5 am. It always has to be 5. I live on the last floor, 6th floor, but I’ll have to go higher every morning. And today I'll save you the stories why I prefer top floors, yes I'll save you that. I won't be telling how a neighbor peed on me from 3rd floor while sleep-walking, not today.
There’s a floor above 6th where they have the reservoir tanks, black fat tanks. But you have to find your way to the seventh floor because there are no stairs leading there, but a thin metallic ladder, if it's your first time using the ladder you'll probably be reciting the Lord's prayer as you take each step, it can glide any time and there will be someone ready to help you count your fallen teeth. You have to rest the ladder slanting between two corridors then climb to a square hole above you, that’s the entrance to the 7th floor. It’s like entering a small paradise; you know the camel and needle story… but this isn’t paradise, it’s just my happy place.
It’s all silent, save for a few cocks crowing from a neighboring court. In a city where everyone seems to be minding his own business from dawn to dusk, it’s only a cock that will mind your business. I’m talking about Cock, the husband of hen. (you’ll have to stop thinking genitals at some point) So I rest my back on these grills and stare across the empty rooftops, I stare into the silence, drawing energy from the rich semi-dark nothingness.
It’s an empty cold place, the winds hit me on the face, sweet cold, lately it’s been like a delicacy. I begin my days every morning here. I’m on top of the roof, not planning to fly, not looking for answers, I’m not planning to jump into the empty sky, I’m just looking into that empty space, my focus so sharp that it becomes blurred, maybe I looked too deep, maybe I crossed the Karman line of thoughts… but that’s it. It’s the relief that comes with staring into the unknown. You find yourself, hidden; Hidden at the basement of hustles, thrown into incognito, for a moment you cease to exist in the eyes of the world, you are facing your reflection in darkness, your imperfect self, just like any other person; only this time you are facing your imperfection, the greatest gift you’d ever get. Imperfection is never up for grabs. How beautiful it is to accept that you are the best version of you every morning without seeking anyone’s opinion.
The tanks are closed and one is inviting me to sit on it. It’s full and silent. I jump on it, gently. It’s like I’m on top of the world, alone. I gaze to the farthest east, spotting a thin yellow line, the beautiful shy sun is peeping to see if the moon has gone. But the moon is right on top of my head, its time is up but the moon is like “Brother wait, just a few more minutes.” So I take my camera. I have this Cannon EOS 200D, my walking partner. A few shots across the sky every morning is the best starter I ever get.
You look through the lens, creating emotions with everything you see. For every second you are looking through the lens, your thoughts leave you, your worries fly through your hair into the thin inviting morning wind. For a moment your focus is on what you see through the lens, with one eye closed, though it's too impatient, it opens up once in a while between the shots, you can’t allow it to distract your sight and focus. And as you take your shots, with every click comes satisfaction, a relief that finally you are in your world, where you choose what to see, what to take, what to admire. It’s orgasmic. And so, you take more shots, you don’t stop. From all angles, with a smile beaming all over your face, it’s your happy moment, everything seems perfect. And finally, you catch the sun, coming out to claim its territory now. Everything is giving way; the hooting has started, for some, the day just got started.
So I move from my world to the world, scrolling through the pictures, some are good shots, some are blurred, like my fighting teeth; some are dark, like my thoughts; some I just can’t remember taking. And I remember yes, that’s how it’s supposed to be. Every picture has a meaning, they remind you of different phases of your imaginations when you are left to your own world. How sharp you can be, taking all the good shots of your life, avoiding the hurdles and delivering the best of you. The blurred reminds you of your blunt teeth, but who says a blunt knife doesn’t count as a cutlery? And you look at the dark photos, those that didn’t capture anything, and you look closely, more closely and you’ll see a tiny light, it’s like it ‘s always been there, maybe you just never looked close enough. That even in the darkest cave lie an unfound opening, and that’s you finding yourself. Trading your sight for your mind
But take a deep Breath, You'll need all that air for this Darkless World.