No More Curses

Not sure on which side I should lie, back seems to be a lesser evil, one shot to the head or stomach I’d be painlessly dead in no time, front means I could get a bullet in my spinal cord and end up like mum’s friend - vegetable because of one tiny metal chunk fired in the late ‘80s to celebrate Iraq’s so-called victory. But what if my legs or arms get shot, do people shot in the extremities live with disabilities?


These were my thoughts for the first hour or so on my first night’s sleep on the rooftop. The thoughts and bad dreams were forced by a neighbour’s comments on the US soldiers on board of their noisy aircrafts firing their weapons on sleeping Iraqis and stepdad’s account of the flames that had once engulfed a neighbour’s bed when a plane dropped some ball of fire right on their house – true or not I was freaking out already - and recurrent nighttime shootouts next door, by the end of each we find little bits of bullets.


Fortunately, my tossing and turning and murky thoughts barraging my drowsy head ground to a halt by the first touch of soothing God-made breeze that beats Japanese air conditioners. Kicking the habit of cursing the government, insurgents, US soldiers, Saddam and Bush each scorching night, I muttered a thousand thank-yous and God-I’m-happys for the fact that this beautifully adorned sky and natural AC are not controlled by the Electricity Ministry or the Air Force.


I might live with such nightmares every night and I might complain of lugging the matters and pillow to and from the roof and I might miss bedtime reading – because I m not allowed to use my torchlight in a roofless war zone - but the fact that I woke up without bags under my eyes for the first time in months and the fact that I wake up for the morning prayer without my handset alarm are just too tempting.





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