Zaulson Lee

Iman (FB)

 Author

 Lu Qiuyuan | Social Observation-11:26 AM, November 16, 2015

 To

 This is a story I wrote in 2006, 9 years ago. Because of the bloody conflict between Israel and Palestine, I have already posted it on Facebook. I hope this is the last time. I also hope that the years will be quiet and the world will be stable.

 ____________________________

 Yiman is a girl I met in London. Her family is pretty good, so she has the opportunity to come to London to study. She is my other companion besides Maiko and Zuska having coffee and chatting.  This girl is very special. She is a Muslim. She is always quiet and doesn't express political opinions. That is, she attends class obediently and then wears a headscarf.  However, Iman likes to joke with me in private. She once told me that if I want to marry her, she can come to live in Taiwan and allow me to eat pork, but I have to pretend that I am a Muslim in front of her parents.  It’s just because I really don’t want my wife to pray to Mecca five times a day, so I can’t help but give up, otherwise she really looks like a typical Middle Eastern beauty, with thick eyebrows, big flexible eyes and a playful expression.  At that time, many students competed.  Especially because she lives in Casablanca, it makes my romantic mood to the highest point. This city is simply the representative place of romance in North Africa. Think about the North African Spy Shots shot here, every time I talk to her  Drinking coffee will remind you of the black singer's "As time goes by" with a dark singing voice and piano sound.  She would always sing this song to me in her French-sounding English, and then force me to applaud.

 Because of this, the theme song of "The Bourne of North Africa" ​​can be said to be played several times every time I think of Yiman.  Every time I hear this song, I will become a child, putting my hands on my cheeks and propping on the table.  I quietly listened to this song with a touch of sadness.  Even though I can't understand what the black singer is singing, I think this is a song given to me by Yiman.

 Iman told me that her mother was Palestinian, so she had stayed in Jerusalem for a while.  She rarely talks about her past, but after finishing the Middle East politics that day, perhaps because I strongly condemned Israel, she suddenly took my hand and asked me to walk with her.

 That afternoon, with the fine snow falling in London, the two of us walked from the London School of Economics and Political Science to Covent Garden, and then we sat at the corner of Nero Coffee (Nero) and talked about her past.

 She said that for her, living in Palestine has no self-esteem at all.  She has to pass the checkpoint every day when she goes home from college, and she may be detained at any time.  I remember one day, when she was interrogated by two Israeli soldiers at the checkpoint, the other side asked her what she was reading, she said, politics.  The two soldiers immediately made things difficult for her. In addition to dumping everything in her purse on the ground in public, she also forced her to answer questions in Hebrew.  She knew these people could speak Arabic, so she refused to speak, and then she was slapped twice and asked her to register her address before leaving.

 She said that around ten o'clock in the evening, a group of soldiers suddenly entered her house.  She was taking a shower, her parents were ready to go to bed, and her younger siblings were watching TV.  After this group of people came to the door, they said they wanted to search for prohibited items, and they went straight through the boxes.  She said lightly that her mother had already removed her headscarf, but the other person stared at her mother with a smirk, which made her feel very uncomfortable.  She didn't change her tone and said flatly, is it because I am a Palestinian, I am in politics, and I am in college, so I should be humiliated?  I wish there was a bomb that would make me throw them at them.  Her tone was flat, but I saw the wounded eyes flashed by in her eyes, like a lioness roaring.

 I nodded to her and said, I understand your mood.  However, her firm tone did not change and she told me plainly, you would not understand.

 She said to me with a calm expression, do you know?  My brother later became a human bomb.  Her expressionless face made my hair creepy.

 She said that her brother was only seventeen years old, 1048 days ago (even the number of days is clearly counted), her brother went to school, talked and laughed with every classmate, then went home at noon and told his mother  He was going to the supermarket to buy things, and he kissed his mother, and then he never came back.  In the afternoon, there was an explosion. A Palestinian boy gave his life in exchange for the happiness of dozens of Israeli civilians.

 Later, their family became the subject of regular visits and prisons by Israelis. Fortunately, their father was a wealthy Moroccan businessman. After using some relationships, they had the opportunity to leave the sad place and resume life in Casablanca.  Then, she couldn't stand the atmosphere at home, so she left Morocco and came to London to study.

 Looking at the snowflakes outside the window, I really don't know what to say.  Because I never knew that there was such a deep wound in Yiman's heart, and this wound has never been scarred, and it cannot be healed.  Because of her calmness, she revealed a hatred that was colder than Daxue.

 The two of us looked at each other, without a word to say.

 Then she kissed me gently, and then hummed the song to me:

 You must remember this

 A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.

 The fundamental things apply

 As time goes by.

 The story is over.

 ________________________________

 postscript:

 Yiman once told me very seriously that her brother is not a terrorist we think of. He has a girlfriend who talks about marriage. His parents love him very much. His sister also treats him as a treasure. The family environment is normal.  (I interjected when I heard here, your family situation is not normal.) The only last sentence left by his brother was carved on the desk in the classroom: "I love my nation!"

 She asked me, if it were me, would he do the same thing?  I shrugged, because I knew I was afraid of pain, but I thought to myself, if a natural enemy country invades Taiwan and bullies my friends and family like the Israelis, I might also use all means to fight back and go back.  .

 This is fate.

 It is a kind of desperate hatred. When there are missiles and bullets roaring by every day, when friends and family members may be inexplicably stopped, they will be stopped and punished to kneel. When you cannot speak your mother tongue, you have to be forced to speak the enemy’s language.  I don't know where the future is.

 To trade one life for many lives, this becomes the fate of the Palestinians.  She said that the Israeli army killed a hundred of us with weapons, and we killed ten of them with the flesh.  From her plain tone, I smelled hell.

 Killing each other, precarious, is a portrayal of her past life.

 I don't know if she is good now, because I heard that she went back to Casablanca to be a teacher and kept inviting me to play. It shows that she should be doing well materially.  But I haven't seen her appearing on the Internet for a long time. I don't know if she went to fight guerrilla.

 Sometimes I think about it, I actually know a lot of "terrorists." Now when I travel to the five continents of the world, I can find friends to welcome me, which can be regarded as a kind of comfort.

 To

 (((What is blood thicker than water? You probably already understand it, but how to take (sensible revenge,) really requires extremely high wisdom!))) Elite

 To

 To