"Arabian Nights"

Lord knows if I could choose what family to be born into, I would have. Wealth, power and respect are not family’s attributes I would have looked for, just love. The pressure of being the first born to an Arab man is insurmountable. We have all heard the cliché’, "weight of the world on my shoulders” but right now, I would welcome that weight. It is the biggest talent show around. How one son can out do or out smart another. Our last names are battle armor and we protect our families’ legacy with death if necessary.                                                                                                           

  It was not until my twenty-fifth birthday did I realize that this burden was not mines to carry. Pegged with the name Saddam at birt, God had other plans for me. Presidency, political figures and fame were not for me. I was cursed with normalcy and with this I was content. Writing was always an obsession for me, not a passion. The only real time in my life where someone would listen, where no matter what I wrote or felt, my thoughts would be heard.                                                                        

My parents were beyond old-fashioned. They claimed that there path was the path to righteousness. They did not care if following this path meant changing who I was, they just wanted a piece of mind. A sense of accomplishment, knowing that on Earth, they instilled “values” in their children as their parents before did. This killed me on the inside. The world had become a melting pot, and my parents were blinded by old-fashioned beliefs and traditions. These aspects they followed, dealt more with culture than religion. Of course religion was always intertwined and made to believe our foundation. But as always, I was not buying it.                                                           

  I hate my life. Spending countless nights typing away drafts of this particular piece, there is no other way to sum it up, I hate my life. Everything about it does not represent who I am. My body roams this earth but my soul and heart is somewhere far away. At times, I find myself trying to catch up to my mind but it is always just a few steps ahead. My heart yearns for more but is currently forced to accept the inevitable. I will die an Arab. I am a shell of a man, who if given the chance, would run as fast as his fingers type. Never stopping. Never looking back.  Forever running deep into the calm aloof gaze, of the Arabian night.