“So that’s with a double ‘F’, yeah?” She said in between loud chewing of her gum. She did not even look up to me, her eyes focused on the piece of paper. Nice pen, though I thought, very classy. There was an awkward silence which seemed to gain power and descended from the ceiling, downwards to where we puny mortals stood and making us feel… Uneasy.
***
“Well, it wasn’t her fault really. I mean your name is quite… different, I’ve got no friends with that name, and trust me, I have a lot of friends. Why didn’t you write it down yourself? It would’ve saved a lot of time really, but then again…” She seemed to be deep in thought. “It would’ve been a messy affair, with you and your inept social behavior and all... Oh wow, I had a mental image of you stabbing her eye with a pen, just getting really in there you know, and over and over again till there’s nothing left to stab, just a hollow socket. Just. Wow. You’re really twisted, dude.” I stared at her and then took a drag from the duty free cigarettes I got from the airport months before. How am I the one who is twisted?
“A least find out about it, yeah? The meaning I mean, like mine means the highest cloud in the heavens,” She held her hair up in one hand and brought her head down towards the mug of steaming black coffee in front of her. It was an excruciating slow movement, as f she was convinced that any sudden movement would cause the aforementioned steaming cup of black coffee to leap out of the mug and punch her in her face which could possibly have been crafted by the essence of angels, scalding it in process. After the whole charade, she licked her lips, enjoyed the obviously pleasurable feeling of caffeine coursing through her blood stream and let go of her hair. She grinned, as if what she did was a very mischievous thing and I could swear I saw the man sitting beside her blush. “But I’m Chinese, you know. We have a knack; some sort of racial trait, to exaggerate things, and trust me, I do mean a lot of things.”
“Sure. I mean, yeah, of course I’ve met some pretty bright people in my life.” I replied, my attention more deviated towards trying to pull a splinter out from the depths of my finger rather than on her question. After a short period of silence, I turned to look at her, and at the same time, conjuring up a few excuses on why I wasn’t paying attention towards her inquiry. It’s funny how none of them comprised of the splinter digging deeper into my finger.
***
“Names? What about them?” She looked truly puzzled. We were on the roof of a forty story building and the wind kept blowing her hair into her eyes. Eventually she gave up, rummaged through her leather void which she calls her handbag and pulled out a lone chopstick. I could never understand what or how she does it, but every single time, without fail, the chopstick and her hair would mutually agree to hold each other’s structural integrity in place.
“Of course you weren’t. No need to get all defensive now. What I’m trying to say is that it is what it is. If you think that your name would pose a risk to the stability of your entity then of course it is going to. If you don’t, then if shit happens, you won’t blame it on your name. We all want names which are awesome and totally rad but sometimes, we don’t get to pick. Sure you can change it, put yours as Moonwalker Zero or something but really, do you think it’s worth all that? It’s just your mentality, how you look at it. Personally, I like your name but I really doubt if it matters. You should control your own life man.” She stood up and put her hands on the ledge which separates her from life to a plunging death. “How did we puny humans even make this city? How did we, small and feeble, end up creating objects that are infinitely bigger than ourselves. I mean dude, you’re out there thinking about your name, while somewhere another guy is having the first thought of the world’s tallest building. I’m not saying you’re insane or ignorant, but hey, some things are better off left on their own.” She pulled the chopstick from her hair and the bun shaped collection of hair disintegrated. “I’m awfully chatty today, what’s been up with you anyway?”
So we talked. Hopping from one unfinished topic to the other, debating, agreeing, laughing until eventually, there was almost nothing else to talk about. She told me she had to leave, that she was staying over at a friend’s place at the moment until things cooled down. I told her I’ll walk her to wherever she needed to go. Just as we were about to go, she took out the polystyrene box and threw it with all her might over the ledge, and out into nothingness. She told me she’d like to prove that food might just come falling from the sky. I told her we should run.
***
“That’s a funny name. It’s not Arabic.” The overweight Egyptian man with too much cologne tells me. It stole my attention, where most of it was spent in ways which made me forget he was there. “What does it mean?” He was sweating and the areas under his armpits and stomach darken with moisture. It was a very uncomfortable situation.
