Dear Diary,
My head is buzzing louder than a neon sign , my eyes are stinging from the absence of sleep, and my soul is weighed down by the cruel comedy of existence because nothing says ‘good morning’ like a brain that’s still hitting snooze. Welcome to my yesterday where exhaustion and irony waltzed like old frenemies, and I had the honor of playing the reluctant dance partner.
Let’s rewind.Thursday: reluctantly enlisted in the Eid extravaganza at my aunt’s. And by Eid extravaganza I mean “deadline to my impending doom” because exams lurk ominously behind the festivities. Nothing like mixing celebration with academic anxiety to brighten the mood. My university is made up of
Party killers, indeed.
We cruised through our quaint little third-world town(Counting down the moments until I’m back in the city where my university and I have an unspoken truce.) where illiteracy and poverty have formed a devastating alliance. Why is this tragic? Because poverty with education offers a glimmer of hope since you know how to hustle creatively. Poverty without education? A Sisyphean tragedy, an eternal cycle of despair with no escape.
From 2:00 PM to 7:00 PM, my aunt, her husband, and I handed out money and food to the needy. Some are known to my aunt, others just scattered on the street. The sun didn’t care about our noble intentions, roasting us like unwanted extras in a survival drama.
But you know what it was worth it!
Giving to those in need is more than charity.It’s a chance to see the world through their eyes, to feel gratitude for what you have, and to understand the quiet strength of those who work tirelessly under the sun while you watch from the shade.
We returned to my aunt’s house around 7:30 PM, give or take, and broke our fast. Mind you, it wasn’t Eid yet, just Arafat day so patience was the main course.
Then, at the very precise hour of 9:26 PM, we resumed our charity mission, this time with my teenage cousin let’s call him Adrian tagging along.And here is the kicker :I spot three street cleaners and we’re handing out food to them, right? One of them points to a guy and goes, “That’s our cleaning supervisor,make sure he gets some.” (Adrian’s holding the last parcel; I’m empty-handed.)
I turn to Adrian and say, “give him the food.”
But the supervisor, with all the modesty of a reluctant king, says, “Oh no, it’s okay, you don’t have to give me anything.”
I nudge Adrian again and say : “Just give him the damn food.”
And Adrian? Shakes his head like he’s deciphering some ancient riddle, “Nope, he said no.”
Adrian, seriously? Are you too smart for your own good?
I think that, the supervisor is just too embarrassed to take it and he feels like a beggar, holding onto whatever shred of pride he has left like it’s a life raft.
Adrian, please give the man the food. It’s charity, not a royal decree.