Today I shaved my whole hair, although I love it a long time, but I used to shave it every year, and in the same month.
October, how I hate this period of the year, it reminds me of a dear person who has gone on the same day and almost the same hour I write and my hand is shaking I conjured the decrees for a moment, although I was young, but that did not prevent me from appearing in the image of a man who was not shaken by the wind, no matter how Her strength, even if my mother was involved, I didn't even cry, my little heart that that wasn't absorbing what was happening, just like a play, to a large extent I was a hero, maybe because I'm my oldest brother, so I was the focus of crowds that pity a child who will bear the burden of his flock, As a small prince riveted after the king's death.
I did not understand that sentence that all those who offered condolences to me say "be a man".
I don't want to be a man, I'm a kid, don't you know what a kid's word means?
But what does your hair have to do with this funny story?
All I'm saying is I love it like this, but in fact, I hate it like that, the hair-free head for me is a cancer sign that made my mom's head a laughingstock. My friends have fun, but I was proud of her, she looked like a Hollywood actress, acting as a role-playing action, she looked strong in her manly and feminine form. Sensational at the same time.
So every year I try to emerge as my mother, still as I've ever seen, superhero, everyone was calling her German because she grew up in Germany and gained all the virtues of that nation.
It's been a week since the burial, the crowd is leaving our little house, for them. The most complete duty, the burial ceremony, the funeral...
Only formality makes them feel complacent about the situation.
I will not be ungrateful, especially for my grandmother and my aunt, who haven't left our house for two years.
Two years of injustice and contempt from my father who felt that his freedom was surrounded by two people running every small and big, he got tied up in his house, unable to drink. And not to sleep with his wife, the poor woman, who has lost the pleasure of anything that sleeps in the lobby to avoid any contact that makes her weaker than her weakness.
My mother was totally incapable of assuming the responsibility of the House, especially after the share of chemotherapy, vomiting involuntarily and without interruption, spraying the earth, and silently in order not to frighten her children, who do not know what is happening.
The nightmare finally ended for them, even if the end is tragic, they can now return to their normal lives, it is salvation, a bullet mercy that freed a pure soul from a body booby-trapped in cancerous cells, freed people from slavery and others from the compulsory subsidies that burdened them.
Sit down every day on the porch, wait for the fare coming from downtown, maybe that's just a joke. My mother cannot leave us like this, she has not become, her clothes are still tidy in her closet, she will inevitably return...
I did not hope to observe the main street, I soon found myself watching my father's return, though it was cruel but I was afraid to lose him, not rest for me till I see him coming swaying because of over-drinking.
I changed my name now, "son of a drunkard" but that didn't affect my love for him, it was his return at night.
Run to my room before boarding, I don't want to meet him. I just need him to be home.
The other one was avoiding me and he didn't want to see him under the influence of booze, often I was looking at him when I saw him in that case, maybe that would revive something dead inside. I'm almost ready for all his pitchflakes. He preferred little in the bank, I know, because I was always on the lookout when he got drunk and took off his clothes. From the money and go on his bank card to check how much he spends every day, that's got me a big inventory when he found out he cashed more than a thousand dirhams. Only daily drinking, then I had to steal his bank card and burn it surreptitiously so that he wouldn't use it again, my childish mind that that was thought to be the right solution.
Usually he's scolding me because I don't do his orders perfectly, I didn't wash my clothes, and I didn't cook dinner because I was busy watching a soccer ball.
I'm starting to get used to something, and I'm good at cooking eggs, which has always been the main dish because of the time constraints between classes, two hours are not enough to prepare a tasty meal.
After a year I stopped going to school altogether, I became a traditional, obedient housewife, I had to eat my little sister and Cook and arrange the house. The task is an excuse to escape from the hell of oppression and pity look at school, the silent introverted people are more likely to be harassed by their high-morale colleagues.
I know the grouchy face doesn't amuse anyone, but it was a defense method that expels the inquisitive, the bullies.
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