By Abdulkadir Abdelli

Translated by me (Tareq Neman)

Some expressions leave beautiful impressions on some of us; people get relaxed and lenient after hearing them, they get affected by them. Some of these expressions are: “delicious food”, “awesome girl”, “sexy legs”, “freedom”, “democracy”, “human rights”…etc. Also, there are many deviant people who may like the ugly girl, or the food that they suffer from just swallowing it, and there are people who consider freedom as a chaos or luxury. This is when we say “each bird needs a specific bullet to be hunted down”. I admit that I am one of those deviant, I admit that I am one of the anomalous few. Because once I hear the word democracy, I get cramped and shrink, suffer from stomachache, colic and even neck ache. I wiggle like an earthworm that got stuck. Actually, I am not an official, so the absence of democracy is not affecting me. I am one of the good citizens, who work from the early morning to the late evening to earn a living. I don’t have ambitions to be manager or director; I live my life in the shadow to stay out of trouble. Since I don’t have any ambitions, I don’t participate in any kind of gossiping. Every time I reside with a group of people and hear words such as freedom, justice, democracy and human or animal rights, I become sick; I get a keen pain that makes me bend on my knees. I shout loudly: “Ohhhhh my stomach…my stomach is hurting me.” I leave the group -of course some of them help me to get home- and once I get home, I grab the remote control of the TV and start to look for any action or exciting movie, or even cooking show. Some of my friends accuse me of being a pretender, in spite of all the assurances I made, so lately I’ve been returning home alone, because they’ve stopped helping me. The real crisis appears when I hear that some foreign state asked our state to transform into a democratic state. At this point, I start to flip, as if I were an official who lives within the paradise of his position, about to lose this paradise. Some of my friends have tried many times to convince me to visit a shrink to solve my problems, but when I get angry and shout I am not sick. I am not suffering from any problems. They smile and wink at each other. I can read their gestures, which say “no psycho admits his illness”. That’s why everybody around me calls me “the crazy”. I am not denying that I am a psycho, I admitted this in my first lines, but what should I do? I am afraid of visiting a shrink, I am afraid that he has the ability to make me say what I don’t want to say. I’m aware of my psychological complex and I will talk about it now; when I was a child, my father used to use his leather belt to hit me till my skin was filled with bruises. Every time he got home angrily because of someone outside the house, I would look like a zebra because of the hitting with his belt. I didn’t understand why he hit me at that time, but after a while, I mean after knowing the reason behind his hitting, I forgave him, because he was spitting out anger. I ought to bear him because he is my father, and a father can do anything to his children. If he can’t spit out his anger on his children, where could he spit it out? Citizens are the children of authority. The question is: when authority has to spit out anger, where should it go?


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