When I was a child, I always dreamed of going away, traveling to exotic places, having wondrous adventures. I never knew that when I'm going to get older, all I would want to do is go back to where I was.
Everyday It keeps getting farther away, my home, everyday it keeps getting smaller, even the memories are slowly turning into shadows, some time ago I could even remember what my home smelled like, now all what's left a shadowy picture of a broken window and the dust on my bed. I wouldn't even recognize it in the pictures, I don't know if it’s lucky or unfortunate, but I don’t have any pictures left. Just a hazy shadow of things that were, a sit in the garden, my brother’s kids playing, my mother cocking, my dad’s whistle when he came home from work, and the unforgettable and unmistakable smell of his Cuban cigars.
I have always wondered…. Well… not always but since all this happened, what is left to go back to? Is it right to go back to memories? Only shadowy images collected in my brain? I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong most of the time.. Hell…. I screwed up so many times with so many people and wasted so many chances that I cant even remember when was the last time I was right or did something right. But I only know this… I want to go home.
Where is home? Some would say there is no home anymore, they all say it’s not like before. But you know… homes never change, countries never change… it’s the people that change. But even the people cant change the country, even the most powerful of people cant change the way you feel about your country, because your country, when you were far far away and get back home, you feel this warmth, this sudden change of temperature that you have never experienced before until this day, this feeling if safety that only your country could give you, like the feeling your mother gives you when she hugs after you cry, I can only dream of this feeling.
Who said that our country has changed? Who changed it? And do these people deserve what has happened to them? do Iraqis deserve what happened to them? No humane being deserves to suffer like that, no man should see this pain. I don’t know about people, I don’t know what they had done, I only know that deep down in their souls, deep down underneath all the exteriors, they, just like me, all want to go home.
Its ironic how I wanted to travel as a kid, most people feel the need to change their place of living when they are teenagers of young adults, but then again, I haven’t been your normal child anyway, father. Your other children were better than me, they all looked better than me anyway. They all got my mom’s green eyes and her extraordinary good looks, I got your eyes dad, you short-sighted eyes, your hair, that curl right above my forehead that no barber can ever mend, I got your calm or lest that what mom says, and I got you love of home.
Sometimes I think I got the best genes, but my mistakes always beg to differ, but I guess every one of us wishes that he or she were someone else, or some place else. We all have our dreams, we all day dream about something, we all make mistakes, but we forget and we move on. We forget how we hurt people or how people hurt us, we forget faces and names, and we even forget our homes. I am beginning to forget mine, and I am afraid that the only thing I will take to my grave, the only memory Satan and I are going to talk about in hell, is the death and destruction and chaos that is happening now. The only thing left is one single memory, one single picture of me staring at the river from my window. This is what scares me, not being able to close my eyes and remember, not being able to exhale and smile, not being able to say “for old time's sake” because this sentence doesn't mean anything anymore. What would you do if you just can’t move on and leave everything behind, what can you do if all you want is to go back to the things and life you left behind? What would anybody do if all what they want is to die and be buried in their country? I am afraid that when I die, they wouldn't bury me back home, I am afraid that they wouldn't plant a tree over my grave and let me be one with its roots. I haven't accomplished anything in my life, I haven’t really made a difference, and I don’t think I will anytime soon, all I want, all I need for my life to mean something is to be buried in my soil, and let me give life to something else. That way I won’t really die, I will always live in that tree.
All the people I know want to get out, all the people now want change, and all the people I know want something different... Out, change, and different didn't really work out for me. I want to try the way we were this time, and I want to go back home.
Sometime I will, sometime. Not yet maybe, and not in the near future but something will change. I am not a politician and would never pass as one, but people need to understand what’s best for them. And what’s good for you can surly work for everybody else.
I am telling you, everybody wants to go home. I want to go home… I want to get in my house, go up to my room, light a cigarette, and watch the river from my window, I want to close my eyes and let my old friend the Tigris sweep all my pain away. It’s a promise old river, it’s a promise.
posted by LORD @ 1:35 AM
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