My Man

As I stand under the President Bridge, a famous bus station in Downtown Damascus, I notice that the buses heading to the area I live in are nowhere to be found. I stand there, waiting, carrying my laptop and my little Iranian bag. I look around hoping for something to take me home, but all my hopes die slowly in vain. No buses heading to my area, on the outskirts of Damascus, can be seen.

I sight; and start cursing the moment I decided to move to this area. The house is a much better house with cheaper rent, but com’n; what’s the point of a whole castle if you can’t actually reach the castle.

I see a bus with my area sign and I start running like crazy after it; my laptop is about to fall off my shoulder and my knee hurts after I pumped it hard yesterday.

The driver is on the phone; but he stop his conversation to announce to me, and others like me who have been waiting as well, that he is not heading out.

I seem to be the only person around in asking the immortal question: Why?

“The road is blocked with cars; the only gas station with actual fuel in the area is on the road,” he explains, “and everyone in Damascus is heading there for some fuel.”

I found the whole situation to be absurd and decided on taking an expensive taxi ride home. I stop a cab; argue with its driver hoping for a better deal; but the driver knows I’m desperate for a ride; and he refuses to soften up and lower the price a bit.

As I rest in the front seat of the car; trying to ignore the insane driving methods this cabbie is practicing; I pull my iPod and shuffle my way through my music. I was hoping for a LMFAO song or a silly Maroon Five adult rock song. However, the mean iPod decides to play its tricks on me; and instead of the upbeat Sexy and I Know It music; I find myself listening to Barbra Straisand song; My Man.

Why does love hide for me in songs? Why does it hold its little ugly teeth in my skin when I’m trying to hide away from it? Why would it come down on me like a thunder shock when I least expect it.

I find myself hitting reply again, and listen to the short powerful song again. I feel weak and hopeless in the hands of love. I find my heart to be beating fast as the magnificent voice of Striasand fills my ears with words that I can’t but relate to it. I felt the need to just tell someone that my heart is aching with the desire to love someone; a man who makes me feel that my life is just a spare; but I don’t care. When he takes me in his arms; the world is bright alright. I’d think whenever there is a problem with him that what’s the difference if I say I’d go away when I know I’ll come back on my knees one day.

I pull my mobile; pick a random number between all the numbers of meaningless dates and broken hearts I carry on my mobile. I know he, who will receive this message, is going to disregard it the same way he disregarded my flowers, my chocolate, and my first Cross that I wore in my life that I gave him. However, as I’m stuck in the traffic, with gloomy people standing in line hoping for a drop of fuel to fill their dusty cars or to light a heater in their house. I just needed to feel something beautiful in my life. I look around me and all I see is empty faces of people in Syria who wake up every morning hoping for a change but they leave their houses to find out that everything is changing to the worse. Those who stopped asking about their loved ones who disappeared long ago, those who are hoping for good news but all they hear is the lack of bread, fuel, gas and the poisoned water. The gloom of Damascus felt like its cold: unbearable and attacking. I needed some warmth in my immediate life. I needed to stop putting my heart on life support with endless hopes and I needed an action to take a place.

On my mobile I type; “cause where ever my man is; I’m his, forever more” and try to send it. However, the mobile network is down and the message gets stuck in the wireless.


I lose my focus on my mobile just in time to hear gunshots from afar. I jump out of my seat and try to look but suddenly the road opens. Cars start moving and everything is back to normal.

I receive a text message from my mobile provider: your message could not be delivered. Please try again later.

I sight.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. TheFirstWriter
    Feb 03, 2012 @ 00:34:14

    I do not like cab rides at all, in Canada they can be quite slow. Once I considered taking a $100.00 taxi ride to get to my friend’s birthday party lol. Sounds like your intentions are good.


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