“It means the might of an army.” I hoped my answer would throw him off me. For once I thought of sincerely sitting in class and listening to the lecturer. Instead, he laughs.
“It is a very weird name! Why don’t you have an Arabic name?” I smiled. This might get messy.
“Simply because, my name is special as it is unique and I would dread being called Ahmad and having two persons sitting beside me answer simultaneously. My name is perfect, and it represents myself, and I would not give it up for the price of the world.” I sighed and looked at him. “Does that explain anything, or do you need some kind of auditory aid to further help your comprehension?” He must have not understood that so I reached for my bag, and I left. I could hear insults yelled by him but I was not offended. I have learned to appreciate my name, and it almost took me twenty years to do it.
“Sir?” She looked up at me, annoyed maybe, but I was told before that I am not a good judge at facial expressions. I raised my eyebrows to tell her that, yes, I am, in fact, listening but somehow, that ticked her off more. “Is that with a double ‘F’?” She sounded angry. Don’t be angry. Please don’t be angry.
“No, no, I mean, it could, really, who has the right to tell, it could have a double ‘F’ maybe in an alternate dimension, maybe with an extra ‘A’ or without an ‘R’ but funny, come to think of it, maybe the name itself would change in the other dimension, a mind-boggling thing really if you-“ I was stopped short by the malice in her eyes which at the moment, seemed to gain some sort of sentience and charged at me with a dark blade. I cleared my throat. “No. Single ‘F’. Just one.” She sighed, put ink to paper and handed me the form. I read what she wrote. She got it wrong.
She got my name wrong.
***
“Well, it wasn’t her fault really. I mean your name is quite… different, I’ve got no friends with that name, and trust me, I have a lot of friends. Why didn’t you write it down yourself? It would’ve saved a lot of time really, but then again…” She seemed to be deep in thought. “It would’ve been a messy affair, with you and your inept social behavior and all... Oh wow, I had a mental image of you stabbing her eye with a pen, just getting really in there you know, and over and over again till there’s nothing left to stab, just a hollow socket. Just. Wow. You’re really twisted, dude.” I stared at her and then took a drag from the duty free cigarettes I got from the airport months before. How am I the one who is twisted?
“As usual, I appreciate your honesty. Though I have to say, how am I the twisted one? You’re the one with the vivid imagery; I could hardly imagine a person being stabbed. In the face especially. Well, okay, I could actually but that’s not the point.” She gestured towards the box of cigarettes and I took one out and lit it for her. She took a long drag, kept the swirling blue particles of poison and nicotine and blew it out slowly, as if appreciating every single sacrifice her alveoli were making.
She looked at me, narrowed her eyes and put her hands on the table. “That’s why you’re the twisted one, dude. People like me, we let it all out, we tell the world, like, I could go to a stranger and just scream out that I want to be fucked in the face and leave, without a tinge of embarrassment. You, on the other hand… You keep it all in, suppress it, pressurize it, give it a little shake and hope that it doesn’t explode and consume everyone in the proximity. You’re a fucking time bomb; I really hope you realize that. Christ mate, you really need to let it out once in a while you know?” She touched my hand, a worried gesture rather than an affectionate one. I pulled it away and nodded, just to lay her off me. I do not like people touching me.
I always thought that when I was born, in the wee hours of my being, my parents already decided to play a little prank on me. Let’s give him a weird name, yeah, like something nobody will ever get right. Oh, oh, I know, let’s give him a name that’s easy to pronounce but hard to spell, you know. You could say it a million times but you can’t be sure of what consonants and vowels were involved. Oh lets! Charming people, my parents, the loveliest of them all really if you would want my honest opinion. Yes, I was sure that the conversation did not happen, and even if it did, it probably just echoed in the depths of their mind. I am sure they would want to give me a name which I would be proud of to bear but really… Couldn’t they have just given me something normal? It’s not that I am terribly ashamed of it but sometimes having half of the population getting it wrong all the time; teachers, officers, even friends, is quite frustrating.
