Al Dente

Today I was serving rice in a big plate, and absent mindedly I asked my mother, “is it ready, done?” and suddenly I wasn’t there anymore, but with you in your kitchen. Remember that day? You were cooking enthusiastically while I was gazing at you with a sense of veneration. “So you like your pasta soft like most Egyptians?” I am smiling now, as I remember how you laughed. I love your way when you say something controversial, naughty or eccentric, you just roll the words along your mouth and laugh in a lovely devilish way. “mmm…. Not soft, but frankly I’m not a big fan of Al Dente…” we spent sometime discussing the perfect softness of pasta. I tried helping, but you insisted that I do nothing. I watched you moving around quickly, chopping tomatoes, and pepper, adding oil to a pan, putting everything back to the cupboards, asking me about how I like salt, I was still gazing. You were rotating around the stove, while I sat watching you.

I started singing, I asked you to sing with me, please, but you hated your voice, I love your voice. I sang, I sang happily, most of the lyrics was mixed up, then you intervened and corrected Fairouz’s song

ما تاري سوا         انت وها الهوي

اتفقتوا علي               وما عندي خبر

At that specific moment I really wanted to hug you, and relive with you all the moments that I lived alone when I listened to Fairouz. Pasta was ready, we ate, talked and laughed. I was in heaven, that night I sent you a WhatsApp message, telling you that singing with you in the kitchen was one of the most beautiful moments in my life.

Maybe I scared you? I bombarded you with my love, I seemed dependent, melodramatic and needy. “I love you” became my mantra, it irritated you, annoyed you or at least made you not at ease. You felt it was too early, but that what how I felt. If this is not love, please let me know what is this feeling, what is this thing that made singing in a hot kitchen while boiling pasta one of the best moments of my life ever. I need this feeling, maybe I have been needing such a feeling all my life without believing that it exists or that I will be lucky enough to enjoy it, even for such a short while. I hit you be a tremendous hunger for love, maybe I rushed you, or pushed you.