final call" More than a hundred unforgettable flights at most of the world's airports from the age of eight to the age of fifty. He deserved the title of Badr Ibn Battuta!!! I visited five continents (Asia, Africa, Europe, North America, South America, Australia). The United States of America had the lion's share of visits, as I visited ninety-four states, and only Hawaii and Alaska remained. I rode most of the world's airlines in various classes and visited the world's most famous airports. On every trip, I had beautiful, funny, and some embarrassing situations. Getting lost at airports, being late for a flight, difficult inspections, turbulence, strange travelers, all of this and more I have experienced and I will share some of these stories with you.
Misfortunes befall the Levant Sharif, the birth of strange children increases, drought and poverty prevail, and the attempt of Ibrahim Pasha and the apostles of the French Revolution who joined him to overthrow the state of the Ottoman Sultan is nothing but a sign of the imminent arrival of Satan, as the religious extremists see, trying to preserve the Levant Sharif, fighting the creation Newspapers and comics that encourage obscenity.
All of this is happening outside, while Arwa sneaks into Bernardo’s house and messes with a strange drawing of a complete being, carrying both masculinity and femininity.
In an interesting plot that combines imagination with history, myth, and folktales, Khairy Al-Dhahabi tries to read the effects of the French campaign in Syria, and monitors the return of theater to the Levant, discussing many problematic issues: myth, masculinity and femininity, and the Damascene people killing those who are gay among them.
In the introduction to his first collection of short stories, the Chinese storyteller Lu Xun says that he found himself driven to write because he felt intense loneliness. He was not able to forget, or, rather, he was not able to forget completely; So, he wrote stories about the past.
This is exactly what prompted me to write: overwhelming loneliness. I also failed to forget, so I wrote what remained in my memory about Syria before the war.
Sometimes, exiles write about nostalgia for a country they miss and wish to return to. This is not like the nostalgia of Syrians: the country has completely changed, and even disappeared. We long for a place that does not exist, except in memory. And memory, as you know, writhes, colors, and churns. I am no exception, and my memory does not claim to be completely faithful to reality, but I tried hard to write exactly what you dictated to me.
Hopes, dreams, and losses are all fading quickly, and so is the country, and what remains of it is in us: as if it were a half-smile, or a summer cloud, or a bright comet passing quickly, only to disappear completely moments later, before the eyes of curious, bored viewers, indifferent to its fate...
أنا خطيئتُكَ التي لن تُغتفر، وأنا الذنب الذي بينكَ وبين دعواتكَ التي لن تُستجاب. سأظلُ أدعو عليكَ بصلواتي الخمس، وفي كلِّ سجدة، سأطلبُ من عظمته التي يهتزُ لها الكون
