Write From Home Anthology

Chaibi Khadija, Oujda.

To The Living Ones Uncompleted stories and unfinished poems, my notebook is open on a page full of ideas and scratch. It’s been a long time since I’ve grabbed a pen but I have decided to start writing again, not because I feel pity for all what I have never had the courage to complete but for a reason that is greater than my sense of guilt; I’m done playing hide and seek, it is the end of the game!

I believe in the power of two things; love and death. They’re both powerful enough to change a person, his beliefs and his actions. When in love, I got inspired and my words run smoothly along my emotions. I would write thousands of pages spellbound by my own feelings.

Little did I know that one day I would open my laptop, start a new page and run my fingers on the cold dusty keyboard? My fear is translating through my tap on the buttons and boldly reflecting on the white screen. It’s scary but I’m still in control, and I would control myself until I finish this piece, Because today I’m diagnosed with the most famous disease and this is a story that deserves to be told.

13 March 2020: 9 cases 7:45 pm: “Coronavirus School closing” was the title on every national news headline and in every exchanged sentence.

7:50 pm: Different reactions, our dorm got swayed between those who happily perceive the short term joy of stopping their studies and the concern of others whose lives depend on it.

A system is being shut down until an unknown date.

8:00 pm: Terror portrayed in a wave of panic-buying.

8:10 pm: We were told to leave the dorm in the very next day.

14 March 2020: 17 cases 7:30 am: My roommate is leaving and I still have time to sleep but I can’t.

8:00 am: My eyes are fixed on the roof and my head is heavy with so many thoughts, the future just proved it again “we cannot predict it” 4:00 pm: “I can’t believe that I’m on the train going home.”

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