ON A TRAIN TO SEE A FIG TREE

2022

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MARWA EL RIFAI Time Is Passing: ( short story ) ON A TRAIN TO SEE A FIG TREE

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I dreamt of this moment for a long time. I knew it was coming. I thought about it for a long time within myself. I dreamt of my body reacting to it. I am finally on my way. I am going somewhere special, I think far. Time is on my side this time. I need not to worry much. Although I find it seemingly strange to talk about time, I can not but seem to be so invested and attached it.

Time has been talked about centuries ago, existed since the very early beginnings. It was my only fact. Though now, I have an intense feeling that I am worshiping time rather than anything else.

Is my perception of time true?

I gave in. I gave in to time– just this once. I felt it in my bones, joy.

I wanted to express my gratitude for being able to ride this train.

I wondered in my heart how the weather is going to be. Sunny, snowy, foggy? They all exist in my head. Sometimes all at once.

I held myself very tightly and let my feet do the rest. I wanted to detached myself from excessive thinking. I carried on. I am ecstatic, overjoyed, excited.

The journey hasn’t begun yet. The journey is about to start. I am waiting. Witnessing. Everything around me. In my head, I am always waiting. Everyone else seems to be waiting too, but only occasionally they seem to be content with the wait.

They say that I should have faith. What should I trust? Is it something tangible, trust? Something seen? Reality? Or mere illusion? Come to think of it, I chose surrender.

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I can see my feet moving in directions involuntarily; for they know where to go. I am walking but I don’t really feel my legs moving my feet. Something is about to happen, this motion will catch up to me. I came to see what’s left of me here; the train is yet to leave.

Yet I seem to be still.

If I just close my eyes, would it pass more smoothly? Gently? I can feel a storm coming my way. I don’t really know what to do about it, I must stand still. Or maybe let it pass. In my heart I know there are too many ways on how to deal with a storm, on how to look at it, on how to experience it. To run from it, to accept it– to welcome it.

I still haven’t figured any of that yet. And I’m certain of my inability to handle it this time. I find it miraculous– the way a storm creeps into our lives. It’s timing, it’s intensity, it’s power. Could a storm be welcomed if we know of its coming? Storms do have lessons. With all the silence that is there, I start to fear. Sometimes the silence more than anything else is what terrifies me. Time, is passing, I understand only this much of it.

Time passed– very fast. To say the least. And very slow when we were in each other’s presence. I think about you, my Fig, till now.

I wonder if you do too. I don’t have much words for you today.

It is still miraculous to me; our experience. How could you grow so fast? How could you learn so fast? I know neither of us have the right words. I wiped this idea from my memory long time ago.

After I grieved, after I cried, after I waited, after-after all.

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Yet, my mind can’t help but wonder and wander of. I always felt safe with you. Life felt fresh, eternally young. I’m moving now. My feet carrying me. To see you. The storm has not yet appeared, the snow must have been falling down heavily somewhere else.

Similar to the ocean, a storm moves in a close manner. I feel them, they are coming at me like big waves. One by one, am I an avalanche of an emotion? I must make it to you. I need to let go of every little fight left in me, I chose surrender. Therefore, I must surrender. The storm is on it’s way, it’s calling me already. By my name. I have to ride it– just to make it through. I try to close my eyes, maybe it’ll feel better if I’m no longer afraid. These emotions are here already curled and balled up. Ready for a reaction. A single sign from me.

By the time I’m writing this, it must been here already, it must have arrived. I try to imagine myself otherwise. With the way it’s coming to me now with all power. Will I drown? Will I be okay?

Will I breathe? Will I enjoy it? Will I get to see you? Will you finally be with me? There are no two storms alike. Somehow the storm made its way to me. I don’t know how to pave a way for grace now, but I can’t think much anymore.

It doesn’t take much for me to feel happy really. A walk does wonders.

Walking in this world is meditation. It is indeed revolutionary.

The feeling of moving your legs, leaving and walking. The joy is immeasurable. It is remarkable how many times I forget who I am– and remember soon after a little walk.

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I am careful every time I walk, I become a new person. This new version of self. I welcome myself every time. I’m scared you won’t be able to recognize me this time, my Fig tree. The moon is still in shape, I might be with the sun tomorrow. I might be awake, or asleep, it matters that I walk. To arrive, to see you. My only friends now are the moon, the trees, the wind, the sea.

I’m okay. I think I am. But only I seem to be awake. The moon is in full bright, totally there. The wind is moving so gently, I could only recognize it’s softness by this hour. In these moments in particular, my emotions fly through the roof and need quiet some time to surface right. I’m observing myself and allowing myself to feel.

To feel those feelings. No matter how unpleasant or how hurtful. I must be smarter. Just this once. I’m trying to be more mindful of the fact that all things are indeed passing, their passage is the only truth I know of. For years and years, I held onto this fact. Are you alright my Fig? My life seems to be moving and everything else around me is too.

