LOST IN TRAUMA AND MEMORY

My life on the ship always evokes flashbacks from my childhood, making me more patient and stronger. Yesterday, I was eating in the ship’s restaurant peacefully until one of the people who lives on the ship with me, a newcomer like myself, sat next to me and placed his plate on the table, saying, “This food is inedible.” I sank into my bite, stopped chewing for a while, and suddenly felt transformed into an unpleasant eater.

I asked him, “Why do you say that? I find it delicious.” He replied, “I don’t know, it’s just food that isn’t tasty.” I reflected on my childhood when we ate beans and chickpeas with our hands, sitting in a beautiful circle on the floor. We were simple and poor, and our culture required us to eat what my father brought and to thank God for His blessings.

Sometimes, as I lie in my little room on the ship, waiting for my eyes to fall asleep, I hear my roommate say, “Damn this life, we sleep here like animals…” And my memory takes me back to my childhood, to the bedroom of me and my brothers, where the cold air whistled through. We covered a break in the window glass with some old rags. Those were beautiful days, and we always buried ourselves under the blankets, heads covered by the duvet, warming ourselves with our breath. Thanking God for His blessings upon us.

We even tolerated cigarette smoke in the living room, the only room in the house where we ate, stayed up late, received guests, and where my parents slept, and the smoke clouds lingered. Our culture allowed everyone in the house to smoke a cigarette without asking for permission or even considering the presence of others. And now, here I am in this living room on the ship. Amazing, large, with a 60-inch TV, heated day and night, free internet, and I complain. Why? Because I’m not allowed to smoke here?!

I also remember washing my clothes by hand in the country I fled before deciding to seek refuge in the Netherlands. How I cleaned my room and cooked for myself. Often, I ate meagre bread with a bit of cheese, just to survive. How many traumas have I experienced that I no longer remember what was before, and I am simply not happy with who I am.

There is a vast gap between the past and the present. I get lost in a state of searching for my lost self amid my traumas and problems here and there. This conflict distracts my eyes from the truth that I cannot see, causing a lack of gratitude.

Will I remain stuck between my memories? Or will there come a day when I embark on a ship full of new illusions towards the lost and the unknown? Or will I accept my gift and love it, creating beautiful new memories that I will remember before my transfer comes? Perhaps the answers to these questions will only come many years from now. Or maybe a day will dawn when I recall these days of struggle and say to myself, “Oh, how wonderful that time was, living on a beautiful ship.”

I don’t know.

Firas Kalousie, originally from Syria, is an artist, theatre maker, actor, director, and the author of two books containing short stories and articles for newspapers and magazines. He also has an artwork titled ‘Achter de stilte’ hanging near a municipal office on Botersloot in Rotterdam. He has previously exhibited in Switzerland, the Netherlands, and Syria. Firas has written and directed plays and films. His production ‘Since the very beginning’ was performed at Theater De Spiegel in Zwolle, and recently in Rotterdam, he presented the pantomime play ‘Binnenstebuiten’ at Theater De Banier, which he both wrote and directed. The production featured newcomers in leading roles.