How I Found Love Again

It was a small restaurant on a very small corner of an even smaller school in a big big city. I pulled a chair and sat down; Mubarak sat in the opposite seat. A lot of things were going through my mind at that time, one of which was why Mubarak insisted we ate there.

“Would you like me to take your order now?”, the waitress asked.

She was a short Chinese girl, and another person could have easily mistaken her for someone not more than 16. But I wasn’t just anyone. I gave her one look and knew she was at least 22. Her body was slim, not necessarily hot. She had a smile that even the most contentious person wont deny the cuteness. She was indeed pretty. I think I’ve found our reason for being here.

I asked Mubarak what he was having; I tweaked a few things and ordered something similar. She was about to leave when she turned and asked,

“Would you like our homemade mushroom soup?”

For as long as I remember, I hated soups.

It started on my 7th birthday. My mom was taking everyone to a Chinese restaurant. Ever since she came back from Beijing earlier that year, my mom had been obsessed with everything Chinese. In fact on that day I was dressed up in light Grey Chinese clothes and the most comfortable size 4 black martial arts shoes. I felt like a miniature Jackie Chan dipped in chocolate syrup. It was a good feeling.

I’d never seen so much variety of food in my life. Everyone looked happy; although I wasn’t sure if it was because of my birthday or the food, but I didn’t care.

I don’t really remember much from that day. But I remember two things very clearly.

There was the beef that was brought to the table with a flame blazing on top of it. It scared the hell out of me. But I remember it because it was probably the most incomprehensible thing my 7 year old brain had to make sense of.

The second was the white mushroom soup. It was cream, not white; nonetheless, at that time, I had never seen a soup that wasn’t red, some shade of yellow or in some rare instances green. But it wasn’t the color I remember, it was the taste. When I put it in my mouth, it was the weirdest thing ever my taste buds had to deal with in their 7 years of existence. It wasn’t exactly painful, but I burst out crying. I didn’t like it, and that was the bottom line.

The soup was served. I looked at it. White, cream, call it whatever you want. I looked across the table at Mubarak. Why in the world did I let this guy order soup for me?

I took the spoon and dipped in the soup. It was thicker than I imagined it would be. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. My mouth began to open slowly as the spoon left the bowl.

The spoon moved towards my mouth.

I waited.

One second.

Two seconds

Three…. It was in.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. I could hear drums beating in my ears and my taste buds dancing to the rhythm. My body was glowing, and even though I didn’t see it, I could feel it. All my senses were at their most active… Everything suddenly made sense.

Then I realized I was still holding my breath.

I let go and opened my eyes.

Life is funny; One moment you hate something, and a spoon later you realize that it’s the best thing in the world.

Revolver: Story Of A Dream.

OK, this crazy dream I had last night, and No, it’s not what you’re thinking.

I was back home for the holidays. My cousin, lets call him Idris, picked me up from the airport. On the was home, he was telling me all the crazy things he did while I was gone, from waiting tables, to being a lecturer, and for some weird reason, running arms. And  yes, by running arms, I mean selling weapons.

Cut to a movie theater. I was seated at the back with Idris when he drew something from his pocket. It was a huge, shiny, silver revolver, and according to him, worth $36,000. It was a gift, for me.

It’ isn’t my birthday, but what the hell, who’ll say no to a free $36,000 revolver right?

So I took it. It was heavier than I thought.

Cut to the road. I, and a guy, call him Ibrahim driving were driving, and a little ahead were Cops doing a search. For some reason, this douchebag Ibrahim forgot to tell me that all this time, I was a wanted man, till when I was just a few cars away from the cops. The story was that while in the theater, his brother, let’s just call him Yaro, saw me with the revolver, and the thing was, the gun was used to kill some important feller somewhere. So Yaro told me to the cops for the reward, which he won’t get till they confirmed that I actually had the gun.

So what do you do when you learn that you’re a wanted man and the cops are on your ass???

Exactly, cut to Somalia. I don’t know why Somalia, how I got there, or who I went there with, but whoever it was, he had connections.

