The war in Ukraine ruined my “home”
Not a single bomb fell on my apartment, but some explosions still happened in my mind
It’s 9 am, I’m in a coffee shop, and every table on its terrace is occupied. Most of these people are runners. Some men take their t-shirts off after the run. No women do. Biology? Sexism? Civility? Privilege? Arrogance? Entitlement? I’m tired of thinking about why people of different sexes do things differently. Another question pops into my mind. Why do some shake hands and others don’t? Players will be playing their games. It’s a battle of the sexes. Who am I in this game – a spectator, a referee, an outsider, someone who hasn’t had enough money to buy a ticket to see the show?
A little of every thing.
One thing I know, I’m a reader. A few people here are readers too. I deduce that from the books on their tables. One woman is working on her laptop. The rest are resting and chatting, drinking coffee and eating macarons. I got myself a small filtered coffee and a pistachio macaron, which I can say was like a rich and satisfying piece of cake after having consumed it.
A few moments later and there’s now a queue of people — or cherha — queuing to get their morning cup of something. Perhaps, all of these people woke up so early for the same reason I did — an air raid…
