To write means to become cursed.
To write means to expose yourself to trouble.
To write means to make many people tremble.

That writing is a curse — I already knew.
That writing brings problems — I learned the day the pasha (the old one, not the current) summoned me and said: “They’ve filed complaints against you. Stop writing.”

But that writing makes people tremble — I only discovered during these elections.
I began to believe that writing frightens and terrifies.
How could I not believe it when I see a body shaking like a branch tossed by the wind?

Once, in the year 2000, an idea came to my mind. I thought I had found the trick.
The trick was to mention only those who did something positive, and never touch anything negative.
But the trick failed: if you praise someone, his rival curses you.

There is only one way to avoid being cursed — but its problem is that your fate ends in the sewage:
To remain like water in their hands — they wash dishes with you, or use you for ablution.

How can you not write when you see someone willingly turning himself into a “jefaf” (a human mop) for food… for a car… for a position…
And when you ask him: “What are you doing?”
He answers: “It’s for my children…”
With that kind of logic, your children will never become what you hope.

By Amar Jalloul