2

I imagine my life as the Euphrates and the Tigris—two currents born from the same womb of mountains, flowing through lands that once held the throne of civilization. Along their banks, countless seasons have sown seeds of hope and harvested stories; some grew into trees that offered shade, while others burned before they could bear fruit.

I follow that current—sometimes side by side, sometimes apart—yet always moving toward the same mouth of the sea. Like the Euphrates embracing the Tigris in the lowlands, life will always meander between the hills of greed and the valleys of generosity. In every bend, the water carries fragments of earth that once formed palaces, only to crumble into grains of sand.

There are days when my current runs strong, feeding fields and quenching the thirst of caravans’ camels. And there are days when I recede, leaving cracked mud and overturned boats stranded on a dry bed. Yet, like the Euphrates and the Tigris unable to resist the embrace of the delta, I too cannot escape fate—drawn to the sea, dissolving into the boundless body of blue.

There, the upstream and downstream merge without a name. Everything I have ever kept will be swept away—becoming either salt that preserves memories, or vapor that vanishes with the desert wind. Perhaps, just perhaps, one day I will return as the first rain upon the same soil, beginning a new current that flows between seasons of abundance and famine, embracing the stones I once passed, touching the roots I once bathed, until even time itself forgets to count my journeys.