Week 67 - Cold January
Cycling & Shaving - Saadadeen & Sulaiman share a thought from their week
This week the cold came out of nowhere and made a home in my bones.
I cycled in what felt like a blizzard with a deflated tyre over jaggedy concrete down Brackenberry Village. It was the closest to riding a horse I have been since that family trip to Cairo when I mounted a camel for long enough to take a photo and that time in year 3 when they brought out a horse to the key stage 2 playground so that we could take turns to pet it only after being warned not to stand behind it because it might, out of fear, kick us in the face.
This week I refuse to feel disenchanted even though I have uninstalled the news app from my phone after giving them all one last chance and the idea of trying to write beautifully feels like a burden.
Tired eyes
My barber has tired eyes.
He was born and raised in syria.
Cuts hair in acton.
Cares for a daughter with a critical health condition.
Alhamdulillah (All praise belongs to God) makes up half his input into conversations.
My barber keeps his palms full.
So on his work-station sits comfortably a can of red bull.
Sometimes a cactus energy drink from the corner shop next door.
My barber doesn’t speak a lot.
But keeps a smile on his face.
Treats every customer like a next of kin.
Trims every trim with nothing less than craftsmanship.
Nothing less than excellence.
The type that is filled with aphorisms.
The type that built alhambra’s palaces.
Our community is full of architects.
Complete with fathers and barbers.
Whom remind us of the miraculous.
Remind us of our purpose.
To strive while we’re alive.
To strive with tired eyes.
To strive until we’re tireless.