The flowers : It is a collection of thoughts, more like self-disclosure, on the tongue of a child who lived the experience of losing a father, and felt the fever of eternal separation, after her father drowned her with sincere fatherly affection, so she expressed what was brewing in her soul through letters; To prove that from pain the flowers of creativity may sprout, and from the heat of fever the seeds of tenderness sometimes sprout. Fragments is a serious attempt to write and create the most beautiful Arabic language. It is the conversation of the soul to the soul. A smile of hope despite the difficulties, it is a picture of challenge and will, of a girl who loves life.
لقد حان وقت الخروج من قوقعتك!هل شعرت يومًا أنك غير قادر على استكمال حوارٍ قائم بالفعل؟ هل سبق أن رغبت في المغادرة من حفل مع الأصدقاء؟ هل تريد العودة إلى المنزل سريعا قبل نهاية كل يوم؟ الاستمتاع بالهدوء التام والجلسة الساكنة مع النفس؟ هل تشعر أنه لا أحد يفهمك؟ ..
The scent of narcissus
It is a collection of stories that carry within it the harvest of the years. I derived its ideas from my daily observations, experiences, and coexistence with my students and colleagues, but it is not related to a specific character, as I formulated it to be a general situation that sometimes overlaps with more than one experience and more than one character, as the reader will live with the woman who sacrifices... She gave her life for the sake of others in “The Handkerchief”, the oppressed girl in “Abeer”, the arrogant girl “Shatha Al-Narjis”, the struggling teacher “Professor Marzouk”, the unfaithful friend “In the Wind”, and honoring parents “The Moment of Birth” and the downtrodden employee “Skyscrapers”. There is a view into the past through the story “Bars of Silence.”
I wrote this collection during my participation in the Aqdar Writing Program, which was organized by the Ministry of Education two years ago. The Ministry of Education printed limited copies without signing a contract or monopoly on copyright, simply to publish examples of the program’s work during that period, and then we were left with the option of publishing it, as it received remarkable demand and was chosen. One of the secondary schools in Sharjah considered it the best publication last year, and given the insistence of my colleagues and students to obtain copies of it, especially the keenness of a large number of female students to search for it in the exhibition, and the disappointment that it was not published, prompted me to take this step and come to your home, which has become an edifice of the word and a door of culture. To publish my collection, I ask the Almighty God for success.
Do you know how longing reaches its peak? When you continue, despite the arrows being directed at you professionally... arrows coming from the paths of no return, only to be caught by winds that also dig between your folds and write down the stories of the thorny autumn... and despite this, the hope of meeting is sweeping through all your insides... In our village, you find some people talking about the spring season as told in volumes of myths, and some of them painted a picture of it, lived in it and in its memory, and invented a lie in order to celebrate it with the lighting of the candles of the April cake. It is a cake that is made once a year, in April, and has remained sacred. How do we celebrate a spring that was only mentioned in volumes of legends?! Then I decided to be silent, but my pen was not silent yet. Between my letters I feel spring. Perhaps I have done the same as them. I also made up a lie in order to see from the silence of the letters what the previous ones in the search had gone astray from. Until I made the decision to search for him, but with a new identity and deeper convictions; To make it easier than trying to find it... Who?! Sheikh of our tribe; Through it, the spring to which we lost our way will be completed. Yes, it will be completed at the top of that mountain. In the middle of a search, you lose your dearest person, and you find yourself alone, complete. Perhaps I had found it among my letters at that time, and I knew where it was, or my subconscious was mocking me. But all I want to say in my right mind is: Honestly, I will not give up my new identity.
