The Rebellion Era

Prologue

Every story has a beginning. But not all beginnings are spectacular.

Everyone around me dances with an exotic smile plastered on their faces. The lanes have gathered around the vicinity, singing all kind of traditional songs to celebrate Eid. They would utilize the chance to wear garments other than the dreary, threadbare mauve and black cloths, and I would wait for Eid to see what items they would manage to create. From fabricated tusk necklaces, to floral shawls from goodwill. I wear a designated wreath myself; made from strung shrubs with Lavender flowers.

Assem grabs my hands and pulls me away from my parents as they dance; to caper with him. His hands are too big for an eight year old, as though he is a teenager. He dons a lei with sea shells in flowers stead.

"I wrote another riddle!" He screams over the music. Not music exactly, but drumming spoons on stock pots, and clapping of frying pans together like happy seals. It never fails to amaze me the new sort of music they vibrate through our ears.

I gasp with excitement. "Puzzle me then!"

"Her purity glints so bright, astray hearts stop to see. Her altruism shows us the light and euphoria she kindles upon thee." He says. The streetlamp sheds light over the dirt on the collar of his mauve shirt. His duty today was to plough holes for the new flowers batch.

"I see you have been working on your English!" I shout.

He cups his ear, indicating he hadn't heard me. I repeat louder.

"Father has been helping me. Yours should too!"

I make a face at him, sticking my tongue out.

"A butterfly monarch?!" I suggest.

He shakes his head.

I storm through my brain, searching for anything that glistens, mesmerizing and joyful. "A firefly?!" He shakes his head again.

He chuckles. "I guess this one is tough for a little girl!"

"You are a little boy, too!" I yell and yank my hands away. I square them across my chest.

"I will give you hints!" He picks up my hands again. He spins me around, emulating a man who just did so to his gleeful wife.

However soon, Assem and I forgot about the riddle, and started dancing along with the other children within a circle of parents swaying together hand in hand. This is not a celebration. It is a ceremony. And it might sound eccentric, but these families never know the meaning of being selfish or sad, despite the very poor and dire circumstances of the Gardens. So I have always secretly admired this little community of mine. We all go through the same pain and agony or happiness and laughter. It is like we are one soul that got divided into hundreds of bodies.

By the end of the night, every young and old, adult and child were on their feet.

No, this is not my beginning.