in my article, “the last fifth of life,” published about a month ago, i wrote the following:
“when i turned eighty, i decided to retreat for a few days. i went to the chalet, sat in my favorite chair, and let my gaze and thoughts wander over the blue sea and the gentle reflections of the setting sun on its surface.
half-conscious, i began to review my memories - as a child, a boy, a teenager, a young man, an employee, and an adult, until i reached the midpoint of my life and began the rapid descent into old age.
i recalled everything those stages encompassed - happiness and sadness, laughter and tears, hopes and thoughts, ups and downs, marriage and childbirth, and the joy of grandchildren.
a multitude of events flashed through my mind, including the months of the iraqi invasion, my emigration to america beforehand, my return home, my emigration to britain for a few years, and my return just days before saddam hussein invaded kuwait. i witnessed the iraqi army’s destruction and sabotage, carried out under orders from above, with the aim of destroying kuwait.
i was surprised by the number of comments my article received and the truth they contained, including one from the poet hamoud al-baghli.
in response to the request of most commenters, i will add something to that article, which touched certain feelings in their hearts.
with age, i have become less hasty, even though logic dictates that i should double what i accomplish in the time i have left. what usually takes two or three years should be achieved in one year. but i have discovered that what remains of my life deserves to be savored in its every moment. this cannot be achieved through haste. a rich meal that took time to prepare deserves to be thoroughly enjoyed. a novel deserves to be pondered, both in its lines and between the lines, and its beautiful passages reread.
i take enough time to look at a beautiful rose, a captivating young woman, a timeless painting, or a tree that defies death. i enjoy the company and conversation of those i love. i travel long distances, both within and outside the country, to see a grandchild or a friend. i’ve discovered that i’ve become less concerned with appearances, even with what i used to consider shameful.
when the prostate gland takes over, boundaries crumble, principles fade out, and i cease to care about what others will say. if i do what they desire, i won’t receive any reward from them. i won’t get anything in return. i don’t want to cater to their delicate feelings at the expense of my health.
i’ve given up many things, but i refuse to give up what has always distinguished me from others, even if it’s unacceptable. i won’t stop being sarcastic, or even hurtful or blunt. i don’t have enough time left to be polite to those who refuse to understand, those who believe their beliefs and ideas are the only correct ones.
i don’t want to give up some of my childish habits. i still visit my mother, bedridden and unable to speak, and i dance in front of her, finding joy in her smile and tenderness in her touch.
i will not await death with a frown, as long as the sun rises whether i am present or absent. there will be a moon in the evening sky, its beauty and radiant light celebrated by loved ones.
and i will heed the words of the wonderful american actress meryl streep - “i will never allow anyone to erase the wrinkles on my forehead; they are the result of my amazement at the beauty of life. i refuse to have the wrinkles around my mouth removed, for they tell of how much i have laughed and kissed loved ones.”
whatever happens, i will not surrender. i will keep my imagination alive and fight boredom by doing what i love and meeting those i love. i will continue to indulge my little whims as long as my heart still beats.