Memories
“For memories have moans and the pain of echoes, sounds, imaginations, and scents… of beautiful memories, our longing to go to the house of the village, as we used to call it, an old house on the slope of the valley that gathered all the loved ones from friends and family in the absence of natural areas in the city. The village was a breath of fresh air for us; happiness was not complete without the presence of three elements, as my grandmother used to say: water, greenery, and shade. One of my greatest wishes, which I considered almost impossible, was to have a house in the embrace of nature, two floors with my bedroom on the upper floor having a balcony overlooking a breathtaking natural view, with the open door of the room to the balcony adorned with white chiffon curtains swaying gently in the breeze, trembling with grace and allure.”
“As for the basement, it has a salon and an American-style kitchen, both of which overlook a private garden with the flowers I love, along with a Damascene fountain that pours refreshing water.
The impossible dream was realized with differences I accepted with complete satisfaction, as the bedroom was on the lower floor and the salon and kitchen were on the upper floor, offering breathtaking views from all directions. I now live completely in the embrace of nature with a civilized, luxurious city. I discovered this when I compared the luxury of the East to that of the West and found that Western luxury is realistic, reflecting the basic needs of individuals more than it reflects a state of unnecessary extravagance.”
“The elements of nature around my house varied: mountains, lakes, forests, and the sea; you can see them all from just one glance from the balcony. But what is the secret of this sadness that fills the heart? What is the secret of this loss? What is the secret of this longing for places that can hardly compete with a quarter of the beauty of what I am in? A longing for a narrow corner at the end of that street where kids used to laugh. A longing for a garden where you can hardly find more than a few intact benches to sit on. A longing for a restaurant in that narrow alley with a few wooden tables and straw chairs and clay dishes, which I bought as soon as I saw one in one of the boutiques despite its high price, to place my breakfast in the next day. Places have souls that call us, whispering in our ears whenever a scent wafts, or a sound or melody ripples; places have hands that pull us towards them whenever longing strums the strings of the heart.”