Return of the Violet Fingers

Like the previous voting, I and he were not sure that we will vote till the day of voting. In the previous voting we met at the door of the voting buildings. I didn't know that this will happen again. Now that it is night and I am making my dinner I turned on my laptop to see my desktop with this Berber Algerian woman with her hand colored by holy Henna. I raised my index finger to check its color. It looks like holy Henna.

"I don't know" was the usual answer he was answering my question about whether he will vote. I was also "don't know". I have finished yesterday at 11:30 pm the eighteen tables of my thesis and sent them via email to a specialist in biostatistics. I felt so sleepy, took a novel and an orange and went to bed. I ate the orange; put the novel next to my pillow and passed quickly into deep sleep. It is a national recess from work and I need not to wake up early. I woke up this morning very early. I didn't look at the clock, I just passed into deep sleep again. I woke up at 11:00 am. Woooow. It feels so good. I will be as lazy as I want today. I started some slow cleaning in the kitchen. I took the garbage out. I asked my Assyrian neighbor: "where can we vote?"

At home I started drinking coffee while I opened the TV and I saw Maisoon Al Damalouji. I love and respect this woman. Her face reminds me that I love Iraq. Her speech makes me proud of being an Iraqi. I finished my coffee and took my clothes and went to vote. My name was not in the first school, nor in the second. They told me to check a third school which was little far. I went sadly and frightened that I won't find it but I found it and said with a loud voice: "Here it is!"

In the voting room I saw very beautiful women. They were all smiling. They were very very kind as if from heaven. I voted. They said: "Thank you". I said: "thank you" with a smile and went walking. I saw many families walking happy. The father's and mother's index fingers are colored by that ink. I saw him coming. We greeted each other with kisses like Iraqis usually do. I went back with him waiting while he voted. He didn't ask me for whom I voted. Nor I did ask him. We are Iraqis with different views and this is our way to show respect to each other. We went back walking slowly and talking about memories of how our quarter was so beautiful before hoping that it will regain its charm while we were proud of our violet fingers.