21 Apr 2014


I was introduced to Anais by a friend of mine. I am not sure why she chose this writer to recommend to me. Her reasoning was that I write like her. Some similarity between us. I start reading a bit. Her books were censored because of the high sexual content and more so because she was a lesbian. Not a direct announced lesbian, but a clear inclination to the love of female.

During my last visit to Cairo, I went to my room and searched for one of her books. I never actually read her books to the end, but i remember that I would read a lot of Anais. The similarity is there for sure. Not particularly in the way I write, but probably in the self-dialogue and the endless search for a space and place; the dilemma between being found and getting lost again; the continuous desire to see and pierce through the self of one and others. Not sure where did life took Anais, the real one, but she sure had an unhappy life. But this was her choice. Or fate? Not very sure.

June and I. More than just about Anais and the searched-for resemblance between me and her. It is since the arrival of June in one's life that things do change. Matters turned upside down and inside out. Lots of things were revealed and lots of unease was released. Released not to vent but rather to expose. Real sides of everyone's hidden masks torn a bit from here and there. True characters, not only of June's lovers but also of me. I discovered a lot about myself through the exposure to June. Not all good. Well, or bad though. June became a symbol of the mirror that reveals sides of the real truths. The many layers that were peeled through the continuous rubbing of her image against me and others. Rubbing against one another. It turned the volcano on. Not yet to erupt but to brew. To enter in this rhythmic, pendular motion that goes on and off. Not helping in anything other than expediting the creation of deep rooted scars and permanent lines in the elastic face.

What had June helped me create was a second self. Another me. A distant one that is bored, boring, uninterested, and detached. Hardly connects and hardly wants to belong to her circle. A duty oriented solider fighting for a foreign soil and for the wrong purposes. A solider who felt betrayed by the very own general. Who no more trusts his own weapon. A solider who, on my occasions, wish to turn his own pistol not towards his enemy but to his own heart. A solider who looks to his own kin and camp and does not remember what brought him here. Pretends everyday to be with them. Wishes for the day to end. Hates when another day starts. And in this day and night cycle, he lost his own desire to find what he had lost, that he once cherished so dear and so near.