The Mark of All Beginnings...

I promised myself that I would stand next to you as you fought your battle. I promised you that all will be good, that I would make it easier, that I would stand beside you till the very last moment, till the very last breath.
And here I sit next to you, watching your breath weaken, your skin turn pale, as your soul fights for its existence. I put my hand in yours and you squeeze it, letting me know that you are still here, telling me that your love for me is what is keeping you. I get up slowly; kiss your lips as my tears fall on your face. You are dying, a graver death than that of cancer. A death with no remedy, with no deliverance promised. The body once perished is relieved off its pains, but the soul is never.
Your tears appear now from under the closed eyelids, and they get mixed up with mine that fell on your face, and I can't take it. Silently I sob, silently I swallow my tears, and silently I kiss you. But you hear me. You feel me as I burn us down to the ground. I wish I could control it, but I cannot. You squeeze my hand some more, and I feel it giving me life. Suddenly I am the one dying, I am the weak one, and you are the one bringing life into my soul. As though the remainders of your fragile spirit are creeping into me, nourishing my agonizing soul.
I start to shiver, and you are as firm as stone. You, lying there in your hospital bed, supporting me while I should be the one supporting you. I cry, and I allow myself to sob aloud, until I hide my face in the side of your pillow. I hear your weak breath, and realize I should calm down, for your sake. I get up, and start my weak attempts to wipe my tears. And then I hug you. I hold on to you for what seems like eternity. And I say goodbye…




I had been looking for years and years for that one person to be able to love. And he came just like a dream come true. I saw in him the one person to break my defences and unlock my heart. I do not think it was love from first sight. It was pre-destined love. Love before sight. I believed myself crazy for falling for him, but crazy I wanted to be, if it meant having him.

I remember counting the hours, and timing my sleep just so I would be able to wake up and find him awake, and talk to him. I'd promised myself never to give my heart so easily, and never to go through unprotected love. But he came to me an intoxicating drug, a disease that took hold of me, never allowing me to breathe. And I was happy.
I was falling in love. And I was surprised, that this time everything was perfect. He was available, he was there, and waiting for me to say the words. Ironically enough, he comes to me, and tells me the words I'd never imagine hearing, or reading but in tragic love stories, and corny cheap movies. He told me he had cancer.

I'd never known someone who had died of cancer, except for my cousin Ali. But it was such a long time ago that I can barely recall it. I think I was about eleven years old, and he was seven. I remember it happened so quickly. One day we were on the beach, both our families, the next he was in the hospital. I remember the grown ups making such a fuss about it although I did not understand why. Everyone went into hospitals. I found nothing strange about that. I also remember them talking about his possibility of being exposed to too much sun. Again I did not realize that Ali's case was crucial.
Then one day my father came waking me up. As always, I pretended not to hear him, for maybe he would go away and I could have more time to sleep. Then he said it: Baba, Ali Mekdad died. I still remember his face as he said it, full of pain. His eyes had cried, I could make that out clearly.
I sprang into my bed. What?
It was all I could say. It felt so strange, so weird. How? He's only seven. How could he have died?
My memory then flashes to the funeral. I saw a lot of people, most of them I did not know. His parents had been divorced, and I'd never seen his father before. I would never, ever forget that scene: Men crying, men including my father. My heart was about to burst, as I felt my throat go sore. I kept the tears in. I fought them out. Ali could not have died, why cry over him then?
Then I remember his mother, my aunt, being carried by two of her sisters, as she cried and screamed in the middle of the street.
'He told me to give his savings to his sister.' She would scream non-stop.
'He told me he wanted a burger once he got out of the hospital. You didn't get your burger Ali. You didn't get your burger ya habibi.'
I couldn't take it anymore. I burst out crying. It isn't fair. Why should I live while he's in that tomb being mourned by all of those who loved him?


At first, conceiving the idea was what I went through the most. I even began to doubt his claims, but I never shared these doubts with him of course. He told me about his battle with Leukaemia that started 8 years ago. How he was able to win once. Giving him 4 years of pleasure, and peace, until very recently the cancerous cells began to reappear. And how the doctors and his parents were doing their best to hide the horrid truth from him, and how he was able to figure it out. And how he had little time left, and how I should not be involved with him. It was too much to conceive in the course of our little conversation we were having, and that began with our admiration to music, and our love for Loreena Mckinnitt. I wished our conversation would have ended there.

I was before making a choice there: either accepting the fact that we were not meant to be, walking away, and saving myself an inevitable heartbreak and thus living in peace; or staying, falling in love with him deeper still, fighting, suffering and watching him die as my heart shredded itself day by day watching him go away. Irony hits again, that I chose the second.

If it has been a normal love story, it would have been the end, or at least the beginning of the end. But when it comes to me and Marc, it was the mark of all beginnings...