Fellow commuter camaraderie|Why we write,when we write, are we right?|reflections|honey-vs-vinegar

It is difficult to immerse yourself in a place when your presence there is by design impermanent.

_Living Among Strangers

“I hoped he liked me as well as I liked him. But I also I knew that to retain my first impression of him I must not see him again; needless to say I never did see him again. One was always making contacts  of that kind making in Spain.”

_Homage to Catalonia, George Orwell

I was driven by an envy to finish the crosswords challenge  of the day, totally immersed in my thoughts, when  I hearted a voice  of one of fellow straphangers,  siting  near to me; telling me:” you should try this app, It’s the same as scrabble, but a thousand times better”, and showing me in the mean time, the game in his tablet, side by side with the crosswords on the newspaper I  was filling the cases, then he enchained without any waiting wisp ” do you have a smart phone?_ go to Game Center,  you should have it, and so on he went on eulogizing. Seeing that I became  suspicious, at his question _ generally, I don’t talk to people on the principle of; Trust nobody: don’t talk to strangers, mom’s advice that I adopted since ever in my whole life. Out of civilities, I responded that it looked like a Scrabble Games, of which, promptly, his said “Yes”, and without waiting,  he show me a demo of one  of assemblies of words connected with the prompt crisscross letters on display.

But then the tune of the conversation that  had took place in the train of thoughts  had dropped a little bit, to mingle with the tumultuous  sways of the car. After a moment, getting tired of the crosswords, I folded the newspaper, and pulled my sketchbook from the my bag and returned where of my drawings  in my sketchbook–usually, I  write some of my blogs, read or draw, to keep me busy, and  not to fall asleep in the train, for most of the times, I worked night-shifts. Then again, I felt in complete osmosis with the subject of my drawings, without paying attention to the fona and flora of the subway.

For sometimes, I didn’t notice that he was observing my drawing, from a distance, from a corner of his eye, when I heard a comment: “wow! Amazing, Can I see it.” So, without hesitation, this time, I tended my sketchbook to him. Then, sort of, comradely and as a casual pact settled between us, a small talk went on, in which we exchanged our experiences on respective jobs,  that was part of one’s own skills, hobbies, and the sort. It’s averred to be that he was a professional designer, in quest of new ideas, and so on.

Suddenly, as the voice train operator announced the next stop, reminding me that it’s time for me to jump out of the train, on this I kissed good-by to the small talk, and said see yeah to the stranger commuter, who did the same sign to me with a thumb up, as the stand-clear-on closing-doors announcement bulged from the speakers, before the clapped doors shut-like in shootings  of  a film clacked; “Action, Coupez!”. End of the story. Needless to say I didn’t ask him his name. Out of respect, we hold the door for the person behind us, and we leave the seat for the elderly, per courtesy, and  by rule of conducts. But we avoid eye-contact, and address talk to people,  of natural fear from the unknown stranger; a reflex of the sub-conscience, as  it happens often, we are brain-washed every moments by the bad news in the medias. But, inadvertently it happens also, that we break the wall of silence, and say hello, to a new comer neighbour, just for the sake of human kindness, feelings of compassion, or simply to a smile to the world. It’s  Honey vs vinegar, and or salt and peppa’ of life.



First Crush

First Crush or  “The Early Years” never die”

First crush o’ “The Early Years,” never dies

She  walked in a hurry, and passed side by side of both of us, me and him, her hair was long and dark that falling on her shoulders, like a shadow of a tree in a desert like looking for some freshness at noon, and she smiled to both of us, furtively as she continue walking and we following her behind.

We were kids of just  ten years old then,  or twelve my friend maybe, and stilI remember, that day; ‘t was a day like today, sunny and bright, like after a snowstorm, ‘t seemed like a brand-new day  just for us _at least it’s what  I believed, or maybe that was love, the first time. I grabbed a handful of snow and  threw it gently at her, mid-fearless, mid-brave, with a smile that just hidden  the swoony feeling in my guts.

She turned back, and look at him, but then at me, her eyes regard fallen oblic on my mitts wet by the snow , and then  she smiled at me, and contained her laughter within her hand to her mouth, oh! my. And I, standing shy with a penod and guilty air, I felt what a pity I was in, then suddenly, I felt my face red like a thousand suns had burned my checks, and my hearth; I would loved I could have died instantly, and would dived and hidden in the deepest of your black eyes, at that instant, to cool down the fire that she  just had started  ablaze in my heart.

I may have forgotten her name with time, and barely fathom the features of her face, but now and then, from time to time, as I cross a street,  it seems that I recognize you in the face of that beautiful woman who just  walked  to me, and passed, I looked behind over my shoulder, And  smile.

Time, and again

It reminds me a song of AbdelHaleem Hafiz, an Egyptian singer of the sixties, known also by the nickname of the Rosignol of the Middle-East