Election Day
Posted by Kaleidoscope on May 24, 2008
Author: Shai Copyright © 2008
Location: Kuwait
It is in the middle of a chaotic rumble when a thought strikes me solid still. I stay fixed, bone-chilled despite the glaring sun, the suffocating warmth of colliding bodies. People are striding along, like bees, intent and purposeful. It feels too crowded, too constricting within the open space of air and sky. Women around, and in front, beside, and all around me, ever changing, constantly moving, a sea of black and sprinkles of color here and there. I keep standing, still, looking down, clutching the fluorescent badge that hangs proudly around my neck, against my chest.
What do they see when they look at me? Do they notice the slight disdain curling around my lips, the proud arch of my eyebrows, the disapproving glint in my glare? Is it my face, or is it displayed on my badge, on the flyers I am handing out, on the man I am representing?
I stay put, contemplating, how out of place I look; at how different I feel. This isn’t my world. Not a place I belong to. I stare forward and blink at the heavy dripping makeup, the raised hijabs which are reminiscent of a camel’s hump, their form-fitting sea of black; their girlish giggles, painted chipped-red nails. I turn to the left and gaze at their counterpart, their flowing abiyas, their white Islamic scarf’s, the grim pointed looks of its women, pinched and sallow. To the right, I find the colored hijabs, flow and fluttering with the (occasional) wind, bare neck and white wrists displayed, makeup and tightly clothed. Red seems to be their favorite color.
I know where I stand, what they see. I know where my side is, standing proud and tall behind me. Their badges displayed, smiling wide and open, ready, and waiting.
I stay put. And, I wonder at my disdain, trying to fight the urge to flee and get out. I try to understand. I know where it’s coming from. Years and years of it, so heavy to lift off, I can’t help it. I was raised, unintentionally, to display it. To fight what I don’t understand, who I don’t belong to.
Is it natural? Are they doing the same to me?
I am jarred out of my feverish thoughts by an accidental elbow. She apologizes and smiles, clutching her flyers to her chest and eyeing the badge around my neck while rearranging her abiya. I smile back beamingly, reassuringly. Trying to apologize for something she isn’t aware of. Trying to find reasons. Validations.
Why can’t I accept you?
“It’s okay. It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”
Anonymous said
wow
very good.
Tantalize said
I like the descriptive narration. It wasn’t overly done, simple, yet propulsive. It brought me right in between the detailed veiled women and that of your senses. It isolated the rest of the world by diving into electioneering, at a time when the most explicit examples are usually overlooked.
I am curious to know your age. If you are Kuwaiti, I think you have great potential in becoming a writer with your own stylistic mark.
By the way, not getting comments could be a good thing since many of them in the Kuwaiti blogosphere are often shallow and superficial. Your writing deserves thorough analysis.
Thank you for sharing this prose
chichana said
Anonymous
Thank you, I appreciate it.
Tantalize
Thank you for giving it much thought, that was really heartfelt. I am twenty years old and a Kuwaiti, but I am not sure how my age would factor in this particular piece? I don’t mind the lack of comments, I am not really writing for anyone. (Its nice to see it in print, though). Again, much appreciated.
jewaira said
I think more women than men have written about their election day experiences and what it means to them (from varying perspectives).
I like the way you have concentrated on a moment of realization in this piece.