My First Home
Hi,
My name is San Algamal I’m a 21 years old Iraqi millennial currently living in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. My first memories of this world would be waking up in our old house in a neighbourhood called “ Al Amriyah.”
I was born and raised during the Sadaam regime. I vividly remember waking up in that room. It was quite a small room! My mom’s queen-sized bed lay on my right hand side and my sister’s cradle lay right beside it. She wasn’t that young, however, as fate would have it, she was a 9 years old who grew up during a time in which living on a meager $100 was considered “a fine living.”
The giant wardrobe sat right in-front of me. It was decorated with a multitude of deer-like figures. The wood was Iraqi made. It was almost Orange like the Iron-rich sand on Mars. But as luck would have it, I wasn’t born on Mars. I was, instead, born in 1998/5/24.
As I gathered myself up and away from the bed, I headed outside our bedroom door and into the living room. To my right-hand side was our bathroom. It was dark and damp. The stainless steel shower lay ahead centered in the wall facing me. The modest amount sun rays which entered the room was reflected in the glimmer of the steel shower and the particles of water on the damp floor.
To my left was the living room. The sun had no trouble entering through the window. It had almost embraced it. The living room had a couch and a small but very old TV which didn’t display anything besides propaganda and in the rare times when me and my sister were lucky, it displayed cartoons.
As I kept walking straight in those very small grounds I once called home. I reached the kitchen. Straight ahead was the sink which I never approached because they’re were a lot of lizards behind it (They creep me out until this very day!) In the room’s right hand side was the toilet. A modest basic toilet which was smaller than an office cubicle. One could feel the walls embracing them as soon as they entered…and on my left was the fridge. It was a really old fridge but it served us well!
As I kept walking to the left of the kitchen, I opened the door to what once was our garden. To my left was a rusty Black iron bench with springs that felt very strained each time I lay my back on it. As I sat on the bench, I observed our tree. It was the only landmark worthy of my attention in the garden. It was always very fruitful as it bore a specific type of fruit we Iraqis called “Nabug.” I remember loving eating it! However, as time would have it, my mom sold all it’s harvest to her sister and cut it down. I remember hearing the chainsaw as I was watching teletubbies. The tree fell and the electricity seized but it wasn’t abnormal; electricity in Iraq isn’t 24/7. It’s in fact a common practice to pay a guy with a very large generator to supply us with electricity on a monthly basis.
I haven’t gotten a large recollection of memories in that house. I remember having tea after lunch, as it is customary among my people. It was usually accompanied by the tray and glassware vibrating due to the American tanks patrolling outside. In the afternoon, I also headed out to fetch snacks as we always did (Usually, a small chocolate bar and drink were sufficient.)
I remember everything
San Algamal
My name is San Algamal I’m a 21 years old Iraqi millennial currently living in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. My first memories of this world would be waking up in our old house in a neighbourhood called “ Al Amriyah.”
I was born and raised during the Sadaam regime. I vividly remember waking up in that room. It was quite a small room! My mom’s queen-sized bed lay on my right hand side and my sister’s cradle lay right beside it. She wasn’t that young, however, as fate would have it, she was a 9 years old who grew up during a time in which living on a meager $100 was considered “a fine living.”
The giant wardrobe sat right in-front of me. It was decorated with a multitude of deer-like figures. The wood was Iraqi made. It was almost Orange like the Iron-rich sand on Mars. But as luck would have it, I wasn’t born on Mars. I was, instead, born in 1998/5/24.
As I gathered myself up and away from the bed, I headed outside our bedroom door and into the living room. To my right-hand side was our bathroom. It was dark and damp. The stainless steel shower lay ahead centered in the wall facing me. The modest amount sun rays which entered the room was reflected in the glimmer of the steel shower and the particles of water on the damp floor.
To my left was the living room. The sun had no trouble entering through the window. It had almost embraced it. The living room had a couch and a small but very old TV which didn’t display anything besides propaganda and in the rare times when me and my sister were lucky, it displayed cartoons.
As I kept walking straight in those very small grounds I once called home. I reached the kitchen. Straight ahead was the sink which I never approached because they’re were a lot of lizards behind it (They creep me out until this very day!) In the room’s right hand side was the toilet. A modest basic toilet which was smaller than an office cubicle. One could feel the walls embracing them as soon as they entered…and on my left was the fridge. It was a really old fridge but it served us well!
As I kept walking to the left of the kitchen, I opened the door to what once was our garden. To my left was a rusty Black iron bench with springs that felt very strained each time I lay my back on it. As I sat on the bench, I observed our tree. It was the only landmark worthy of my attention in the garden. It was always very fruitful as it bore a specific type of fruit we Iraqis called “Nabug.” I remember loving eating it! However, as time would have it, my mom sold all it’s harvest to her sister and cut it down. I remember hearing the chainsaw as I was watching teletubbies. The tree fell and the electricity seized but it wasn’t abnormal; electricity in Iraq isn’t 24/7. It’s in fact a common practice to pay a guy with a very large generator to supply us with electricity on a monthly basis.
I haven’t gotten a large recollection of memories in that house. I remember having tea after lunch, as it is customary among my people. It was usually accompanied by the tray and glassware vibrating due to the American tanks patrolling outside. In the afternoon, I also headed out to fetch snacks as we always did (Usually, a small chocolate bar and drink were sufficient.)
I remember everything
San Algamal
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