I don’t have much energy for things that do not serve me now.

They never did. And yes, I do feel the bliss. Everything I have been through, everything I am seem to circle back to me. Do I have a center? Are you still my center?

I see many people right now on the train with me. Most of them are lonely. Not me, Fig, I’m never lonely when I think of you. There are plenty of immigrants, runaways, exiles.. Everywhere they go, time seems to follows them.

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Although I’m not very good at believing, I might be doing well this time around. This time, I left no room for melancholy. I was carrying other bags.

I realized I sometimes slip. Maybe in the literal sense too. I feel it suffocating me at times, I get shaky, I misjudge, I cry, I fear. I put my focus on the wrong things and therefore– automatically a slip would appear. In this moment my mind is shattered in all directions, it’s foggy I can’t see much. My body heavy, detached.

They told me you were doing well. Healthy, growing, my little Fig tree. It must have been 6 years and 7months, 5 weeks and 2 days since I last saw you. I couldn’t visit you earlier. Life had other plans, I got married, I had 2 kids. My husband was there for me all the time. But I couldn’t leave them behind. But this didn’t mean that I don’t prioritize you. Or that I didn’t miss you. I know you didn’t forget me. I know your memory is way stronger than mine. I made sure they were watering you well. Nurturing you well. I think about you all the time, engraved in my memory. I visited many trees, talked to plenty of them, watered them. They were all great, beautiful, standing. Shining.

They gave me life. But I come to you for love. They say if it’s love you’re after, or love you have lost, come to the fig, always a fig. The past, the memories, the truth, the roots are all engraved in my head.

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The train is finally moving, It must be 2 hours till I get to see you.

My heart is racing. A childlike feeling when I get to see you. I am getting ready to see you. I’m gathering my strength for it. I wonder what will I feel when I see you again. And vice versa.

They made an announcement on the train that a storm is coming.

They knew my heart was expecting it. It usually takes couple of hours post-storm. I must not have noticed the passage of time.

I am craving sleep now.

I must take an extended nap before I see you.

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I think I dozed off for a bit. I could almost hear my own heartbeat.

My breathing slowed down. The soft music on the train didn’t bother me as much. I saw the rain drops little by little. I wondered are you getting enough water? Enough sunlight?

You indeed had my heart. I thought about you nearly everyday.

I didn’t really know how you came to me– or into my life. I just knew you existed there. Somewhere around the world, I searched for you. I kept my hopes up, I surrendered. I became so cautious around you. I was meticulous of how you felt around me. I wanted constant joy for you. I knew this wasn’t reality, but it was my hope.

I cherished every moment we had together, and after all these years; you are still growing. At least that’s what they told me. I didn’t understand, but I still remember you after all these years.

It’s been years since we’ve met. Just mere feelings and some distant memories.

Just as I was about to sleep.

“Excuse me, is this your seat?” A woman said to me.

It was so clear that it was, is, I was clearly about to fall asleep. I held my emotions trying my best not to get angry.

I fixed my position “Yes, it is” “Sorry, but is your number 23?” She replied.

“Yes, it is” I showed her my ticket.

I’m not really sure why this encounter needed to be made. But I saw it as sign, of proving I was there, present. It didn’t matter much. Its kind of ridiculous to think we have time to say things, with words or confrontation.

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I took deep breaths. Hoping to fall asleep more easily this time.

A child was sitting at the very front of the train. I hoped he stayed there, laughing and playing. It’s almost 7:00PM. I always preferred commuting at morning, where my mind was still fresh, unstimulated. I didn’t like to commute at night, but I had no other choice this time.

Everyday from 7 till 7:23PM I dread being alive. I turn left and right in my bed in hot sweat. No source of air or breeze. Suffocating.

I kind of liked being in pure heat anyway. I thought of you in these moments. My thoughts too, turned left and right. Non stop.

Everyday, from around 7 till 7:23PM I couldn’t keep calm. I almost feel my body waking up, but I need to rest.

The thoughts of being far away from you, for this long with the mix of the thought of seeing you today cripple up to me at exactly 7:00PM. It wasn’t surprising to me. I usually don’t wear a watch, but I put one on in case I couldn’t see the time somewhere else. I needed this reassurance. That as long as I am mindful of time then I’ll be okay. It was not a fancy watch by any means, it was just a regular watch. The time is what is important, isn’t it? Could other watches pass time differently? Or the same? I’m getting pretty tired.

I tried to not pay much attention to any of my current thoughts.

But there was no stop to them. Unless I get up. Which is a bad idea right now. The train is moving. Time is passing. Maybe if I stay longer I’ll be able to sleep and wipe these feelings away.

I tried my best.

