aggression …
I am just missing to be a woman again. I have no idea what this means even. Why do I just suddenly lose my woman? I miss looking at the mirror. Damn it … I haven’t done it in the last month. I barely get a shower and put myself in a piece of a t-shirt and jeans. My hair is a mess. My face is a mess. I must have lost some pounds I have gained the month before …that is the only good news. But my back hurts from sitting like a potato bag in front of the TV and gazing at the computer screen all day long. I probably need to find my eyeglasses. My sight is damaged. I need something to blame.
But I still miss the woman in me. Maybe it is the beginning of August. August is my month … something must have provoked this feeling.
I just miss normality. I miss feeling what it’s like to be a woman. I miss flirting when I can. I miss being outrageous over my ex-husband, ex-partner, ex-boyfriend, ex-many things. I just miss that hard feeling of being obsessive. I miss analyzing what came out of my non-officially declared ex-something relation that stopped without me even realizing that. I miss condemning the world of men for their disloyalty and their betrayals.
I just miss behaving like a disturbed normal human being again.
Instead, my head continues to race with Netanyahu the beast. The Israeli society what came out of it? Oh. Peace, yes peace. We need to be sending each letter of this word for another decade to go around even to be able to look into one another. It is a new era that will be entitled with racism and apartheid officially.
God, it feels like waking up in the aftermath of a volcano. Nothing is ever again the way it used to be a month ago.
This Ramadan was a particular one. It was the first Ramadan in years breaking my rituals of not watching Egyptian series (except for one or maybe almost another one) the Palestinian version of a third catastrophe was the best motion picture that took place in the series of the thirty days. It started with the live preparation production with Abu Khdeir Slaying right here on the road and continued through the screens until this last day of the Eid and July.
The atmosphere is full again with the national songs. This is a habit I will be happy to keep after the cease-fire; I mean the truce as well. The kids are entirely mobilized towards a new era. I am not sure how capable are they and me to keep up with it. They are taking their role very seriously, with a bit of complaining about my strict rules especially when it comes to handling the remote control. But the boycott campaign is going on well. There is not much to boycott, though. Yesterday we went to the supermarket here, and it felt like entering the supersol. The only good thing is that we spend less. Of course, we as usual enter into a discussion between the girls, that ends a debate that forces me into an undemocratic scream to stop and make the last statement. God, I love these kids, they make me feel like the UN Secretary General. But no one with the right to veto except me of course.
Haaretz popped with a headline that forced me to stop and read, the conclusion is: “Meanwhile in Gaza, 84 Palestinians were killed over the last 24 hours in the Gaza Strip, and 258 were wounded. According to the Gaza Health Ministry, the Palestinian death toll since fighting began is now 1,442, and the number of wounded has risen to 8,295.” Talking about Haaretz, luckily I didn’t pay for a subscription. No not for the boycotting agenda only. I want to boycott it as a newspaper for being part of the Zionist media machine. As usual Israeli media even with its left at what should be best proves itself part of supporting whatever the government deems. And they were sneaky promoters of aggression, and I stopped trusting their covering in covering up their government.
I will have 72 hours of going back to normal life… I need to move away from that couch. I just need to go out. Where is out? If I see what is taking place in the society, I will be more of an angry, insane woman. I will avoid the society. My only interaction will be with grocery stores and if they are not boycotting my kids and I will boycott them.
No, we will not go to the hospitals to visit the six injured from Gaza. We will not go and visit the bereaved family of Abu Khdeir. I will not allow the kids to be part of this pathetic propaganda machine for Facebook. Selfies with the injured.
We will have a healthy life for 72 hours. We will go out. No, we cannot go to the beach. We have to wait until the borders in Gaza are opened, and we will be going to the Mediterranean side of Gaza. Yes, I know, we should be sitting on the beach with quite a lot of covers. My daughters will go back to the fantasizing occupation. But the price of freedom is more precious than wearing a swimming suit on the beach.
I should wake up now and go back to sleep …
The sun is out; the gold rays look gray. The Gaza smoke must be affecting it …
The dog is snoring.
I better go back and dream of the dream I just missed … I still remember the perfume part …
What a mess … cease-fire or not fire the destruction in my brain is officially taking place. And the rubbles inside are revealing the madness that was in silence for some time …
Good morning August.