I sat on the table swinging my feet, which came nowhere near the ground, and I'm leaning forward, my neck bent down. I could feel my hands clutching the side of the table unnecessarily hard, and my hair falls around my face, plunging my eyes into darkness. I concentrate on the strands of my hair which occasionally move, everytime someone walks past. The surroundings blur.
"Hey wacky iraqi, you're late again!".
I've never been on time for anything in my life, and i mean that with utmost sincerity.
I hear a laugh, and realise that its mine.
I jump down from the chair, mentally cursing the fact that I’d worn heels in a vain bid to reach the unnatural heights of my English friends. Ouch i repeat for 10 minutes, although i cant keep a straight face as i complain.
After three hours of wistful wandering, we end up in the same place we started.
"Man i can eat a horse" comes the voice of guy 2. Rather untastefully, he put on a french accent while saying the sentence. Apparently a french social stereotype is that they eat horses. News to me.
We crowd round a white plastic table. There's around eight of us around a table for four. We spill onto the pavement.
"Thats it, Mcdonalds.".
I sigh inwardly. I still don't see the appeal of mcdonalds, apart from the brightly coloured toys.
The next two hours spent in Mcdonalds is officially one of the strangest times i have ever spent. The conversation revolved around how Mcflurries are in fact made of creamed lard and sugar.
As i walk down the stairs, i feel a flush of guilt at the mess left behind, although i actually made no mess, and spent 5 minutes convincing the group to bin their trash. No luck, it was left on the table.
"what do you think the cleaners are for? they should work for their money" someone joked.
The rest of the day passes like a dream, where i was there, but i felt as if i was a mere onlooker. Even the photos are hazed, and i look positively as if i'm in a far away place in my mind.
I was aware of a strong shower, where there was no time to seek shelter. I was aware seconds later the sun brightly shined, apologising for its absence, and warming our soaked selves.
I don't rememeber talking much. I often think so deep, i stun myself into dumb silence, and i cannot recall how many times i've been told this is 'unhealthy', but i really can't help myself.
"When you leaving then?".
I smile, and reply "soon".
Twenty minutes are spent with my group, recalling moments that they've shared with me. I'm silent. What am I supposed to say?
Sudden synchronised ringing of mobile phones begins. Our ringtones making a delicious harmony despite its extreme variety. The ringtones vary from my Nathem el Ghazali, to 50 Cent's Candy shop. The music rises up into the air, accompanied by a cold breeze. As I leave I get kissed and hugged by teary girls.
A few of the guys cough, and pat my back so hard i almost fall over.
I may never see any of them again.
Actually, I probably will never see any of them again.
A guy hugs me, and i'm in midway between shock and indignance, because well, I was caught off guard, and I have enough problems with Culture shock due to consistent travelling.
A photo is taken while my face is still in silent shock from said hug.
me:"errrr that was weird"
"T its not weird to miss your closest friends *cough* "
Iraqis always have to leave. I always have to leave.
Is it bad that when i walked away, I felt nothing. Just nothing as usual.