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By the time I wanted go back to sleep, again, I thought of you my Fig. I held to my seat well, fixed my position, I was ready to let go. I almost forget that you’re far from me. The thought that haunted me everyday. Everyday I watch my days repeating themselves. I always liked routine, but the days almost feel way too identical now. I don’t feel much. Nothing that makes me feel lively or alive. Special or wanted. In these times, I wondered about you. You made me feel different. I wondered if you still have the same routine or adopted a new one.

I wondered how you were doing, I don’t mean to be insensitive, I know you’ve been through a lot. How are you? How are you doing in this weather? Are you well? Are you growing well my dear? My dreams are my safe space. If I loved anything in life, it’s my dreams.

I slowly turn my legs to the other side. An instant cold breeze. I breathe it fully, I almost inhale it. The temperature of the train must be 23 degrees. The complete opposite of your climate my Fig. I’m almost half asleep.

I put my head on the window of the train, a little vibration to soothe the journey. A gentle rain fall, the scene was perfect. Perfect for imagination and dreaming. I dream. I dreamt about you. I know you’ve been through a lot. It’s just that sometimes a question could make the silence more bearable. You don’t speak to me in words. You never have. I preferred the silence anyway; I couldn’t quiet understand why some people would ruin silence with words.

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I process things way better in silence. I know you do too. I hope your friends are doing fine. Have you made new friends? How’s your Olive tree? Apple, Lemon, pear tree? I can’t stop thinking about how strong you really are. Resilient. You endured many things in my life. Your survived through it all. Weather conditions, war, explosions, loss, hurricanes. Every time I needed a bit of strength I thought of you. This thought alone gave me strength.

Looking at the empty streets, across the train, I pondered life. Am I living the life I dreamed of? Am I dreaming my life? How mundane or how extravagant my dreams are didn’t matter right now. As the time passed, I wrote poems in my head, I painted pictures of how you could look right now. I sang songs, hummed them. I hoped internally that any of my dreams could make there way to you. Is anyone around you right now my Fig? Did you make any fruits this seasons?

The music completely stopped at the train. I could only hear a bit of the wind now. I scanned the streets, again and again. Moving.

The time passing. The train moving. Some days I felt like a stranger that everybody was scared of, foreign. I know you felt the same.

Some days I felt like I could make it through the days without even questioning anything. At this point, I had an overwhelming peace that would make up for all the years of doubt and insecurities.

Almost as though all my years of searching could be found in an instant. Oh, the joy. The ride was starting. The train was moving.

The waiting was worth it. I was ready.

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Before I left my city to come to you I made sure to inhale the city’s scent, the dirty streets, the damaged buildings, the tranquil sea.

Before I left I made sure to engrave the whole city in my memory, inch by inch. Even the mundane ugly stuff I became fond of. Even the way people were cursing at each other. Just in case I wanted to go back in time for mere pleasure. I saved up the air and the food in a memory room in my brain. I always felt like I was a traveler, but something that day scared me to the core. I didn’t think I could see you. My fears were washed away with that little smile thinking about you.

I knew you were waiting for me. You must be waiting for me in a way. I felt it in my bones, in my stomach. I was eager just as you were my Fig. I’m not sure how long I’d be gone for. Or if I’ll ever come back. I didn’t care this time. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t attached to time this time around. I never felt home here anyway. I knew my choice of complete surrendered is what is going to save me. I packed most things I loved in my head, I didn’t need much to carry. I didn’t need much to make me happy. But I knew I would want to pack a lot more in my memory after I see you.

I thought that as long as my life was moving, in any direction, that it was enough for me. I owned this feeling, this gratitude. This is why I value time. Every time I think of you, you resemble a different meaning. I’ve been to many places, traveled many miles, seen a lot of nature, plants, birds, flowers, trees. But seeing you my Fig is a sentimental belonging that meant a lot.

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I laid my head done on the window again, “Excuse me would you like coffee or tea?” A man asked lovingly.

I wasn’t quiet sure what to answer, or how to. I didn’t know they served drinks on this train.

“Ummm, I’ll have some tea please” I said.

“With two cubes of sugar” I added.

“Here’s your tea” he said. While I’m still trying to fix my posture.

“Thank you so much” I smiled back.

I looked at my watch, it’s still too early to get to you. Time hasn’t passed quickly enough. I tried not to feel anger again. It’s the second time someone wakes me up. I guess I’m not destined to sleep on this train. I slowly sipped my hot tea, I craved some milk in it but I didn’t have the courage to ask for it. I like to smell my tea before drinking it. I remember scents very well. I remember your scent my Fig tree. All too well.

Even though I’m awake, I’m still thinking of you. I imagined how your day was going. Did they cut you? Or are you giving fruits now? I wondered about all the people who could be there too, seeing you grow or watching you sleep.

I wondered if the wind was too harsh on you, or if the sun was too bright. We both liked the sun and the wind. These connecting forces are drawing me closer to you now. At least that’s how I felt.

