Lost in Translation.

I’ve always had a lot to say. A lot of memories to tell, a lot of ideas and words..

I always loved writing, sketching, painting, even photography and video making, but I never mastered any. Never had the full ability of expressing what I had with any of these means. Never had the opportunity of expressing the full details the way I see them in my mind. Drawing the same picture, capturing the same photograph, painting the same shades of color, sketching the same contours and pauses..

Even writing, I’m always torn between Arabic and English; Arabic being my mother tongue, English the language I learnt mainly at school and the language of most of the books I read. I’m even torn between Egyptian and classical Arabic and all the other Arabic dialects that I used to speak back in school. I’m even afraid to write a full post in Egyptian Arabic (the dialect I use at home) since many of the words would ‘fall in between’ and many others I never heard of or say.

I write sentences that are never completed, stories that have to be manipulated to fit in my poor means of translation, paintings that are half-way finished, human sketches ignoring the eyes and fingers. Architecture overlooking enriching details..
In the end: Half of it goes untold.



            In the crowded open air corridor, I find my way between the people. I scan their faces carefully, searching for the eyes that has haunted my mind for a good while now.

Sweat drops down my back, on my forehead, under my headscarf..

I search for him.

In the heat of the afternoon sun, which brightens the corridor through the colonnade on the left, the corridor is almost paused, people aren’t moving, nothing is moving, even the air is still; humidity that is killing us all.

While everyone is waiting for everyone else to move, I try to manage my way through the paused crowd. And find him.

I search for his scent that has always absorbed me to a different dimension, his gaze that has muted the chaotic world around me. His figure, his stand..

I squeeze myself between two overweight women who seem to be shouting at each other.

And suddenly, my eyes are caught, the way you’d shoot a bird, throw an arrow, hits the target perfectly.

I can hear the music, a dramatic music at the end of movies, when the heroine is finally saved by the hero.

He was sitting on the rim of the open air corridor, dangling his legs into the vastness. I only saw his back, dark T-shirt that fits his shape perfectly, contrasting the brightness of sunshine.

I’m finally freed from the crowd, I run towards him, but before I touch him..I hear a  Bam..

 I feel my back on the ground, my vision blurred.

But I manage to see his face staring at mine.

His eyes penetrating my eyes.

He turns me inside out.