Every smile leads to you, every poster, every corner... All the lonely drives I take to work and back home... I think of you... and all the pain just rushes back to strain my throat... as if you just left yesterday... Every prayer, when I sit... I just remember how you taught me what to say... I remember how you pushed for a better me... Snowy nights and morning prayers in a distant mosque come flashing back... Every school reminds me how you used to sneak out of line 10 minutes before the bill rings just to pick me up... so I won't wait forever in line... Every apartment that is for sale, every brother I see with another, every gym, every cigarette, every cup of coffee, every PC game... I cannot forget... Every book I see...I see your face... At every car that looks like yours... I almost crumble into tears... Every time I get sick, reminds me of all the long nights you spent with me in a cold distant hospital, every time I get sick I remember how you sacrificed "kids play...
What makes a country? better yet what is the definition of a country? It is not meant to make Jordan any less of a nation or a culture when you say that Jordan as a country didn't exist 100 hundred years ago. There is a big difference between an inhibited land and a country. "A country" adds the dimension of political identity, of a nation that moves with its self appointed leadership towards it's own agenda. Before the so called "independence" of Arab countries, we were part of a larger nation and a larger political cluster. It was not ONLY Jordan... Almost every other Arab country did not exist as an individual political structure as it does today. And we were sold the concept of "A COUNTRY" as if it is the greatest achievement of our modern times. Our greatest disappointment was sold as our greatest achievement!! The unity of the Arab nations was broken down with lines of ink held sacred on fresh glossy maps with 21 proud new flags!! ...
This is a true story, that I've witnessed during my university years... it started sometime around 1998... his name was Ramzi, I would never forget for he crafted his name so neatly on that notebook... his journey probably started at the tender age of Seven... He used to hold his tiny box of half full SB Gum, a box that looked a bit too large for his small hands... He would look you in the eye for a second, smile and walk those tiny steps in the hope that you would buy the product he is promoting, (his innocence and compassion)... He was different, he was polite, never said a bad word... a kid selling chewing gum... At days you would see him running away from university guards, who used to kick them out and confiscate his tiny box... his tiny source of livelihood... Ramzi grew up in a university surrounded by young men and women who knew him well, some hated the way he looked, some loved his spirit... I clearly remember the day when one of those young men bought him a present.....
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