Quite frankly, I don’t know if there are really any warlords in present day Somalia, but while there, I was at the palace of one, no two actually. I don’t know why there were two equally powerful rebel leaders living in the same palace… wait…. OMG! Was I having a gay dream?

Anyways, I was chilling smoking whatever with whoever I went to Somalia with and the two rebel leaders when I had the greatest idea ever:

Why don’t I just give these rebels the revolver? No one is gonna come to Somalia looking for the gun. But then this thing’s worth a lot, I should just sell it to them for a couple of diamonds? Are there diamonds in Somalia? But what if they don’t want to buy? I’d rather not get diamonds than go to Jail.

So I took the revolver, which was still in my pocket, and gave it to one of the Gaylords, I mean, Warlords. He looked at me suspicously, and asked why I’d give him such a prized possession. I told him I was a film Maker, and wanted to shoot on-location in Somalia  in six months and I wanted protection. The revolver was my thank you gift in advance.

Even then, I knew It was a lie. I wasn’t shooting any movie. Hell I didn’t even have a script ready.

What if they don’t see me in six months after they’ve set all the protection for me? Will they find me and kill me?

But he already bought the film story bullshit, so Bye Bye revolver… or is it?

I don’t know exactly how long it was after I left the palace that I got a call from someone who claimed to be the warlords’ secretary, telling me that the warlords were pissed cause I took away the gun I gave them.

What? The revolver is gone?

PUFF! And I’m back to Somalia again. I started asking questions, from which I learned that the asshole that threw me to the Cops in the first place, Yaro, snuck into the palace and took the revolver.

I guess this guy is really serious about getting his reward. How much was it again?

How he knew I was in Somalia, or how he got there himself, I didn’t know. But I didn’t care, cause the revolver was gone, and both the cops and the warlords were on my ass.

And better the cops than the warlords, if you know what I mean.

I was terrified!

Yaro, you sneaky son of a bitch, I’m gonna find you, and I’m gonna shoot you with my revolver…

To be continued…

The Anatomy Of A Life Saver

It was midnight, my paper was at 9 in the morning, and sleep was crawling into my eyes. I could have slept and woken up in time for the paper, yes, but I had 10 Chapters of complex and boring reading to do, which if I didn’t, will probably result in this same dilemma happening over the same exam next year. So to help myself avoid re-sitting for the paper I haven’t even sat for, I told myself,

“OK. I’ll study all night and only get some sleep after the paper”

Perfect! But how, considering that I’m already halfway to the airport to board my flight to Sleepovia.

And then it came to me, my secret sleep deprivation concoction, so secret that if anyone so much as knew one ingredient, a hitman would immediately be sent their way, and they’ll never be heard from again. It was passed on to me through generations… It starts with hot water, s- …

Shit! Now that you know one ingredient, you better start watching your back for that hitman…

Anyways… I gulped down my concoction and was feeling fresher than ever. Got the 10 chapters down just in time for my paper. Once at the venue, I realized two of my closest friends weren’t there. What’s a guy to do when his guys aren’t present at the exams? He calls them!

RING! RING!

“Hello…”, answered a sleepy voice.

“Dude WTF! You’ll be late for the exams!”, I said.

“Right now?”, he sounded confused.

“Yep, right fuckin’ now! Get Ur sleepy ass over here immediately!”, It felt good shouting.

“Jeez! Thanx mehn U’re a life saver!”

Five minutes later, he came running to the venue. He was all sweaty and it was evident he didn’t even wash his face.

“I can’t believe I slept for over 24 hours!”, he said while gasping for breath.

“What are you talking about?”, I was a little confused.

“I mean, I slept day before yesterday and I’m just waking up now”, he said, still gasping.

“Dude are high or something? I just saw you last night!”, I said, shaking my head and thinking how pathetic.

“Wait… What’s today’s date?”, he asked.

“19th”, I said.

“Ooo…. Ooooo…. Oooooooooo… Fuck you!”, and he meant it.

“What?”, I was more confused than ever.

“The the paper in on fuckin’ 20th! JEEZ!”

And then I realized… we were the only two people at the venue and it was already 9am.