***
“A least find out about it, yeah? The meaning I mean, like mine means the highest cloud in the heavens,” She held her hair up in one hand and brought her head down towards the mug of steaming black coffee in front of her. It was an excruciating slow movement, as f she was convinced that any sudden movement would cause the aforementioned steaming cup of black coffee to leap out of the mug and punch her in her face which could possibly have been crafted by the essence of angels, scalding it in process. After the whole charade, she licked her lips, enjoyed the obviously pleasurable feeling of caffeine coursing through her blood stream and let go of her hair. She grinned, as if what she did was a very mischievous thing and I could swear I saw the man sitting beside her blush. “But I’m Chinese, you know. We have a knack; some sort of racial trait, to exaggerate things, and trust me, I do mean a lot of things.”
I like her, not in a lovey-dovey way, honestly. To put it in the simplest way, I just fully enjoyed her company. It was funny how I, most probably one of the biggest pessimist ever to taint the ground beneath my feet, could bond so well, so naturally with the – I am pretty sure I am only exaggerating a tad bit here – manifestation of sunshine itself.
“I’d look into it,” I said half-heartedly. “I’m pretty sure that it’s gonna be hard to find though, I mean with all the ‘Zack’s and ‘Tila’s present nowadays, my name’s pretty damn traditional I think but yeah,” I hastily blew out a cloud of blue smoke, which in turn, caused my throat to set on fire, “I’ll look into it.”
What happened after was something which only could be described in metaphors. Imagine a gloomy day, cold and it is almost definitely going to rain. All you can think of is going home, make yourself a cup of hot chocolate and then bury yourself into the comforter and be alone. As you walk, thinking of warmth and comfort, you suddenly really do feel it, it kisses your skin and it feels so fucking good that you just want to dissipate so that more of your body could feel this insanely good sensation. When you’ve realized that, you look up to see what the hell is going on and right where you stand, right there at the exact point where your feet is brought together, is a beam of sunlight, the clouds break open for you, and for you only. That, is the only way I could ever hope to describe what other’s call the Million Dollar Gaze.
It’s fairly simple what she does. She would tip her head to the side by just a tiny bit, narrow her eyes ever so slightly in a way which wouldn’t make you feel as if she was suspecting you of doing anything bad, the very opposite, in fact. Her naturally straight hair will then shift towards the side and then… Her lips will curl into the most heart rending, endorphin releasing, butterflies-in-your-stomach, divine smile which will just stab you so hard that you’d fall. Or maybe experience a seizure. Men have been obsessed with it and I? I just thought it was beautiful.
Alas, we eventually drifted apart, as all humans are bound to be. Rumours, and I cannot emphasise more on this, they’re one of the most destructive things present to date, and while I, the insensitive fuck, a sad excuse of a human being could just brush it off, she on the other hand was utterly devastated by it. The last time we met, the only thing she asked me was this.
“I have said this a million times, well, maybe just a thousand times but dude, please tell me what the fuck is wrong with the world.”
I still miss my eternal sunshine.
***
“Sure. I mean, yeah, of course I’ve met some pretty bright people in my life.” I replied, my attention more deviated towards trying to pull a splinter out from the depths of my finger rather than on her question. After a short period of silence, I turned to look at her, and at the same time, conjuring up a few excuses on why I wasn’t paying attention towards her inquiry. It’s funny how none of them comprised of the splinter digging deeper into my finger.
It was the opposite thing really, her eyes were gleaming and I knew what was coming. She was going to explode, metaphorically speaking that is. A nuclear fission, the only words fit to describe herself as a whole.
“Yes! I know!” Off goes the thin blanket which she had wrapped around herself earlier flying into the air. “But answer me this, sir,” She shot me a questioning look, making me feel very uneasy; “How many of them would you trust with the country’s fate? I mean yeah, they’re academic superstars, I’m sure there’s millions of them in Egypt, leaders of various student bodies and everything but really, honestly, truly, sincerely, do you really think that any of them could lead millions of fucking people; the young and old offenders, the paedophiles, the ignorant society, the power mad and the backstabbers into towards the greater and better future?” She slammed her palm down on the couch I was laying on, the sound of the slam echoing throughout her living room. She took a deep long breathe and exhaled, too fast for a normal human being. I was going to have to answer her or risk the wrath of the famed ice queen.
