When Dad’s shoulders were the highest place on earth and Mom was your hero…

Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see a large black old suitcase wide open waiting for me to fill stuff in it, or maybe waiting for me to fit in it. So I tried it, I folded my knees and stayed in it for a while. I felt like I was traveling back to my childhood where my Dad’s shoulders were the highest place on earth and my Mom was my hero… But I think it’s time for me to come out from that suitcase and leave behind me memories I want to burry forever. Of course, not such sweet memories. But of her…

A new destination to visit is calling me. Expectations are filling my head with good intentions. But wasn’t I supposed to live frugally on surprise and expect nothing? I’m not sure anymore.

Surprising, shocking and drastic changes are expected. I wish to enjoy the travel like Malcolm X did for its first time, feel the freedom, the peace and the universality of the mankind. To be one with all nations, tough it’s better to be part of all nations puisqu’il est commun de faire partie d’une nation, mais avoir l’opportunité d’embrasser plusieurs nations, là il s’agit d’un luxe que très peu de gens peuvent s’offrir.

It will be a new start, a new commencement, a new beginning… a resurrection. All my sins will be cleaned. I’m given the opportunity to restart everything, to rewrite every chapter of my story, or at least correct all the erasures. Or rather than turning the page, I can just throw the book away.

Then I’m asking myself what if I want to roam the world and learn of all of its people… but end up not belonging to any of them? What does that make me? A crazy guy who need psychiatric treatment? No, because most of the revolutionaries were always standing alone for their rights at the beginning, and then people would have joined them, so thank you Nelson Mandela, thank you Martin Luther King, thank you Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi and thank you Albert Einstein. I’ll stay one of the craziest human being on earth and I’ll gather all nations around cultural richness; though diversity is a cultural asset.

I often cry on matters that go beyond xenophobia, racism, homophobia, terrorism… I cry on poverty and how people ignore it, how people give more importance to a mere problem of a society running after its own happiness. How can you be happy while your neighbor is starving to death, and you just slam the door on his face?

I was 4 when I was told that something like poverty exists, without really understanding why it exists. On a random day, my mom and I went at a charity to give a big bag of rice of 10 kilos for kids living in Somalia; I still remember the smile of the volunteer who leant at me to thank me while putting its hand on my head without realizing what I did. I felt like I met a Somali kid and made a new friend, I felt like its happiness was my happiness, I felt like what was mine, was ours, I felt like there was no boundary, no nationality issue, no religious concern, no xenophobia… a simple help. Is that what you call humanity? Putting aside everything and share whatever you can, a smile, a hand shake, a hug, a talk, a meal… whatever you can.

I've tried frustration, anger, disappointment, tiredness and misery, and they all work to a degree, but joyous satisfaction and a sense of élan work best to stabilize your happiness compass. So here is seven steps to happiness: think less, feel more; talk less, listen more; judge less, accept more; watch less, do more; complain less, appreciate more; fear less, love more.

And I will leave you with a poem I once shared.

When clouds of pain loom in the sky,

When a shadow of sadness flickers by,

When a tear finds its way to the eye,

When fear keeps the loneliness alive,

I try and console my heart.

Why is that you cry? I ask

This is only what life imparts

These deeps silence within

Have been handed out to all by time

Everyone’s story has a little sorrow

Everyone’s share has a little sunshine

No need for water in your eyes

Every moment can be a new life

Why do you let them pass you by

Oh heart why is that you cry?

- Javed Akhtar