That moment

Sometimes I hate myself for the simplest reasons; when I eat bread when I’ve put on some weight, when I get tight with a deadline assignment and when I’m late.So I made my mind to never be late again neither to school nor to birthdays. Unfortunately as most of my resolutions went down the drain I got late again.My impatient aunt horns twice as she reversed out of our front yard, I held my All-Star shoes and descended the stairs twice a time, I got in the passeneger seat and I closed the door violently so the door snapped and I received a scolding glare that I avoided and worked on tying my laces. 

I got castigated again.

This time my crime is that I’m wearing the Kofyeeh. I shouldn’t wear it everyday and especially not today, because we’re driving in the Jewish part of the city to send some money abroad in the post office, and now that I’m wearing it something bad will happen I’m sure she said either procrastinating the line, or paying extra money for reasons that I can’t understand or receiving the eye piercing stares.

I was used to this over fear that my aunt always suffers from, you see her brother (my uncle) was in jail for reasons also unfathomable to her so I can’t blame her. However this sense of understanding didn’t overcome my feeling of proudness to wear my Kofyeeh, I am always called stubborn, well maybe I am. 

We parked the car at the far east side of the crowded lot, I got out of the car, closed the door gently making sure not to add salt to the wound of my aunt’s weariness. It was a cold February day, the wind whined and whistled, as I walked effortly I tightened the warm Kofyeeh around my neck like sheild that the belligerent wore or the pen that the poet held.

I walked on.