“Well… No, obviously not if you are to refer to it generally. For every one genius, there’s a thousand other geniuses who, if not for their brains could be very well be labeled as fuckwits. I mean the ones whom I truly trust with the keys to our country’s door aren’t even academic overachievers. One of them doesn’t even attend college.” I said all of those words but in my head, I was still trying to get over the fact that she said all that in one breath. How is that even humanely possible?
“Exactly, the only things people look at nowadays are how many degrees you have in your hands, how many people you’ve saved, how many prizes you’ve won et cetera, et cetera. These are the things which has now become the driving force in our community, and no, I’m not saying it’s wrong, I mean heck, even I’d want to marry a doctor rather than say, a clerk but…” She paused, and let herself fall onto the couch. She sighed and put her head on my shoulders. She asked for a cigarette which I gladly gave and I lit it for her. After three or four drags, she continued. Her way of putting the obviously jumbled up words in her mind into the appropriate sentences. “We’ve lost track. That’s just it, you know. We’re all caught up in this great net of professionalism and the great grand search of more and more wealth that we forgot about the more important things.” I narrowed my eyebrows.
“Like love?” I truly did not know what to say. She looked at me as if she wanted to head-butt me in between the eyes but instead, she laughed.
“No you fuckwit, stuff like art appreciation or gardening or fucking walks in the park or swimming. Honestly mate, have you seen the state of the working class nowadays? If they aren’t overweight, they’re skinny little bastards. If they’re not smokers, they’re chronic alcoholics or hardcore junkies.”
“And if they aren’t any of that?”
“Then they’re fucking sex offenders. What else can they be? I mean really, my parents hates the fact that I smoke and I get it, I really do but sometimes, I just want to show them these people who’re straight edged and everything, but underneath all that shit, is a fucking monster just waiting to be unleashed. Hell, I should tell them that I’m probably a saint.”
“Saint. If you’re one, then I’m the Dalai Lama. No, the ultimate, grandest, the most awesome of all of the Dalai Lamas.” I risk losing an eye or a testicle by saying that, but it was just too tempting. “Anyway, what do you think of my name then?” If there was anybody who could help me, or at least give me an honest point of view, then it’s her. Everybody else might think that she’s this cruel Queen of the Damned or something, but to me, she’s this endless well of wisdom.
“Your name? Why the fuck would it even bother you? I thought you were joking earlier. Listen mate, I’d kill for your name, literally. You know how many friends I have with the same name as mine? Seven. And those are the ones whom I’m really close to. People think it’s cute, I mean there’s this bloke who tried kept on saying I have the same name with some fucking celebrity. Can you imagine that? Being put on the same plane as some prepubescent bimbo who makes too much money for her own good. That’s a living hell. If anything, you should be bloody proud of your name. I mean fuck the meaning, fuck the spelling and everything, when it comes down to it, you at least could be sure that you’re the only one in the vicinity with that name. Sometimes, amongst all that wisdom and maturity, you really act fucking retarded.”
I smiled. I was not wrong about her.
***
“Names? What about them?” She looked truly puzzled. We were on the roof of a forty story building and the wind kept blowing her hair into her eyes. Eventually she gave up, rummaged through her leather void which she calls her handbag and pulled out a lone chopstick. I could never understand what or how she does it, but every single time, without fail, the chopstick and her hair would mutually agree to hold each other’s structural integrity in place.
“Well, you know, names, what do you think it means? How it could affect a person.” We sneak up to the roof once in a while to have a meal, just the two of us while enjoying the skyline of the city. While I truly do hate the light pollution which hinders my sight of the sky, I have to admit, it was beautiful and it never fails to impress me. It was her turn to cook on that occasion, so again her hand disappeared into the void and when it appeared, there was a plastic bag with what I presumed to be heavenly delicacies in it. Instead, out came a polystyrene box. She cast her eyes down.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have the chance to cook, there’s been problems at home, there’s so much shit I need to do and my parents are constantly fighting and…” Tears welled up from her eyes and the only thing stopping it from gushing down as if a fountain has been inverted was the fact that she was keeping all of it in, forcing herself to swallow all of it in and keeping it down. I was not good with handling such a delicate situation, I could be a complete twat at such a time and I did not want it to be messy.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I felt stupid saying it. Of all the things in the world that I could have said, of all the words I could have chosen to say, I said that. For fuck’s sakes what is wrong with me.
