Just a quiet night...

Me, under the sprinkle of light rain. Picture by P.KH.

9:51 pm in my room. I woke up to the sound of rain pattering against my window, and I will make sure before I sleep to open the window and breathe in some pure oxygen. I love the smell of soil after a strong rain.

It's another usual, quiet night here. Just me, the books, papers, pens... I love the atmosphere, but sometimes it gets to me, the reality is I am chasing a dream, and I am far from family and loves ones. But I miss home.

I know what I want to do as soon as I land in Erbil International Airport. I am going to rest for one day, and the second day going to get my camera, recorder, note book and pen and start doing something that I used to do often. I want to go and see people and write their stories. I want to do feature articles about simple, yet inspiring people, as I did before when ever I had a free morning or afternoon.

I didn't realize at the time, but now I know it was those interviews and articles I wrote that kept me going, it was like the engine to my soul and mind. I met fascinating people, in the most amazing places, the experience was incredible. It dug deep inside me, I lived with every story I wrote. I met people, bonded with them, and with time I began forming friendships with those simple, down to earth individuals.

I miss it. It was never a job, I did it as a hobby. And if I had that as a full time job, I would think I was the luckiest person. My dearest reader, you see, when you write an article, even if you're not a professional journalist, you don't just write the words that make the story, but you live the story. For nights you go to bed thinking how to write the first line, and how to end it. In the middle of the night a perfect word comes to your mind  that describes that elderly woman so well that you actually get out of your warm bed and write it down.

I am counting down the days to return so I can go hunting for my little stories....  Kurdish stories are precious in every way.