Paradise No More
Publication Date: 2015
Publishers: Dar Jude and Dar Jumerah
Originally published in Arabic, Paradise No More was transcreated (as opposed to a literal translation) into English by the author herself. A collection of short days and stories written to be read as a whole,. Reflections on the feelings of alienation from country, life and body. A journal that is different in some of its details but global in its emotional impact and relevance.
Excerpt from Paradise No More:
It stole from me the simple pleasure of carelessly sitting crosslegged on the ground. It imposed its changes upon me, without
asking me, without my permission. And now it’ll imprison me inside
the walls of its cycle, which has nothing to do with me. It’ll imprison
me for one hundred days and one hundred nights, every single
month.
Everything is just so stifling, and this proof of my womanhood
keeps on leaking from underneath. This evidence that proves
nothing to me except that I’m no longer the same and that I’ll never
again be who I used to be. I lift my head to the sky which has flown
away and deserted me. I have been sitting inside these trousers
since forever; the dreadful pad seems to be getting bigger and
bigger. I don’t recognize myself. Is this still me? I don’t think so.
I’m not sure if even the me inside remains unchanged; when have I
ever sat at the foot of this wall instead of throwing my legs over it?
Publication Date: 2015
Publishers: Dar Jude and Dar Jumerah
Originally published in Arabic, Paradise No More was transcreated (as opposed to a literal translation) into English by the author herself. A collection of short days and stories written to be read as a whole,. Reflections on the feelings of alienation from country, life and body. A journal that is different in some of its details but global in its emotional impact and relevance.
Excerpt from Paradise No More:
It stole from me the simple pleasure of carelessly sitting crosslegged on the ground. It imposed its changes upon me, without
asking me, without my permission. And now it’ll imprison me inside
the walls of its cycle, which has nothing to do with me. It’ll imprison
me for one hundred days and one hundred nights, every single
month.
Everything is just so stifling, and this proof of my womanhood
keeps on leaking from underneath. This evidence that proves
nothing to me except that I’m no longer the same and that I’ll never
again be who I used to be. I lift my head to the sky which has flown
away and deserted me. I have been sitting inside these trousers
since forever; the dreadful pad seems to be getting bigger and
bigger. I don’t recognize myself. Is this still me? I don’t think so.
I’m not sure if even the me inside remains unchanged; when have I
ever sat at the foot of this wall instead of throwing my legs over it?
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