Its already past midnight. Its a hot Ammani summer night. The air conditioner is humming in the background. Everything else is silent, to the level that I can hear ringing in my ears. I keep switching the pillow from one side to the other, never seeming to find the right cold spot. The covers are all crumbled up around me.

Its not cosy. And its not comfortable. I’ve been trying to sleep for hours, to no avail. I’m tired, my eyes are burning me but my mind is heavy with thought. I wonder if this is what insomnia sufferers go through every night.

Every thought imaginable is zipping through my mind, and with each thought I feel heavier.

I’m thinking of my day tomorrow. How I’ll force myself to wake up to the alarm clock. Put on my nicest clothes and my fakest smile and head to school. How I’ll drive through morning traffic asking myself the same questions I ask everyday: why are they driving so offensively? Why are they even allowed to drive? Don’t they know how to use lanes?

I’m thinking of how I’ll pass through Al Jam3a Street, looking at the empty lanes prepared for the now-cancelled ‘Mashroo3 el bus el saree3′. And how I’ll feel the very same tide of anger I feel everyday rush through me, for the many times I was late for class because of construction works for this now-failed project.

I’m thinking of how I’m going to park my car in the same spot I’ve parked in everyday for the past year, on a dusty piece of land right in front of the faculty of medicine, and look at the torn down power line, wondering if it’ll ever be fixed?

I’m thinking of how I’m going to pass by the very same orange-dressed garbage man “3amel wa6an”, and say good morning to him with the most sincere tone I have and watch him raise his head from his broom and give me the purest smile of gratitude, like I have given him a million dinars. How I’ll wonder how many people pass by him in the morning, ignoring his very presence. How I’ll wonder why he has to wear the same thick, long-sleeved, orange uniform he wears in the winter under the burning summer sun and heat of the asphalt on the streets of Amman.

I’m thinking of how I’ll walk up the same pedestrian bridge ‘jesr el zera3a’ I’ve walked up everyday for the past year, and how I’m going to find the same 70 year old man sitting on the side of the walkway with his head pointed to the ground, going through his ‘masba7a’ saying ‘Al hamdolellah’ for every bead he goes through, while waiting for the eager college students passing the bridge to give him some of the change in their pockets. How I’ll wonder what his name is, and why he’s there? What his story might be?

I’m thinking of how I’ll pass the same young child who sells soft tissues, right next to the university gate and wonder why he’s smiling all the time? Wonder if he ever wanted to go to school like everyone else around him?

I’m thinking of how I’m going to sit through three hours of lectures, wondering if the professors ever had passion for what they do, because they have none now. Wondering about how I come to school everyday and leave without learning anything new.

I’m thinking of how, like every other day, I’ll walk into the university cafeteria, and look at the cashier and find only anger in his eyes. Of how I’ll give him a JD for a bottle of water just to hear him complain that he has no change, even though I can see the change in his cash drawer.

I’m thinking of how I’ll look at the people around me during breaks and notice how empty some of them are. Of how some, like me, wear fake smiles and force fake laughs just to go through the day’s routine. Of how others come to school looking for a new experience and end up leaving empty handed. Of how some think school is the best matchmaking experience they will ever have and how they, too, will leave empty handed. Of how I’ll see the same not-so-good-looking girl sitting, alone, in the very same spot, fumbling with her mobile phone because she wants to look busy.

*to be continued*

Written by: Faris Ayyoub – the other contributer of the joint blog.

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