Who could be there right now? Are they enjoying their time with you? Or do you want to be left alone for a while?

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Right when the train stopped, I felt it. It hit me again. The pause and my emotions were one. Paused. I didn’t arrive just yet. I opened my eyes just a little bit and saw other passengers leaving the train. Still a long way to go.

We both didn’t have much to feel. Maybe the waiting isn’t so boring after all. I quickly realized my mind was neither here nor there; at this moment. My mind surrendered to the motion of the train.

Completely, fully. And if my mind was neither here or there, it would’ve been between the two. Are the people on the train with me enjoying this ride and contemplating just as I am? Or am I the only one?

I looked up to the sky so carefully. Is it going to rain? You told me you will be waiting. You liked the rain. It gave you life. We are way similar than you think. I didn’t mind being far away from home.

Because I knew I was coming to see you. I didn’t mind visiting unfamiliar places. Although I do like my comfort zone. The cafes, the bookstores, the people, my bed. I breathed in the fresh air before the train closed it’s door. I live for the wind. I slowly and mindfully entered a deep sleep.

The lady beside me saw me drifting away. I wondered if she judged me because I was looking at my watch so often. I hoped she didn’t judge me. Seeing you is making me feel sentimental, I can almost feel a tear coming down my face at this point. I can almost hear you talking to me.

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You always told me not to hurry. You had a better relationship with time than I did. Even if it’s painful to admit. You always reminded me that things have their own nature, they come to life when they are born.

That every step and every feeling is not always attainable to our own intellect. You knew I was an artist myself, even when I had a hard time believing it. It is quiet funny that I speak of time so highly knowing that you don’t. You told me that there are certain things can not be measured by time. A year has no meaning and ten years are nothing. You told me that to be an artist is to not calculate and count; to grow and ripen like a tree which does not hurry and stands at ease without fearing that no summer might follow. You had no doubt that things arrive. You had the patience which I lacked. You had a quiet tranquility, one with eternity.

Rain. Rain fell on my glass window. I see it. Thunder. Louder, I hear it. Almost reminding me of the explosion I experienced. I’m not terrified. The explosion is not reoccurring. I woke up, but not completely. My heart sank just a little. Lighting. A signal of rain, I love it. I could almost feel the rain like a rainfall showering the train I’m on. Purified. I knew this time to not react. I just watched.

I observed. I took it in. The sky was lighting as if there were angels playing in the sky. The wind might have been blown by the sea. I felt this was a sign from you. To watch me how I react. How I would hold myself to it. My body reacting to it.

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I am an artist. I think I am. But are my words doing you any justice?

My paintings, my songs? I can never tell. You my Fig are so close to me, yet so far away. I can almost enjoy this but it is quiet hard to understand. I’m still on my journey to you. This waiting is growing.

This waiting is starting to get painful.

Seconds of solitude turned into minutes, into hours. Loneliness has no place here. I carry you within me. In memory, a certain longing.

I know you long for me too. If it frightens you or pains you to think of me now, don’t. I want to cause you no harm. Who am I to harm you? I’m no longer here. I fell asleep. Don’t you see? Don’t you see how everything happening is always a beginning again? Where do we start this time? Much time has gone by. I try to avoid anything that pulls me further than this exact moment. I am a whole being, with strength, beating heart, and a yearning for you my Fig. Your nature is something of its own. It is not about the unfolding now. I am one with you. We’re united. But maybe you are stronger than I am my Fig. You have it in your nature to grow in the toughest environment, to shine even with no light. It’s in your nature to grow. You defend yourself fearlessly, you survive with toughest climates. It’s not difficult for you to be one with life. I, however, show absolute no sign of strength when I am not in that realm. I struggle to breathe. My nature questions love and the meaning of it. I mastered how to struggle in private. I, through plenty of my shortcomings learn from you. Your beauty, your strength. Love, direction, path, intuition.

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All this time has passed without a single letter or sight of you. I didn’t know if I could make it through. I held tight, I stayed strong.

I always have time to write for you. I think of you often my Fig. I let me feelings sink into me quietly, my tendencies to gain strength from trees are high. All my feelings now are pure. My doubts don’t matter.

The silence is immense now. I hear it getting louder. The noise of the sea, present in the distance, perhaps the most inward note in this historical moment on my way to you.

I will live regardless. I am glad that they told you I’m coming. But you didn’t respond to them. You just grew fruits. I think they’re for me to enjoy.

marwarifai

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Marwa Rifai is an artist and designer based in Beirut, Lebanon. You can check her website on marwarifai.com

paper: Nahhal Paper printed Beirut March 2022 Book Design: Marwa Rifai ©All Rights Reserved Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and to obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologizes for any errors or omissions and would be grateful to be notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future editions of this book The moral right of the author has been asserted This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

marwarifai

2022