“Breathe in life and breathe out distortion. Breathe out violence, blood, and pain. Breathe out flashbacks that are prone to destroy you.” I whisper to myself as I struggle to move from bed.
7 years have passed in an eye blink, however, I can no longer touch the euphoria I once intertwined with in Tahrir square. Those who struggle with depression are aware of dissociation. You space out suddenly, abandon your body, and get lost in time and space. Similar to an unpleasant astral projection experience.
I never thought that I would crave dissociating from the revolution! I wonder if I can hew my heart and my brain, and scrap those memories.
My body was once full of beautiful paintings of the Egyptian revolution. When the revolution failed, I thought it’s easy to scrap these paintings and turn my body into a clear canvas for new events that may come, a day of liberation when once again, I would summon hope. However, who am I fooling? Those memories, like blood, are dancing in my veins, I would eliminate my skin and they will remain to define everything I am.
What have we done? How dare we think of coloring the future? What was the spell that blinded us?
I can no longer remember the spirit, I can’t draw those sincere grins anymore. The faces of the knights are fading, the millions in the streets are turning into Silhouettes, and I am unable to hear those melodic chants… All that remains are corpses, bloodshed, funerals and solid faces of troops.
Blood, scars, screams, tear gas, screams again and again and again.
I torture myself, I overthink and overanalyze, I wonder why did I take off to the streets. I keep wondering if we, too have blood on our hands. Did we incite HOPE? Did we create an illusion? Is it the biggest humane victory or mistake? I am losing my mind, I am fighting with beasts. I hope I can cut my chest wide open and squeeze the heart that refuses to quit aching. However, even if I did, memories still run through my veins. Silent screams are eating me alive.
Is there a place to buy their mundane?
Can I forge reality?
He threatens and says ” What happened 7 years ago, will never happen again.” with his brutal voice he says “I won’t allow it” My naive mind wonders if he knows what came upon us? Does he realize the scars you caused? Does he understand what we have witnessed?
Our dreams refuse to crossover. Our hopes are stabbing us, they refuse to leave, they refuse to quit. We are old weary souls stuck in youthful bodies. We are defeated but the voice of the revolution lingers on.
I look at you, Orion and I wonder if I am strong enough, I am deeply sorry, I wish I was born somewhere else. I wish you didn’t have to carry my pain. And even though I choose to fight this alone, my ultimate desire is not to have to fight at first place. I will be forever sorry for charming you with Egypt. I should have told you that this charm comes with a price. I should have screamed that loving Egypt is both, bliss and curse. I think of the day I will tell my daughter about the lost revolution and I pray to have the strength and reclaim the beautiful paintings that once colored Tahrir Square.
– I close my eyes, I hold your hand and pray for a wind of change –
“Beathe in Hope, breathe out grief. Breathe in victory, breathe out defeat.”
The Revolution Continues.