Fes Writes: Fes Regional Workshop Anthology

Sara Azzouzi Drizzle of My Senses What if I put an end to it? Am I going to be at ease and find peace?

Putting on my shield, holding on tight to my wrecked beliefs, struggling to stand still at the first line as a strong warrior but I know deep down that I have no more power to set up the fire. Telling myself I am alright, and everything is going to be fine with hope and courage, your wild spirit will set you free and eventually will break all the chains that have once held you back. But who is to blame? I am not lost to be found, definitely not perplexed in an existential crisis to guide myself to the light. I am trying my best to keep my sanity inside the howling madness like an unseen epidemic. It is not a war to decide that there is a win or loss and it should not be. I suddenly start to question what is wrong with me but there is no one to respond.

Surviving, shrinking all the beautiful astounding and even dark painful senses to one; to survive. I am not letting myself be the third wheel of how I lead my life; I can‘t deny my fear, nor can I hide the foggy vision that disables from seeing my way towards clarity, however among the things I am certain of is the teeming yearnings to live a better life. Admiring the cracks of the wounds, forbearing the stings that once were the reasons for shedding unreturned unforgiveable tears.

I find myself swinging between the heat of desert and the shivering icy cold that somehow finds its balance and coexists inside me, spinning around the unstoppable cycle of time. The starting point of every human being is in the cradle, learning how to be the man of tomorrow and eventually fading away as an old fellow; holding the wisdom that once gathered throughout a lifetime in the capsule of the missing, messy, unarranged details that entail much of the wrinkles drawn around old men‘s eyes.

Living a life where I am standing for the norms that I have once set for myself. Surprised by the unexpected bents that were the reason for being the person I am today, differently judged if I was directed by the stream of what the ancestors. How can a human of this offspring remain tolerant and forgivable in this filthy torturing world?

Like a fish out the sea, I struggle. No, in fact I am adapting my sensations, my soul, my mind.

I am looking forward to be my own sculpture no matter how much it is thorny. Blind but I see colors, despair but I hope one day soon I will find my place in the perplexing labyrinthine of