December disapora snippets

I made it to the film. Oh yes I did. My hosts declined without telling me that they did. I had to inform them that they did and that I accept their unsaid apology. My Palestinian friend took me there after I indulged in his shopping. It was a well accepted exchange. He gave me warmth when I most needed it and there were thrilling moments of exposing oneself, and also dreadful moments of having to hide the truth and fear of being shunned from the growing attention. But I made it to the film. And from now I know it will always be a big sin if you promise to take me to movies and you fail to deliver.

I feel I'm rushing into the option of becoming a refugee. There will always be a what if, no? what if I had met the right people early on? What if there was another route to explore? What if I had more time? 

I am surprised by how intense my weeping bouts can get these days. I always was able to stop them when I wanted to. I'd continue to feel sad but I could stop them in the past. Now they just blow me away and I feel shattered. 

I miss being able to buy single cigarettes without getting a whole pack. Now I sometimes half-smoked cigarettes off the streets. If you stand long enough by a bus stop, somebody would get rid of their unfinished cigarette to make it to the bus. Abdella bought 3 marlboroughs from a street vendor. I used to buy them, the light ones, then I switched to yellow merits for some reasons, including wanting to be healthier and peer influence. I couldn't buy imported cigarettes when I was in minia or matrouh. I had to buy local ones, like Cleopatra for example. That cigarette I bought in matrouh was the one leading up to sleeping with the drug dealer boy. Cigarettes are stories and companions. Cigarettes are their very own type of pleasure.