Sometimes I think I'm only really happy when things are snowballing. It only feels right to me when we're both spiraling out of control, tumbling towards some kind of present and future happiness, always more, ever bigger. When this doesn't happen, when, god forbid, things sort of just stay...the same, it almost feels like a rejection to me. Why don't you want more? Why won't you fall with me? Must we always walk on tiptoes? I want to run.
Sometimes I think I'm only really happy when things are snowballing. And so, sometimes I think I am never really happy. But still, there are the quiet moments in between. If you keep looking for the snowball you might miss them, but if you pay attention, you might find a snowflake.
"Anti," he said, placing his hand on my chest.
"Anta," I said, placing my hand on his chest.
"Nahnu," he said, drawing me to him with his arms around me.
"Nahnu," I repeated.
Pronouns are tricky in Arabic. I, he, she...fine. But there's a feminine you and a masculine you. Then there is a different you for you plural (feminine) and you plural (masculine). Then there is they, when you are referring to a group of women, and they, when you are referring to a group of men. My head spun. We is a different story, though. There is only one we. We practiced it again, and I thought, now this "nahnu" I can get behind. I liked the way it sounded. I liked how the second syllable of it sounds like the French for we, which meant I actually stood a chance of remembering it. I liked how every time he said it he wrapped his arms around me, enclosing us in our own little we bubble. And so, without much thinking about it, "I like nahnu," I said, snuggling in. My brain a half second behind my mouth, I only then realized the implications of what I had said. A half second after that, I realized I didn't really care. I did like nahnu. And perhaps, deep down, I had actually known what I was saying all along. By now we were kissing, which is always a good way to gloss over potential awkwardness. But then he stopped. "I like nahnu too," he said. And there it was. Not a snowball, but a snowflake moment. Each one small and perfect and unique.
When you want to run, leap, and tumble with wild abandon, when you want to let yourself fall, standing still can be the hardest thing in the world. In the stillness comes doubt, and the too loud shrieking of your own inner voice. But, if you are very quiet, and you pay attention, sometimes you may find a snowflake.