She looked at me, and there was not even a tinge of disappointment in her eyes. Contrary to it; she dabbed her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie and laughed. There were screams of pain in the high pitched joy but I did not point it out. Till now, I still doubt that if it was the right decision but at that time, I was clueless, at a crossroads.
“You’re really something you know that.” She interrupted my thoughts. “How do you even do that, really?” She laughed some more and then caught her breath. She sat down on the concrete floor and sighed. “Thanks, I guess, but no, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just a clump of messed up situations getting tangled with each other and it’s just making me really confused.” Then she turned her head to look at me and she smiled. “I mean, I would never risk losing my cool in front of you now, who are you going to look up to then, right?”
“Ah fuck, I guess you’re right then. If you’re no longer there for me to look up to, whoever shall I look for when I need inspiration and ultimate guidance.” I tried saying that with a straight face but then both of us burst out laughing. It was awkward but I would like to think that both of us needed to keep that degree of distance. I would like to help her, to console her, to make her feel better but then I realized that our friendship would have then evolved to something which would be pretty taxing on both of us. So we laughed. When life gives you hell, what else could you do but sit back and laugh.
“So, anyway, about the name thing. I’m just curious, but is it about yours?” I stopped taking a drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke out. Was I too obvious or does nothing gets pass this lady. “So it is about yours then. I can’t really think of a reason why you’d be thinking about it in a negative way but-“ I cut her short.
“I wasn’t thinking of it negatively, I just wanted an opinion.”
“Of course you weren’t. No need to get all defensive now. What I’m trying to say is that it is what it is. If you think that your name would pose a risk to the stability of your entity then of course it is going to. If you don’t, then if shit happens, you won’t blame it on your name. We all want names which are awesome and totally rad but sometimes, we don’t get to pick. Sure you can change it, put yours as Moonwalker Zero or something but really, do you think it’s worth all that? It’s just your mentality, how you look at it. Personally, I like your name but I really doubt if it matters. You should control your own life man.” She stood up and put her hands on the ledge which separates her from life to a plunging death. “How did we puny humans even make this city? How did we, small and feeble, end up creating objects that are infinitely bigger than ourselves. I mean dude, you’re out there thinking about your name, while somewhere another guy is having the first thought of the world’s tallest building. I’m not saying you’re insane or ignorant, but hey, some things are better off left on their own.” She pulled the chopstick from her hair and the bun shaped collection of hair disintegrated. “I’m awfully chatty today, what’s been up with you anyway?”
So we talked. Hopping from one unfinished topic to the other, debating, agreeing, laughing until eventually, there was almost nothing else to talk about. She told me she had to leave, that she was staying over at a friend’s place at the moment until things cooled down. I told her I’ll walk her to wherever she needed to go. Just as we were about to go, she took out the polystyrene box and threw it with all her might over the ledge, and out into nothingness. She told me she’d like to prove that food might just come falling from the sky. I told her we should run.
***
“That’s a funny name. It’s not Arabic.” The overweight Egyptian man with too much cologne tells me. It stole my attention, where most of it was spent in ways which made me forget he was there. “What does it mean?” He was sweating and the areas under his armpits and stomach darken with moisture. It was a very uncomfortable situation.
“It means the might of an army.” I hoped my answer would throw him off me. For once I thought of sincerely sitting in class and listening to the lecturer. Instead, he laughs.
“It is a very weird name! Why don’t you have an Arabic name?” I smiled. This might get messy.
“Simply because, my name is special as it is unique and I would dread being called Ahmad and having two persons sitting beside me answer simultaneously. My name is perfect, and it represents myself, and I would not give it up for the price of the world.” I sighed and looked at him. “Does that explain anything, or do you need some kind of auditory aid to further help your comprehension?” He must have not understood that so I reached for my bag, and I left. I could hear insults yelled by him but I was not offended. I have learned to appreciate my name, and it almost took me twenty years to do it.
No comments:
Post a Comment