Keluar

 It's often been said that all that's good must come to an end. Now that I think about it, everything must come to an end. Whether it's good or bad, there's always a beginning and an end. Such things are beyond our control.

I first contemplated this topic as I was saying my farewell to my mom at the airport. She said "this is the end of my journey with you." 

I was quite broken hearted as I had to leave my familiar habitat to my so called home for the past three years. After all, there's always a beginning and an ending. 

When I was 15, I had the privelige of being chosen as a participant in the Iraqi Young Leaders Exchange Program or IYLEP as we commonly call it. It introduced me to the wonderful feeling of getting on a plane and closing my eyes just as the engines are about to start. I always used this as a way to gain temporary serenity. To clear my head and come to terms with leaving all the people and places and convert them to memories and later, images lest I forget as is my humane nature. 

We're all born with expiry dates. We all have an ending. It's not something we can control. Life isn't fair. There are no happy endings but for the few capitalist rich individuals. Endings aren't measured by the sum of our karmic actions. Instead, they're measured by Machiavellianism. By how Far we're ready to venture and sacrifice to get what we want. Even if it means watching the ones we most treasure grow old inside a screen. Having their voices echo inside our electronics' speakers instead of our hallways. 

When I first came to Malaysia to pursue my Bachelor's, I felt human again. I came to terms with the fact that the mundane and routine aren't the norm anymore. That I can see the colors, hear the sound, and be able to appreciate it. 

It was hard at First, my body wasn't used to the food, the scents, the colors, and the noises. Afterwards, I came to terms with my new home. It was similar to that scene in Forrest Gump when Forrest runs and fights against his crutch; the crutch breaks and he never stops running afterwards. 

Eventually, the crutch did break; I met friends who became family, I got tattoos to chronicle my journey, and I got to know my love of music. Even though I am half blind, I wouldn't mind losing my other eye if forced to choose between it and my ears. Colors feel trivial in comparison with beat and rhythm; there's so much more to express in utilizing sound as a median. So much more to feel.

Then life happened as it always does...The sand in my sand clock ran out, and I had to face reality once again. As I submitted my passport for my final visa renewal, I was once again reminded that all must come to an end. 

I remember my last days. I never paid it much attention until one of those dearest to me uttered a sentence I can never forget: "Fuck, man. You're leaving soon and I can't believe it". During this memorable encounter, I felt great sorrow and serenity imagining my apartment without the sound of my footsteps pacing around as I'm thinking of what to do or myself sitting on the couch. I couldn't come to terms with having to re-establish my life again as I have done so many times before. People often criticize nomads for using their resources and the occasional "you're stealing our jobs". What these people fail to realize is that, we, the wondrous nomads have lives and roots too. That everyday, we are reminded of it when we see our parents and those most dear growing old on a screen. We can't smell the shampoo on their hair or the smell of the cigarettes that remains on their hair whenever we hug them as technology hasn't enabled hugging from a far yet. All we can do is live in a semi-state of happiness and remorse and hope that one day, we can live. That we can be afforded the humanity of being able to produce a humane family where no one needs to leave. Where we can have a positive version of the mundane which I came to detest so much. It is too easy to judge these days.

Eventually, I passed out on the couch, and the next day, I could hear the bell toll as I had to pack Four years worth of memories inside my luggage. A feeling I'm too familiar with and hope that one day, I won't have to experience it anymore. 

I still remember the odd encounters which gave me hope. The fellow nomads who journeyed to unfamiliar territory looking for a better life. I remember my favorite restaurant which consistent of wonderful Indonesian staff as foreign as myself who I always used to have oddly-timed conversations with. I remember asking to take a photo with them and them giving me the all-star treatment after hearing of my soon-to-be departure. An extra set of set C Ayam Gebpuk and a wonderful chocolate drink and a room full of handshakes. I remember my friends who all came as soon as they heard I'm leaving the next day. I remember listening to cringy Nickelback remembering my First year of university before I was introduced to the smiths and Joy Division. I remember passing by my old condominium with the annoying elevators that, for some reason, kept getting stuck and was never fixed for Four years (I got stuck there once). I also remember having to say goodbye and praying for ten more minutes but my e-hailing suddenly arrives and c'est fini. 

I remember landing in Baghdad and feeling nervous about having to meet everyone. It had been so long that everyone and everything just feels foreign. I think I now know how ET and superman felt when they landed on earth. 

Here I am, Two months later and still getting lost in my neighborhood. I started my mundane life once again facing the normal walks of life including an ever-growing daunting task of finding a job as a new graduate. I can't help but wish if this will pass or was I blessed with too great a knowledge in such an infant age.

It certainly feels hard; walking around the streets I used to tread as a teenager and observing the passerbys. Everyone is going somewhere, but I still don't know where I'm going. I can't help but feel eccentric as people can't help but stare at each other. I forgot what it's like living in a middle eastern society. A society which I still detest its ways and thinking until now. I'm almost able to restore my Arabic to its former glory. I still slip up every now and then or freeze trying to translate a term from English to Arabic to remember. 

I have my guitars and my music, but everything just sounds different. I'm haunted by the unknown. I can't help but think about the job I'm going to get and the future mundane aspect of life.

Most importantly, I can't help but miss the previous comfort I found in airports and exit signs.

As the Joker once said "It's all a joke! Everything anybody ever valued or struggled for... it's all a monstrous, demented gag! So why can't you see the funny side? Why aren't you laughing?"

                            (Curtains close)