An Ishmael of Syria by Asaad Almohammad

Author:Asaad Almohammad [Almohammad, Asaad]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2016-04-05T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Learned Helplessness

At home, the slow water ran and spilt through the blooded knuckles of my shivering hands. My bathroom door was open; I could see my whole body on the mirror opposite. I stared at my naked reflection and remembered Jennifer telling me that I was “built like a brick shithouse”, and the first time she touched my chest, she told me that I was “rough like an animal”. Even at five foot nine, I’ve been called brawny. Sami thinks it’s because of my warm, tan complexion. With that skin tone, I can get lost in the midst of Latin Americans, Mediterranean, and Pakistanis. I showered, the water slowly running from my hair to my feet, as I readying myself to go to work. But all I could think about was Jennifer: her slender, soft body; her innocent, pretty face; her fruity voice.

We were the total opposite of each other as though we were from different planets; a pessimist falls for an optimist. Richard Flanagan, in A Narrow Road to the Deep North wrote that “A happy man has no past, while an unhappy man has nothing else.” Jennifer rejected the notion; she was a firm believer that everybody deserves an equal shot at happiness. For in experience, the delusions of faith are unveiled. I am sure that at some point in my fucked-up life, the floating emotion of happiness has made some appearances. However, tragedies have left more lasting scars with an intimacy that has crystallised into a lifelong bond. After all, Flanagan spoke the language of a guy whose core endeavour was to have fewer troubles than a girl who lived for nothing but the pursuit of happiness.

The code of one of the Syrian armed forces implied punishments were collective while rewards were personal; I lived by a different code. For me ordeals were matters of classification and thus, kept on a need-to-know basis. Pleasurable and happy events were shared. So it followed that, since, when shared, emotions became amplified for me, and contagious to others, it made sense to imprison bad experiences in my heart.

**********

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do a thing. I looked at some articles and ended up checking Jennifer’s profile on Facebook. I hadn’t planned for our relationship to start; I’d avoided all of her signals. I’d played as dumb as dumb comes! If it wasn’t for Caroline, I wouldn’t have even met her. She and I were close during her time on the island. As the daughter of a priest, she had some strong opinions. Nevertheless, I enjoyed our little theological debates. For some reason, she fixated on her perception of me being a Muslim. Even after I told her that I had been an atheist for life, she argued with me, on the basis of her presuppositions of a tanned Middle Easterner. Our affairs were purely platonic and whenever she got herself a man, I lost touch with her. I never knew why!

I respected Caroline’s wishes and when she called, I made myself available.

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